The Long Run (9 page)

Once the swearing-in is over, everyone takes a sip from a bottle of wine stolen from the sacristy. Everyone except the new member, who is given a half-glass of wine to drink. Shorty swallows the wine in one gulp as we chant his name over and over. “Shorty, Shorty, Shorty
. . .
” When he's finished, he puts his shoe on his branded foot, and as we chant his name again he stamps on the glass until it is broken into tiny pieces. A Jewish custom Oberstein read about.

Shorty then signs the register, which is kept in the vault, and we all line up in front of Blackie's throne and shake hands with Shorty, Roman-style, the same way they do it in the movies. Blackie is always the last to shake hands, and he always finishes by placing his right hand on the new member's head and extending his left hand toward the painting of the half-full glass, saying, “All welcome the new brother. What half the glass?” We all chant in unison, “Welcome, Brother. The glass half-full.” Then Blackie looks at our new brother and asks, “Shorty, what half the glass?” And Shorty answers, “
Poculum semi plenum
.” Then Blackie slaps him on the cheek, the way the Archbishop does at confirmation, only it's a much harder slap.

Then the business of the meeting is conducted. The bosun whistle sounds, and Blackie waves the speaking stick, a knotty Newfoundland birch, and passes it to Kavanagh, whose turn it is to be the treasurer. After the treasurer's report, I take the stick and read from the minutes book.

1.  “New shirt for Ryan! Action: Father Cross, by today's meeting.”

Blackie waves and the stick is passed along to him. “Ryan, you okay?” Ryan nods yes. Blackie returns the stick to me.

2.  “Fines! Murphy—twenty-five cents. Brookes—thirty cents. All fines received in full.”

3.  “Slugs! Receipts from pop machines—eleven dollars and thirty cents, including sales of soda pop.”

Slugs are small metal discs the size of quarters that we obtain from construction sites. They come from electrical panels and, when filed down by Father Cross, work perfectly in pop machines. A slug gets you a free pop and fifteen cents change.

Kavanagh waves for the stick and passes it to Oberstein.

“Brookes was caught last week putting a slug in the pop machine at the Golden Eagle Gas Station. He told the attendant it was a mistake and paid him a quarter. Recommendation: No slugs ever be used again at the Golden Eagle Station.”

Blackie waves for the stick. “Motion?” Every hand goes up. “Golden Eagle off the list.” He stares at Oberstein. “Any other incidents?” Oberstein shakes his head. Blackie returns the stick.

4.  “Lost! Bradbury's cigarette case—found and returned by Kelly.”

After the reading of the minutes, Blackie waves the speaking stick and asks if there is any news to report. He means about the wine stealing. Oberstein says that one of the little ones, Ian Smith, told Rags that he stole wine. “Happened after Mass,” Oberstein says, “when little Smith was collecting the hymn books. He said he took it from the cruets 'cause he already drank silver and wanted to know what it would be like to drink gold.”

“Rags say anything?” Blackie asks.

Oberstein says, “Nuthin'. Just laughed.”

Blackie waves the speaking stick again and announces the reason for the gathering. He tells the Klub members he's got a big job for us, one the brothers must not find out about. He tells us he has a plan to make a lot of money.

“Shorty Richardson's enterin' the Royal Regatta Marathon,” Blackie says, “and he's gonna win.” He smiles, and I can see the glint of his gold tooth as he lectures us on what's at stake for the Klub.

“In order to win,” Blackie says, “we gotta do this thing right. Professionally. Ain't no other way. Everyone gotta pitch in. There's a price on the tag and we all gotta chip in to pay that price. We'll be a real team together. Believe it.
Believe
.
Believe
.” When Blackie is really excited about something, he always says that.
Believe
.
Believe
. And he taps his gold tooth like crazy.

There's a long silence, and everyone senses something very important is happening. Then Blackie takes charge. “Oberstein, see what you can find in the library on runnin'. Check the public library next Saturday.” He gives orders as though he's been thinking and planning the marathon all his life.

“Oberstein, I wanna professional program for Shorty, starting next week. Exercise, diet, sleep, clothin', everything that must be considered. The ABC of marathon runnin'. Go to the university, speak with someone who coaches runnin' teams. Find out everythin' you can. Take notes. Ask for advice. Borrow books. Whatever you can get your hands on. Find out who's in charge. Don't tell him you're a
norph
. Tell 'em you're trainin' for the regatta marathon and you wanna win. Ask whatcha gotta do. And Shorty'll need sneakers, the best. Not the black-and-white crap we get from Rags. Real runners. We'll steal them. Ryan, case the Sport Store on Water Street next Saturday. We need a good plan on how to steal clean. Nobody gets caught. Practice hard at it. We'll need two, maybe three pairs of the best runners. Oberstein, find out everythin' you can 'bout weather conditions, runnin' in hot weather, runnin' in cold, rain, sleet, snow, hail. When's the marathon?”

“Summer. August. Same time's the Royal Regatta,” Oberstein says. “Always the first Wednesday in August. It's the 143rd running. Oldest sporting event in North America. Older than the Boston Marathon.”

“Summer. Could be blistering hot.”

“Might not,” Oberstein complains. “It's Newfoundland. Could be freezing cold.”

“We'll prepare for all types of weather,” Blackie says. “Gonna be ready, no matter what.” There is a buzz in the cave now. Everyone wants something to do. Blackie raises the knotty birch branch. “Shuddup!” he yells. “We'll need money. Lotsa money. To buy the things we can't steal. Murphy, you and Kavanagh make a list of all our needs. Cards, marbles, yo-yos, jacks, comic books, the popular ones.
Superman
and
Batman
. What's most popular now?”

“
Betty and Veronica
, a few of the Classics,
Gulliver's Travels
,” Murphy says. His lips are dry cracks that are bleeding.

“'Specially
Betty and Veronica
,” Blackie says. “Sunday collection durin' public Mass will be our main source. But don't get too greedy. Remember the rule. Never go over two dollars a collection. We'll make the rounds. See what boys have money. Kavanagh, start stealin' canteen cards. Sell them at a discount. We'll need to get up a few gamblin' games. A stack of canteen cards. That's everyone's job. Work with each other. And we need food. Everyone's job too. Start squirrelin' from the kitchen, the storeroom, the canteen. Steal from the Dominion Stores Saturdays. We'll need lots of liquid, especially juice. Murphy, get cola from the canteen. Gettin' the keys from ole JD will be a breeze. And we'll need flashlights. Father Cross, make four of those homemade flashlights. We may need more.”

“Why do we need flashlights, Blackie?” Bug asks.

Blackie stops. He waves the stick. “This is top secret,” he says. “Night runnin'. That's when we'll do our best trainin'. Nobody—
nobody's
gonna know about it. You break the secret, I break your bones. We'll train an hour or so each night, very late, almost early mornin' before the brothers rise. Oh, and no smokin' while in trainin'. Not a single cigarette from now on.”

“I'd like to train at night,” Bug says, eager to be a part of it all.

“Gonna need a stopwatch.” Blackie ignores Bug. “A real good stopwatch.”

I wave my hand. “There's one at the stadium. In the penalty box.”

“Okay, Carmichael, that's your job.” Blackie stands and raises the speaking stick, the signal that it's time to adjourn the meeting. “We'll meet here at our regular times until the marathon plan's in place. For emergencies, we'll use the checker system or meet in the chapel, using the prayer system.” The prayer system means that we meet in the chapel and sit according to an arranged order. We bring our rosary beads and the lead boy prays a Hail Mary out loud. When the Hail Mary is finished, Blackie uses the volume of the chorus response to give orders or to whisper a message to one of us. The chorus is used as a cover in case a brother discovers us. It's a tricky system, but it always works. If a brother comes to the chapel and questions our presence there, the lead cantor says he got a letter saying his aunt is very sick and we're praying to the Blessed Virgin for her good health. It always works like a charm. “Next meetin', one week from today. Here at the cave,” Blackie says. “Everyone's gonna be busy as a nailer. Everyone's gotta do his job. You don't do your job, don't bother comin' back. You're outta the Dare Klub. No longer a member. For good.”

“Pistil, I've got to serve a funeral Mass for Monsignor Flynn next Saturday,” Kavanagh says.

“Come late, then,” Blackie says. “If your job's done. Do the bird whistle. Ryan's gonna let you in.”

When Bug goes crying to Blackie about the beating we gave him, Blackie's really pissed off. He calls me and Oberstein and Murphy into the TV room, like he's one of the brothers. The fear in my gut is the same as when McCann shouts the death roll, as Oberstein calls it. After wash-up and night inspection, you stand by your bed in your PJs and pray your name isn't called to go to the TV room to be strapped for some mistake you made during the day.

“Bug, handicap,” he keeps saying, over and over, pounding the wall with his fist. “You never hit a handicap, never.” His eyes jump madly.

We think we're in deep trouble until Oberstein says that Bug was gonna squeal to Monsignor Flynn about the wine smuggling and stealing from the bakery. That settles Blackie down a bit. But he warns us never to hit Bug again. “Never ever hit a handicap,” he says.

From that minute on, Blackie takes Bug under his wing. He even makes him a permanent part of the Brotherhood. Bug becomes Blackie's pet. The way some of the boys are pets of some of the brothers. Bug loves it because nobody dares stand up to Blackie. Blackie's the best scrapper in our dorm. He's hard as nails. Nobody messes with Blackie. If you get in trouble with Blackie, it's not the same as with the brothers. If a brother punishes you, you expect it, and it doesn't bother you so much. They do what they have to do. But if Blackie gets mad at you, it really hurts because Blackie really cares about you. He's the king of our Klub. Nobody crosses Blackie. And he looks after everyone, no matter what the problem. He's probably the best person in the world to talk to about the spells.

Bug figures out pretty soon that he can be as saucy as he wants to be and nothing will happen to him. Nobody dares to hit Bug ever again. And most of the time we don't even back-sauce him for fear of Blackie's wrath. Nobody ever back-sauces or double-crosses Blackie. If Blackie tells you to keep something secret, you don't think twice about it.

We all think Blackie's a great leader. Better than any of the brothers. He's amazing, really, when you consider he's just a kid. But he isn't perfect. For one thing, he always likes to get his own way. And he usually does. There's one thing I really hate about him. It's a game. Called palms.

Here's how it works. The challenger stretches out his hands, palms up. The opponent places his hands on top, palms down. The action begins immediately. The object of the game is for the aggressor, the challenger, to turn one of his hands over, or both, and slap his opponent as hard as he can. The sting is worse than getting the strap. If his opponent pulls away quickly enough and the challenger misses, they switch positions and it's the opponent's turn to strike. The aggressor holds his position as long as he slaps his opponent. Nippers or nips, making the slightest of contact, are counted. But if the contestants do not agree on whether contact was made, they flip a coin and the game continues. A variation on the game of palms is the game of knuckles. The exact same rules apply, with opponents squaring off, only this time it's fist to fist instead of palm on palm. It's a much more brutal game, and one that is rarely played because the loser winds up in a lot of pain.

The main strategy of the challenger in palms is to twitch his fingers so that his opponent pulls away unnecessarily, thus creating a guessing game on the part of the opponent, giving the challenger a decided advantage.

My introduction to palms came one day when one of the criers was running around the halls screaming, “Kelly wants a game of palms. The King of Pain wants a game of palms.” It was a Sunday before study hall. Some of the runners were standing around the smoking room, sneaking a puff of Oberstein's fag. I was soon to learn that palms is a deadly game. It wasn't very often that someone took up the challenge for a game of palms, especially with King Kelly, so called for the crown of hair on the back of his head as well as his mastery of palms. He's the undisputed king of palms. The King of Pain, Oberstein calls him. Kelly would never have thrown down the gauntlet if he had known Blackie was nearby. Palms is not a game you wanna be on the losing end of.