Robert Cormier - Beyond the Chocolate War

Archie did not protest as he was directed to the Water Came chair. The arrangement was simple. The chair was situated above a pool of water. The price was one dollar for three balls. The balls were thrown at a bull's-eye target to the left of the chair. If the center of the target was hit by a ball, an unseen mechanism dropped the chair into the water, submerging the occupant. The occupant at this moment was Archie Costello. Neat and spotless in his chino pants and white jersey, the KICK ME sign hidden from view, Archie sat quietly, feet dangling, his Nikes almost touching the water. He waited patiently, looking at the crowd with cool, appraising eyes.

"Okay, okay, a dollar for three balls," the hawker called, juggling the balls as he talked. His face was sunburned, his scalp beneath his thinning gray hair also fiery red. His voice was hoarse, challenging.

Obie detached himself from his vantage point at the front steps and made his way closer to the game. He wanted full measure, wanted to hear the splash of water when Archie dropped, wanted to see him soaked and struggling in the pool.

"Let's go, let's go," the hawker urged.

Nobody went forward to buy the balls. The crowd hung back. While Archie sat, silent and unmoving, patient, waiting.

"What d'ya say, kids," the hawker yelled. "Not only do you dunk the victim, but you win a teddy bear for the girl friend. C'mon, kids, step right up. . "

Nobody stepped right up. Obie studied the gathering, puzzled, disappointed. He nudged John Consalvo, who stood beside him. Consalvo was a silent member of the Vigils, someone who never questioned a decision, always carried out orders.

"Here's a buck, Consalvo," Obie said, handing him a dollar bill. "Get in there and throw the balls. . "

"Not me," Consalvo said, backing away.

"Why not? It's fun time on Trinity campus. . "

Consalvo shook his head, his black-olive eyes shining with apprehension. "I'm not throwing any balls at Archie Costello."

"You don't throw the balls at him. You throw them at the target and Archie Costello gets dunked—"

Consalvo had backed away several feet now. Having achieved what he considered a safe distance, he said: "I'm not dunking any Archie Costello."

A chorus of shouts drew Obie's attention back to the scene. A sophomore by the name of Bracken had stepped up, paid his money, and taken the three balls. He turned to the crowd, flexing his muscles comically. The crowd responded, a chorus of cheers and catcalls. Obie added his voice to the vocal fray.

Bracken was one of the wise guys. Loved dirty jokes, sly pokes in the ribs of other kids, tripping people in the corridor. Always sneaky, though, then putting on an innocent act.

He faced Archie, holding one of the balls in the palm of his right hand. As if weighing it. He looked over his shoulder at the shouting crowd, and as he turned to Archie again, the volume of shouts and calls died down. The immediate area had suddenly become a pocket of stillness. Bracken studied Archie for what seemed a long time while Archie sat there imperviously, untouched by it all, looking merely curious, apparently wondering what Bracken was about to do. As if it had nothing to do with him, really.

Bracken cocked his arm, stuck his tongue in his cheek, leaned back, pumped his arm, and let the ball fly. The ball was a bit wide of the mark. Hoots and jeers from the crowd, which Bracken accepted with an exaggerated bow.

He turned to the target again, pumped his arm, paused, waited. Studying his target. The crowd was quiet, the calliope music faint in the air. Bracken threw the ball. But softly. No pep, no steam in the throw, Obie realized. He also realized that now Bracken was only going through the motions, not intending to hit the target. Sure enough, Bracken threw the last ball without hesitation, without a windup, and again it went wide of the mark. He turned, shrugged, smiling weakly.

Obie couldn't help glancing at Archie, although he did so against his will. Archie was still perched in the chair and now there was a half smile on his face — what was the other half? Obie didn't know. Didn't want to know.

The small crowd began to disperse as the hawker tossed his balls in the air again, imploring someone to "hit the target, dunk the kid." The guys ignored his plea as they drifted away, avoiding one another's eyes. Sensing a lost cause, the hawker shook his head in dismay and looked at Archie curiously, a question in his eyes. Obie knew what the question was: Why won't anybody dunk you? Good question, Obie thought, and he knew the answer. The answer angered him. More than angered, frustrated him. Even as a victim, Archie retained his goddam hold over them.

"Okay, guy," the hawker said, motioning to Archie. "Out. I'd go broke with you there all day long. . "

Archie leaped from the chair in a graceful motion, landing lightly on his feet. Obie saw the flash of KICK ME on Archie's jersey as he joined the crowd No one kicked Archie, of course. Several guys glanced at the Sign and then looked quickly away. Obie tried to stifle his disappointment. He knew that if nobody was willing to dunk him, nobody would be willing to kick him.

But wait for the guillotine, Obie said silently. That's what counts, the guillotine. Just wait for the guillotine to fall. And Archie Costello will smile no more.

"What are you doing here, Caroni?" Brother Leon asked, looking up from his desk. He squinted toward the doorway. "It is Caroni, isn't it?"

"Yes, it is," David answered, closing the door soundlessly, hiding the object in his hand behind his back.

The windows were closed, but he could hear the sounds of Fair Day faintly: the carnival calliope, the muffled shouts of hawkers, typical crowd noises.

Brother Leon regarded him sternly. "I didn't hear the doorbell. Were you announced, Caroni?"

David Caroni shook his head. He was glad to see the surprise on Brother Leon's face. Surprise had been a key element in the command. Catch Brother Leon on Fair Day when he least expects it . David was pleased at the clarity of that inner voice. Pleased, too, at how much he was in control of the situation, everything sharp and beautiful in its clarity. Clarity, that was the word of the day.

"Repeat," Brother Leon snapped. "Repeat: What are you doing here?"

"Detention," David said.

"Detention?"

"Yes," David said, enjoying Leon's bewilderment, puzzlement.

"I don't understand."

"Detention, Brother Leon, is from the word detained . Students are detained after class when they break a rule or do something wrong—"

"I need no lectures, Caroni," Brother Leon said, beginning to rise to his feet, pushing himself away from the desk.

"I'm not going to lecture you," Caroni said. "I am merely saying that you are having a detention. For breaking the rules, for doing something wrong. . "

Ah, he loved the look on Brother Leon's face, the look that said: Have you gone mad, Caroni? An unbelieving look, a look of surprise and a bit of curiosity, too. Nothing more, yet. No fear yet. Caroni was eager for that moment of fear. But not yet, not yet.

"Have you gone crazy, Caroni?"

"I am not crazy, Brother Leon. Not now. I may have been crazy before. Before the Letter. ."

"What letter?"

For a moment he had forgotten about the code and had called it the Letter. To disguise the disgusting thing to himself. But now he could use the real letter again. Especially to Brother Leon.

" F ," David said, exulting. It was going beautifully, exactly as planned, his mind clear, the words glib and perfect as he pronounced them. "The sixth letter of the alphabet. But a terrible letter. ."

Leon had gained his feet and leaned a bit against the desk.

"Tell me what this is all about," he demanded, his voice crackling with sudden authority. But a false authority, Caroni knew.