Robert Cormier - Beyond the Chocolate War

"It's about the F you gave me," Caroni said, exactly as he had planned to say the words for so long. "And about this," he added, drawing his arm from behind his back and brandishing the butcher knife.

"Put that down," Leon snapped, immediately becoming the teacher, as if this office were a classroom and Caroni his only student.

Caroni did not answer, merely smiled, allowing the smile to permeate his features.

Leon stepped to his right, but David anticipated his move. As Leon came around the corner of the desk, David intercepted him, slashing the air with the knife, causing Leon to fall back against the wall. Which was a mistake on Leon's part. As the Headmaster instinctively lifted his hands to protect his face, David thrust the knife into Leon's neck, just above the Adam's apple, the knife point penetrating a bit into Leon's flesh. Caroni smiled, enjoying the spectacle of Leon pinned to the wall, at bay, eyes wide with fright, skin gushing perspiration.

"Be careful, Caroni," Leon managed to say without moving his lips, as if any movement would bring death. Which, David considered, was exactly correct.

"I am being very careful, Brother Leon," he said. "I don't want to harm you, don't want to injure you, don't wish to kill you." Perfect, exactly as rehearsed. "Not yet. ."

The effect of David's last words—"not yet" — and the knife at Leon's throat was marvelous to behold. More than David had hoped for. Brother Leon immobilized, paralyzed by fear. David felt strong and resolute, felt as though he could stay like this for hours, both he and Leon in this wonderful tableau, as if frozen on a movie screen, the projector halted or broken or both.

"Caroni, for God's sake," Leon said through gritted teeth. "Why are you doing this?"

"Let me tell you why," David said. And this was the best part, this is what he had been waiting for all this time, all these months. This moment, this opportunity, this chance. "The F , Brother Leon. You haven't forgotten that F , have you?"

"Take the knife away, David, and we'll talk," Leon said, squeezing the words out slowly as if each utterance were painful.

"It's too late for talk," David said, holding the knife steady. "Besides, we already talked, remember?"

Ah, how they had talked. About that F . Brother Leon and his evil pass-fail tests. The kinds of tests that kept students on edge. Questions with ambiguous answers, answers that called for educated guesses. As a result, Leon in complete command of the results. Could pass or fail students at will. No other teacher did this. Worst of all, Leon used the tests for his own purposes. Brought students into his classroom for discussions of the probable results. Meanwhile, probing, questioning. Using the students. Sounding them out about their classmates, seeking secrets, confidences, by dangling a possible F in front of them. Leon had used David, too. David Caroni of the straight A 's, top-ranking student, a certainty for valedictorian at graduation. Until the F . David Caroni had told Leon what he wanted to know during that sly questioning, fed him information about Jerry Renault during the chocolate sale last fall, told him why Renault refused to sell the chocolates. Thus assuring his passing mark, but sickeningly, nauseatingly, realizing for the first time how terrible a teacher could be, how rotten the world really was, a world in which even teachers were corrupt. Until that moment, his ambition had been to be a teacher someday. He had stumbled home after that terrible session with Brother Leon, feeling soiled, unclean.

When the test results were published, he was shocked to find an F on his paper. The first F of his life. He had appealed to Brother Leon, hating himself for doing so. And Leon had dismissed his appeal, ho-humming David's concern away. I have more important matters at hand, Leon had said. The F had stood. A mark of shame as well as corruption.

"Please," Brother Leon said. And now it was his turn to plead, his turn to speak with a quivering voice.

"It's too late for pleas," David said, delighted with his pun. Please and pleas . You see, Brother Leon, I am not stupid, despite the F . I commit a pun with a knife at your throat and commit murder with the same knife. "It's even too late for an A ."

" A 's. . F 's. ." Brother Leon said, voice gurgling. "What's all this about A 's and F 's?"

At last. Now he could tell Brother Leon, get it all off his chest.

" C 's, too," David said. "Don't forget the C 's. I never got a C in my life before the F . But then I got another F . Because I didn't care. And then a C from Brother Armand in Math. Which I never got before."

Leon stared at him in disbelief. "You mean all this is about marks? F 's and C 's?" He giggled, an idiot giggle. As if, lo, the problem was solved: This is only a misunderstanding about marks. Which angered David, causing him to thrust the knife point just a bit deeper, wondering if it was deep enough to draw blood. And then speaking his anger, not with the knife but with his mouth:

"Yes, all this is about marks. And about my life. And my future. And my mother and father. Who wonder now what happened to their nice smart son David. Who doesn't always get A 's anymore. They don't say anything, they are too nice to say anything, but their hearts are broken. I can tell their hearts are broken. They look at me with hurt in their eyes because they know that I am the bearer of F 's. I, who do not deserve F 's. I am an A student." Screaming the words, having to make Leon see his sin, having to let the world know what had happened. "I deserve A 's. My mother cries at night in her room." He had refused to acknowledge the truth of her tears until this moment. "Over what I have become. . "

"Yes, yes, I remember now," Brother Leon said, voice scrambling, rushing. "That F . . an oversight. I had meant to correct it, to give you the mark you deserved. But we've had terrible months here at Trinity. The illness of the Headmaster, the violence of the chocolate sale. . I did not realize you were so sensitive to the mark. All that can be changed."

"Not just the mark, Brother Leon," David said, unimpressed by Leon's arguments. "You can change the mark, but it's too late. There are other things you can't change. . "

"What? Tell me. Nothing is irrevocable. . " Suddenly David was weary, felt energy draining from the arm that held the knife, from his entire body. He did not want to argue anymore, knew he could never express to Brother Leon or anyone the sickness of his soul, the despair of his life, the meaninglessness of his existence. He clung to one thing only, the voice inside him, the voice that had emerged from the broken music of the piano, the voice that was a command. A command he could not ignore or dismiss although it filled him with sadness. Sadness for all that might have been and could be no more. Brother Leon had said: Nothing is irrevocable . But some things were. The act he was committing even now with the knife at Leon's throat. The act he must commit if only to find peace.

"Listen," Brother Leon said, lips still stiff in order not to disturb the knife. "Listen to what is going on out there."

David listened, granting Leon this much at least, a man's last wish. The sounds of Fair Day, still faint, still far removed. Distant voices breaking into laughter. All of which made David sadder still.

"That is Trinity too, David," Brother Leon said, his voice a whisper. "Not only marks. Not only F 's and A 's and C 's. Education. . families. . listen to the voices out there. . students and parents. . enjoying themselves. ."