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“Oh, Christ, now,” Jordache said. “The red, white, and blue.”
“Facts are facts,” Mr. Tinker said. “You might as well face it. I’ll give you another fact. If Boylan ever finds out who it was that set fire to his greenhouse he’ll sue us for our lives. He’ll get a smart lawyer that’ll make that old greenhouse seem like the most valuable property between here and New York.” He shook his fist at Thomas. “Your father won’t have two pe
Thomas could see his father’s hands working, as though he would like to put them around Thomas’s neck and strangle him.
“Keep calm, John,” the priest said to Tinker. “There’s no sense in getting the boy too upset. We have to depend upon his good sense to save us all.” He turned to Thomas. “I will not ask you what devilish impulse moved you to incite our Claude to do this awful deed …”
“He said it was my idea?” Thomas asked.
“A boy like Claude,” the priest said, “growing up in a Christian home, going to Mass every Sunday, would never dream up a desperate scheme like that on his own.”
“Okay,” Thomas said. He sure as hell was going to be out looking for Claude.
“Luckily,” the priest went on, in measured Gregorian tones, “when Claude visited his uncle, Dr. Robert Tinker, that awful night, with his cruelly wounded arm, Dr. Tinker was alone. He treated the boy and extracted the story from him and took him home in his own car. By the grace of God, he was not observed. But the burns are severe and Claude will be in bandages for at least three more weeks. It was not possible to keep him hidden at home safely until he was fully recovered. A maid might become suspicious, a delivery boy might get a glimpse of him, a school friend might pay a visit out of pity …”
“Oh, Christ, Anthony,” Mr. Tinker said, “get out of the pulpit!” His face pale and working convulsively, his eyes bloodshot, he strode over to Thomas. “We drove the little bastard down to New York last night and we put him on a plane to California this morning. He’s got an aunt in San Francisco and he’ll be stashed away until he can get the bandages off and then he’s going to military school and I don’t care if he doesn’t come back to this town before he’s ninety. And if he knows what’s good for him your father’d damn well better get you out of town, too. As far away as possible, where nobody knows you and nobody’ll ask any questions.”
“Don’t worry, Tinker,” Jordache said. “He’ll be out of town by nightfall.”
“He’d better be,” Tinker said threateningly.
“All right now.” Jordache opened the door. “I’ve had enough of the both of you. Get out.”
“I think we ought to go now, John,” the priest said. “I’m certain Mr. Jordache will do the proper thing.”
Tinker had to get in the last word. “You’re being let off easy,” he said. “All of you.” He marched out of the store.
“God forgive you, my son,” the priest said, and followed his brother.
Jordache locked the door and faced Thomas. “You’ve hung a sword over my head, you little shit,” he said. “You’ve got something coming to you.” He limped toward Thomas and swung his fist. It landed high on Thomas’s head. Thomas staggered and then, instinctively, hit back, going off the floor and catching his father flush on the temple with the hardest right hand he had ever thrown. Jordache didn’t fall, but swayed a little, his hands out in front of him. He stared disbelieving at his son, at the blue eyes icy with hatred. Then he saw Thomas smile and drop his hands to his side.
“Go ahead and get it over with,” Thomas said contemptuously. “So
Jordache swung once more. The left side of Thomas’s face began to swell immediately and became an angry wine red, but he merely stood there, smiling.
Jordache dropped his hands. The one blow had been a symbol, nothing more. Meaningless, he thought dazedly. Sons.
“Okay,” he said. “That’s over. Your brother’s going to take you on the bus to Grafton. From there you’ll take the first train to Albany. In Albany you’ll change for Ohio. Alone. My brother’ll have to take care of you. I’ll call him today and he’ll be expecting you. Don’t bother packing. I don’t want anybody to see you leaving town with a valise.” He unlocked the bakery door. Thomas went out, blinking in the Sunday afternoon sunlight.
“You wait here,” Jordache said. “I’ll send your brother down. I don’t fancy any farewell scenes with your mother.” He locked the bakery door and limped into the house.
Only after his father was gone did Thomas touch the tender, swollen side of his jaw.
VIII
Ten minutes later, Jordache and Rudolph came down. Thomas was leaning against the bakery window, staring calmly across the street. Rudolph was carrying the jacket of Thomas’s one suit, striped and greenish. It had been bought two years before and was too small for him. He couldn’t move his shoulders freely when he put it on and his hands dangled far out of the tight sleeves.
Rudolph looked dazed and his eyes widened when he saw the welt on Thomas’s cheek. Jordache had the appearance of a sick man. Under the naturally dark tint of his skin, there was a wash of pallid green and his eyes were puffy. One punch, Thomas thought, and look what happens to him.
“Rudolph knows what he has to do,” Jordache said. “I gave him some money. He’ll buy your ticket to Cleveland. Here’s your uncle’s address.” He handed Thomas a slip of paper.
I’m moving up in class, Thomas thought, I have uncles for emergencies, too. Call me Tinker.
“Now get moving,” Jordache said. “And keep your trap shut.”
The boys started down the street. Jordache watched, feeling the vein throb in his temple where Thomas had hit him and not seeing anything clearly. His sons moved off in a blur down the su
“What in hell happened?” Rudolph asked as soon as they were out of their father’s sight.
“Nothing,” Thomas said.
“He hit you,” Rudolph said. “Your jaw’s a sight.”
“It was a terrible blow,” Thomas said mockingly. “He’s next in line for a shot at the title.”
“He came upstairs looking sick,” Rudolph said.
“I clipped him one.” Thomas gri
“You hit him?”
“Why not?” Thomas said. “What’s a father for?”
“Christ! And you’re still alive?”
“I’m alive,” said Thomas.
“No wonder he’s getting rid of you.” Rudolph shook his head. He couldn’t help being angry at Thomas. Because of Thomas he was missing his date with Julie. He would have liked to pass her house, it was only a few blocks out of the way to the bus station, but his father had said he wanted Thomas out of town immediately and with nobody knowing about it. “What the hell is the matter with you, anyway?”
“I’m a high-spirited, red-blooded, normal American boy,” Thomas said.
“It must be real trouble,” Rudolph said. “He gave me fifty bucks for the train fare. Anytime he shells out fifty bucks, it must be something enormous.”