Robert Cormier - The Chocolate War

And that crowd out there he had wanted to impress? To prove to himself before? Hell, they wanted him to lose, they wanted him killed, for Christ's sake.

Janza's fist caught him at the temple, sending Jerry reeling. His stomach caved in as Janza's fist sank into the flesh. He clutched at his stomach protectively and his face absorbed two stunning blows — his left eye felt smashed, the pupil crushed. His body sang with pain.

Horrified, The Goober counted the punches Janza was throwing at his helpless opponent. Fifteen, sixteen. He leaped to his feet. Stop it, stop it. But nobody heard. His voice was lost in the thunder of screaming voices, voices calling for the kill… kill him, kill him. Goober watched helplessly as Jerry finally sank to the stage, bloody, opened mouth, sucking for air, eyes unfocused, flesh swollen. His body was poised for a moment like some wounded animal and then he collapsed like a hunk of meat cut loose from a butcher's hook.

And the lights went out.

Obie would never forget that face.

A moment before the lights went out, he turned away from the platform, disgusted with the scene, the kid Renault being pummeled by Janza. The sight of blood always sickened him, anyway.

Looking away from the bleachers, he glanced up at a small hill that looked down at the field. The hill was actually huge rock imbedded in the landscape, partially covered with moss and also with scrawled obscenities that had to be scrubbed off almost daily.

A movement caught Obie's eye. That's when he saw the face of Brother Leon. Leon stood at the top of the hill, a black coat draped around his shoulders. In the reflection of the stadium lights, his face was like a gleaming coin. The bastard, Obie thought. He's been there all the time, I'll bet, watching it all.

The face vanished as the darkness fell.

The darkness was sudden and deep.

Like a giant ink blot poured over the bleachers, the platform, the entire field.

Like the world suddenly wiped out, devastated.

Goddam it, Archie thought, as he stumbled away from the bleachers toward the small utility building where the electrical controls were located.

He tripped, fell down, and groped to his feet.

Someone brushed past him. The noise from the bleachers was awesome, kids screaming and shouting, guys tumbling from the seats. Small flames tore at the darkness as matches and cigarette lighters were lit.

Stupid, Archie thought, they're all stupid. He was the only one here with the presence of mind to check the cause of the power failure at the control building.

Tripping over a fallen body, Archie swiveled his way to the building, arms extended in front of him. As he reached the door, the lights went on again, blinding in their intensity. Dazed, blinking, he flung the door open and encountered Brother Jacques whose hand was on the switch.

"Welcome, Archie. I imagine you are the villain here, aren't you?" His voice was cool but his contempt was unmistakable.

Jerry."

Wet darkness. Funny, darkness shouldn't be wet. But it was Like blood.

"Jerry."

But blood wasn't black. It was red. And he was surrounded by black.

"Come on, Jerry."

Come on where? He liked it here, in the darkness, moist and warm and wet.

"Hey, Jerry."

Voices outside the window calling. Shut the window, shut it. Shut the voices out.

"Jerry…"

Something sad in the voice now. More than sad — scared. Something scared in the voice.

Suddenly the pain verified his existence, brought him into focus. Here and now. Jesus, the pain.

"Take it easy, Jerry, take it easy," The Goober was saying, cradling Jerry in his arms. The platform was brilliantly lit again, like an operating table, but the stadium was almost empty, a few curious stragglers still hanging around. Bitterly, Goober had watched the guys leaving, chased away by Brother Jacques and a couple of other faculty members. The guys had vacated the place as if leaving the scene of a crime, strangely subdued. Goober had struggled toward the ring in the darkness and had finally reached Jerry as the lights went on. "We better get a doctor," he had yelled at the kid called Obie, Archie's stooge.

Obie had nodded, his face pale and ghostlike in the floodlights.

"Take it easy," Goober said now, drawing Jerry closer. Jerry felt broken. "Everything will be all right…"

Jerry raised himself toward the voice, needing to answer it. He had to answer. But he kept his eyes shut, as if he could keep a lid on the pain that way. But it was more than pain that caused an urgency in him. The pain had become the nature of his existence but this other thing weighed on him, a terrible burden. What other thing? The knowledge, the knowledge: what he had discovered. Funny, how his mind was clear suddenly, apart from his body, floating above his body, floating above the pain.

"It'll be all right, Jerry."

No it won't. He recognized Goober's voice and it was important to share the discovery with Goober. He had to tell Goober to play ball, to play football, to run, to make the team, to sell the chocolates, to sell whatever they wanted you to sell, to do whatever they wanted you to do. He tried to voice the words but there was something wrong with his mouth, his teeth, his face. But he went ahead anyway, telling Goober what he needed to know. They tell you to do your thing but they don't mean it. They don't want you to do your thing, not unless it happens to be their thing, too. It's a laugh, Goober, a fake. Don't disturb the universe, Goober, no matter what the posters say.

His eyes fluttered open and he saw Goober's face all askew, like on a broken movie film. But he was able to see the concern, the worry on his face.

Take it easy, Goober, it doesn't even hurt anymore. See? I'm floating, floating above the pain. Just remember what I told you. It's important. Otherwise, they murder you.

"Why did you do it to him, Archie?"

"I don't know what you're talking about."

Archie turned away from Brother Jacques and watched the ambulance making its careful progress out of the athletic field, the rotating blue light casting emergency flashings all over the place. The doctor said that Renault may have sustained a fracture of the jaw and there may be internal injuries. X-rays would tell. What the hell, Archie thought, those were the risks of the boxing ring.

Jacques swung Archie around. "Look at me when I talk to you," he said. "If someone hadn't come to the Residence and told me what was going on here, who knows how far it might have gone? What happened to Renault was bad enough, but there was violence in the air. You could have had a riot on your hands, the way those kids were stirred up."

Archie didn't bother to answer. Brother Jacques probably considered himself a hero for putting out the lights and stopping the fight. As far as Archie was concerned, Jacques had merely spoiled the evening. And Jacques had arrived too late anyway. Renault had already been beaten. Too fast, much too fast. Leave it to that stupid Carter to screw things up. Low blow, for crying out loud.

"What have you got to say for yourself, Costello?" Brother Jacques persisted.

Archie sighed. Bored, really. "Look, Brother, the school wanted the chocolates sold. And we got them sold. This was the payoff, that's all. A fight. With rules. Fair and square."

Leon was suddenly there with them, one arm clapped around Jacques' shoulder.

"I see you have everything under control, Brother Jacques," he said, heartily.

Jacques turned a cold face toward his fellow teacher. "I think we barely averted a disaster," he said. There was rebuke in his voice but a gentle, guarded rebuke, not the hostility he had revealed to Archie. And Archie realized that Leon was still in command, still in the position of power.