Chaim Potok - The Chosen

'Thank you, ma'am.'

I took the skullcap and put it on. 'Enjoy your meal,' she said, smiling.

'Thank you very much,' I said. I had been concerned about eating. I wondered when my father had been to the hospital and why he wasn't here now.

'Mrs Carpenter,' the man to my left said, 'how come chicken again?'

The nurse looked at him sternly. 'Mr Savo, please behave yourself.'

'Yes, ma'am,' the man said, feigning fright.

'Mr Savo, you are a poor example to your young neighbours.' She turned quickly and went away.

'Tough as a ring post,' Mr Savo said, grinning at me. 'But a great heart.'

The orderly put the food tray on his bed, and he began eating ravenously. While chewing on a bone, he looked at me and winked his good eye. 'Good food. Not enough zip, but that's the kosher bit for you. Love to kid them along. Keeps them on their toes like a good fighter.'

'Mr Savo, sir?'

'Yeah, kid?'

'What day is today?'

He took the chicken bone out of his mouth. 'It's Monday.'

'Monday, June fifth?'

'That's right, kid.'

'I slept a long time,' I said quietly.

'You were out like a light, boy. Had us all in a sweat.' He put the chicken bone back in his mouth. 'Some clop that must've been,' he said, chewing on the bone.

I decided it would be polite to introduce myself. 'My name is Reuven Malter.'

His lips smiled at me from around the chicken bone in his mouth. 'Good to meet you, Reu-Reu-how's that again?'

'Reuven – Robert Malter.'

'Good to meet you, Bobby boy.' He took the chicken bone from his mouth, inspected it, then dropped it onto the tray. 'You always eat with a hat on?'

'Yes, sir.'

'What's that,'

'Always like kids that hold to their religion. Important thing, religion. Wouldn't mind some of it in the ring. Tough place, the ring. Tony Savo's my name.'

'Are you a professional prizefighter?'

'That's right, Bobby boy. I'm a prelim man. Could've been on top if that guy hadn't clopped me with that right the way he did. Flattened me for a month. Manager lost faith. Lousy manager. Tough racket, the ring. Good food, eh?'

'Yes, sir.'

'Not like in training camp, though. Nothing like eating in training camp.'

'Are you feeling better now?' I heard the blind boy ask me, and I turned to look at him. He had finished eating and was sitting looking in my direction. His eyes were wide open and a pale blue.

'I'm a lot better,' I told him. 'My head doesn't hurt.'

'We were all very worried about you.'

I didn't know what to say to that. I thought I would just nod and smile, but I knew he wouldn't see it. I didn't know what to say or do; so I kept silent.

'My name's Billy,' the blind boy said.

'How are you, Billy? I'm Robert Malter.'

'Hello, Robert: Did you hurt your eye very badly?'

'Pretty badly.'

'You want to be careful about your eyes, Robert.' I didn't know what to say to that, either.

'Robert's a grown-up name, isn't it? How old are you?'

'Fifteen.'

'That's grown up.'

'Call me Bobby,' I said to him. 'I'm not really that grown up.'

'Bobby is a nice name. All right. I'll call you Bobby.'

I kept looking at him. He had such a beautiful face, a gentle face. His hands lay limply on the blanket, and his eyes stared at me vacantly.

'What kind of hair do you have, Bobby? Can you tell me what you look like?'.

'Sure. I have black hair and brown eyes, and a face like a million others you've seen – you've heard about. I'm about five foot six, and I've got a bump on my head and a bandaged left eye.'

He laughed with sudden delight. 'You're a nice person,' he said warmly. 'You're nice like Mr Savo.'

Mr Savo looked over at us. He had finished eating and was holding the deck of cards in his hands. 'That's what I kept telling my manager. I'm a nice guy, I kept telling him. Is it my fault I got clopped? But he lost faith. Lousy manager.'

Billy stared in the direction of his voice. 'You'll he all right again, Mr Savo,' he said earnestly. 'You'll be right back up there on top again.'

'Sure, Billy,' Tony Savo said, looking at him. 'Old Tony'll make it up there again,'

'Then I'll come to your training camp and watch you practice and we'll have that three-rounder you promised me.'

'Sure, Billy: 'Mr Savo promised me a three-rounder after my operation,' Billy explained to me eagerly, still staring in the direction of Tony Savo's voice.

'That's great,' I said.

'It's a new kind of operation,' Billy said, turning his face in my direction. 'My father explained it to me. They found out how to do it in the war. It'll he wonderful doing a three-rounder with you, Mr Savo.'- 'Sure, Billy. Sure.' He was sitting up in his bed, looking at the boy and ignoring the deck of cards he held in his hands.

'It'll he wonderful to be able to see again,' Billy said to me. 'I had an accident in the car once. My father was driving. It was a long time ago. It wasn't my father's fault, though.'

Mr Savo looked down at the deck of cards, then put it back on top of the night table.

I saw the orderly coming hack up the aisle to collect the food trays. 'Did you enjoy the meal?' he asked Billy.

Billy turned his head in the direction of his voice. 'It was a fine meal.'

'How about you, Killer?'

'Chicken!' Tony Savo said. 'What can be good about chicken?' His voice was flat though now, and all the excitement was out of it.

'How come you left the bones· this time?' the orderly asked, grinning.

'Who can do a ten-rounder on chicken?' Tony Savo said. But he didn't seem to have his heart anymore in what he was saying. I saw him lie back on his pillow and stare up at the ceiling out of his left eye. Then he closed the eye and put his long hairy hands across his chest.

'We'll lower this for you,' the orderly said to me after he took my tray. He bent down at the foot of the bed, and I felt the head of the bed go flat.

Billy lay back on his pillow. I turned my head and saw him lying there, his eyes open and staring up, his palms under his head, his elbows jutting outward. Then I looked beyond his bed and saw a man hurrying up the aisle, and when 'he came into focus I saw it was my father.

I almost cried out, but I held back and waited for him to come up to my bed. I saw he was carrying a package wrapped in newspapers. He had on his dark gray, striped, double-breasted suit and his gray hat. He looked thin and worn, and his face was pale. His eyes seemed red behind his steel-rimmed spectacles, as though he hadn't slept in a long time. He came quickly around to the left side of the bed and looked down at me and tried to smile. But the smile didn't come through at all.

'The hospital telephoned me a little while ago,' he said, sounding a little out of breath. 'They told me you were awake.'

I started to sit up in the bed.

'No,' he said. 'lie still. They told me you were not to sit up yet'

I lay back and looked up at him. He sat down on the edge of the bed and put the package down next to him. He took off his hat and put it on top of the package. His sparse gray hair lay uncombed on his head. That was unusual for my father. I never remembered him leaving the house without first carefully combing his hair.

'You slept almost a full day,' he said, trying another smile. He had a soft voice, but it was a little husky now. 'How are you feeling, Reuven?'

'I feel fine now,' I said.

'They told me you had a slight concussion. Your head does not hurt?'

'No.'

'Mr Galanter called a few times today. He wanted to know how you were. I told him you were sleeping.'

'He's a wonderful man, Mr Galanter.'

'They told me you might sleep for a few days. They were surprised you woke so soon.'

'The ball hit me very hard.'

'Yes,' he said. 'I heard all about the ball game.'