“Bring me your paper.”
Busco reluctantly slouched to the front of the room and tossed his paper onto the desk. He stood with his thumbs looped in the tops of his dungarees as Richard marked a large -5 on the paper in bright red.
“What’s that for?” Busco asked.
“For having loose eyes.”
Busco snatched the paper from the desk and examined it with disgust. He wrinkled his face into a grimace and slowly started back to his seat.
As he passed Miller, Miller looked to the front of the room. His eyes met Richard’s, and he sneered, “Chicken!”
“What?” Richard asked.
Miller looked surprised. “You talking to me, teach’?”
“Yes, Miller. What did you just say?”
“I didn’t say nothing, teach’.” Miller smiled.
“Bring me your paper, Miller.”
“What for?”
“Bring it up!”
“What for, I said.”
“I heard what you said, Miller. And I said bring me your paper. Now. Right this minute.”
“I don’t see why,” Miller persisted, the smile beginning to vanish from his face.
“Because I say so, that’s why.”
Miller’s answer came slowly, pointedly. “And supposing I don’t feel like?” A frown was twisting his forehead.
The other boys in the room were suddenly interested. Heads that were bent over papers snapped upright. Richard felt every eye in the class focus on him.
They were rooting for Miller, of course. They wanted Miller to win. They wanted Miller to defy him. He couldn’t let that happen.
He walked crisply up the aisle and stood beside Miller. The boy looked up.
“Get up.” Richard said, trying to control the modulation of his voice.
My voice is shaking, he told himself. I can feel it shaking. He knows it, too. He’s mocking me with those little, hard eyes of his. I must control my voice. This is really funny. My voice is shaking.
“Get up, Miller.”
“I don’t see, Mr. Daddy-oh, just why I should,” Miller answered. He pronounced the name with great care.
“Get up, Miller. Get up and say my name correctly.”
“Don’t you know your own name, Mr. Daddy-oh?”
Richard’s hand snapped out and grasped Miller by the collar of his shirt. He pulled him to his feet, almost tearing the collar. Miller stood a scant two inches shorter than Richard, squirming to release himself. Richard’s hand crushed tighter on the collar. He heard the slight rasp of material ripping. He peered into the hateful eyes and spoke quietly. “Pronounce my name correctly, Miller.”
The class had grown terribly quiet. There was no sound in the room now. Richard heard only the grate of his own shallow breathing. I should let him loose, he thought. What can come of this? How far can I go? Let him loose!
“You want me to pronounce your name, sir?” Miller asked.
“You heard me.”
“Go to hell, Mr. Daddy...”
Richard’s fist lashed out, catching the boy squarely across the mouth. He felt his knuckles scrape against hard teeth, saw the blood leap across the upper lip in a thin crimson slash, saw the eyes widen with surprise and then narrow immediately with deep, dark hatred. And then the knife snapped into view, sudden and terrifying. Long and shining, it caught the pale sunlight that slanted through the long schoolroom windows. Richard backed away involuntarily, eyeing the sharp blade with respect.
Now what, he thought? Now the garbage can turns into a coffin. Xow the garbage overflows. Now I lie dead and bleeding on a schoolroom floor while a moron slashes me to ribbons. Now.
“What do you intend doing with that, Miller?”
My voice is exceptionally calm, he mused. I think I’m frightened, but my voice is calm. Exceptionally.
“Just come a little closer and you’ll see,” Miller snarled, the blood in his mouth staining his teeth.
“Give me that knife, Miller.”
I’m kidding, a voice persisted in Richard’s mind. I must be kidding. This is all a big, hilarious joke. I’ll die laughing in the morning. I’ll die...
“Come and get it, Daddy-oh!”
Richard took a step closer to Miller and watched his arm swing back and forth in a threatening arc. Miller’s eyes were hard and unforgiving.
And suddenly, Richard caught a flash of color out of the corner of his eye. Someone was behind him! He whirled instinctively, his fist smashing into a boy’s stomach. As the boy fell to the floor Richard realized it was Miller’s friend Vota. Vota cramped into a tight little ball that writhed and moaned on the floor, and Richard knew that any danger he might have presented was past. He turned quickly to Miller, a satisfied smile clinging to his lips.
“Give me that knife, Miller, and give it to me now.”
He stared into the boy’s eyes. Miller looked big and dangerous. Perspiration stood out on his forehead. His breath was coming in hurried gasps. “Give it to me now, Miller, or I’m going to take it from you and beat you black and blue.”
He was advancing slowly on the boy.
“Give it to me, Miller. Hand it over,” his voice rolled on hypnotically, charged with an undercurrent of threat.
The class seemed to catch its breath together. No one moved to help Vota who lay in a heap on the floor, his arms hugging his waist. He moaned occasionally, squirming violently. But no one moved to help him.
I’ve got to keep one eye on Vota, Richard figured. He may be playing possum. I have to be careful.
“Hand it over, Miller. Hand it over.”
Miller stopped retreating, realizing that he was the one who held the weapon. He stuck the spring-action knife out in front of him, probing the air with it. His back curved into a large C as he crouched over, head low, the knife always moving in front of him as he advanced. Richard held his ground and waited. Miller advanced cautiously, his eyes fastened on Richard’s throat, the knife hand moving constantly, murderously, in a swinging arc. He grinned terribly, a red-stained, white smile on his face.
The chair, Richard suddenly remembered. There’s a chair. I’ll take the chair and swing. Under the chin. No. Across the chest. Fast though. It’ll have to be fast, one movement. Wait. Not yet, wait. Come on, Miller. Come on. Come on!
Miller paused and searched Richard’s face. He grinned again and began speaking softly as he advanced, almost in a whisper, almost as if he were thinking aloud.
“See the knife, Mr. Daddy-oh? See the pretty knife? I’m gonna slash you up real good, Mr. Daddy-oh. I’m gonna slash you, and then I’m gonna slash you some more. I’m gonna cut you up real fine. I’m gonna cut you up so nobody’ll know you any more, Mr. Daddy-oh.”
All the while moving closer, closer, swinging the knife.
“Ever get cut, Mr. Daddy-oh? Ever get sliced with a sharp knife? This one is sharp, Mr. Daddy-oh, and you’re gonna get cut with it. I’m gonna cut you now, and you’re never gonna bother us no more. No more.”
Richard backed away down the aisle.
Thoughts tumbled into his mind with blinding rapidity. I’ll make him think I’m retreating. I’ll give him confidence. The empty seat in the third now. Next to Ganigan. I’ll lead him there. I hope it’s empty. Empty when I checked the roll. I can’t look, I’ll tip my hand. Keep a poker face. Come on, Miller, follow me. Follow me so I can crack your ugly skull in two. Come on, you louse. One of us goes, Miller. And it’s not going to be me.
“Nossir, Mr. Daddy-oh, we ain’t gonna bother with you no more. No more tests, and no more of your noise. Just your face, Mr. Daddy-oh. Just gonna fix your face so nobody’ll wanna look at you no more.”
One more row, Richard calculated. Back up one more row. Reach. Swing. One. More. Row.
The class followed the two figures with fascination. Miller stalked Richard down the long aisle, stepping forward on the balls of his feet, pace by pace, waiting for Richard to back into the blackboard. Vota rolled over on the floor and groaned again.