Tiger nodded.
“Then they came to the house,” the lad said.
“And what happened then?” Tiger asked.
“Try and get rid of them! Wow, Tiger! I slammed the door in their face and locked it, finally. That’s what I did.” Ponce said.
“Good boy, Ponce,” Tiger murmured.
“They went away, finally—most of them—”
“Are some still there?”
“Some are, yeh—in a car, sitting there—I had one heck of a time getting here. They’re parked near the house, waiting for me—” .
“Urn hmm,” Tiger said.
“I went the back way, you know, through the field, across the way there—I told Mom to keep the phone off the hook and the doors locked—all of them—”
“Uh huh,” Tiger said.
“And I got here. And what a jam outside here! You seen it?”
“I had a look at it.”
“That drip Poldaski out there—directing traffic! How come the Troopers don’t shove him? I mean, the guy’s plain stupid. You oughta see where his car is! Honest to God, Tiger, right in the middle of it! That's what’s really jamming everything—”
Tiger was nodding, almost smiling, thinking of John
Poldaski, “He certainly is a menace,” he paused, adding, “in certain respects.”
“Is he!”
“But nothing to worry about,” Tiger also said, “Fundamentally,” And he grinned in that friendly way of his.
Silence.
Now Ponce said, with some difficulty, and looking away, “I sure feel like a prize dope screaming that way—”
Tiger nodded. He had heard about it. That was some soundproofing, alright.
“Well, Ponce, don’t worry about it. Under the circumstances—”
He was a bit surprised, though, to tell the truth, to have heard about it. It was some reaction. Was there more to it? He wouldn’t ask the lad. If there was, maybe someday he’d hear it. That was the only way. He knew it.
“Yeh but, gee, everybody must think—” the lad halted, looking miserable.
“I’ll bet nobody mentions it. I’ll just put a bet, Ponce. How about that?”
Silence.
Tiger waited.
The lad was again looking away from him. . . .
“I sure hope you’re right, Tiger. I hope so,” he finally said.
Tiger nodded again, and just waited. The boy definitely appeared to be struggling with something. He didn’t press him.
Ponce said, after a while, once again looking at him, “I guess Surcher’s gonna talk to everybody, right, Tiger? I heard he went through Jill’s house inch by inch— I wonder if he found any clues—”
“I wonder,” Tiger answered.
Another silence.
Tiger still waited.
“What really worries me now though, Tiger, more than anything—” the lad said, “is how much they’re going to keep after me. Do you think they’ll question and question me? Like I feel, if they keep after me, I might wind up making a confession or something—that might happen— it’s one of those things that could happen—right, Tiger? Look at Korea!—All those brainwashed guys falling over of it,” he told the lad, “it’s a question that’s been occupying the whole of my mind since it happened, let me tell you.” He paused, then added, “Who knows the answer? I’ll tell you, I don’t. Not yet, anyway. Does anyone? Well, right now only one person does, on that also I’ll put a bet, and you know who that is. Don’t you?” He paused again, “But I’m not despairing. I’m not going to plunge down those stairs to the cellar of despair. As I said before, Ponce, they’ll find him, you can count on it. No doubt of it”
“But when?” Ponce asked, astutely.
Again, Tiger pondered. It was just as momentous a one. But wasn’t it. That boy was certainly all there, as always. He observed him fondly.
“That’s it isn’t it, Ponce?” He paused, a rough analogy coming to his mind, suddenly, “Just like it’s the point about Vietnam, right Ponce? When, when. That’s the important part. Will it ever? That’s it, alright, isn’t it, Ponce?”
He could see Ponce thinking about it and seeing it without a doubt.
And he heard him say, “Because the guy could do a lot more damage. Tiger—” He said it quietly.
“Could be,” Tiger told him.
“I sure hope old Surcher comes up with something at Jill’s place!”
“So do I, do I,” Tiger said.
“What a lousy mess! Poor Jill! JeepersV*
And silence fell.
Tiger kept on observing the boy.
“What are your ideas on the matter?” He asked, finally, in his quiet way, “Have you thought about it much, gone over it in your own mind, Ponce, very much? I’d like to hear your theories, if any.”
“You sound like Surcher!”
Tiger grinned, reassuringly, “I don’t mean to—I really would like to know. That’s all.”
Ponce shifted around in his chair, looked here and there. Then at Tiger.
“I’m foxed.”
Tiger heard.
“So that makes us even,” he said to the boy.
“You ought to hear though some of the stuff that’s going around, I mean, what some are saying, anyhow—I couldn’t help hearing, you know—” one another to confess things they’d never done—Heck, you know all you told me about that—”
Tiger thought about it. He thought about Korea, his little sojourn there. His company. His little medal. When and if he ever wrote his memoirs, he mused, that would certainly take up a chapter or two. At any rate. He mused quite a few moments over it. Now there was Vietnam. Uncle Sam certainly could find ways to keep his troops happy. No doubt of it.
He said at last, “Well, Ponce, I might be able to help you in that area, if you’re really that worried over it.” He paused, surveying the boy. “I’ll have a talk with that Captain—also about those reporters. I’ll do that. I think you ought to have some protection.”
The boy brightened up. “Gee!” he said, “Hey, that’s great of you, I mean really great of you. Think you can swing it?”
“Sure I do. I’ll try my damnedest.”
Ponce knew he would.
“That’s really great of you, Tiger,” he murmured, gratefully.
“You deserve it, Ponce. The least I can do for you.” Silence now. The lad sat quietly. Looking better.
Tiger found himself remembering a dream he had last night. There was a garden. There were only trees in that garden. Looby Loo was standing to the side, where a path ran. She was walking on it. Not standing. Was she walking on it? Not standing. Was she walking toward him? She war singing this tune— He was trying to make out the tune— Now, near one of the dozens of trees, Ponce stood— Was it last night?
“What do you think about the whole thing, Tiger?” He suddenly heard. “Any theories? Ideas?” The lad asked. “Who could have done it?” He heard him ask.
Tiger looked at the boy squarely, weighing the momentous question. For certainly it was just that, who could deny it, here, now, at this juncture. What Sawyersville maid would feel safe walking the streets, or the halls of the high school until that question was answered, definitely? Who would sleep peacefully in Sawyersville until the fiend was apprehended? Tiger pondered it, weighing his answer. He wished he did have an answer.
‘That’s the question of the moment, Ponce, and no doubt
The lad paused, as Tiger waited for more.
“Know what they’re saying, Tiger. Some of them, around the town?”
Ponce waited.
“What, Ponce?” Tiger queried.
"One of the colored boys did it," Ponce reported, not trying to hide his contempt for it
Tiger nodded, and sat silently. It wasn’t really news to him. Already, he had heard it hinted at, here and there, in the school, by a few teachers—a very, very few—that creep Crispwell, in particular, that lily-whitey, that Hawk, that quasi-John Bircher. It was hard to get rid of a teacher, but Tiger would find a way, he knew, once he got to be Principal. That ultrarespectable would be the first to hit the road. He hadn’t heard one student mention it though. The whispers and murmurs had come from that tiny group of teachers, three or four, headed by Crispwell, of course. No, not one student had mentioned it, that Tiger knew of. That was good. Tiger was proud of those kids, they sure showed up that tiny minority of bigots here and there. And their silent followers. For Tiger too had contempt for it. This aspect of the situation had without a doubt worried him, though he had been relieved somewhat on meeting Surcher, the man in charge of the investigation, for he certainly didn't appear to be a racialist. Or a silent follower, either. Not that Tiger could see. He thought of Jim Green, his superb right end, who one day, without a doubt, Tiger knew, would hit All-American. He was a colored boy. Tiger mused now, as he sat there, observing Ponce, over this aspect of the situation. He had been one of the first to welcome the decision to integrate a certain number of colored students from East Caxton into the Sawyersville school system. (There were no Negroes at all in Sawyersville.) It was part of the State drive to break up the “Negro ghetto schools,” so called, and Tiger had certainly welcomed it. He knew what hellholes they were. There had been a certain amount of hard talk at first and some hot feelings, that was true, but finally the situation was accepted by the school board and, as far as Tiger could tell, the town itself, especially when the insignificant number actually to be integrated became known. Certainly the overwhelming number of teachers felt pretty much like Tiger about it. And so the handful of colored students had arrived, on their special school bus. out of Caxton. There had been no ugly scenes, only a few curious citizens, including of course Selmo’s stalwarts, on those first few days, looking on at the unfamiliar sight of black faces penetrating their high school. And these youngsters had done fairly well, most of them, academically. Socially, of course, the story was different—they were more or less ordinary high school kids during school hours and mixed with all the others, but outside school hours, the barriers were as high and as solid as ever. No white girl, so far as Tiger knew, had yet dated a Negro boy, and no white boy, also so far as Tiger knew, had taken out one of the not unattractive Negro girls, four in number, to be precise, including of course Mona Drake, Tiger mused on—that honey. ... He smiled, to himself, thinking of her. She certainly was a honey. She was going to be a remarkably beautiful woman, no two ways about that, already she was almost that, and anyone could sec that. It was really surprising, he mused, that none of the white boys had dated her—or had she turned them down? He wondered about that. Suddenly, a dream he had just last night came back to him. She was in it. She was walking down the road in front of his house. He was in his study, looking out. She turned, and looked up, and their eyes met. And she blew him a kiss. And was gone. Just like that. Tiger mused over that. What was she wearing? He tried to remember that.