The Chocolate War

thrust himself from the bed.

The ringing persisted, ridiculously loud in the stillness of the night. Jerry's feet touched the floor and he padded toward the sound.

But his father was already at the phone. He glanced toward Jerry and Jerry drew back into the shadows, keeping his face hidden.

'Madmen loose in the world,' his father muttered, standing there with his hand on the phone. 'If you let it ring, they get their kicks. If you answer, they hang up and still get their kicks. And then start all over again.'

The harassment had taken toll on his father's face, his hair disheveled, purple crescents under his eyes.

'Take the phone off the hook, Dad.'

His father sighed, nodded assent. 'That's giving in to them, Jerry. But what the hell. Who are them, anyway?' His father lifted the receiver, holding it to his ear for a moment, then turned to Jerry. 'The same thing, that crazy laugh and then the dial tone.' He placed the receiver on the table. 'I'll report it to the telephone company in the morning.' Peering in at Jerry, he said, 'You okay, Jerry?'

'Fine. I'm just fine, Dad.'

His father rubbed his eyes, wearily.

'Get some sleep, Jerry. A football player needs his sleep.' Trying to keep it light.

'Right, Dad.'

Compassion for his father welled in Jerry. Should he tell his father what it was all about? But he didn't want to involve him. His father had given in, taken the receiver off the hook, and that was defeat enough. He didn't want him to risk more.

In bed once more, small in the dark, Jerry willed his body to loosen, to relax. After a while, sleep plucked at him with soft fingers, soothing away the ache. But the phone rang in his dreams all night long.

Chapter Thirty-Three

Janza, can't you do anything right?'

'What the hell are you talking about? By the time we got through with him, he'd been willing to sell a million boxes of chocolates.'

'I mean those kids. I didn't tell you to make it a gang bang.'

'That was a stroke of genius, Archie. That's what I thought it was. Let him get beat up by a bunch of kids. Psychological — isn't that what you're always talking about?'

'Where'd you get them? I don't want outsiders involved in this?'

'Some animals from my neighborhood. They'd beat up their own grandmothers for a quarter.'

'Did you use the queer pitch on him?'

'You were right, Archie. You called it beautiful. That really spaced him out. Hey, Archie, he isn't queer, is he?'

'Of course not. That's why he blew up. If you want to get under a guy's skin, accuse him of being something he isn't. Otherwise, you're only telling him something he knows.'

The silence on the phone indicated Emile's appreciation of Archie's genius.

'What's next, Archie?'

'Let's cool it, Emile. I want to keep you in reserve. We've got some other stuff going now.'

'I was just starting to enjoy myself.'

'You'll have other chances, Emile.'

'Hey Archie.'

'Yes, Emile.'

'How about the picture?'

'Suppose I told you there was no picture, Emile? That there was no film in the camera that day…'

Wow, that Archie. Full of- surprises. But was he kidding around? Or telling the truth?

'I don't know, Archie.'

'Emile, stick with me. All the way. And you can't go wrong. We need men like you.'

Emile swelled with pride. Was Archie talking about The Vigils? And was there really no photograph after all? What a relief that would be!

'You can count on me, Archie.'

'I know that, Emile.'

But after he'd hung up, Emile thought: Archie, that bastard.

Chapter Thirty-Four

Suddenly, he was invisible, without body, without structure, a ghost passing transparently through the hours. He'd made the discovery on the bus going to school. Eyes avoiding his. Looking away. Kids giving him wide berth. Ignoring him, as if he wasn't there. And he realized that he really wasn't there, as far as they were concerned. It was as if he were the carrier of a terrible disease and nobody wanted to become contaminated. And so they rendered him invisible, eliminating him from their presence. All the way to school he sat alone, his wounded cheek pressed against the cool glass of the window.

The chill of morning hurried him up the walk to the school entrance. He spotted Tony Santucci. Purely from instinct, Jerry nodded hello. Tony's face was usually a mirror, reflecting back whatever greeted him — a smile for a smile, a frown for a frown. But now he stared at Jerry. Not really stared. Actually, he wasn't looking at Jerry but through him as if Jerry were a window, a doorway. And then Tony Santucci fled the scene, into the school.

Jerry's progress through the corridor was like the parting of the Red Sea. Nobody brushed against him. Guys stepped out of his path, giving him passage, as if reacting to some secret signal. Jerry felt as though he could walk through a wall and emerge untouched on the other side.

He opened his locker — the mess was gone. The desecrated poster had been removed and the wall scrubbed clean. The sneakers were gone. The locker had an air of absence, of being unoccupied. He thought, maybe I should look in a mirror, see if I'm still here. But he was still here, all right. His cheek still stung with pain. Staring at the inside of the locker, like looking into an upright coffin, he felt as though someone was trying to obliterate him, remove all traces of his existence, his presence in the school. Or was he becoming paranoid?

In the classrooms, the teachers also seemed to be part of the conspiracy. They let their eyes slide over him, looking elsewhere when Jerry tried to catch their attention. Once, he waved his hand frantically to answer a question but the teacher ignored him. And yet it was hard to tell about teachers — they were mysterious, they could sense when something unusual was going on. Like today. The kids are giving Renault the freeze so let's go along with it.

Resigning himself to the freeze, Jerry drifted through the day. After a while, he began to enjoy his invisibility. He was able to relax. There was no longer any need to be on his guard, or afraid of being attacked. He was tired of being afraid, tired of being intimidated.

Between classes, Jerry searched for The Goober but didn't find him. Goober would have established reality once again, planted Jerry solidly in the world once more. But Goober was absent from school and Jerry figured it was just as well. He didn't want anybody else getting involved in his trouble. It was enough that the phone calls had involved his father. He thought of his father standing at the phone last night, haunted by the persistent ringing, and he thought, I should have sold the chocolates, after all. He didn't want his father's universe to be disturbed and he wanted his own to be put in order again.

After the last class that morning, Jerry walked freely down the corridor, headed for the cafeteria, swinging along with the crowd, enjoying his absence of identity. Approaching the stairs, he felt himself pushed from behind and he pitched forward, off balance. He began to fall, the stairs slanting dangerously before him. Somehow, he managed to grab the railing. He held on, pressing his body against the wall. As the stream of guys thudded past, he