The Chocolate War

twos, and an occasional three. But no fives, no tens. And Brother Leon's head still bent, concentrating on the ledger. And finally —

'Renault.'

It would be so easy, really, to yell 'Yes' To say, 'Give me the chocolates to sell, Brother Leon.' So easy to be like the others, not to have to confront those terrible eyes every morning. Brother Leon finally looked up. The tempo of the roll call had broken.

'No,' Jerry said.

He was swept with sadness, a sadness deep and penetrating, leaving him desolate like someone washed up on a beach, a lone survivor in a world full of strangers.

Chapter Twenty

At this period of history, man began to learn more about his environment — '

Suddenly, pandemonium reigned. The class exploded in frantic motion. Brother Jacques looked aghast. The boys leaped from their chairs, performed an insane jig, jumping up and down as if to the beat of unheard music, all of this in complete silence — although the sound of their jogging feet was noisy enough — and then sat down again, frozen-faced, as if nothing had happened.

Obie watched the teacher sourly. Brother Jacques was obviously bewildered. Bewildered? Hell, he was on the edge of panic. The ritual had been going on for a week now and it would continue until the cue was heard no more. In the meantime, the class would suddenly erupt into a confusion of waving arms and jogging legs, unsettling poor Brother. Of course, Brother Jacques was easy to unsettle — he was new and young and sensitive, raw meat for Archie. And he evidently didn't know what to do about it and so he didn't do anything, figuring apparently that the thing would run its course and why risk a futile showdown when it was obviously a prank. What else could it be? Funny, Obie thought, how everybody — the kids as well as the teachers — knew these stunts were planned or carried out by The Vigils and yet they still maintained that air of mystery, refusing to acknowledge it all. He wondered why. Obie had been involved in so many Vigil assignments that he'd lost count of them and he was continually amazed at how they got away with it all the time. In fact, he'd been getting tired of the assignments, of playing nursemaid for Archie and his trigger man as well. He was tired of being the fixer, making certain the assignment went off on schedule in order to maintain Archie's big shot reputation. Like the Room Nineteen assignment when he'd had to creep in there and help the kid Goober take the place apart — all that work so that Archie and The Vigils would look good. Even this particular assignment involved him — if Brother Jacques failed to come up with the cue, then Obie had to find a way to feed it to him.

The cue was the word 'environment.' As Archie had said when he announced the assignment, 'The world today is concerned with ecology, the environment, our natural resources. We at Trinity also ought to get involved in this environment thing. You guys,' he said, indicating the fourteen students of Grade Twelve Class II, of whom Obie was a member, 'will carry on our environmental campaign. Let's say Brother Jacques' U.S. History class — history should be concerned with environment, shouldn't it? Now, whenever Brother Jacques says the word 'environment,' here's what happens…' And Archie had outlined the instructions.

'Suppose he doesn't use the word?' someone asked.

Archie looked toward Obie. 'Oh, Brother Jacques will use the word. I'm sure somebody — Obie, maybe — will ask a question that will produce the word. Won't you, Obie?'

Obie had nodded, disguising his disgust. What the hell was Archie involving him in an assignment at this stage of the game for? He was a senior, for crying out loud. He was secretary of the goddam Vigils, for crying out loud. Jesus, how he hated Archie, that bastard.

A new kid, a transfer from Monument High, asked, 'What happens when Brother Jacques finds out we're putting him on? When he finds out that the key word is environment?'

'Then he stops using it,' Archie said. 'Which is the point of the whole damn thing. I'm getting sick and tired of all this environment crap — and at least we'll have one teacher in the frigging school who'll cross it off his vocabulary list.'

For his part, Obie was getting sick and tired of Archie, of picking up the pieces behind him, of performing those little services — like Room Nineteen or cueing in Brother Jacques, feeding him a question that could only lead to the word 'environment' in the answer. Anyway he was getting fed up with the entire deal. And he was also biding his time, waiting for Archie to overreach himself, to make a mistake. The black box was always there and who could tell when Archie's luck would run out?

'In any discussion of the environment…'

Here we go again, Obie thought in disgust as he found himself leaping up and down like a madman, jogging his heart out, hating every minute of the damn thing. And his energy was wearing down.

Brother Jacques used the word 'environment' five more times in the next fifteen minutes. Obie and the other guys were practically wiped out from all that jumping up and down, weary, out of breath, their legs beginning to ache.

When Brother Jacques used the word a sixth time and a weary battalion of students struggled to their feet to perform their task, Obie saw a small smile play on the lips of the teacher. And he knew immediately what had happened. Archie, that bastard, must have tipped Brother Jacques off, anonymously, of course, to what was going on. And the teacher had turned the tables. It was now the teacher who was in command, making the guys jump up and down until they almost collapsed in exhaustion.

When they left the classroom, there was Archie leaning against the wall, that smirk of triumph on his face. The other guys didn't realize what had happened. But Obie did. He gave Archie a look that would shrivel anybody else, but Archie just kept that silly smile on his face.

Obie stalked off, insulted, injured. You bastard, he thought, I owe you for that.

Chapter Twenty-One

Kevin Chartier had gone to seven houses after school and hadn't sold a box. Mrs. Connors next to the dry cleaners had told him to come back at the end of the month when her Social Security check came from the government but he didn't have the heart to tell her that it would probably be too late by then. A dog chased him halfway home. It was like one of those terrible dogs the Nazis used for hunting down concentration camp prisoners who escaped in those old TV pictures. At home, disgusted, he telephoned his best friend, Danny Arcangelo.

'How'd you make out, Danny?' Kevin asked, trying to ignore his mother who stood near the phone making sounds at him. Kevin had learned long ago to translate whatever she was saying into gibberish. She could talk her head off now and the words reached his ears without meaning. A wild trick.

'I made out terrible,' Danny whined. He always sounded like he had to blow his nose. 'I sold one box — to my aunt.'

'The one with diabetes?'

Danny howled. One thing about Danny, he was a great audience. But not Kevin's mother. She was still chattering away. Kevin knew what was bugging her. She never wanted him to eat when he was on the telephone. His mother didn't realize that eating wasn't something you did separately. Eating went along with whatever you happened to be doing at the time. You could eat doing anything. Well, almost anything. It's not polite to be on the phone with your mouth full of food, she always said. But right this minute, Danny also had his mouth full of food at the other end of the line. So who the hell was being impolite to who? Or whom? Screw it.

'I think maybe that Renault kid's got the right idea, after all,' Kevin said, his mouth thick with peanut butter which, he wished he could explain to his mother, gave his words more resonance, like a disc jockey's.

'The freshman who's giving Brother Leon a hard time?'

'Yeah. He came flat out and said he wasn't going to sell the junk.'