'If I am guilty of ignorance, you are guilty of neglect. Of blindness. David Caroni was one of you, a student like you, an adolescent like you. He sat beside you in classes. He walked the corridors with you. He ate beside you in the cafeteria. He talked to you.
'And you did not listen.
'You did not see.
'You did not respond.
'The troubled person always sends out signals.
'But you did not acknowledge those signals.
'And for this you should be ashamed. You should hang your heads in shame.'
Henry Malloran wondered what the hell Brother Leon meant when he said everybody was guilty. And should be ashamed. I'm not guilty, he thought, I didn't even know the kid. Never even said hello to him in my life. He was tired of Brother Leon, as tired of him as he was tired of cafeteria food. Why should Leon try to make everybody feel rotten all the time?
'But let us pause. Let kindness rule the day. Let us not dwell upon the terrible events of these past days. Let us pledge to go forward toward the future. Let us not forget the past but learn from it instead. Those who ignore history are doomed to repeat it.
'I have searched my heart and have sought forgiveness for my ignorance and found it.
'And I have looked into your eyes, as I am doing now, and I forgive you for your part in David Caroni's tragedy.
'We must go forward and make Trinity such a splendid educational facility that the honors we attain in the future will diminish this tragic act.
'Thus, remembering the past, let us go to our future.
'Not even the present counts, since our school term will end in a few days.
'The future counts. And it can be glorious for all of us here at Trinity.
'Let us now bow our heads and pray silently for the soul of David Caroni.
'And for ourselves.
'And the future.'
The tomato hit Brother Leon on his left cheek, a ripe tomato that exploded in juicy fury, splattering his shirt and his hair and smearing his face with what looked like blood. Nobody said anything. Nobody moved. Nobody cheered or booed. Everybody sat there in a profound silence as Brother Leon, mouth agape, wiped the tomato from his face, still silent as he stalked from the stage, leaving an assembly hall full of students who sat stunned, silent for a few minutes, and then quietly filed out of the hall. Brother Leon never learned the culprit's name. He, in fact, never made an effort to do so. Nobody else ever mentioned the incident. But Henry Malloran was elected president of the senior class at the next day's election and nobody ran against him.
Bunting sat on the front steps of the school, basking in a late-spring breeze, conscious that he was sitting exactly where Archie Costello always held court. But Archie was gone now, with the rest of the seniors. And all the other students were waiting for the term to finally end.
Bunting sat there, waiting for something to happen.
Ten minutes later nothing had happened. The final school bells had rung and students had abandoned the place, without looking behind, without giving Bunting a glance. Ah, but wait till September, when they realized who Bunting was.
He hated to admit it, but he wished Cornacchio or Harley or someone would come along. He knew, however, that Cornacchio was definitely out of the picture. Ever since that night at the Chasm, Cornacchio had been avoiding him. Which was fine with Bunting. He himself felt guilty about that night, was grateful that there had been no repercussions. He had acted stupidly and Cornacchio was a reminder of that stupid act. So good-bye, Cornacchio. Harley was off brooding somewhere — Bunting had explained to him about Emile Janza. How Emile had to be second in command. Barley's lips had curled up, as if tasting something distasteful. 'But I still need you, Harley. Someone smart, someone I can trust.' Harley always responded to flattery, and Bunting was an expert at providing that flattery. Harley would sulk awhile but would come around.
The breeze turned a bit chilly. Only a few students lingered on the lawn, watching the last school bus lurching away. Bunting had decided to give it up, to abandon his lonesome vigil, when he saw Emile Janza approaching. He kept his face expressionless, his eyes vacant as Janza drew near. Emile was like a pebble in his shoe, a sliver in his flesh, a piece of dirt in his eye. And there was nothing he could do about it.
Janza stood below him, his squat figure almost at attention. This pleased Bunting and he nodded his hello, not speaking, playing it cool.
'We ought to have a meeting this summer,' Emile said. 'Me and you. To go over plans.'
'Plans?'
'Right. I figure we should get organized. Like an army. I mean, Archie was too soft with his psychological crap. I think we have to use muscle. None of that subtle shit.' He smacked his right fist into his left palm.
Bunting winced as if Janza's fist had sunk into his stomach. Yet he saw the logic of Janza's suggestion. It would be good to have muscle and brawn on his side.
'Then I think we ought to have some weapons,' Janza said.
'Weapons?' Bunting asked, horrified but trying to stay cool.
'Oh, not guns. But, like, brass knuckles. And rubber clubs. You strap the club to your leg under your pants. They hardly leave a mark. And Mace. Mace is beautiful. Like chemical warfare. .'
Bunting shuddered inside. 'I don't know, Janza. . ' Had to treat Janza gingerly.
'Look, let me take care of all that. Training the guys, getting the weapons. You be the general. I'll carry out the orders. . '
General Bunting — it sounded faintly ridiculous. And yet Janza had a point. Bunting saw himself surrounded by loyal people, troops, all of them ready to follow orders.
'Another thing,' Janza said. 'I think we need a treasury.'
'A treasury?' Janza was full of surprises. Maybe he wasn't as dumb as he looked, after all. But that also made him dangerous.
'Right. Have the guys pay, like, dues.'
'Have the Vigils pay dues?'
'No. The Vigils
Bunting was always scratching for money. Was always practically broke, his stupid allowance not enough to cover expenses, and he hated the thought of working part-time.
'And how about grass?' Janza said, really on a roll now. 'I think we ought to do a little business in grass. Or pills. Archie Costello never allowed drugs, which was stupid. As long as we control the supply, we can have this place in our pockets.'
Emile Janza studied Bunting as he talked, looking for the clues and seeing them. The way Bunting had at first looked horrified and then just reluctant and now his eyes bright, sizzling almost, with the plans Janza had been unfolding. Hell, you had to admire Archie. He had predicted exactly how Bunting would react to the suggestions. Janza was grateful to Archie for all these suggestions, although Archie said that Janza's thanks were unnecessary. They were a gift to Emile for service loyally rendered. Let's see, what else did Archie suggest?
'And Bunting. We ought to do something about the faculty.'
'The faculty?' Bunting's voice was getting higher and higher every time he spoke, and Janza grinned.
'Yeah. To keep them distracted.' Wonderful word:
Bunting drew up his knees, curled his arms around them, rested his chin in the space between his knees, needing time to think, to absorb Janza's suggestions. Wild suggestions, but they made sense. They opened all sorts of possibilities. The great part was that Janza seemed perfectly happy to be the good right arm. With Bunting in charge. King of the place. Yet he sensed that Janza would always represent a danger. He'd have to keep alert, on
