Beyond the Chocolate War

Carter stopped within a few feet of Archie, was tempted to turn away and get out of there but instead heard himself saying:

'I did it, Archie.'

'Did what, Carter?'

'Wrote that letter.'

'What letter?'

'To Brother Leon.'

'I know that, Carter.'

What do I do now? Carter wondered. He had never faced Archie as an adversary before.

'I want to explain about the letter.'

'There's nothing to explain,' Archie said, cool, unforgiving.

'Yes, there is!' Carter cried, a tremor in his voice. He had to get this over with, couldn't endure the waiting anymore, waiting for Archie to strike. He knew the trophy case was only the beginning and dreaded what would come later. 'Archie, I wrote that letter to protect the school. I didn't do it for myself. I was afraid the assignment would screw us all up. I didn't do it to double-cross the Vigils. . '

'The Vigils are more important than the school,' Archie snapped. 'You should have come to me, Carter. Told me your doubts. I'm not the enemy. Instead, you went to the enemy—'

'I thought it was the right thing to do.'

'The right thing to do,' Archie mocked. 'You guys make me want to vomit. With your precious honor and pride. Football hero. Boxing champ. Strutting the campus with your chest out and your head high. Carter, the ace of aces. .'

Carter had never heard such rancor, such venom in Archie's voice, Archie who was always so cool, so detached, as he had been a moment before.

'I'm sorry, Archie. I made a mistake. And I'm sorry.'

Archie studied him for a moment and then turned away, his movement indicating finality, meeting over, so long, Carter.

Panicky, Carter stepped forward, hand shooting out, almost touching Archie's shoulder but stopping short at the last moment.

'Archie, wait.'

Over his shoulder, Archie asked: 'Something else, Carter?'

'No. . yes. . I mean. .' Flustered. Groping for words and not finding any. But having to detain Archie somehow. 'What happens now?'

Archie turned full face toward him again.

'What do you want to happen?'

Is this the moment? Carter wondered. Is this when he should make his move? He had approached Archie with a bargain on his mind. First, to make his confession about the letter. Then, as amends, to tip Archie off to Obie's plan for revenge, on Fair Day and Skit Night. He paused now, deciding to stall awhile longer.

'I guess I want things to be like they were before. Hell, we're almost ready to graduate.'

'Tell you what, Carter,' Archie said. 'Let things stay the same as before, like you just said. Let the last days come and go. Graduation. But that's not the end of it, Carter. You were a traitor and you're going to pay for that. Some way, someday. Not tomorrow, not next month. Or even next year, maybe. But someday. And who knows? Maybe next month, after all. That's a promise, Carter. When you least expect it. When everything is rosy and beautiful. Then comes the payoff. 'Because you can't be allowed to get away clean, without paying for it, Carter.'

God, Carter thought, all those years ahead. He had never heard Archie's voice so deadly, so somber, almost sad, and this sadness gave his words a devastating impact and power. Carter had thought graduation would be the end. Of Archie Costello and the Vigils and everything rotten in this world. He knew, too, that the bargain he had been about to propose would serve no purpose now, that his best course was to help Obie, although he shied away from what that meant, what Obie had in mind.

'Remember that, Carter. Nobody double-crosses Archie Costello and gets away with it. When you least expect it, the revenge will come.'

Without a further word, Archie stepped across the driveway, in front of the car, under the spotlight, and up to his front door. Then was gone into the house.

He left Carter there, shaken, not only by the prospect of Archie's revenge sometime in the future but by what he had almost done. He'd almost turned traitor against Obie. Which meant being a traitor a second time. Not once but twice. Christ, he thought, what have I become? Archie's words rang in his mind as he stood there shivering in the evening air. You guys make me want to vomit.

Carter left the driveway, empty, hollow, without honor or pride, like something haunted, and he was both the ghost and the thing that was haunted.

Archie, Obie, and Carter always examined the black box just before Vigil meetings began. From that moment on, the box was not touched by anyone and rested on the small shelf in the crate Carter used as an improvised desk.

Carter held the box aloft now, opened, the six marbles rolling and clicking together as he tilted the box this way and that, the black marble ugly and forbidding in sharp contrast to the five white marbles. Carter avoided Archie's eyes. After the encounter in Archie's driveway last night he wanted to avoid Archie altogether, but knew he had to play his part in Obie s drama. Archie barely glanced into the box, indifferent as always. He nodded his satisfaction and turned away.

That was Obie's chance, a chance calling for swift movements in a matter of seconds. He passed his hand over the box as Carter began to lower the lid. Carter delayed the closing, paused, turning his head as if interrupted by someone calling his name. In that brief interval Obie deftly picked up three white marbles. Carter looked panicky, couldn't help glancing at Archie, who was walking toward the center of the storage room. With his other hand Obie dropped three black marbles into the jewelry box, the sound of their dropping muffled by the velvet interior. So now the score stood: two white marbles remaining in the box and four black. Obie glanced at Archie, who was watching the members of the Vigils entering the storage room and taking their places. As Obie and Carter moved toward the desk, Obie's hand shot out again, like a darting bird, and plucked up the other two white marbles, pocketing them.

Carter then closed the box with a clap of finality, looked at Obie doubtfully, unconvinced the trick would work. Because now there were only four marbles in the box. All black, of course. But two missing. Wouldn't Archie notice that two were missing when he put his hand into the box to pick a marble? No, Obie had explained, because of the illusion. All magic is illusion, that's what Ray Bannister had said. A magician guided the audience to see what the magician wanted them to see, made them think they were seeing one thing while another surprise awaited them. Archie thought there were six marbles in the box; thus, he would believe they were there. We can't go wrong, Obie had said. But now he was feeling nervous and tried to cover up with a weak smile. He regained his composure looking at Archie, letting the full force of his anger and hate overcome him. Archie, you bastard, you are about to get the black marble.

But first the meeting and Tubs Casper standing there, the bathroom scale at his feet. Poor Tubs, bloated and miserable, perspiring as usual.

'Step up, Ernest,' Archie advised.

Tubs stepped on the scale that Bunting, always the brownnose, had brought from home. He felt immense, ponderous, and slightly nauseated as well. Ashamed, too. Ashamed? Yes, for following Archie's orders, eating like a madman, having, for once, an excuse to eat, making a pig of himself. Ashamed and guilty and, more terrible than anything: enjoying himself.

'Read the numbers, Bunting,' Archie commanded.

'One hundred ninety-nine,' Bunting sang out, bending over the scale. 'Four pounds over.'

'Terrific,' Archie said, smiling his approval. 'You look great, Ernest. What you have to admit is that you are fat. Don't fight it Follow Archie's advice: Eat and be happy. Right, Ernest?'

'Right,' Tubs echoed, wanting to end the ordeal and get out of there. And thinking: I'm not going to be fat all my life. I'll go on a diet. Curb my appetite. Get nice and trim. Maybe even ring Rita's doorbell again.

'That's all, Ernest,' Archie said, voice flat, indicating his sudden uninterest in Ernest Casper and his weight