'Hm-m? Oh, nothing really. I was just wondering what was the most important thing a person can have in this life. Beauty? Brains? Wealth?'
'Respect,' Matthew said without having to consider.
'Respect?'
'Respect may not seem important to you because you and your pa have always had it. But not me. And as for my pa…'
'But everyone likes you, Matthew.'
'That ain't true, Ruth Lillian. And even if it was, liking ain't respecting. Mr. Anthony Bradford Chumms wrote that a man who don't command respect ain't but half a man. That's why I want respect, even from people like Professor Murphy, and the Bjorkvists, and the Benson brothers, and — '
'The Benson brothers?'
'Oh… they were just some kids who…' He shrugged, reluctant to explain. But after a while, he began telling her about how his family had drifted from town to town, so he was always, always the new kid in school. And that meant taking a lot of razzing from bullies. One of the things he got teased about was his name. Kids used to chant, 'Dub-chek… chek… chek… chek,' making the sound you make when you're calling chickens to feed.
'But… I thought your name was Chumms. Matthew Bradford Chumms.'
'Well, yes… that's… my name now. But when I was little they used to call me…' He looked down and scrubbed one palm hard with the other thumb. Then he lifted his head and looked her straight in the eye. 'Ruth Lillian, I lied when I said my name was Chumms. It's really… Dubchek.'
'There's nothing wrong with Dubchek.'
'Except that it's not a real American name!'
'Well, what about Kane? Kane's a Jewish name.'
'It is? Yeah, but it sounds American. That's what counts.'
'Is that why you fought with those Benson boys? Because they poked fun at your name?'
'No, it was more than that. We'd just moved to Bushnell, Nebraska, and right from the first I had trouble with the Benson brothers. They were bigger than us other kids 'cause they'd flunked twice. I hated school because of them, and I'd of played sick and stayed home, except there was this schoolmarm who took a shine to me and said I had the richest imagination of any boy in school.'
Not wanting to make Ruth Lillian jealous, he didn't mention the secret, painfully intense love he had nourished for this pretty young teacher, nor the apple he had stolen from somebody's back yard and buffed on his shirt until it had a deep ruby shine, but then didn't have the courage to put onto her desk for fear the kids would ridicule him. In the end, he ate it behind his book to get rid of the evidence, but the teacher caught him and chided him for eating in class. But he did tell Ruth Lillian about the dictionary the schoolmarm gave him as a prize for a story he'd written. The dictionary wasn't new. It was better than new; it was her own, with her name written in it and all. He still had it, and he'd keep it for ever and ever.
When he went up to the front of the class to receive the dictionary, the Benson brothers had scowled at him and shown their teeth. And later in the school yard they called him a liar, because his story was about a boy who had a brave father who was hard to live up to, while his pa was a drunk who couldn't keep a job because he stole and lied and was nothing but a low-down Dubchek… chek… chek… chek.
'And they beat you up?' Ruth Lillian asked.
'They tried.' Matthew told her how the Bensons gathered a bunch of younger boys behind the outhouses and described what they were going to do to the schoolmarm, when it was their folks' turn to board her. They told how they were going to sneak into her room when she was sleeping and-He stopped short.
'Something dirty, I suppose,' Ruth Lillian said dully, knowing what sewers most boys' minds were.
'Awful dirty. Too dirty for me to tell you.'
'And you stood up for her?'
'Well… yes. So the oldest Benson pushed me against the wall, and the next thing I knew we were at it — me against all of them. Even the smaller kids joined in. I couldn't do much, what with all their hands grabbing at me and dragging me down. But I wasn't scared, because I'd gone to the Other Place, and I couldn't feel anything, so it didn't matter how hard they punched me. I got in a lucky shot and gave the younger Benson a cut lip. Then they really went crazy! They all started punching and kicking! And the older Benson got me around the neck and shouted into my ear, asking how I liked it: getting beat up, just like my ma got beat up every night by my drunken pa! And the next thing I know, I'd wriggled the kids off me and I had that Benson by his hair and I was banging his head on the ground! And his nose started to bleed! But I kept banging away until his teeth clicked and his eyes got glassy! And all the kids started screaming that I was killing him! But it didn't matter to me because I was in the Other Place, so I just kept banging away… banging away… banging away…'
Matthew stopped and swallowed hard several times, his heart thumping beneath his ribs. Ruth Lillian was looking at him oddly, so he forced his breathing to calm down before saying, 'Well, there was this man who visited the schoolmarm during recess sometimes. Her beau, I guess. I think he was a teacher too, because he wore glasses and talked sort of refined. Well, he came running out of the schoolhouse shouting and slapping heads to break through the ring of kids, and he snatched me up and shook me and asked did I want to kill that boy? And the schoolmarm came pushing through and knelt down by the Benson kid and waved air at him until he gagged and spit and came to. Then she looked stern at me and told her beau that I was a new boy in town, and that new boys always caused trouble, trying to prove how tough they were, and then this beau of hers snatched me around some more and asked me if I thought I was tough, and all the kids were looking at me and grinning, so, naturally, I said, you bet! Plenty damned tough! And the schoolmarm said it wasn't my fault because my folks were… she didn't want to say what. But the smaller Benson piped up that my pa was a drunk and always beat up my ma! And the man said that was too bad, but it didn't excuse me being a troublemaker and pounding kids' heads on the ground until they were half-dead. And then he put his face up close to mine and said, 'If you think you're all that tough, little man, why don't you try to take a poke at me?' I could tell he was sure I wouldn't do it, and that he was sort of showing off for the schoolmarm, letting her see that he knew how to handle children. But all the kids were standing there, grinning, and the bigger Benson was sneering at me through his bloody nose, so what could I do? I mean, what could I do? I gave him my hardest shot. It broke his glasses, and he went down-from surprise, mostly. The schoolmarm knelt over him, dabbing his cut eyebrow with her handkerchief. She looked up at me and screamed, 'Go home! Go home, and never come back, you hear?' So I… I went home and never came back.'
The story had begun hesitantly, but the last of it gushed out, leaving him gripping the porch rail so hard that his fingertips were splayed flat. He swallowed to keep back the bitter tears that stung his eyes. When he could speak, he said, 'When I got home I took that dictionary of hers and threw it at the wall! It ended up on the floor, splayed open, with its spine broken. And I felt real bad, looking down on it… limp and broken-backed. All the rest of it-the kids pounding on me, the schoolmarm screaming at me-none of that hurt so bad as breaking my dictionary. It was the only thing I'd ever won.' He closed his eyes hard.
Ruth Lillian was silent for a time. Then she spoke in a soft, healing tone. 'I'm sorry, Matthew. I know how mean kids can be. You wouldn't think it now, but there used to be a school in Twenty-Mile. Thirty or more kids. Old B. J. Stone was the schoolmaster. The girls didn't like me because my ma always dressed me up in pretty clothes. And I was sort of stuck-up, I got to admit. They used to mix nasty things about my ma into their jump-rope rhymes. And sometimes they'd make a circle around me and scrape their fingers at me and chant: shame, shame, double shame! Everybody knows your name! So I know how mad and helpless you must have felt when those bullies made up lies about your pa beating on your ma.'
Matthew looked at Ruth Lillian. 'I guess I better be getting home.'
He went down the four wooden steps to the street, where he stopped. Without turning back to her, he said in a toneless voice, 'Fact is, Ruth Lillian, those kids weren't making up stories. My pa was a drunk. He used to come home smelling like whiskey and pee and upchuck, and he'd beat on my ma something awful. Beat her till she was…' He drew a deep breath and scrubbed his face with his hands, then he sniffed hard. 'I just hate the smell of whiskey!' Then, after a moment: 'So it was true, what the kids said. That's why I couldn't stand it and had to fight them to keep their mouths shut. But I guess that when a person's pa always smells like whiskey and up-chuck, he can't expect to get much respect. Know what I mean?'
She didn't say anything. What could she say?
He went home.
MATTHEW'S CONVICTION THAT THE people of Twenty-Mile didn't respect him despite his hard work and his
