It had been a typical Fair Day, thronged with young and old, blessed with sunshine and high spirits. The only sobering incident had been the arrival of a police cruiser at midafternoon, howling its way to the front door of the residence, where Brother Leon greeted the officers as they leaped from the vehicle. A small crowd flowed toward the cruiser and rumors immediately ran rampant. A bomb scare, someone said, which was not at all unusual. A robbery foiled by Brother Leon, someone else reported, with the robber running off toward Main Street. In fact, Brother Leon pointed in that direction as he talked to the police officers. When a second cruiser arrived a moment later, the first cruiser sped off in the direction of Main Street. Meanwhile, a massive policeman, with beefy jowls and a huge stomach that rippled as he walked, waved off the onlookers, dispersing the crowd. 'It's all over,' he kept saying, and refused to answer any questions.
A few minutes later Brother Leon's voice crackled over the loudspeakers, interrupting a medley of disco tunes.
'We have had a minor disturbance in the residence, but all has returned to normal,' he said. 'Please continue to enjoy yourselves. There is no cause for alarm or a disruption of this pleasant occasion.'
The music resumed, and so did the festivities. By the time the fair drew to its conclusion in early evening, the visit of the police cruisers had either been completely forgotten or had become an object of idle curiosity and speculation, apparently not serious at all.
Ray Bannister wished the afternoon incident had been serious. . serious enough to call a halt to the proceedings of Fair Day and, in particular, the evening program. He walked reluctantly toward the main school building, head down, as if searching for dropped money. He was not searching for money. He was searching for a valid reason to call off tonight's program. He honestly did not want any part of it. Earlier, of course, he had been excited about the performance, his stage debut before the student body: anticipating the attention and applause of the audience. But Obie's behavior of the past few days had made him uneasy. More than uneasy, suspicious. Obie had conducted himself like a madman, in a frenzy, rushing into Ray's house at all hours to rehearse the small part he would play as Ray's assistant, eyes too bright, talking too much, pacing the floor, then falling into sudden brooding silences.
'What's wrong, Obie?' Ray had finally asked.
'Nothing's wrong,' Obie snapped. 'Why do you ask?'
'Because you're acting. . strange. Like this is a life-and-death proposition. It's only a magic show. Hell,
'I want everything to go right,' Obie said. 'This is the big senior night at Trinity.'
'It'll go fine,' Ray assured him, although himself unconvinced.
'Let's rehearse again,' Obie said. 'Show me again how the guillotine works. . '
Ray paused now, before entering the building, wishing he were home or back at Cape Cod. A few stragglers preceded him, one of the kids holding the door open, an unexpected politeness. Ray's name had appeared on posters announcing the 'Magic Night' program — Bafflement by Bannister. He had felt like a minor celebrity, aware of students glancing at him. Tom Chiumento, one of the good guys, nodded in friendly fashion as they met in the corridor. All this pleased Ray, at first. Then made him uneasy. Not quite sure why, but then everything about Trinity made him uneasy. And especially Obie. More than once Ray had thought about canceling his appearance, but he hated the idea of disappointing Obie, the only student at Trinity to extend friendship. Or what seemed to be friendship.
Stepping into the building, Ray heard a rustling sound, like a distant gathering of insects. He followed it along the corridor, the buzzing now louder, now softer, inconsistent, strange to his ears. Not the usual rowdy sounds of typical Trinity assemblies or gatherings for basketball or baseball games. In the assembly hall Ray's eyes were drawn immediately to the stage, where he saw the reason for the curious attitude of the students. Center stage, in a spotlight, standing alone in what seemed like an immensity of space, was the guillotine. Ugly, dangerous, blade gleaming in the harshness of the spotlight's glare, a nightmare object suddenly thrust into reality. Or maybe, Ray Bannister thought, it's me, dramatizing, exaggerating. But as he looked around the auditorium at the other students leaning forward or tilting toward each other, puzzled, whispering, he realized the full impact of the guillotine on their sensibilities. He thought of Obie. He also thought: My God, what's happening here?
What was happening there was exactly what Obie had planned. Pressing himself against the wall backstage, listening to the murmuring of the students, imagining the effect of the guillotine, Obie smiled with satisfaction. In a moment the show would begin. Songs, sketches, the usual parade of antics that marked every Skit Night. All the while, the guillotine would be visible, at the side of the stage during the various acts but never out of sight of the audience, a grim reminder of things to come. Archie was out there, in the audience, waiting, surrounded by the members of the Vigils, knowing that when the last skit was over, he would face the guillotine.
Obie leaped a bit as a hand touched his arm. 'Are you okay?' Ray Bannister asked.
'Of course I'm okay,' Obie said, a giggle escaping his lips. 'What makes you think I'm not okay?'
'I don't know,' Ray said unhappily. And he didn't know, really. All he knew was that Obie still looked hyper, too excited, eyes fever bright.
'Look, the show's about to begin but it's got nothing to do with us,' Obie said. 'Maybe we can rehearse the guillotine act somewhere out back—'
'Without the guillotine?' Ray asked.
'I mean, the positions, where we'll be standing. The patter. . didn't you say the patter was important?'
'We already rehearsed a million times,' Ray said. 'And the patter is nothing. Cripes, Obie, you're getting spooky, know that?'
'I just want everything to go right,' Obie said.
Ray sighed. 'Look, I'm going to watch the show from out front. I'll come back when the skits are over, okay?'
'Okay, okay,' Obie said impatiently. He wanted to be alone, anyway, didn't want company at this moment.
Ray drew back and started for the small hallway that led to the assembly hall. At the last moment he turned and looked doubtfully at Obie.
'Are you sure you know what you're doing, Obie?' he said. Allowing himself for one moment to contemplate a possibility he had avoided for a long time. He wondered whether this was a life-and-death matter, after all.
'Get going,' Obie said. 'The show's about to begin. . '
Ray lifted his shoulders and let them fall. He knew that Obie planned to give Archie Costello the scare of his life. He also suspected that Obie planned to go further, to carry out some kind of weird plot against Archie. But he refused to contemplate more than that. One last look at Obie, still pressed against the wall, and he hurried down the stairway as the first burst of music from a stereo filled the air. An old Beatles song, 'Yellow Submarine.'
He looks at me as if I'm crazy, but I'm not crazy, am I? Crazy people aren't eighteen-year-old seniors in high school. And anyway, I'm not going to do anything. I'm just going to scare the hell out of Archie Costello. Humiliate him in front of the entire student body. Get him on his knees. Okay, so nobody wanted to dunk him in the water and nobody wanted to kick him in the ass. But they'll have to sit there and see him on his knees, his neck on the block. That's all.
Ah, but that isn't all, Obie, is it? You know what you're planning to do. And that's where the crazy part comes in, the insane part. Insane, Obie baby. You are out of your mind. You can't do what you're planning to do. Not in a high school in Monument, Massachusetts, in the last quarter of the twentieth century.
Obie recoiled from the voice in his mind, paced the floor restlessly, let the Beatles song carry him, heard the scattering of applause as the first skit began, the whoops and cries of the actors. As usual, when he stopped thinking about Archie and the guillotine, he encountered Laurie Gundarson, a ghost lurking in his heart. He was doing all this for her sake, of course. Couldn't simply let her go out of his life without this gesture.
Christ, Laurie.
One more chance, he thought, one more chance.
He fumbled in his pocket for change, isolated a dime from the other coins, paused, tossed it in the air — it came up heads — and then made his way out to the corridor. He stopped at the pay phone, stared at it a moment, said out loud: 'Okay, Laurie, I'll let you decide. . '
He inserted the coin, dialed her number, listened to the blurt of ringing.
'Hello.' Her father, rough-tough voice, a heavyweight-boxer voice although he sold automobiles.
'Is Laurie there?' Obie's own voice thin and sparse by contrast.
