Beyond the Chocolate War

You haven't forgotten that F, have you?'

'Take the knife away, David, and we'll talk,' Leon said, squeezing the words out slowly as if each utterance were painful.

'It's too late for talk,' David said, holding the knife steady. 'Besides, we already talked, remember?'

Ah, how they had talked. About that F. Brother Leon and his evil pass-fail tests. The kinds of tests that kept students on edge. Questions with ambiguous answers, answers that called for educated guesses. As a result, Leon in complete command of the results. Could pass or fail students at will. No other teacher did this. Worst of all, Leon used the tests for his own purposes. Brought students into his classroom for discussions of the probable results. Meanwhile, probing, questioning. Using the students. Sounding them out about their classmates, seeking secrets, confidences, by dangling a possible F in front of them. Leon had used David, too. David Caroni of the straight A's, top-ranking student, a certainty for valedictorian at graduation. Until the F. David Caroni had told Leon what he wanted to know during that sly questioning, fed him information about Jerry Renault during the chocolate sale last fall, told him why Renault refused to sell the chocolates. Thus assuring his passing mark, but sickeningly, nauseatingly, realizing for the first time how terrible a teacher could be, how rotten the world really was, a world in which even teachers were corrupt. Until that moment, his ambition had been to be a teacher someday. He had stumbled home after that terrible session with Brother Leon, feeling soiled, unclean.

When the test results were published, he was shocked to find an F on his paper. The first F of his life. He had appealed to Brother Leon, hating himself for doing so. And Leon had dismissed his appeal, ho-humming David's concern away. I have more important matters at hand, Leon had said. The F had stood. A mark of shame as well as corruption.

'Please,' Brother Leon said. And now it was his turn to plead, his turn to speak with a quivering voice.

'It's too late for pleas,' David said, delighted with his pun. Please and pleas. You see, Brother Leon, I am not stupid, despite the F. I commit a pun with a knife at your throat and commit murder with the same knife. 'It's even too late for an A.'

'A's. . F's. .' Brother Leon said, voice gurgling. 'What's all this about A's and F's?'

At last. Now he could tell Brother Leon, get it all off his chest.

'C's, too,' David said. 'Don't forget the C's. I never got a C in my life before the F. But then I got another F. Because I didn't care. And then a C from Brother Armand in Math. Which I never got before.'

Leon stared at him in disbelief. 'You mean all this is about marks? F's and C's?' He giggled, an idiot giggle. As if, lo, the problem was solved: This is only a misunderstanding about marks. Which angered David, causing him to thrust the knife point just a bit deeper, wondering if it was deep enough to draw blood. And then speaking his anger, not with the knife but with his mouth:

'Yes, all this is about marks. And about my life. And my future. And my mother and father. Who wonder now what happened to their nice smart son David. Who doesn't always get A's anymore. They don't say anything, they are too nice to say anything, but their hearts are broken. I can tell their hearts are broken. They look at me with hurt in their eyes because they know that I am the bearer of F's. I, who do not deserve F's. I am an A student.' Screaming the words, having to make Leon see his sin, having to let the world know what had happened. 'I deserve A's. My mother cries at night in her room.' He had refused to acknowledge the truth of her tears until this moment. 'Over what I have become. . '

'Yes, yes, I remember now,' Brother Leon said, voice scrambling, rushing. 'That F. . an oversight. I had meant to correct it, to give you the mark you deserved. But we've had terrible months here at Trinity. The illness of the Headmaster, the violence of the chocolate sale. . I did not realize you were so sensitive to the mark. All that can be changed.'

'Not just the mark, Brother Leon,' David said, unimpressed by Leon's arguments. 'You can change the mark, but it's too late. There are other things you can't change. . '

'What? Tell me. Nothing is irrevocable. . ' Suddenly David was weary, felt energy draining from the arm that held the knife, from his entire body. He did not want to argue anymore, knew he could never express to Brother Leon or anyone the sickness of his soul, the despair of his life, the meaninglessness of his existence. He clung to one thing only, the voice inside him, the voice that had emerged from the broken music of the piano, the voice that was a command. A command he could not ignore or dismiss although it filled him with sadness. Sadness for all that might have been and could be no more. Brother Leon had said: Nothing is irrevocable. But some things were. The act he was committing even now with the knife at Leon's throat. The act he must commit if only to find peace.

'Listen,' Brother Leon said, lips still stiff in order not to disturb the knife. 'Listen to what is going on out there.'

David listened, granting Leon this much at least, a man's last wish. The sounds of Fair Day, still faint, still far removed. Distant voices breaking into laughter. All of which made David sadder still.

'That is Trinity too, David,' Brother Leon said, his voice a whisper. 'Not only marks. Not only F's and A's and C's. Education. . families. . listen to the voices out there. . students and parents. . enjoying themselves. .'

'What has all this got to do with—' David began.

And saw that Brother Leon had tricked him, diverted his attention, gotten him to let down his guard, loosening his grasp on the knife, losing his concentration as he inclined his head to listen to the sounds from outside. Astonishingly, without warning, he was seized from behind and a hand struck his wrist, pain shooting up his arm, stinging and burning, causing him to drop the knife. Cries filled the room, and scuffling, and David closed his eyes, flailing his arms, striking out blindly at whoever had sneaked in while he was talking to Brother Leon. Anger or madness or something beyond both gripped him. He whirled, tore at his attackers, kicked out, heard clothes ripping, tasted something warm in his mouth as he spun away.

'Watch out. .'

'Get him. .'

He opened his eyes and found himself at bay facing Brother Leon and Brother Armand.

They were crouched, hands on their knees, stalking him as if he were an animal on the loose.

'Give up, Caroni,' Brother Leon urged. 'You cannot escape. . '

Brother Armand's voice was softer, more compelling. 'You need help, David. We will help you. .'

But the voice within him was stronger:

Get away. Leave this place. It's too late to carry out the command now. You have botched it up.

Ah, he answered, there's one other thing I can do. That I won't botch up.

The knife lay on the floor, useless to him now.

He knew he had one advantage:

The door was at his back.

He backed toward it cautiously, one step at a time, hoping no one else was in the residence. Please, dear God, he prayed silently, let me get away and then end this agony.

He was in the doorway at last.

Saw Brother Leon's hand reaching for the telephone on the desk. A call to the police would doom him.

Knew this was the moment when he must act, get away. Yet had to wait for the command. He stood there breathless. At last the command came.

He turned and ran.

The Trinity grounds lay battered and bruised in the fading sunlight. The lawn and parking lot were free now of the debris left by hundreds of people playing, eating, drinking, cavorting, and making merry in the carnival atmosphere of Fair Day. Ground crews had moved in to scoop up the accumulation of paper cups, popcorn boxes, hot dog containers, and all the other rubbish left over from the event. The lawn was trampled and tired, the abandoned booths and tables looming like the skeletons of awkward animals in the dying light.