He sneaked glances at the clock all through the reading lesson. The twenty minutes lasted what seemed like hours. When the bell finally rang to signal the end of the older children's lunch period, Jimmy forced himself to wait five more minutes before raising his hand.
'What is it, Jimmy?' Mrs. Porter asked. Her voice was angry.
Jimmy didn't let it stop him. He couldn't. 'I'm sorry, ma'am,' he said. 'I have to go to the rest room again.'
Several of his classmates giggled. Jimmy ignored them.
Mrs. Porter's face reddened. 'Jimmy, you just went to the rest room not half an hour ago.'
'I know, ma'am, I'm sorry, but-' Jimmy weighed humiliation against success, and chose success. '-but this time it's Number Two.'
The class erupted in laughter. Mrs. Porter slammed her hand on her desk and glared at the entire class. 'That will be enough!' she said, almost shouting. 'There's nothing funny going on in this classroom.' Her eyes shifted to Jimmy. She looked disgusted. 'You may go, Jimmy. If you aren't back in ten minutes, I'll call Mr. Sturner on the intercom and have him check on you.'
Jimmy hurried out of the room, walking in a half waddle for authenticity. His classmates snickered, and Mrs. Porter yelled at them again. Jimmy was glad. If she was mad at them, maybe she would forget that she was mad at him.
He strode alone down the cool, empty hall. The ball of tape pressed into his thigh. He passed the rest room and went straight to the auditorium.
One half of the center double door was propped open with its metal foot. Jimmy slipped inside and stood against a concrete pillar embedded in the wall. If he remained still and quiet, he wouldn't be noticed. Everyone was looking the other way.
Principal Sturner came down from the stage. The curtains parted. The older kids murmured.
The blind man stood alone at the back of the stage. As before, he put down his cane before stepping forward. As before, he strode without hesitation, without fear. He was courageous in his faith.
Jimmy didn't watch the blind man's feet. He concentrated on the face. The smile. The ears. The sunglasses, shining with twin spots of light.
The older children and their teachers gasped as the blind man came close to the edge of the stage. The blind man raised a hand in greeting, and his smile broadened, revealing his teeth. Then he stepped off, and fell, and landed on his face on the cement.
Girls screamed. Boys yelped. Teachers rose from their seats.
The blind man twitched. He raised his head. His sunglasses hung from one ear. Jimmy saw his milky, blank eyes.
Mr. Sturner rushed to the blind man and tried to help him up. But the blind man was big, and Mr. Sturner couldn't do it. His feet slipped, and he fell too, landing on his bottom beside the blind man. Somebody laughed. Everyone else screamed or yelped again.
The upper-grade boys' P.E. teacher ran down a side aisle. By the time he reached the apron, Mr. Sturner had picked himself up. Together, they pulled up the blind man. The blind man stood, but swayed as if he would fall if the other men let go. His mouth was open. He was making sounds that were almost words. Jimmy could see blood under his nose and inside his mouth. Spit gleamed on his chin.
Mr. Sturner adjusted the blind man's sunglasses so that they covered his eyes again. Then Mr. Sturner and the P.E. teacher helped the blind man up the center aisle. The blind man moved his feet, but they weren't helping. The other men were dragging him.
'Let's get him to the nurse's office,' Mr. Sturner said. Then he looked around at the staring, murmuring children and their teachers. 'Everybody back to class! There's been an accident!'
When the three men reached the center doors beside Jimmy, the principal and the P.E. teacher jostled to get through the one open door. While they jostled, the blind man pulled a hand free and reached out, grasping air.
'My cane,' he said. His voice was slurred. Jimmy could see his tongue. It looked chewed. 'I need my cane.'
Mr. Stumer ran to get the cane. The blind man and the P.E. teacher waited. The murmur in the auditorium began to subside as teachers told their classes to be quiet or else.
Jimmy stepped away from the pillar and went to the blind man. He could feel the P.E. teacher staring at him, but he didn't care. He was looking through the blind man's sunglasses. Now that they had fallen once, he knew what was behind them.
He touched the blind man's clenched hand, and it opened. Jimmy reached into his pocket and pulled out the ball of brown tape. It was covered with pocket lint. But its points were still sharp.
'Jesus says hi,' Jimmy said, and pressed the ball into the blind man's soft palm.
He returned to the pillar. The P.E. teacher was still staring at him.
The blind man trembled. His hand closed over the ball of tape and formed a fist. His mouth opened wide, as if he were about to yell, or scream. Then it closed without making a sound. The blind man opened his fist, but the ball of tape didn't fall. It was stuck.
Mr. Sturner returned with the cane then, and he and the P.E. teacher took the blind man away. The teachers began telling their classes to stand up. Jimmy slipped out before they started up the aisles.
The hall was empty. The blind man was gone. Jimmy pushed his inside-out pocket back inside and headed for Mrs. Porter's classroom. He stopped at the boys' rest room on the way. This time, he really had to go.
VICTIM NUMBER FOUR
The amps thundered, and a white strobe froze the jumping bodies with each flash. The club was a roofed-over alley with walls of spray-painted brick. It was like dancing in a pizza oven. Blackburn liked the place. His ears throbbed. The girl he was dancing with kept bumping into him. He liked that too. She laughed every time she did it. He couldn't hear her over the roar of the band, but he could see her teeth and eyes flash with the strobe. She was happy. He would have to find out her name.
The band played on a plywood stage at the back of the alley. They weren't good, but they were loud. Two electric guitars, bass, and a mismatched drum kit. The beat was fast, the feedback painful. Disco, Blackburn had discovered, was anathema in Austin. That was fine with him. He had tried on one of those white suits with the black polyester shirts a few months ago, and his chest and back had broken out in boils. Tonight he was wearing jeans and a LET'S GET SMALL T-shirt. The girl he was dancing with was dressed as he was, except that her T-shirt depicted a Harley-Davidson eagle. He didn't think she was wearing a bra. He couldn't tell for sure, because her long hair kept flying around and hiding her chest.
The band called itself the Dead Gilmores. Their leader, a short-haired guitar player in black jeans and a tuxedo jacket, had introduced them. Every word after that had been unintelligible, dissolved in amplification. Blackburn rather enjoyed that. He thought that any band that believed its lyrics were crucial was kidding itself. Kids out on Saturday night wanted to drink, dance, yell 'Wooooooo!' and have sex with somebody. They didn't want to hear a bad poet bare the angst in his tortured and immature soul. They could go to college for that shit.
The Dead Gilmores ended whatever song they were playing-all of their songs sounded alike-with an apocalyptic crash, and then their leader announced that they were taking a ten-minute break. The house lights, six yellow bulbs suspended from the corrugated-tin ceiling, came on. The crowd
