"I don't remem-"
"Give me a year or I'm going to shoot somebody down here!"
"Nineteen-fifty-six. "
"Were you a grunt?"
"I . . . I don't-"
"Were you a grunt? Were you a dogface?"
"I was . . . I was an officer. First lieu-"
"I didn't ask you for that!" I screamed.
"Charlie . . . Charlie, for God's sake, calm down-"
"What year was your military obligation fulfilled?"
"N-Nineteen-sixty."
"You owe your country six years! You're lying! I'm going to shoot-"
"No!" He cried. "National Guard! I was in the Guard!"
"What was your mother's maiden name?"
"G-G-Gavin. "
"Why?"
"Wh . . . I don't know what you m-"
"Why was her maiden name Gavin?"
"Because her father's name was Gavin. Charlie-"
"In what year did you do your basic training?"
"Nineteen-fifty-sev-six!"
"You're lying. Caught you, didn't I, Don?"
"No! I – I – "
"You started to say fifty-seven."
"I was mixed up."
"I'm going to shoot somebody. In the guts, I think. Yes."
"Charlie, for Jesus' sake!"
"Don't let it happen again. You were a grunt, right? In the Army?"
"Yes-no-I was an officer . . . "
"What was your father's middle name?"
"J-John. Chuh-Charlie, get hold of yourself. D-D-Don't-"
"Ever gobbled your wife, my man?"
"No!"
"You're lying. You said you didn't know what that meant."
"You explained it to me!" He was breathing in fast little grunts. "Let me go, Charlie, let me g-"
"What is your religious denomination?"
"Methodist. "
"In the choir?"
"No."
"Did you go to Sunday school?"
"Yes."
"What are the first three words in the Bible?"
Pause. "In the beginning."
"First line of the Twenty-third Psalm?"
"The . . . um . . . The Lord is my shepherd, I shall not want."
"And you first ate your wife in 1956?"
"Yes-no . . . Charlie, let me alone . . . "
"Basic training, what year?"
"Nineteen-fifty-six!"
"You said fifty-seven before!" I screamed. "Here it goes! I'm going to blow someone's head off right now!"
"I said fifty-six, you bastard!" Screaming, out of breath, hysterical.
"What happened to Jonah, Don?"
"He was swallowed by a whale."
"The Bible says big fish, Don. Is that what you meant?"
"Yeah. Big fish. 'Course it was." Pitifully eager.
"Who built the ark?"
"Noah. "
"Where did you do your basic?"
"Fort Benning."
More confident; familiar ground. He was letting himself be lulled. "Ever eaten your wife?"
"No."
"What?"
"No!"
"What's the last book in the Bible, Don?"
"Revelations. "
"Actually it's just Revelation. No s. Right?"
"Right, sure, right."
"Who wrote it?"
"John. "
"What was your father's middle name?"
"John."
"Ever get a revelation from your father, Don?"
A strange, high, cackling laugh from Don Grace. Some of the kids blinked uneasily at the sound of that laugh. "Uh . . . no . . . Charlie . . . I can't say that I ever did."
"What was your mother's maiden name?"
"Gavin."
"Is Christ numbered among the martyrs?"
"Ye-ess . . . " He was too Methodist to really be sure.
"How was he martyred?"
"By the cross. Crucified."
"What did Christ ask God on the cross?"
" 'My God, my God, why hast thou forsaken me?' "
"Don?"
"Yes, Charlie."
"What did you just say?"
"I said 'My God, my God, why . . .' " Pause. "Oh, no, Charlie. That's not fair! "
"You asked a question."
"You tricked me!"
"You just killed someone, Don. Sorry."
"No!"
I fired the pistol into the floor. The whole class, which had been listening with taut, hypnotic attention, flinched. Several people screamed. Pig Pen fainted again, and he struck the floor with a satisfying meat thump. I don't know if the intercom picked it up, but it really didn't matter.
Mr. Grace was crying. Sobbing like a baby.
"Satisfactory," I said to no one in particular. "Very satisfactory."
Things seemed to be progressing nicely.
I let him sob for the best part of a minute; the cops had started toward the school at the sound of the shot, but Tom Denver, still betting on his shrink, held them back, and so that was all right. Mr. Grace sounded like a very small child, helpless, hopeless. I had made him fuck himself with his own big tool, like one of those weird experiences you read about in the Penthouse Forum. I had taken off his witch doctor's mask and made him human. But I didn't hold it against him. To err is only human, but it's divine to forgive. I believe that sincerely.
"Mr. Grace?" I said finally.
"I'm going outside now," he said. And then, with tearful rebelliousness: "And you can't stop me!"
"That's all right," I said tenderly. "The game's over, Mr. Grace. We weren't playing for keepsies this time. No one is dead down here. I shot into the floor."
Breathing silence. Then, tiredly: "How can I believe you, Charlie?"
Because there would have been a stampede.
Instead of saying that, I pointed. "Ted?"
"This is Ted Jones, Mr. Grace," Ted said mechanically.
"Y-Yes, Ted."
"He shot into the floor," Ted said in a robot voice. "Everyone is all right." Then he grinned and began to speak again. I pointed the pistol at him, and he shut his mouth with a snap.
"Thank you, Ted. Thank you, my boy." Mr. Grace began to sob again. After what seemed like a long, long time, he shut the intercom off. A long time after that, he came into view on the lawn again, walking toward the enclave of cops on the lawn, walking in his tweed coat with the suede elbow patches, bald head gleaming, cheeks gleaming. He was walking slowly, like an old man. It was amazing how much I liked seeing him walk like that.
Chapter 20
"Oh, man," Richard Keene said from the back of the room, and his voice sounded tired and sighing, almost exhausted.
That was when a small, savagely happy voice broke in: "I thought it was great!" I craned my neck around. It was a tiny Dutch doll of a girl named Grace Stanner. She was pretty in a way that attracted the shop-course boys, who still slicked their hair back and wore white socks. They hung around her in the hall like droning bees. She wore tight sweaters and short skirts. When she walked, everything jiggled-as Chuck Berry has said in his wisdom, it's such a sight to see somebody steal the show. Her mom was no prize, from what I understood. She was sort of a pro-am barfly and spent most of her time hanging around at Denny's on South Main, about a half-mile up from what they call the corner here in Placerville. Denny's will never be mistaken for Caesar's Palace. And there are always a lot of small minds in small towns, eager to think like mother, like daughter. Now she was wearing a pink cardigan sweater and a dark green skirt, thigh-high. Her face was alight, elvish. She had raised one clenched fist unconsciously shoulder-high. And there was something crystal and poignant about the moment. I actually felt my throat tighten.
"Go, Charlie! Fuck 'em all!"
A lot of heads snapped around and a lot of mouths dropped open, but I wasn't too surprised. I told you about the roulette ball, didn't I? Sure I did. In some ways-in a lot of ways-it was still in spin. Craziness is only a matter of degree, and there are lots of people besides me who have the urge to roll heads. They go to the stockcar races and the horror movies and the wrestling matches they have in the Portland Expo. Maybe what she said smacked of all those things, but I admired her for saying it out loud, all the same-the price of honesty is always high. She had an admirable grasp of the fundamentals. Besides, she was tiny and pretty.