Chaim Potok - The Chosen

I got the tefillin and prayer book out of the drawer of the night table and began to put on the tefillin. The head strap rubbed against the bump, and I winced. It was still sore. I finished adjusting the hand strap and opened the prayer book. I saw Mr Savo looklng at me. Then I remembered that I wasn't allowed to read, so I closed the prayer book. I prayed whatever I remembered by heart, trying not to listen to the announcer. I prayed for the safety of all the soldiers fighting on the beaches. When I finished praying, I took off the tefillin and put them and the prayer book back in the drawer.

'You're a real religious kid, there, Bobby boy,' Mr Savo said to me.

I didn't know what to say to that, so I looked at him and nodded and didn't say anything.

'You going·to be a priest or something?'

'I might,' I said. 'My father wants me to be a mathematician, though.'

'Yon good at math?'

'Yes. I get all A's in math.'

'But you want to be a priest, eh? A – rabbi; you call it.'

'Sometimes I think I want to be a rabbi. I'm not sure.'

'It's a good thing to be, Bobby boy. Cockeyed world needs people like that. I could've been a priest. Had a chance once. Made a wrong choice. Wound up clopping people instead. Lousy choice. Hey, listen to that! '

The correspondent was saying excitedly that some German torpedo boats had attacked a Norwegian destroyer and that it looked like it was sinking. There were sailors jumping overboard and lifeboats being lowered.

'They got clopped,' Mr Savo said, looking grim. 'Poor bas – poor guys.'

The correspondent sounded very excited as he described the Norwegian destroyer sinking.

The rest of that morning I did nothing but listen to the radio and talk about the war with Mr Savo and Billy. I explained to Billy as best I could some of the things that were going on, and he kept telling me his uncle was the pilot of a big plane that dropped bombs. He asked me if I thought he was dropping them now to help with the invasion. I told him I was sure he was.

Shortly after lunch, a boy came in from the other ward bouncing a ball. I saw he was about six years old, had a thin pale face and dark uncombed hair which he kept brushing away from his eyes with his left hand while he walked along bouncing the ball with his right. He wore light brown pyjamas and a dark brown robe.

'Poor kid,' said Mr Savo. 'Been in the ward across the hall most of his life. Stomach's got no juices or something: He watched him come up the aisle. 'Crazy world. Cockeyed: The boy stood at the foot of Mr Savo's bed, looking very small and pale. 'Hey, Mr Tony. You want to catch with Mickey?'

Mr Savo told him this was no day to toss a ball around, there was an invasion going on. Mickey didn't know what an invasion was, and began to cry. 'You promised, Mr Tony. You said you would catch with little Mickey: Mr Savo looked uncomfortable. 'Okay, kid. Don't start bawling again. Just two catches. Okay?'

'Sure, Mr Tony,' Mickey said, his face glowing. He threw the ball to Mr Savo, who had to stretch his right hand high over his head to catch it. He tossed it back lightly to the boy, who dropped it and went scrambling for it under the bed. '

I saw Mrs Carpenter come rushing up the aisle, looking furious. 'Mr Savo, you are simply impossible!' she almost shouted.

Mr Savo sat in his bed, breathing very hard and not saying anything.

'You are going to make yourself seriously ill unless you stop this nonsense and rest!'.

'Yes, ma'am,' Mr Savo said. His face was pale. He lay back on his pillow and dosed his left eye.

Mrs Carpenter turned to the boy, who had found his ball and was looking expectantly at Mr Savo.

'Mickey, there will be no more catching with Mr Savo.'

'Aw, Mrs Carpenter -!

'Mickey!', 'Yes'm,' Mickey said, suddenly docile. 'Thanks for the catch, Mr Tony.'

Mr Savo lay on his pillow and didn't say anything. Micky went back up the aisle, bouncing his ball.

Mrs Carpenter looked down at Mr Savo. 'Are you feeling all right?' she asked, sounding concerned.

'I'm a little pooped,' Mr Savo said, not opening his eye.

'You should know better than to do something like that!

'Sorry, ma'am.'

Mrs Carpenter went away.

'Tough as a ring post,' Mr Savo said. 'But a big heart.' He lay still with his eye closed, and after awhile I saw he was asleep, The announcer was talking about the supply problems Invo1ved in a large-scale invasion, when I saw Mr Galanter coming up the aisle. I turned the radio down a little. Mr Galanter came up to my bed. He was carrying a copy of the New York Times under his arn, and his face was flushed and excited.

'Came up to say hello, soldier. I'm between schools, so I've only got a few minutes. Couldn't've seen you otherwise today. How are we doing?'.

'I'm a lot better, Mr Galanter.' I was happy and proud that he had come to see me. 'My head doesn't hurt at all, and the wrist is a lot less sore.'

'That's good news, trooper. Great news. This is some day, isn't it? One of the greatest days in history. Fantastic undertaking.'

'Yes, sir. I've been listening to it on the radio.'

'We can't begin to imagine what's going on, trooper. That's the incredible part. Probably have to land more than a hundred fifty thousand troops today and tomorrow, and thousands and thousands of tanks, artillery pieces, jeeps, bulldozers, everything and all on those beaches. It staggers the mind!'

'I told little Billy here that they were using the big bombing planes an awful lot. His uncle is a bomber pilot. He's probably flying his plane right now.'

Mr Galanter looked at Billy, who had turned his head in our direction, and I saw Mr Galanter notice immediately that he was blind. 'How are you, young feller?' Mr Galanter said, his voice sounding suddenly a lot less excited.

'My uncle flies a big plane that drops bombs,' Billy said. 'Are you a flier?'.

I saw Mr Galanter's face go tight.

'Mr Galanter is my gym teacher in high school,' I told Billy.

'My uncle's been a pilot for a long time now. My father says they have to fly an awful lot before they can come home. Were you wounded or something, Mr Galanter, sir, that you're home now?'

I saw Mr Galanter stare at the boy. His mouth was open, and he ran his tongue over his lips. He looked uncomfortable. 'Couldn't make it as a soldier,' he said, looking at Billy. 'I've got a bad -' He stopped. 'Tried to make it but couldn't.'

'I'm sorry to hear that, sir.'

'Yeah,' Mr Galanter said.

I was feeling embarrassed. Mr Galanter's excitement had disappeared, and now he stood there, staring at Billy and looking deflated. I felt sorry for him, and I regretted having mentioned Billy's uncle.

'I wish your uncle all the luck in the world,' Mr Galanter said quietly to Billy.

'Thank you, sir,' Billy said.

Mr Galanter turned to me. 'They did quite a job getting that piece of glass out of your eye, trooper: He was trying to sound cheerful, but he wasn't succeeding too well. 'How soon will you be out?'

'My father said in a few days.'

'Well, that's great. You're a lucky boy. It could've been a lot worse: 'Yes, sir.'

I wondered if he knew about the scar tissue and didn't want to talk to me about it. I decided not to mention it; he was looking a little sad and uneasy, and I didn't want to make him any more uncomfortable than he already was.

'Well, I got to go teach a class, trooper. Take care of yourself and get out of here soon.'

'Yes, sir. Thank you for everything and for coming to see me.'

'Anything for one of my troopers,' he said.

I watched him walk away slowly up the aisle.

'It's too bad he couldn't be a soldier,' Billy said. 'My father isn't a soldier, but that's because my mother was killed in the accident and there's no one else to take care of me and my little sister.'