“Let’s see it.”
Then Kinnard remembered flipping the penny he and Ulman had found earlier that day. Heads, it was Troy’s. Tails, Chris kept it. Flip…tails.
It was in Ulman’s pocket.
“Well?” Hefleiter said, spotting the hesitation.
Kinnard spun around and Ulman turned to face him. Chris’s face lacked the little color he normally had, and Kinnard realized Ulman’s eyes screamed, “ Yes I have it, you idiot! But it’s in the pocket with all the candy! It’s beneath all the sweets!”
Ulman didn’t move.
“Let’s see that coin,” Hefleiter said. In the past, the old man had given the boys candy for free once in a while. But the two were getting older, and it seemed Hefleiter wanted to teach them the rudiments of business. Once he said he wanted money, he never backed down. That probably accounted for Ulman’s impulsive attempt to snag all he could.
Kinnard felt the air point fingers of accusation. He remember the lightness in his head, the swaying sensation. Lies to protect his friend surrounded his mind. Nothing Troy could say would get him away from the crime. His eyes dropped to the ground. He prayed for a miracle-for a forgotten penny to wait somewhere on the planks that had betrayed him…
“Oh, land sakes!” Mrs. Higgins said, “I have a penny! Candy for you both.” She promptly produced the funds and jumped just as quickly back into her previous debate with new ammunition spewing from the edge of her lips.
A moment later, Troy and Chris scurried quickly from the corner store with sugar in their hands. Energy surged through Ulman as he bumped again and again into Troy’s shoulder, laughing about their stolen treasure, their free food, and the close call.
Finally, Troy shoved back. “I can’t believe you, Chris! You stole that candy!”
“He wasn’t gonna give us none for free, Troy!” Ulman said, leaning into his friend’s face.
“We were dead meat back there! We could’ve been dubbed robbers and ruined for life!”
“We was fine,” said young Ulman. “You want some?” He produced a lint-layered palm full of hard candies.
“I don’t want any!” Kinnard said, shoving him away with a wave. “Don’t you know stolen candy’s got no taste! It’s filthy! It’s rotten! And it’s no good when guilt’s fill’n your stomach!”
Ulman shrugged. “I heard untouchable goodies taste sweetest.”
Troy stopped walking and shoved his face into Ulman’s. “It’s a lie, Chris! A fib told you by thieves! You wanna be a looter? You wanna be a no good, dirty rotten, two-faced, lying, cheating, stupid-bag-of-potatoes criminal when you grow up! This is all how it starts, you know! Everyone in prison begins this way, Chris!”
“What’s wrong with potatoes?” said young Ulman.
Troy pounded his open hands into Chris.
Ulman lost his footing and skidded to the ground, one leg bending under his bottom while the other stretched out in front of him.
Breathing so hard his shirt felt tight, Kinnard stood with clenched fists over his friend. “You ever do something that dumb again, Chris,” his said through labored breaths, “and you can find yourself a new friend.”
Kinnard remembered storming off in a hurry.
But that hadn’t been the end of their relationship. Relatively, it was still sprouting. Chris had begged Kinnard’s forgiveness and told him he’d gone back to Mr. Hefleiter’s shop to return the candy. Kinnard never knew that for certain, but forgave him and decided to avoid the store for a few weeks.
The two boys grew up together as close pals all the way into high school.
A similar unhappy experience happened in their early dating days.
Ulman ditched his girlfriend, Lily Ungar, at a dance he’d taken her to their junior year. Kinnard found him hiding around the back of the building with Jennifer Broachman where they were kissing away. Kinnard saved his friend from a near disaster when Lily went looking for her boyfriend. Evidently, Lily and Chris had hidden in the same place to learn how to smooch just a year before, so she knew the spot well. Kinnard had to warn his friend without letting his date wonder where he’d gone. Of course, the chaperons were looking out for stragglers, so Kinnard had to dodge them. And if Lily spotted Troy walking alone in the dark, she’d know for sure his best friend, Chris, would be near.
Kinnard ended up climbing through a small window, or rather a fair-sized one, a little too high for his steadily swelling size. He broke the glass, ripped his jacket, and barely got away without being caught stuck in the portal.
Ulman also escaped, but got a scolding later from his friend. Chris must have known it was coming.
Kinnard had continued to save Ulman throughout his life. They both made unwise mistakes, but only Ulman made such absurd choices that they always required Kinnard to pull him out in the end.
Kinnard grew to be large and muscular while Ulman remained small. Size opened a number of avenues for Kinnard, but Ulman found few and thus sought escape from an unfair world through books. Fate gifted Ulman with an exceptional memory. It was a door to a level of prestige neither of the boys could have expected. In time, Ulman became the example and Kinnard the follower. Ulman wanted to study ancient history, so they both did. When Ulman went to Chicago University, Kinnard stayed close behind. They parted ways when graduate school came along, but both sought higher education in similar fields. Ulman went into the nit-picky study of archaeology with a focus in Central and South America, while Kinnard chose to follow the advice of a favorite professor and examine areas of oriental studies. Ulman graduated with a doctorate in archaeology from the University of Minnesota and quickly joined the staff at Stratford University in California.
Kinnard and Ulman remained close while Kinnard slowly finished his studies in Arizona after a short time at the American University in Cairo. Both became professors at Stratford, where they laughed about the past and murmured together concerning the future.
Well, the morrow had evidently arrived, and the grass wasn’t green.
Kinnard rubbed his eyes until they stung, then kept smashing them until the stinging went away.
“What is Ulman doing?” Kinnard said to his wrists.
Three knocks from the door.
Kinnard dropped his hands and tried to focus his bloodshot eyes. “Come in.”
John Porter was already standing in the room, but Kinnard couldn’t tell who it was.
Porter stepped forward and sat in the chair in front of Kinnard’s desk while speaking. “I apologize for not calling for an appointment. If you’re busy, I’ll understand.”
Kinnard watched Porter get comfortable in the chair, slouching a bit. It was obvious the student hoped to stick around and considered Kinnard a close enough acquaintance to freely relax in his small office.
Smiling, Kinnard looked out the window. “I’m always busy, but don’t worry about it.”
The window was of fair size and hung in the middle of the room on Kinnard’s right. The office was cramped and overlooked the married student housing district of Stratford University. At least he had a window. Pine bookshelves without paint or stain covered the walls behind him and to his left, and the tidy desk, a dark wood that didn’t fit in the white room at all, stretched nearly from wall to wall, making it difficult to get around. Actually, the contents on the top of the desk were orderly by Kinnard’s standards, though it needed serious dejunking in the opinion of the secretary just beyond the wall. Files, open books by Philip K. Hitti, Ibn-Khalhkan, and Kinnard himself, and a large pile of unread papers hid the tabletop calendar that covered two feet by two and a half of his desk’s surface. In the center of the heaps sat Ulman’s brown package of soiled paper, which Kinnard gently moved to the floor on his left.
Kinnard examined the graduate student sitting before him. John D. Porter. Fair height, medium build, thin- boned. He wore a white button-down shirt and silver-gray slacks. Nice shoes: the ultimate judge of character. Porter had young skin, which made him look to be in his twenties rather than in his thirties. His thin hair had been cut short and rested like brown silk, slightly parted on one side, but otherwise simple-a commodity not found often in today’s society. It made Kinnard think of the far-too-modern Dr. Richmond for a moment. Richmond wore a style like many of the freshman young men: cropped in back, the hair grown out long on top; the result was a constant pouring forth of hair in front, which protruded outward from his face, leaving only a four inch tunnel of dark hair through which to see. Kinnard thought it was ridiculous, but then his own hair had thinned and now he was
