Love and Promise

By David Abraham

Love and Promise is a story played out against the backdrop of a rural Upstate New York community where the grandson of Lebanese and Italian immigrants endeavors to overcome prejudice. A farm boy struggles to be accepted for his accomplishments rather than his ethnicity and lineage. James Rahin, tired of living the life of a dirt-poor farmer, dreamt of the good life. He wanted a nice house, a new car, and clothes that were not hand-me-downs. He observed that the glaring differences between his poor friends and relatives, and those who had the things he craved to have, was wealth. People with money either own a successful business or they were educated professionals. In his junior year of high school Jim became obsessed with the idea of attending college. His goal was to attend college and law school. Jim's attitude about life and women hardens when his older brother married an attractive blond. Jim saw the responsibilities of marriage forever alter Joe's priorities. Attending college could no longer be one of his brother's goals. Jim vowed that he would never allow anything or anyone to deter him from his dream. In high school Jim met Laura, a winsome girl who introduced him to a woman's warmth and passion. She tried to possess him with her body, but her carnal pleasures were not enough to sway him from his self-promise. Connie broke Jim's heart and set him on a path of distrust. Women were only visitors to his affection. He took what was offered but avoided the pitfalls of love. Through personal loss, an enlistment in the Marines, and bigotry at home and away- Jim stayed true to his promise. Then he met Hope.

• Language: English
• Publisher: AuthorHouse
• Release date: Jun 12, 2008
• ISBN: 9781467835831

David Abraham

David Abraham has authored seven other novels. THY FATHER’S SEED, FLIGHT FROM ALBEROBELLO, LOVE AND PROMISE, THE PRINCIPAL, BAWDY TOWN, TAINTED JUSTICE and BLACK RIVER. He has a B.A from Syracuse University and a Masters degree from the University of Idaho. He is also an actor/director.

Book preview

Chapter 1

ELEVEN YEAR OLD James Michael Rahin sat facing the beaten path that served as a venue between his house and the ruins of an old factory that was once a bustling mill. The area now substituted as a playground for local kids who used the rubble to enhance their war games. The destruction at the site mirrored what Jim had seen in war movies of buildings bombed during World War II. Debris was scattered everywhere with crushed brick intermingled with broken pipes, glass and electrical wire. This playground was a far cry from the streets of east Colossus, New York where he had spent nine years of his life. He missed the apartment complex on Mohawk Street and the Italian friends with whom he had played. In Adirondack Mills most of the boys were Polish and treated him like a leper because of his dark skin and non-Polish heritage; he was different. Whenever the local kids allowed him to play, Jim was always one of the bad guys.

Unlike the sounds and smells of the city, especially the east end with its aroma of Italian cooking and backyard ethnic babbling, Adirondack Mills was a quiet, clean, mill-town positioned in upstate New York along Sauquoit Creek about twenty minutes from the city. The region had risen to prominence during the state’s industrial boom when men with money, power, and influence sought to harness local rivers and streams in an attempt to further the growth of the textile industry. Cheap eastern-European labor from countries like Poland was imported to meet the human resource demands of the companies. Septic, cookie cutter mill houses dotted the village and perpetuated a close-knit society that protected its own. Anglo-Saxons and other nationalities were not easily assimilated into the community. Pols, like most other immigrants of the time, expected their children to marry within the nationality and maintain old country ideas and values. By the end of World War II most of the great mills stood silent with only a few small factories struggling to survive. The Clear Bottling Company took up residence in that portion of the Highland Street plant that had not been decimated by time and a series of fires. In spite of the company’s efforts to discourage trespass into the demolished portion of the plant, the ruins continued to serve as an attractive nuisance.

HEY, A SKINNY, BLOND boy with a toy gun called, Ya wanna be a German? Stan, me, en Barney are gonna play war.

Jim threw a piece of brick in disgust. Yeah, all right, but one of these days I’d like ta be a Marine.

We ain’t fighting Japs, stupid. There ain’t no jungles around here. Do ya wanna play or not?

Yeah, I’ll play.

Jim was a short, stocky kid with thick shoulders, dark brown hair and a natural frown. He was one grade behind in school and that bothered him. A month after starting the fourth grade, he was diagnosed with polio, and spent most of the school year in Faxton Hospital. For a while the doctors weren’t sure if he would ever walk again, but Jim knew better. He refused to use crutches from the outset and dragged himself from chair to chair until feeling in his legs returned. Within a year he was not only walking, but also playing football. His gridiron was the hard pavement of Mohawk Street.

Is your brother Joe around? Barney asked.

Joe Rahin was three years Jim’s senior. He was a tall, thin, wiry kid who could outrun any of the boys in the neighborhood. Joe was sensitive and hated to fight. It wasn’t that he was scared, he just never wanted to hurt anyone. Some of the Polish boys didn’t understand that and tried to corner him just to provoke an altercation whenever possible. One day while Joe was coming home from the theater, Barney Breslauski caught him off guard giving Joe no option but to fight or be beaten like an old rug. Joe severely thumped the pugnacious Barney, and in the weeks that followed, the two boys became fast friends.

Nah, Jim responded with a shrug of his shoulders. He went to visit my grandmother.

Then I guess it’s just you and me as the bad guys.

Jim’s grandmother lived on Tilden Avenue in east Colossus, just a few blocks from where his family resided before moving to the Mills. Rose Danelli had immigrated from Italy in 1911 at the age of sixteen and spent her entire life in Colossus. Gina Rahin, Jim’s mother, made a practice of visiting Rose at least once a week, usually on Saturday; she generally took one of the boys with her to help with chores. Jim liked going with his mother. Grandma Danelli always had homemade cookies waiting. Grandpa Danelli had died before Jim was born; according to Grandma Jim had many of Papa John’s mannerisms.

Dave Rahin, Jim’s father, a tall, handsome man, worked construction and was away most of the week. On Saturdays Dave returned to the Mills. He played golf in the morning and returned home about the same time as Gina. The family would eat dinner then gather around the radio to listen to The Lone Ranger, The Shadow, and other thrillers. Jim used the stories to conjure up situations in his imagination where he was the hero fighting injustice around the world; he considered playing bad guys an injustice.

Why can’t you and Stan be Germans? Jim whined.

Barney turned and snapped, Cuz Bob’s in charge and he says it’s you and me. I don’t like it either, but somebody’s gotta be a bad guy.

Yeah, well how come I’m always one of the bad guy? Jim continued to grumble.

Bob Chizik strutted to Jim’s side. You’re the youngest, that’s why! When someone younger comes along he’ll be the bad guy. If you’re going to be such a baby about it why don’t you just go home?

Jim weighed Bob’s remarks. What’s home, he thought. Awww right I’ll play, but I’m tell’n ya I don’t like it. He approached the older, taller Chizik. Someday when I’m the oldest I won’t make younger boys always play the bad guys. We’ll take turns, that’s the fair way ta play.

IN OCTOBER DAVE RAHIN was unemployed, and the family was given two weeks to move out of the tawdry, weather-beaten, two bedroom shack that had been their home for the past two years

Dave was away job hunting when a crew of men came to the house and removed all of the Rahin possessions to the curb.

You were told to be out by today, Stash Kubinowitz barked. "I got another family moving in tomorrow

But where will I go? Gina cried. Please give me a little more time. My chil…

You’re out! Kubinowitz screamed. I’ve got my own problems. He entered his pickup truck and sped away. The vehicle kicked cinders as it excellorated out of the the driveway and onto the road.

With tears lining her cheeks, Gina walked her sons three miles along route 5 until they had reached the farm owned by her father-in-law Hakim Rahin. The truck-farm was located on a dirt road just over the town line in Sangersboro.

Jidu! the boys yelled, when they saw their grandfather; they hurried to tell him what had happened.

Hakim Rahin, a work-hardened man in his fifties, clutched his daughter-in-law to him to comfort her.

What am I going to do? Gina sobbed. I don’t know where Dave is and I have nowhere to go.

Hakim straightened his five foot-ten inch frame, and called to his farmhand. We are going to Highland Street to pick up Gina’s things…Get the truck.

Jim and Joe rode in the back of the red, stake-rack, International and peeked through the slats as the blur of images of houses, trees and people blended together into a collage of color. The truck’s canvas top flapped in the wind as if waving goodbye to all it passed.

Where are we going to live, Jidu? Joe asked, when the truck had reached it’s destination.

You will live with me on the farm, Hakim replied. I will teach you to be a farmer.

THE RAHIN FARMHOUSE WAS built in the 1850’s. The siding was worn and gave little protection against the elements. Inside there was a kitchen with a hand pump at the sink, a food pantry and a bedroom off to one side. The kitchen featured an old green and white wood-burning stove that was used for cooking, baking and heat. A small door at one end of the kitchen allowed access to a dirt cellar where anyone taller than five feet had to dip at the waist or risk bumping their head on the hand hewed beams that comprised a base for the flooring above. After leaving the kitchen there was a sparsely furnished living room with a potbelly stove that served to heat both the upper and lower floors. At the end of the living room there were stairs leading up a narrow, dark, hallway; more than a dozen steps led to the upper level. On the second floor Hakim kept young chickens in three separate rooms. The brooding rooms were to serve as bedrooms for his son’s family. Grates in the floor of each room allowed heat to gravitate into the upper chambers. Outside, in the back of the house there was a shed, a chicken coop and a barn with a flat roof that housed a horse, one goat and an assortment of hens. Another building, set into the side of a hill was used to store farm equipment, several cats and a German Shepard called, Wolf. Next to the barn was an outhouse built for two.

I GOTTA TAKE A DUMP, Joe announced. His mother looked annoyed.

You know where the outhouse is, Gina admonished. Go!

I gotta go too, Jim echoed. He quickly followed his brother up the hill.

The barn-wood on the outhouse was a weathered gray in color with a make-shift door that couldn’t be locked. The convenience came equipped with last years Sears and Roebuck catalogue and an assortment of newspapers.

Gina never believed that any place could be worse than the house on Highland Street— she was wrong.

After gathering up the chickens from the second floor of the house Gina and the boys scrubbed the interior of the rooms to rid them of filth. Even when the old wood shined free of excrement and feathers, the unrelenting stench remained. All the windows were left open in the hope of airing the rooms before the beds and dressers were arranged. Scented candles were left aglow long after everyone had retired.

Sleep for Jim did not come easily, especially after Joe used the thunder-mug rather than braving a brisk midnight walk to the outhouse.

At five in the morning there was a loud rapping on the kitchen ceiling. Jim leaped from his bed. What’s that? he asked shaking his brother.

I don’t know, Joe answered. He jumped out of bed, put on his pants, and headed for the stairs.

Gina too was up and calling down the narrow stairway, What’s the matter? What’s going on?

Hakim came to the bottom of the stairs and replied, It’s time to get up… breakfast is ready.

Rema Rahin, Gina’s mother-in-law, was a small woman, standing less than five feet tall. She wore her long black hair in a braid that reached the small of her back. Dark circles accentuated her brown eyes, and a face that never looked happy. Rema rose at four every morning to make bread and prepare breakfast before reporting to the knitting mill. It annoyed her that there were now four more mouths to feed, but no more income to off-set expenses.

Don’t you say good morning? she grumbled, as the two boys entered the kitchen.

Good morning, Situ, the boys sang in unison, using the Arabic word for grandmother.

Without acknowledging the greeting, Rema snapped, Wash your hands!

Hakim entered the kitchen with Ron Dovey a young Italian boy who lived with his family on Clinton Street not far from the farm. Good morning, Ron said, as a general greeting. Did you sleep well?

Ron was seventeen years old. He stood five feet-seven inches tall, had a deep tan, and a work-sculptured body. Mature beyond his years, he was lauded by Hakim as a hard worker. The boy had been employed on the farm for the past two summers. Ron did all the driving; Hakim had never learned to drive.

The bedroom stinks, Jim announced. Joe didn’t help, he took a crap in that pot and put it under the bed without the lid on.

I put the lid on! Joe grumbled. He was indignant and embarrassed.

Ya didn’t, Jim challenged. I had to get up and cover the pot after you got back in bed.

Ron smiled. He took a seat next to Hakim and quickly scooped up a spoon of scrambled eggs.

Stop fighting, Gina barked, or you’ll have to leave the table.

That chicken smell will be gone in a couple of days, Hakim assured the boys. If you have to go to the toilet at night use the outhouse. There’s a lantern on the porch. You won’t have any problems unless, of course, you’re afraid of the dark. He laughed. You two are too old to be afraid of the dark…and Joe…the thunder-mugs are for the winter time when the snow gets too deep.

Joe rubbed his arm. Well I thought it was going to snow last night; I froze.

We’ll start the potbelly stove tonight, Hakim promised. That’ll keep the chill away.

A concerned Gina tersely interrupted the conversation. You two need to get ready for school.

We don’t have a tub to wash in, Jim complained.

You’ll have to sponge bathe at the kitchen pump, Gina replied.

But that water is cold, Joe chided.

Without comment, Rema took a basin from a cupboard and went to the kitchen stove. Removing a metal lid on the right side, she scooped hot water from a storage tank and poured it into the basin. She walked the pan to the sink and pumped twice on the little red handle. There was a sucking sound followed by a gush of cold water that mixed with that already in the basin. Here, she said, placing the vessel on a stand. Now wash.

Chapter 2

IT TOOK FIFTEEN MINUTES to walk to the school. There were fewer kids to interact with and fewer fights, but the harassment of the Rahin boys continued once they arrived on the school grounds.

In early January there was a thaw, and on a bright sunny day during lunch students were allowed to go outside to the playground to enjoy the snow and warmer weather. The sun glistened on the crystallized wonderland making the snow soft and easy to roll into snowmen—and snowballs. Jim stood alone watching other kids frolick. In an area where large numbers of students gathered the ground resembled a skating rink. Students were slipping and slidding in a joyous romp.

Joe had stayed home to help cut wood for the stove; the supply was low. With a break in the weather, Hakim, Dave and Ron were going to finish cutting the remainder of an old apple tree. Apple wood was hard and it burned for a long time. Jim liked apple wood because it gave off heat with a sweet aroma.

I wish I had stayed home too, Jim thought, as he stuffed his mittens into his coat pockets.

A young boy who was also considered different by the other students called to him. Hey, Jimmy, Han Hoe yelled. Ya wanna have a snow fight?

Han was the son of a Hawaiian couple who had migrated to New York after the start of World War II hostilities in the Pacific. All the kids called him a Gook.

Sure, Jim answered, as he packed some snow into a hard round ball.

A snowball danced off of Jim’s back leaving its mark. In turn, Jim fired a missal of his own. Just as he released the snowball another student, who had fallen on the slick surface, stood up directly into the ball’s path. The boy was struck full in the face and fell like a fighter sustaining a hard right to the jaw; he was down for the count. Jim raced to the boy’s side with a litany of apologies.

The injured boy’s friends and other students surrounded the boy and unleashed a barrage of ethnic slurs at his assailant.

Han faded into the background and eased himself past two teachers who were standing by the schoolhouse door.

In anger Jim stood and returned the insults. You fuck’n Polaks only act tough when ya got a gang ta back you up…Who wants ta face me one on one?

A blanket of silence muffled the crowd as necks craned in search for a champion. Each student encourage the other to answer the challenge. Suddenly a boy sauntered forward. He was a little older than Jim, well built and confident.

A cheer went up from the crowed. At’a boy Eddie…punch his lights out.

Edward Whinsome was well liked. He was a no-nonsense tough kid who had earned respect through a series of fights with other would-be toughies. Eddie was a year older than Jim and while he had never gone out of his way to harass the Rahins in the past, it was clear that he now felt an obligation to defend the honor of his friends and sustain his reputation. Whinsome had picked up the gauntlet thrown by the angry challenger.

Well, blackie, Eddie postured, here I am. What are you going to do about it?

I don’t have a quarrel with you, Whinsome, I was talking to the Polish guys who think they’re so tough.

He’s yellow, came the cries.

Punch his lights out, Eddie, someone reiterated.

Energized by the crowed and buoyed by what he regarded as fear in his opponent,Whinsome, swaggered closer with his fists at the ready.

Jim watched as Eddie’s breath vaporized into a gush of white. He didn’t wish to fight Eddie, but he didn’t know how to avoid doing so without losing face. Suddenly a student behind Jim shoved him forward causing a collision with the ready Eddie. A hard blow to the face stung and Jim found himself looking up from the frozen earth. The cold surface matched his opponent’s demeanor.

Come-on big mouth, get up, Eddie snarled.

What’s the matter, mess your pants? another boy yelled.

Everyone began to laugh.

Jim looked toward Tracy Stover a young girl whom he considered a friend; she turned away. She’s ashamed of me, he thought. The ethnic slurs, laughter and jeering crammed into his psyche. Suddenly Jim sprang to his feet and like his boxing hero Joe Lewis, he unleashed a barrage of lefts and rights sending Eddie Whimsome to the cold canvas. A hand reached out and jerked Jim around. Believing the hand to be that of another combatant, Jim followed through with a hard right to the persons mid-section—then he stopped. He had just punched the school’s principal.

Grabbing Jim by the collar, Stanley Devlin growled, You come with me young man. We’ve just about had enough of your disruptions and bully tactics. Pulling and dragging his charge toward the school, Jim was forced into the building. Before entering the school, Jim noticed blood on the snow and Eddie with his hands to his mouth. Teachers, who had ignored the earlier commotion, were comforting the fallen worrier. That Rahin boy is nothing but a bully, one said.

Inside the school Jim smiled. Bullshit, he’s older and bigger than me.. Besides, he started it.

Wipe that smirk off your face young man or I’ll do it for you, a brusque Devlin growled.

Jim stopped smiling, but he was consumed by a smug feeling of pride.

As they entered the office Mary Liban cried, Ohhh James, not again? When are you going to learn that fighting doesn’t solve anything. Mrs. Liban was a teacher and friend of his mother.

Jim fought back the tears. It wasn’t my fault, he mumbled. Eddie started it, he hit me first.

Shut up! I’m sick and tired of pulling you off other students. It’s never your fault, but someone else is always getting hurt, the principal yelled. I’m sending you home. You are not to return until one of your parents comes to school with you.

Mrs. Liban interrupted. I already called Mrs. Rahin, she’s on her way.

A sarcastic, Thanks, followed.

Stanley Devlin was a small, thin man with wire-rimmed glasses. He was thirty-eight years old, and unmarried. Raised locally by Polish parents, whose name had been changed from Devlinski to Devlin when they entered Ellis Island. Stanley took great pride in his heritage and position in the community. He tried to be politically astute when dealing with school matters. The entire board of education was made up of Polish men who held a traditional bent toward old country ideals and a strong desire to protect their own.

Devlin ran his hand over his stringy blond hair, Take James to your room until his mother arrives, he directed.

Mary Liban placed her hand gently on Jim’s shoulder and directed him out of the office. She felt empathy for the boy’s plight; she too was of Arabic decent.

As they passed the nurses room Jim spotted Eddie holding a large ball of cotton to his mouth. The nurse was on the phone.

Now you’ve really done it, Mary lamented. You’ve knocked some teeth out. There are going to be medical bills and maybe court action. That’s just what your family needs right now with your father out of work. As they entered Mrs. Liban’s classroom she crossed her arms over her large chest in frustration and stared out of the window. The two remained silent until the teacher unfolded her arm. Your mother is here; I’d better take you back to the office.

The walk back to the principal’s office seemed to go faster. When they passed the nurses room Jim noticed a large woman angrily waving her arms in animation and shouting. From the gist of the conversation Jim surmised that the woman was Mrs. Whinsome. A student passed him on his way to the boy’s room. When he saw Jim, he snickered.

It wasn’t my fault, Jim mumbled, as if trying to divest himself of guilt.

Mrs. Liban snapped her head around and with more anger than she had displayed earlier, chastised him for his attitude and for using his fists as a way of settling his differences with other students. You want to go to jail? she asked.

I don’t care, Jim grumbled between sniffles. He started it; ask anyone. He hit me first.

The last few steps to the office were covered in silence with the exception of the sound of Mrs. Liban’s shoes clicking the squares of the hard tile floors. When they entered the office Mrs. Liban positioned her charge in front of a chair. Sit, she directed. A young girl with red hair and a print dress collecting absentee slips from the counter gave Jim the once over and hastened her exit. Mrs. Liban went to the principals office and rapped gently on the door. Not waiting for a response, she opened the door a crack and said, Mrs. Rahin is on her way into the building, and Mrs. Whinsome is in the nurse’s office. I have James in your outer office. When the bell rang ending the period, Mary added, I have to go to my next class. Turning, she encountered Gina entering the office. Hello, Gina. I’m so sorry that you had to come to school, but as I told you on the phone, James has been involved in another fight. I’m afraid it’s more serious this time; he knocked another boy’s teeth out. The boy and his mother are in the nurse’s office.

Gina tried to speak, but was interrupted by Devlin. Mrs. Liban, I think you’d better get to your next class…I’ll meet with Mrs. Rahin.

Mary nodded and left without comment.

In less than cordial fashion Gina was directed into the principal’s office. Mrs. Rahin, come in, and bring James with you.

Jim rose and went to his mother’s side. She was obviously distressed. It wasn’t my fault, Mom. You know how they’re always picking on me and…well today Eddie Whinsome called me names and punched me. When I punched him back I was taken to the office.

The principal cleared his throat. Mrs. Rahin, please be seated. As you know, your son has been involved in another fight. He seems to have a penchant for finding trouble. This time it is a very serious matter. The boy he punched will need medical attention. The parents have indicated an intent to file charges.

Anger was visable on Gina’s face when she responded. My son said that the other boy punched him first. You have been notified time and again that these kids have been picking on my children ever since Joseph and James came to this school. Nothing is ever done until my sons are made to take matters into their own hands. I have told my sons that they are not to start a fight with anyone, but I expect them to protect themselves if attacked. Who witnessed the fight? Have you talked to others who were there?

Frankly, Mrs. Rahin, James has a habit of twisting the story to justify his actions.

Gina stood and walked to Devlin’s desk. I asked who witnessed the fight? Her voice reached a high, deliberate octave. I want to talk to the teacher who witnessed this fight. Where was the supervision?

Mrs. Anderson and Miss Viola were the two teachers on lunch duty. Mrs. Anderson came to get me as soon as the commotion started. When I got there the Whinsome boy was on the ground. When I attempted to control James he punched me.

I thought you were one of Eddie’s friends ganging up on me, Jim blurted.

Quiet, Devlin shouted. "I’m talking; don’t interrupt.

Where was Miss. Viola when this was going on? Why didn’t she stop it before you got there?

The kids had all gathered around. She couldn’t get through the circle.

Have you asked Miss Viola what she saw or heard?

No, I’ve not had an opportunity; she’s in a class. I’ll speak with her when she’s free.

There was a knock on the principal’s door. Mrs. Wright opened the door and stuck her head in. I’m sorry for interrupting, Mr. Devlin, but Mrs. Whinsome is here and insists on seeing you and Mrs. Rahin together.

Devlin rose and went to the door. He entered the outer office leaving Gina and James alone.

It wasn’t my fault Ma honest; you can ask Tracy Stover, she was there…She saw what happened.

Before Gina could respond, the door reopened and Mrs. Whinsome entered with the determination of a water buffalo protecting its calf. Devlin was at her side. Mrs. Whinsome didn’t acknowledge the presence of Gina. She concentrated her glare on Jim.

Mrs. Rahin, this is Mrs. Whinsome, Devlin said. Gina nodded, but Mrs. Whinsome remained stoic. I have instructed my secretary to ask Mrs. Anderson and Miss. Viola to report to me at the end of the period. I need to hear what they have to say about the altercation.

I’d like someone to speak to a young girl by the name of Tracy…ah,

Dover, Jim said noting that his mother couldn’t remember the girl’s last name.

I’ll have the nurse speak with her, Devlin said, his demeanor becoming less hostile.

I don’t care what the teachers or that child says, Mrs Whinsome howled. She turned to Jim and pointed. That little thug broke my son’s front teeth. I want him arrested.

Gina stood and positioned herself between Jim and an enraged Mrs. Whinsome. Gina looked diminutive next to her. Whinsome stood five feet-eleven-inches tall and wore a dress that resembled a tent. Gina at five-feet-two-inches tall and weighing a hundred pounds, with rocks in her pockets,would be no match if it came to a catfight.

The principal rose and moved around to the front of the desk. Ladies, he implored. Let’s remain civil.

As Devlin positioned himself between the two women his secretary, Mrs. Wright, entered the office and announced, Miss Viola is here.

There was an immediate calming of tensions as Miss Viola scurried into the room.

Miss Viola, Devlin’s authoritative voice boomed, I know how busy you are, so I won’t take a lot of your time. Please tell Mrs. Whinsome and Mrs. Rahin what you know about the fight involving Edward and James.

Miss Viola was a thin nervous spinster in her fifties. Her grayish hair was tucked neatly into a bun on the back of her head. She was wearing the same drab blue-flowered-print dress and high-button shoes she had worn since the start of the school year. Her atire resembled that worn by teachers a hundred years earlier. She wrung her hands in a repetitive motion and fumbled with her wire rimmed glasses. When Mrs. Anderson went to get you, she squeaked, I went to where all the yelling was and noticed the two boys in the middle of a circle. The other children were yelling for them to fight. I tried to stop it. She paused and looked nervously at the two women. I wasn’t strong enough to break through the circle. I yelled at them, but I guess they couldn’t hear me.

Did you see who started the fight? Gina asked.

"I don’t know who started the fight, but when I got there Eddie had his fist up and James was saying something to him. Suddenly someone behind James pushed him forward and he fell to the ground. I don’t know whether Edward hit him or not. James got up and punched Edward several times. About that time Mr. Devlin broke through the circle and gripped James by the shoulder.

I didn’t slip, Jim interrupted. Eddie punched me.

My son has a right to defend himself, Gina added.

Mrs. Wright opened the door. Mr. Devlin, could I see you a moment?

The principal rose and disappeared from the room. In the outer office the nurse and Mrs. Liban stood waiting. The nurse was the first to speak. Mr. Devlin, I spoke with the Stover girl. She said Eddie and some other boys started the fight. She saw Edward punched James first, after James said he didn’t want to fight.

I’m getting the same thing from the kids in my room, another teacher, who had come to the office to gather her mail, added. The fight seems to be the only thing my class wants to talk about. It’s clear that the other children taunted Eddie into fighting with the Rahin boy.

Thank you ladies, the principal said, as he turned and reentered his office. According to other students James and Eddie are equally to blame, he lied. Devlin averted eye contact with Gina as he continued. Apparently the two boys have been harassing one another for over a week. He continued to lie. He knew that Mrs.Whinsome’s brother-in law was a member of the school board. It was going to be hard enough to keep young Eddie from being suspended. As the principal, he needed a way to save face and appease the board member.

That’s not true, Jim shouted.

Gina silenced her son with a stern look and a finger to her mouth.

The principal ignored the remarks and continued. Arrest seems out of the question. I am considering suspending both boys for five days, but I will forgo the suspension if the boys will promise to stay away from each other.

What about my son’s teeth? Mrs. Whinsome said, as she glowered over Devlin. Whose gonna pay the dental bill?

Mrs. Rahin, are you willing to accept responsibility for Edward’s dental work? Devlin asked.

I don’t feel that my son should take all the blame. If you are saying that they were equally at fault then I’m willing to accept responsibility for half of the bill.

You’re gonna pay all of it, Mrs.