Adam Levin - The Instructions

I told him to stop, but he couldn’t hear me. The others were saying, “Unhand our buddy,” and “Hurt him and you’re dead,” and “You’re dead.”

Now came the beginning-of-fifth tone and, as if it were a go-signal, one of the fifth-graders punched Nakamook in the back. I had to jump up and hug the kid away because Benji had let go of the nose kid and turned.

I spun us and my hood whipped sideways. Benji’s fist caught in the peak and tore an inch off at the seam, but he missed the kid, baruch Hashem. He said, “Let me cross his t, Gurion. Let me double-space him.”

I said, He was protecting his friend.

Benji said, “He punched me.”

But he didn’t hurt you, I said. I said, You’re not hurt, right?

“He wants to hurt me,” Benji said. “Look at him.”

The kid’s jaws were crab-appled with teeth-clenching. I said, “This is Benji Nakamook. This is Nakamook, okay?”

The strain against my arms faded and the kid said, “He attacked Mr. Goldblum!”

“Who the fuck is Mr. Goldblum?” Nakamook said. He started laughing a special pirate-laugh he’d only laugh when he was murderous. The first time I’d heard it, I thought to call him Captain Kidd, but the moniker died on my tongue because I killed it. No nickname could ever rightly stick to Nakamook.

The kid half-tried to force himself out of my grip again. He made a sound like nyah , like he really meant it, but he’d realized who he’d punched and he was already shivering. I put a hand on his head to calm him. He pushed his face into my armpit and cried.

Benji turned to the one whose nose he’d just held. “Are you Mr. Goldblum?”

“You’re dead,” the nose kid said.

He was Mr. Goldblum.

Benji said, “I’m not anything even like dead. And I think you’re Mr. Goldblum. Do you like being called Mr. Goldblum?”

“I don’t care if you’re Nakamook,” said Mr. Goldblum. He said, “My friends will kill you anyway.”

“We’ll kill you in your sleep.” “You can’t fight while you’re unconscious.” “We’ll burn your house down.” “Nyah!” “You can’t fight when you’re tied up.” “And suffocating on fumes.” “And dying of fright.” “You’ll be shocked to the very marrow.” “The very very marrow.” “Nyah!”

Then two new events took place at the same time. Nurse Clyde rushed out of the Quiet Room to investigate the noise we were making, and a tiny sick-looking girl in a dress made of t-shirt came in from the hallway. The sick girl sat where I’d been sitting before I’d had to hug the kid I was hugging.

Nurse Clyde said, “What’s happening here?”

Mr. Goldblum said, “The Levinson tripped on his shoelace. Gurion picked him up.”

“I tripped,” said the kid in my arms, who was called The Levinson.

“Why didn’t anyone knock?”

Nakamook said, “I just got here, Clyde. Check the partial stigmata.” He waved the hand and blooddrops dripped on the carpeting.

Nurse Clyde ignored Benji. He said to The Levinson, “Your shoelaces are tied, little man.”

“It’s a miracle.” “He’s very clumsy.” “I tripped on my heel.” “Spontaneous knotting.”

“Unfortunately, ’e doyed of spawntineous comboostion,” Nakamook said.

Spinal Tap.

Here the sick-looking girl threw up on her legs. Just one heave. Then she apologized.

“Oh, honey,” Nurse Clyde said. He carried the girl into the examining room, which was right next to the Quiet Room.

Benji said to Mr. Goldblum and The Levinson and the other two, “Good move not ratting.”

“Nakamook dies at dawn.” “Darkness forever.” “Choked.” “Strang-ulation.”

Benji said, “Who are these little guys?”

Israelites, I said. They tried to protect their friend Shpritzy from getting beaten up by a Shover and—

“You mean like Bernard Shpritz? That violin whiz?” said Benji.

“That’s him.” “That’s Shpritzy.” “And he’s not just our friend.” “He’s our best buddy.” “He’s the best violinist ever.” “He’s the best guy in the whole world, next to these guys, who are also the best guys.” “And it wasn’t Shovers who messed us up.” “And it wasn’t a Shover who messed Shpritzy up.” “What do we have to do with any Shovers?” “What does Shpritzy have to do with any Shovers?”

You said you were friends with Berman, I said.

“Friends, sure, but not buddies!” “And barely even friends!” “There’s a distinction! A huge distinction!” “Huge.” “That’s why it was weird that the kid who hurt Shpritzy said ‘say hi to Josh Berman’ and ‘tell him sharp scarf,’ cause what do we have to do with Berman? We’re not Shovers and we don’t have anything to do with any scarves.” “Let alone Shpritzy!” “Poor Shpritzy! Man!” “Stupid scarves!” “Shpritzy had nothing to do with Berman!” “Shpritzy had nothing to do with those scarves!” “Shpritzy!” “Aw, Shpritzy!” “Poor Shpritzy!” “Aw, Shpritzy!”

Nakamook said, “That Shpritzy kid really is a good kid. He plays The Godfather theme-song for me on the bus whenever I ask him to. I don’t even have to ask him anymore. I just make a twetching noise, like I’m twetching on the floor in anger, and I say to him, ‘I’m a Cor Lee O Nay,’ and he plays it. Who beat him up? Give me a name. I’ll beat that guy up. And steal his bike.”

I said, These guys are gonna do it.

“We’ll do it.” “Don’t say who it is.” “It’s ours to do.” “We’ll get that guy.” “Don’t say his name.” “Don’t even hint.” “He’s ours.” “We’ll damage him from a distance.” “He’s ours, Nakamook.”

Nakamook said to them, “He’s yours.”

“He’s not ours because you say so.” “He’s ours because we say so.” “And because Gurion says that what we say is so.” “And you didn’t even say sorry.”

“If you apologized to me, it would mean nothing,” said Nakamook, “and nothingness commands nothing if not reciprocity. If I apologized to you, nothing I said would ever be worth anything again and so I would be worth nothing. And what happened, anyway? Mr. Golbfarb’s nose got held? The Levinstein cried into someone’s armpit? In the end, no one really got hurt, and that’s lucky for you. So spit twice and toss a pinch of salt. Count your blessings. Are we friends?”

They huddled for a second. Whispered, nodded. Then they un-huddled. “Friends, but not best buddies.” “Not buddies at all.” “Or even great friends or good friends.” “We’re just friends.”

“I don’t keep buddies, anyway,” Nakamook said, “and if you wanna take care of the guy who hurt our friend Shpritzy, that’s cool, but if you get your clauses spliced while you’re trying, I’ll gladly indent your enemies. Count on it.”

“What does that mean?” “What’s he talking about, indent?” “Spliced clauses?”

Don’t act ignorant, I told them.

I let go of The Levinson, but The Levinson didn’t let go of me. I said, How many Israelites at Aptakisic have pennyguns?

The Levinson said, “All of us, Gurion.” “We delivered your instructions to all of us,” Pinker added. “ Almost all of us,” Mr. Goldblum corrected, in a low, conspiratorial tone.

I said, What do you mean almost ? What’s the tone?

Mr. Goldblum popped his eyes out at Pinker and The Levinson.

The Levinson and Pinker winked at Mr. Goldblum. “Well there’s a…there’s a new one we’re not friends with,” said The Levinson, “and we don’t know about him. He might be an Israelite, but he also might just be a Jew.” “He only started school this week,” said Mr. Goldblum. “He’s orthodox.” “Co-Captain Baxter knocked his hat off.”