“Well,” Tiger said, finally, “No one knows who did it—” And he paused. “Least of all those nincompoops—” He paused again, “Do they even know the time of day, Ponce? No kidding.”
Ponce liked that one, and grinned broadly. He felt a little better, Tiger thought. Then he saw the lad go serious again.
“But think of that kind of stuff spreading around though —” Ponce told him.
Tiger shrugged, “Who’s going to listen to it? Ponce, you know how it is. How many times have we talked about this?”
The boy said, “Well, I sure hope they find the guy, Tiger —and quick.”
Tiger nodded.
“And so do I,” he said.
“Because if they don’t—” The boy held.
“I know,” Tiger told him, “In more ways than one, don’t worry, and that’s why everybody has to keep cool and cooperate fully with Surcher.”
“What do you think of him?” Ponce queried. He knew what Tiger thought of policemen in general, a view he shared fully.
Tiger answered carefully, “He strikes me, at first observation, anyway, as a fair and competent fellow.”
Ponce nodded, then said, “Even if he hit a stone wall?” Tiger pondered, ever more impressed with the boy’s astuteness. ”
“That remains to be seen. What else can I say, Ponce?” He answered, finally.
The lad shook his head, “Boy, I sure hope it doesn’t turn out to be one of them—”
Tiger mused over that one. It would be a bad one.
“It would be pretty bad,” he said, 'Bad/' he added.
“A kick in the rump” the lad said.
Tiger saw it.
“Would it,” he nodded.
“Not that I think it was,” Ponce said, “I can’t see it, I know them all pretty well by now, and I just can’t see it.” Tiger nodded, “I'd say the same.”
“I’d put all my money, not that I have any, I’d put anything at all against it,” the lad said. And fell silent.
Anything at all against it, thought Tiger, looking at him, surveying him. What a kid, thought Tiger, feeling warmer and warmer about his future hopes for the school, and the lad, and everything. What a combination they would make. He could see it. The vision was really growing.
“Can I come back to school tomorrow?” Ponce asked now, quietly.
Tiger answered. “Sure. Why not?”
Ponce offered, “I don’t see why not.”
Tiger nodded.
Again, silence. The youngster was looking down at the floor. He's feeling pretty low again. Tiger thought. That really was one hell of a jolting shock, he further thought. He thought of life, what a series of jarring shocks that was, from the word go, appalling revelation after revelation piling up, finally burying one. Unless one finds a way, some way, Tiger thought. That was it, that was the key, wasn’t it? Tiger had fought hard, and worked hard. He thought he had found a way. At least it's bearable, Tiger thought. For a while, anyway. ... He had found a way. Each, he knew, in his own way. That was it. Otherwise— resignation, and a longing for release from it, totally, welcoming the burying. . . . Tiger kept his gaze on the boy. What was on his mind now? What was he holding back from him? He felt great compassion for Ponce, fond of him and full of hopes and plans for him as he was. Why did he have to find that body? If he had only got there a few minutes later it would have been Mummer. Tiger shook his head sadly, within himself, thinking of Mummer. There was another one. He would follow Crispwell— quickly, swiftly. Alright. . . . The body. That poor girl, that brutally murdered girl, that honey. Tiger grew sadder. Life, he mused now, deeply, growing up was just that though, a series of brutal discoveries—but did Ponce’s first one have to be so brutal? What would it do to him? What had it already done to him? Tiger kept on looking at him, wondering about him, feeling (hat great compassion for him, while the boy continued looking downward, down in the dumps. In time, Tiger now mused, the shock would wear off, he knew. Time was possibly the greatest and only factor, one might say healer, in such circumstances. Tiger knew it. He thought of his own life, his own jarring confrontations, step by step, all along the way, with brutal realities. He thought of Korea. He thought of Vietnam. He hoped to God Ponce would be spared that. In two years he graduated. Would it be over by then? He thought of all the boys over there now. That Great Earpuller, Old Corn-pone, was sure filling the whole place up with them. In aid of what? Tiger wondered. He just couldn’t help wondering. He never said anything, but he certainly wondered. How many others wondered? He knew Looby Loo wondered. And Betty Smith. And Hetty. Plenty of others. Tiger, now, felt a slightly sick feeling, wondering. What would Kennedy have done? Poor JFK. He certainly made a brutal discovery. . . . Tiger left it, and came back to the present, the here, the now, the boy downcast before him. Another wave of compassion hit him.
“What are you thinking?” He asked him, gently.
“I just feel rotten,” the boy murmured, without moving.