A novel by Leo Gonzales
Sister Clara shuts the book and smiles, her eyes movin’. She looks at the door. She starts shuttin’ all the windows ‘cause Timmy’s lookin’ out the water. Part of me believes him but part of me thinks he’s crazy. He loves makin’ up them stories. Each time he wants to play the story game I just end up readin’ comics. I see him scribblin’ away in class. It looks like he’s writin’ notes, but he’s off in Connor Town or Corn Town. “Luke was my confirmation Saint,” Sister says, walkin’ down each aisle. She comes down our row and Timmy flips a page. She looks down and smiles at him so hard it looks like a wink. “On Monday, I want each of you to come up with a saint you most relate to and you need to tell the class exactly why you chose them.”
“Sister,” Nikki says at the front of the class. My heart speeds up. I only see the back of her head. I seen her in the mornin’, brushin’ her hair it in the lunchroom. “You’re a girl.”
“Yes, I’m aware.”
“And you picked a boy as your Saint. Is that okay?”
Sister looks at her all confused and opens her mouth. The door opens before she can say sump’n and Bishop Joseph comes in with his soft purple sides and hat. He whispers somethin’ to Sister Clara and she looks at me while he tells her somethin’, somethin’ secret. She looks at me while he’s talkin’ and I wait for her to look somewhere else, but she don’t and my heart starts to hurt really bad.
“Charlie,” she calls out. “Can you please come into the hallway?”
I walk up to the front of the class and hear the rain start to come down hard. I stand outside the room with Sister Clara and Bishop Joseph. The door’s cracked and I feel everyone watchin’.
“Charlie,” Bishop says, lookin’ down at me. His hair’s white like snow and poppin’ out the sides of his little hat. “It has been brought to my attention that you spoke to Sister Clara about Proverbs 31,” he says, his voice movin’ in my body.
“I did?” Sister Clara smiles and nods.
“You did,” she says, “Just the other day when we were talking.”
“But,” I say, bitin’ my lip. “How can I mention Proverbs 31 if I don’t know Proverbs 31?”
“That is precisely why I’m here!” Bishop Joseph says a bit louder, but without movin’ his face. “You brought this up because you were worried about Timmy,” he says. I look back at the door crack and see him writin’ away. “Am I right about that?”
“Yeah,” I say, “I just told Sister Clara that someone should talk to him ‘cause he’s sad.”
The bishop leans in. “Is that all that you said, Charlie?”
“Do you remember exactly what you said?” Sister Clara asks. She comes down to my face and talks softer. “You said you think Timmy’s sad, do you remember that?”
“Yes,” I say.
“And do you remember what you said to me when I asked if Timmy spoke to Father Aberdeen?”
I look up at Bishop Joseph. I swallow some spit that isn’t there and shake my head. “No.”
Sister Clara tilts her head – I can tell by her face that she’s disappointed and I feel like cryin’. She says, “You said Timmy speaks to him too much. Those were your words. You told me he should speak to someone else. Why did you say that?”
I stare forward and hear the floor creak as Bishop Joseph takes a step further. He clears his throat and holds me by the arm. “I spoke to Father Aberdeen,” he says, “And he told me about what you did.” I feel the thunder when I hear it and start cryin’, movin’ and hopin’ he’ll let me go. He holds my arm tighter and takes me into the classroom until we’re by Sister Clara’s desk.
“Proverbs 31, class, is a very serious part of the old testament. Very few adults understand it, which means that there is rarely, if any, a child that can grasp the quote.”
“What’s the quote?” Sandra asks.
“Open your mouth for the mute,” Bishop Joseph says loud and proud, “for the rights of all who are destitute.” I look around the classroom, wonderin’ when and where I said those words. “What the quote is trying to say is speak up for those who cannot speak for themselves, for all the people that are doomed.” Sister Clara walks in and stands behind her desk. “Do you understand the context of what I just said?” Sister Clara touches my shoulder and I scrunch my face.
“Contest?” I ask.
“Yes,” he replies. “Do you know who is speaking in Proverbs 31?”
I think some more and look up. “God?” The class laughs and I feel Sister Clara squeeze my shoulder a bit.
“It was a mother speaking to her unborn son,” he says quite seriously. “She was speaking to her stomach, telling her son the importance of standing up for others. Charlie, do you happen to know who the son is?”
I shake my head and blink a few times, mouthing the word ‘no’ without actually saying it.
“Her son was King Lemuel. He was a fair man who looked after his people, worrying about them day and night, and do you know why he did this, Charlie? I’m going to assume you don’t because you didn’t even know who was speaking amid the excerpt you so blindly misquoted. King Lemuel worried about his people because it was he who was responsible for them.” I don’t know what he’s sayin’ but I nod. “Proverbs 31 was written for those who look after their flock, because those who look after the flock have the heaviest shoulders.” Sister Clara takes her hand off me and I pucker my lips. It gets all quiet and I nod, lookin’ around. It feels like some kinda stage and they’re waitin’ for me to make ‘em laugh or surprise ‘em. I see Nikki and I look down, all ashamed.
“Okay,” I say. “I learned my lesson and I’m real sorry.” I start walkin’ back to my desk, but after a few steps I get the feelin’ I did somethin’ wrong.
“Charlie!” Bishop Joseph shouts, his voice rumblin’ through the floor. “Did I dismiss you?” Patrick and a few boys start laughin’ and Sister tells ‘em to be quiet. “I spoke with your Mother.”
I turn around slowly. “’Bout what?”
“Your behavior,” he says quickly. “Sister Clara tells me you speak out of turn and Father Aberdeen told me what you did.” He closes his eyes a little bit, like a dog does before he bites. “Your Mother knows what you did as well.” My mouth opens and I feel all warm inside, like hot like I wanna take off my clothes but that’s not smart. “And your Mother agrees with the punishment.”
I stare at him from my desk. “May I sit down?” I ask. I hear someone in the back start laughin’, quietin’ down.
“You see?” Bishop Joseph says. He turns to Sister Clara and points at me, pointin’ again as if the two had a bet on me. “This is exactly what I was talking about. Here we are trying to help, trying to get him to change, and all he wants to do is evade.” He turns to me and shakes his head, walkin’ to the chalkboard. Soon as he turns ‘round I start cryin’ like I did in the hallway, but this time real hard ‘n quiet. He’s reachin’ for the paddle, the one Sister Clara says she’s gonna use but never does.
“I don’t believe you,” I say, louder than I mean to, then I start moanin’ and groanin’. I can’t control my voice. “My Ma wouldn’t say that, I wanna talk to her.”
I make my way over to my desk, screamin’ while he walks back from the chalkboard to the front of the class.
“Well,” Sister Clara says, lookin’ at the paddle, then at me. I feel calm when she talks. She’s gonna to stop him, but then she looks at me and tilts her head, tellin’ me to come over without tellin’ me. “Wouldn’t you agree that what really makes a boy a man is owning up to his mistakes?” she asks me. “Facing his demons?”
“I do agree,” Bishop Joseph replies, and he stares at me with the paddle in his hand. “That’s exactly what this is for.” I stop cryin’ and stop breathin’. I hold my breath and wipe my face, standin’ up, walkin’ to the front. I make my way to the door that leads into the hall, headin’ toward Bishop Joseph’s office, but stop when I notice they’re still standin’ by Sister Clara’s desk. He clears some things off; her apple, ruler, a few papers. Then he smacks the top of it with his paddle.
“Place your hands right there,” he says. I do it ‘cause he says I don’t listen. ‘Cause I, evay. I figure if I do what he says, it’ll hurt less. That it’ll go by faster, but it don’t. Each hit feels harder than the last, I’m sure of it. I try to imagine all the hits feelin’ the same, but it keeps hurtin’ more ‘n more. Sister Clara forgot to close part of the window. I see waves on the lake, spikin’ like fierce. The rain’s comin’ down hard, hard as I ever seen it.
I don’t talk to no one the rest of the day. After school I walk home. I ain’t thinkin’ much, just lookin’ at the Blue Ridge. I ‘member what my Pa says ‘bout mountain folk, how we’re little behind the rest of the world but we get all the purty. I look over at the hills while I’m walkin’ home, hearin’ the school bus come ‘round the corner, and I hide in some bushes ‘til it passes. I don’t see Timmy in front or behind, but I don’t wanna see him all the same, prolly ‘bout as much as he wants to see me.
When I get home, all I wanna do is go to my room and sleep, but there’s a smell comin’ from the kitchen that makes me wanna cry – Ma’s apple pie, all warm.
“Ma,” I say, puttin’ my wet bag down and walkin’ into the kitchen. I’m shiverin’ and Ma’s facin’ the window, stirrin’ somethin’. It smells sweet.
“Hey, honey. You want a slice?” She don’t turn ‘round.
My chin scrunches up and I can’t tell what’s tears and what’s rain. “Did the school call today?” I ask.
Ma turns ‘round, takin’ a bite of whatever she’s got in the spoon. She shuts her eyes, smilin’. “Oh, yes. Bishop Joseph called. They said something about you canoodling with a girl in the confessional. And with wine?” She smacks her lips and her head goes all si-gogglin. She quits stirrin’ for a second and then starts back up, “Charlie, that’s no good. You have got to cut that out.”
It feels like thunder hits me real hard, like the paddle. “You said he could paddle me?” my lip quiverin’.
Ma picks her hand up and swings at her side. “Well, Christ Charlie, how will you learn?”
I fall down on the floor ‘til I can taste that nasty taste. My throat starts makin’ weird sounds, like it’s trynna say somethin’ and not say somethin’ at the same time. “No!” I shout, and now I’m cryin’. I feel stupid. “Why?” I ask, suckin’ in some air after screamin’.
She don’t say nothin’ for a minute, but I hear her put somethin’ in the sink. “Charlie,” she says all soft, the same way she says my name ‘fore she closes my door at night. She touches me on the shoulder but I ain’t havin’ it.
The first way I go is the door and I start runnin’ fast as I can even though it’s rainin’. I don’t hear anyone callin’ my name while I’m runnin’, runnin’, runnin’. That’s all I can think about, runnin’, goin’ past the furthest tree, even if the sun’s goin’ down. There’s a quick way to the woods by my house, just a couple blocks up toward the main road where all the cars go fast, but I don’t stop to see if there’s any cars. I just go in the woods.
I slow down while I’m runnin’ in the leaves, the sticky mud gettin’ my shoes all caught and tangled. The clouds make it seem darker than it should be. The sun is black. Only good thing is that the trees start blockin’ all the raindrops. I stand under a great big oak with a lot of branches. It’s like an umbrella. A buncha water falls on me ‘cause one of the branches shake. I step forward. I stop when I hear footsteps. It’s Paul, and he has an umbrella with shiny rain boots on.
“Hey there, Charlie,” he says, and he waves me over while lookin’ up at the sky. “Come on under, you’re shivering.”
I go under, and it’s warm where he is. We keep walkin’ down the river on our way to the clubhouse. “Looks like it’s gonna overflow,” I say.
“I got ice cream back at the clubhouse,” he says. “There’s no one there so it’ll just be the two of us.”
I smile a little and when we get there, I’m glad he’s not lyin’. There’s a cooler with some ice and a big ol’ bucket of homemade vanilla. He scoops me some and I look in the cooler to get a look at what else is in there. “Wow,” I say. “You got bananas ‘n chocolate ‘n sprinkles ‘n everything!”
“Roscoe’s dad owns the candy shop on Main,” Paul says. He takes out a long piece of licorice and starts eatin’ it behind the piano. “It’s one of the perks of being in The Brotherhood,” he says, boppin’ his eyebrows while he plays and bites up the candy. I put sprinkles on my ice cream, sittin’ at the dusty table in the corner.
“Thanks,” I say and he shuts his eyes while he nods.
“Do you know what they tell us in debate club?” he asks. I take a bite and it’s cold.
“No,” I tell him. “What do they tell you?”
“They say ‘think as your judge, not yourself!’”
“That makes sense,” I say. I take another bite and listen to the melody he’s playin’ on the old piano. Some of the keys are broken, but I can fill in the blanks. “My Pa plays his banjo with his friends from the mine ‘n one of ‘em plays piano. I’ve heard this,” I say. “What is it?”
“Oh, the hell it does!” he shouts back. “Debate would be a barrel of fun if there were no judge at all! That’s what I say!”
I scrunch my eyebrows ‘n feel a brain freeze come on. “Ah. Is that what the clubhouse is for? Debate?”
“The club is for a lot of stuff,” Paul says, and he smiles. The music stops while he slurps up the rest of his licorice. “But mostly it’s a place where just us boys can have fun.” He gets up ‘n digs through some papers that are inside his seat. “Here it is,” he says, walkin’ over to me with a piece of paper. He brings a chair to the table and sits with me. The paper shows a triangle shape with a bunch of boy’s names on it, most of them 8th graders. “Each brother has his own rank,” he says.
“Rank?” and Paul nods.
“Your rank is a mixture of how much you’ve done for the club and how long you’ve been a member.” He points to the bottom corner of the triangle. “You see, Michael H. is Third Brother, Michael F. is Second Brother, and Roger is Brother General.”
I scoot the paper toward me and stare at it for a while, studyin’ it.
“You’re looking at it wrong,” he says. “Here, turn it this way.” He moves it so the bottom of the triangle’s facin’ me and the top is facin’ him. “You see, doesn’t that make more sense?”
I nod. It does make sense. “Oh. Why are you at the top?”
“Because every army needs one person responsible for everyone,” he says. There was that word again.
“Army?” I ask. Paul puts his hand on my shoulder and starts laughin’.
“Yeah,” he says while chucklin’. “We’re a brotherhood now, Charlie.” He takes a pencil from a little jar and starts erasin’ someone’s name, then another one, movin’ them all around like he’s workin’ on a puzzle. “I’ll tell you what, you come back tomorrow night and we’ll figure out an initiation for you. I’ll put you down as S.O.P.”
“S.O.P.?” I ask, and he nods.
“Soldier of Providence,” he replies. “I have to start you off simple since you’re only in 4th grade.”
“Right,” I say. I start shiverin’, shakin’ so hard from the ice cream and the rain I can’t talk. Paul gets a few logs from the corner and tosses ‘em into the fire pit. Then he gives me a blanket. I walk over to the fire and get closer, closer, ‘til I’m pretty much in it. “Paul,” I say, “Can you bring me my ice cream?”
“Sure,” he says, and when he hands it to me it’s half-melted. “You can call me Brother Paul now.” The ice cream goes down smooth and sweet.
“I like when it’s like this,” I say, lookin’ in the bowl. “It’s the best.”
This work is featured in issue #16
Read Charlie Boy: VII next Friday