Archie grabbed one out of the air. 'No contrast.' Then another: 'No emphasis.' He regarded Bunting with admiration, or what passed for admiration coming from Archie because he still maintained his coolness, the distance he managed to keep between himself and everyone else. 'Beautiful, Bunting. I can see it now. The Bishop and Brother Leon and all the faculty up there on the stage, near the altar. And one kid sitting in the audience, right in the middle of the place, surrounded by all those empty seats, not another kid in sight.'
'We have to pick the right kid,' Bunting went on, really rolling now. 'He'll be part of the plot, with orders to act normal, like he's not alone in the audience. As if everything is happening as usual.'
Archie lifted his hands, palms downward, almost as if he were about to bless the congregation, but the Vigils had come to know that the gesture meant he wanted instant silence. Suddenly the gathering seemed to be holding its collective breath, a stillness pervading the room. Obie marveled at Archie's ability to take command of all situations, the way he was able now to take the spotlight away from Bunting effortlessly and bring all eyes in the place to himself. Archie's eyes were mere slits: he was thinking, concentrating. Or pretending to be thinking and concentrating. Obie bad seen him perform this stunt a thousand times. Or was it a stunt?
The heat in the storage room had grown almost unbearable, heat saturated with the smell of boys' bodies. Vigil meetings were always brief, because Archie couldn't stand the smell of perspiration, couldn't stand the sight of sweat on flushed skin. Obie surreptitiously surveyed the boys as they sat there immobile, focused on Archie, not daring to move. Nobody wanted to be noticed or singled out by Archie. Bunting alone seemed at ease, sure of himself, his black curly hair glistening in the harsh glow of the unshaded bulb hanging from the ceiling. He looked as if he'd just stepped from a shower: cool and refreshed. Obie almost shuddered. He knew that Archie was grooming Bunting to be the new Assigner, the student who would take Archie's place next year. Although Bunting was short and dark and muscular in contrast to Archie's tall and slender blondness, there was a similarity between them, something Obie could not pin down precisely. Maybe ruthlessness.
'Okay,' Archie said, coming out of his trance or whatever it was. Voice crackling. Blue eyes flashing, 'What we need is one more touch. The kid who's coming to school that day.' He shot a glance toward Obie. 'I want a new kid. Somebody who hasn't been involved in anything yet.'
As if by reflex, Obie flipped his notebook open. And hated himself for leaping to action at Archie's slightest wish. 'There's a kid who came to Trinity for the second term. His family moved here from the Cape. His name is Raymond Bannister. He's a sophomore.
'Why haven't we heard about him before?' Archie asked, a mild rebuke in his voice as he used the editorial
Obie shrugged an answer. New kids were always Vigil bait. Archie loved nothing better than putting a new kid through the hoops.
'Did you slip up, Obie?' Archie asked. Slyly, tauntingly.
Obie felt the color creep into his face, like a stain of guilt. Archie was a master at this, humiliating someone in front of others.
'I didn't think it was the right time psychologically,' Obie replied. 'Ray Bannister is a loner, like I said.' He looked meaningfully at Archie, wondering if he was getting the message. The message of the chocolates.
Something flickered in Archie's eyes, as if an invisible branch had snapped across his face. Pause. But only for a beat 'Maybe it's time to get around to him,' he said, looking directly at Obie. 'Get to this Bannister kid. If he's a loner, he'll love sitting there all by himself. Fill him in. Tell him the part he has to play. Impress upon him the importance of his role. How we don't put up with failure.'
The Vigils murmured their approval.
Archie turned to Bunting, swiveling away from Obie as if dismissing him.
'Nice work, Bunting.'
Bunting glowed and couldn't resist shooting another glance of triumph at Obie.
'Any other business?' Archie asked, addressing nobody in particular.
Silence, as Archie looked around the room, inspecting each of them in turn, studying them with those cold, intelligent eyes and managing as usual to look superior to them.
'What about Fair Day?' Bunting asked.
A shadow crossed Archie's face. Obie thought with glee: Bunting has pushed his luck too far.
'What about Fair Day?' Archie's voice held a hint of cool mockery.
What Bunting didn't know: Archie was less than enthusiastic about Fair Day. Bored, in fact Fair Day was a family fun day at Trinity, the last social event before graduation, a day of hot dogs and hamburgers, booths and merry-go-rounds and other rides for the kid brothers and sisters of Trinity students. The Vigils always kept a low profile during the day except, of course, for the Fool. The Vigils even maintained a hands-off policy during Skit Night (which some guys called Shit Night), the evening of Fair Day. All of which Bunting should have known. But Bunting was the classic sophomore: Act now, think later.
'Let's get the visit over with first,' Carter growled, exercising his privilege as Vigils president. Wanting to end the meeting, tired of all this crap.
Archie chuckled, looking with feigned exasperation at Bunting, the father now indulging the favorite son. 'Slow down, Bunting,' he said. Then nodded at Carter.
Carter banged the gavel and stood up. The atmosphere became tense, like an elastic band stretched to the breaking point Carter drew a black box from a shelf within the crate. He held it in his hands as if it contained all the crown jewels of Europe.
Archie sighed, wearily, resignedly. He turned to Harley and Cornacchio, the two sophomores who had watched the proceedings with awe and wonder and maybe a bit of fear.
'Your first meeting, right?' Archie asked them, kindly, gently. The master actor, Obie thought, turning facets of his personality on and off to suit his purposes.
The sophomores nodded in unison, gulping, as if they had rehearsed their response.
Archie nodded toward the black box.
'This is what I have to face after every assignment,' Archie said. Then, wryly: 'To keep me honest.' Looking at Bunting now. 'This is what you'll have to put up with, Bunting, if you step into my shoes.'
The sophomores regarded the box warily. The box was legendary at Trinity and had been seen in public on only one occasion.
As Carter held the box reverentially aloft now, Archie said: 'Whenever an assignment is given out, I have to face the box. There are six marbles in there, five of them white, one black. If I pull out a white marble, no sweat. The assignment stands. But if I pull out the black, I have to take on the assignment myself. Some creep years ago came up with this concept. It's supposed to keep an Assignor from getting too fancy, too dangerous, if he knows there's a chance he'd be carrying out the assignment.'
Carter and Obie approached Archie, Carter extending the box, Obie holding the key. The box was an old jewelry container some nameless student years ago had stolen from his mother's bedroom.
'In this particular case' — Archie continued his explanation to the sophomores—'if I draw the black marble, I have to take Bannister's place in the audience. Which isn't bad at all. There have been worse risks.'
Archie laughed again, this time with obvious delight Obie wondered, as usual, what kind of blood ran in Archie's veins. Or was it blood at all?
'Look at Obie,' Archie said.
Obie almost dropped the key. Uncanny, as if Archie could reach into his mind.
'Obie's hoping the black marble will turn up. He never used to hope that. But now he does.' As he spoke he reached up and shoved his hand into the box, swiftly, without hesitation. In almost the same motion, he withdrew his hand and tossed a white marble in the air, the whiteness glinting in the bulb's stark glow, and caught it effortlessly as it came down. In all his time as the Assigner, Archie had never drawn the black marble.
'Sorry, Obie,' he said, laughing.
Obie realized that somehow he and Archie had become enemies. He didn't know when it had happened or why. He knew only that something existed between them now that hadn't been there before. As Carter banged the gavel, adjourning the meeting, Obie shivered in the heat of the storage room and realized that he had just gone five minutes without thinking of Laurie Gundarson.
Everything had been going along smoothly, life returning to normal, the horror and the betrayal receding and diminishing — and then the telephone call came.
