The Battle of Jericho (29 page)

“Why'd you let Eddie get away with all that stuff?” Kofi asked angrily. “There's something seriously wrong with that dude!”

Rick and Madison had no reply.

“Are you sorry you pledged, Jericho?” Eric asked quietly.

“How was I supposed to know this would happen?” he answered sadly. “It seemed like such a good idea at the time.”

Eric looked down at his wheelchair. “That's the same
thing I thought when I fell and broke my back.”

“What about you, Dana?” Madison asked. “Are you sorry you tried to pledge?”

“I didn't
try
to pledge, Madison. I
did
pledge. I succeeded in every single task, in spite of Eddie. I'm glad I proved I could do it.” Then she admitted, “But I'd erase it all if it would bring Josh back.”

“How can he be dead?” Jericho whispered. The crackling of the fire in the fireplace was the only sound. “Who's to blame?” he asked the silent room.

“Josh's death is nobody's fault, really . . . ,” Rick started to say. But November interrupted him.

“That's a lie! It's the Warriors fault!” she shouted angrily, standing up and rushing over to where Rick sat. Then she sat down again as the enormity of it all seemed to hit her once more. She mumbled through more tears, “Stupid club with their stupid rules and shirts and jackets and parties.” Rick had no answer.

“They've been doing this for fifty years. It was supposed to be tough, but fun—just a buncha dudes foolin' around and gettin' to know each other,” Madison tried to explain.

“Josh isn't laughing,” Jericho replied quietly. The room was silent once again. The only sound that could be heard was November's soft sobbing.

“I could be dead too,” Kofi said quietly. “Maybe I should be. I feel so, you know, like guilty.” He hung his head.

Jericho nodded his head in agreement. “I know what you're talkin' about. It's like I feel like I shouldn't be able
to see the sky or hear a dog bark—you see what I'm sayin'? It's not fair that I can do that and Josh can't.” He was not afraid to weep in front of them.

November took Jericho's hand and gave it a squeeze of encouragement. 'I think Josh would have enjoyed sittin' in on this little meeting,” she said in a small voice.

“He would have made jokes about how puffy your eyes look, November,” Jericho told her. She sniffed and smiled in spite of herself.

“And how Jericho looks like a lost teddy bear without him,” Eric said.

Kofi added, “Josh would have been amazed at all the attention he's getting.”

“He woulda loved it—he sure liked attention.” Jericho finally smiled a little.

“I wonder,” November mused, “what would he have to say about the Warriors of Distinction now?”

Eric responded quietly. “He would have said that there's nothing very distinguished about death.” The mood went somber once more.

Into the silence that followed November whispered plaintively, “I miss Josh.”

There was nothing else to say.

“Are you coming to school tomorrow?” Kofi finally asked Jericho.

Jericho sighed. “I guess. It will be hard, though.”

“I'll be there,” Dana said. Most of the others also agreed to show up.

“Mr. Zucker said he would have a moment of silence in
the morning so that everyone could remember Josh,” November said.

“Is that all he gets? A moment?” Jericho asked outraged. “Seems like he oughta get a band concert or a choir of screamers—something more than silence!”

Kofi said softly, “Maybe the silence is so everyone can think quietly—private thoughts, you know.”

Jericho's grief and anger seemed to be all mixed up inside him. “Silence is like, you know, nothing. Just air,” he said, shaking his head. “Nothing just isn't enough. Josh deserves shout outs, not silence.”

“Did Josh die for nothing?” November finally asked.

“It had to mean something,” Cleveland whispered.

“Then what was it?” November wanted to know.

No one had an answer. The question hung in the air like smoke.

Jericho took Zora out of the trumpet case then, and slowly began to play. The tones, sweet and mellow, floated above the young people in the room. He began with soft, clear notes, bright like jewels, followed by a series of trills that swelled with power. He played the loss of yesterday and tomorrow, of friendship and love. He remembered childhood laughter as he played, and teenage troubles as well. One series of notes, high and delicate, sang of a sweet moonlight kiss gone sour; another line of music rippled with regret over opportunities forever lost.

And Jericho played fierce, sharp combinations he'd never even conceived of before, giving voice to his anger and frustration at death. Josh, his quick wit, and his swift, final leap into forever, exploded from Jericho's trumpet in
notes that erupted hot like painted steam. The tones from the trumpet replaced his tears and captured his grief. He then slowed down and played a sweet, gentle melody that made him remember Josh's laughter and spirit. The music flowed quietly to just a whisper. It ended as Josh did, in silence.