Robert Cormier - Beyond the Chocolate War

Goober looked up at Jerry's bedroom window. The window dark, curtain drawn. Other windows also dark, no signs of life. Jerry was not home, apparently, and neither was his father. Nobody home.

He glanced again toward the spot where Janza had paced the sidewalk. Still not there. No confrontation, then. He knew what he had to do. He had to warn Jerry. Put him on his guard, in the event he didn't know about Janza. And, for God's sake, offer his assistance. Jerry was in no condition to face Janza, the animal. Not alone, anyway.

Best thing was to suspend the rest of his run and go home. Start calling Jerry. Keep calling until he returned to the apartment. Keep calling all night if necessary.

Checking the front of Jerry's apartment again, satisfied that Janza was no longer there or in the vicinity, the Goober struck out for home. As he ran he told himself: I won't betray Jerry again. I won't let him down this time.

The balls, colored marbles really, danced in the air, playing games with the lights, and Obie learned that you didn't look at all of them but only at the ball that concerned you.

The ball. Playing hide-and-seek, peekaboo, here today and gone tomorrow or, rather, here this minute and gone the next. Ah, the ball, sleek and eloquent in its tiny perfection, the ball that would provide him with the means of revenge.

"Beautiful," Ray Bannister said. "You really catch on fast, Obie."

Pleased, Obie decided to try the ultimate test. Holding the ball out, on the tips of his fingers, he made a pass with his other hand, felt his fingers fighting their own impulses and following his commands. Lo, the ball appeared against Ray's cheek, held between the thumb and middle finger of Obie's right hand.

Ray shook his head in undisguised admiration.

"Now show me how the guillotine works," Obie said.

Ray hesitated, drawing back, frowning. "Hey, Obie, what's going on; anyway?"

Obie squirmed, wondered: Is it too soon to tell him? Stall a bit. "What do you mean?"

"This magic stuff. You and the Cups and Balls. You and the guillotine. You figure on going into business for yourself? Like, magician business?"

No more stalling, Obie.

"In a way, you're right, Ray."

Ray walked over to the guillotine, his hands caressing the polished wood.

Obie said: "I thought we'd go into business together. You, the magician." He waved his hand slowly in the air, his finger like a plane skywriting. "Bafflement by Bannister," he announced dramatically. "Assisted by Obie the Obedient. ."

"I don't know what the hell you're talking about," Ray said, sorry he had shown Obie his tricks, feeling as though Obie had invaded the most private part of his life.

"The annual Fair Day is coming up. And Skit Night. Skits, songs, and dances, making fun of the faculty."

Ray nodded. "I've seen the posters."

"Right," Obie said. "Anyway, I thought your magic act would be perfect. As the big climax, in fact. You know, the Scarves, and Cups and Balls." Careful now, Obie. "And the guillotine. Every magician needs an assistant — I figure I'd be yours."

Ray stepped behind the guillotine, as if for protection.

"I don't know, Obie. I've never performed in public before."

"Look, it's just the school. The guys and the teachers. And it's a loose kind of night. Everybody hams it up. Even if you goof a bit — and I don't think you will — nobody will care. . "

Ray Bannister was tugged by the fingers of temptation. He had often longed for an audience, besides Obie, particularly when he worked one of the effects to perfection, yearning for admiring glances, whispers of awe and delight. The guillotine, he knew, would knock their eyes out. And it was a thing of particular pride to him because he had constructed it himself, had not merely spent money on an effect. He also considered how sweet it would be to announce himself to the world of Trinity, to let them know he existed after months of being ignored and neglected.

"We'll see," Ray said, still behind the guillotine.

Obie was elated. We'll see : the words his mother and father used when they meant yes but wanted to postpone the decision for a while.

"Okay," Obie said. "Take your time. Let me know later."

As he left he glanced back at Ray, who was still standing behind the guillotine. But his face held a soft, dreamy expression, his eyes far away, and Obie knew that Ray Bannister was at that moment already performing on the stage of the assembly hall.

He answered the telephone, finally. Had listened to the rings, too many to count, and then picked up the receiver, knowing that whatever had to be done must begin with answering the phone.

Glancing outside once more — Janza not in sight at the moment — he said: "Hello."

Goober's voice took him by surprise.

"Jerry, I've been trying to reach you since last night. Where've you been?"

Do I lie or not? Jerry wondered. And knew he had to tell the truth.

"I've been right here."

"Are you sick? Anything wrong? I called last night, then this noon during lunch. Something wrong with the phone?"

"My father's away," Jerry, said. "On a swing around New England On a business trip. But I've been here. And I heard the phone ringing. ."

"You know about Janza, then?" Goober asked. Because why else wouldn't Jerry answer the phone?

"I know." Weary, accepting.

"He's been pacing up and down across the street from your apartment. I saw him last night. I spotted him again today, after school. I made a detour to check up on him."

"Thanks, Goob."

"I wanted to warn you," Goober said. "Wait. More than that, I wanted you to know, want you to know that we're in this together. Janza's always looking for trouble. Okay, he'll get it. From both of us."

"Wait a minute, Goob. You're going too fast."

"What do you mean, too fast?"

"Slow down. Just because Janza's been down on the street a couple of times doesn't mean it's an emergency—"

"What is it, then?" Goober asked, slowing down, curious, as if waiting for Jerry to come up with some marvelous, stunning truth.

"I don't know. But it's time to sit and wait awhile. . "

Silence from Goober. Which Jerry expected.

"Look, Goober, I'm glad you called. I appreciate what you're doing. But I don't know yet what I'm going to do. That's why I didn't answer the phone. I thought it might be Janza and I wasn't ready to talk to him — I'm still not ready."

"You don't have to do anything, Jerry. He can't keep this up forever. He'll get tired of it. Just sit tight for a while, Jerry. When's your father coming home?"

He heard the nervousness in Goober's voice.

"Tomorrow night. But that doesn't matter, Goober. Whether my father comes home or not doesn't matter."

"You shouldn't be alone, Jerry. Janza's such an animal, you never know what he's going to do. He's one of Archie Costello's stooges. He might be doing this on an assignment from the Vigils."

"You're going too fast again, Goob. Way too fast All we know is that Janza's been walking up and down out there. He's not there right now. So the best thing to do is wait and see."

"Want me to come over? I can spend the night—"

"Hey, Goob, I don't need a bodyguard. Janza's not going to launch an invasion."

Another pause, more silence.

"Why didn't you answer the phone, Jerry? Last night I must have called three, four times. Again today. Why didn't you answer?"

"I already told you, Goob. Because I'm not sure what I want to do. I don't know yet—"

"Well, don't do anything crazy. Don't try to fight him. That's probably what he's looking for."

"I'm not going to fight him," Jerry said. "But I have to do something. I can't sit in this apartment forever."

"Wait him out. Let me come over."

"Course not, Goob. I'm safe here. Janza's not going to murder me. Look, it's getting late, and Janza hasn't shown his face for an hour. Wait a minute. Let me look. . "