Adrian Del Valle - Diego's Brooklyn (8 page)

“Hmm, what’s this? You! Very Funny, who wrote that? Let’s see what else is here. Space men…Froggy.”

Damn s
tupid kids.

“Okay…here’s Diego Rivera again.”

Diego eyed the teacher with contempt. Sure, and that just fills you with glee, doesn’t it Mr. Bumblebee. It just tickles…you…to…death to be so sure it was me.

“That’s three for Diego Rivera and I don’t see anyone else’s name on any of these.”

Of course not, Bumbles. They’re all afraid of you and now they’re your friends.

“Well! I think we have our little dart thrower. Come up to the front, right now, Mr. Rivera.”

“But, Mr. Bumbles…it wasn’t me!”

By now the kids were hysterical.

“Oh, I’m sorry. I meant Bumblebee. No! I mean, Mr. Bumblestein, sir. It really wasn’t me.”

“If you kids don’t stop laughing, I’ll make every one of you stay after school…and I mean it.”

“He didn’t do it,” said Hector.

“And why should I believe you, smart aleck? All right, Diego, If it wasn’t you, then who was it?”

“I don’t know, sir. I wasn’t looking.”

“Then how do you explain why three students said it was you? Now come up here to the front like I told you.”

Diego gave a mad face to Willie. He wasn’t a snitch, but if he got the chance, he was going to get even outside after three.

“You’re going with me to the principal’s office right after class, smarty. You thought you were pulling the wool over my eyes, didn’t you?”

Diego never got the chance to meet anybody after three. Instead, he landed in the lunch room with two hours detention. He felt miserable.

A letter arrived by mail a few days later. Diego wasn’t home when it got there and he hadn’t said anything to his mother about the incident. She couldn’t read English very well anyway. Perhaps he could bluff his way through this one, he had thought. What she didn’t know wouldn’t hurt her.

“Karen read to me thees papers today and I done Like eet, Meester Diego Rivera.”

Using and pronouncing his full name in Spanish was always a bad sign, especially when she rolled the r’s with her tongue.

“Mom, it really wasn’t me. I got blamed for it, but nobody really saw what happened.”

“So why done ju tell me thees theeng when eets hopping for ju?”

“I thought you might not get a letter. Hector was sitting right there. He knows it wasn’t me.”

“So now ju want Hector to lie for ju, too?”

“I’m not lying, Mom. Oh, what’s the use? You’re not going to believe me anyway.”

“Karen told to me that I’m having to go to school.”

“I’m sorry, Mom.”

“Sorry? Sorry? Ees too late for sorry. Ju know I no can walk weeth thees heep.”

“I know, but it wasn’t me. It really wasn’t.”

“I wan to belief ju, but even if eet wasn’t ju, Diego, dee teacher believe eet was ju.”

Principal’s Office

“Come in! Have a seat right there, Mr. Rivera. And who is that with you?”

“This is Mr. Jackson, Mr. Ratzfarb. He’s a family friend. My mother couldn’t come. She has a bad hip and can’t walk very far.”

“That’s perfectly fine. Do you know what this is all about, Mr. Jackson?”

“I gots the gist of it, suh. But you see, Diego is a good boy. I knows him for quite some time now and…”

“Well, Mr. Jackson, you know this boy for quite some time, but I guess you don’t really know him very well after all, do you? He put one of my teachers in danger with these darts?”

The principal tapped hard on his desk with a forefinger. “These darts! These darts right here!”

“Suh…alls ah knows is that he ain’t done nothin’ of the kind in all the time I knows him. We been a workin’ all summer long togetha, an’ I can tell you, Mista Principal, suh, if he says he ain’t done did it, then that be the truth. Please, suh, he ain’t never even did hissalf nothin’ in the fust place.”

“You got a three day suspension, Mr. Rivera, and that’s the end of it. You can go now.”

“Yes, sir.”

Diego trailed behind Bill and shut the door quietly behind himself.

Out in the hall, Bill fumed, “That man ain’t heard nothin’ ah said. If ah could put his dot sized brain in a gnat’s butt, I betcha that bug would fly backwards.”

In the ensuing silence of his office, Mr. Ratzfarb sat and stared at the closed door. He continued to tap on his desk with the end of a pencil for a while—a long while. Something about this whole thing bothered him. If he could only put his finger on it. More tapping. Finally, that “something” sparked his memory.

“Betty Ann!”

His secretary cracked the door open. “Yes, Mr. Ratzfarb?”

“You remember something last year about darts being thrown in the school yard, or…I don’t know, I can’t remember exactly who it was or where, but there was an incident about darts? Do you remember that?”

“That was in the lunch room. That Willie kid… um…Willie Goodwin.”

“That’s right…Goodwin! Is he in Diego’s class this year?”

“I believe so. Do you want me to pull his file?”

“No, don’t bother. It’s all settled for now and I really don’t have time to pursue any of this. Never mind. Thanks anyway.”

Aside from the incident, Diego did very well in school. He was especially good at math, inherited from his mother he had always thought. She was good at calculations—did it all in her head.

The School Assembly

It was halfway through the school year and time to give out awards. The assembly room is now full with every seat taken and many of the parents left standing along the back wall.

“It’s too bad mom couldn’t come. I know she really wanted to.”

Beulah patted Diego on the knee. “She proud a yawl anyways, son. She woulda been here if it wern’t for no hip a hurtin’ her so. And yawl doin’ all o’ this here learnin’ all by yo-self? It jus’ be makin’ us so proud.”

After the Pledge of Allegiance, and God Bless America were sung by all, with the accompaniment of the school band, and more than a few out of key voices, as well as no clue as to the lyrics, a few speeches were made. A poem was recited on stage by a student, and then a piano rendition of “Flight of the Bumblebee”. (No pun intended) (Okay, so it was) This was followed by a medley of Christmas songs sung by the ninth grade chorus.

Mr. Ratzfarb, awards in hand, once again graced the stage with his pomp-ass presence. “I would now like to express my deepest gratitude and appreciation for…”

“You know somethin’, Beulah?”

“What’s that, Mista Jackson?”

“I’d like to kick that man so high, birds would build a nest in his ears before he hit the ground.”

“Now, you know that ain’t polite like.”

“Well, I ain’t lookin’ to be polite like, no-how.”

Beulah took the moment to ask Diego something. “Do you thank yawl might git one of those awards today, Diega?”

“I was hoping I would. I got straight A’s. Remember the report cards I showed you?”

“I sho do, and we so proud a yawl, too.”

(“And for perfect attendance…”)

“I got an A+ for my book report, so…we’ll see, but there’s a lot of smart kids out here, and besides, I don’t think Mr. Ratzfarb really likes me.”

“Aw, shush,” said Bill. “He ain’t gonna pay that dart thang no never mind. His pea brain done forgot it already. Don’t you fret none.”

(“Now, in science we have…”)

“It don’t matter if’n you don’t get nothin’” Diega,” said Beulah, with another reassuring tap on the knee. “We gonna give you our own award, ain’t we, Mr. Jackson?”

“We sho is. We gots somethin’ await’n in the wings. Yawl sit tight, son.”

Both Beulah’s and the Principal’s words melded into the background as Diego transcended to an ancient gladiator’s ring. There, he stood steadfast with a Roman pugio in his grip. Ratzfarbius stabbed at him with his sword and missed, to which Diego kicked and knocked it out of his hand, casting the weapon to the side. He reached for his opponent’s bronze, frowning face mask and grabbed it underneath the jaw. With the good hold he had, he threw him viciously to the ground. He stepped on his hasta sword, still in its sheath, squatted over Ratzfarbius and pointed the pugio at his throat.

As a cloud of sunlit dust settled around them, Diego cocked his head to the side to find Tiberius, who was sitting in his gilded cubicle high above the horde of cheering spectators. Beneath a blue and unhampered sky, the Emperor leaped up from his throne, and in response to the jeering crowd, his thumb, like theirs, thrust suddenly downward.

“Spare me, oh master Diego,” Ratzfarbius pleaded. “I faulted you and now I feel nothing but shame. Wilst thou ever forgive me?”

Another look at the Emperor and the decision was set. Diego raised the pugio high and…

“…and for excellence in Math, Diego Rivera. Diego, come up and receive your award.”

“You sees! I told you so! Now git on up there and see us proud.” Bill winked at Beulah and turned to watch the boy as he headed down the aisle.

The grin on Diego’s face stretched as pats on the back followed him to the end of the row. He trotted up to the stage, quickly made his way to the podium and shook hands. “Hello Mr. Ratzfarb.”

“Hello, Rivera.” The principal covered the mike and softly spoke in a half whisper. “You did really well for yourself this semester. We’re pushing you up a grade. That means you will be starting your junior year in high school next September. I’ll talk to you about that later. Right now I have to say something to the good folks out there…so straighten up.”

“Eh, ehem…” Squeel! Sqreeeech! Tap! Tap! Tap! “I’d like to say to everyone sitting in this audience that even a once troubled student like Diego Rivera can benefit from the expertise of a well trained staff that has…and so we here at P.S. 6 have strived to…and through diligent follow up and a hard line, turned a failing student around…and finally, Mr. Rivera, thank you so much for all of your hard work. Here’s your award.” Shake…shake. “You may sit down.”

Let’s all give a wonderful hand to Diego Rivera. And thank you everyone for coming today to a most fruitful and produ…”

Bill grimaced. “That man near broke his arm pattin’ himself on the back.”

“A block party for me? I don’t believe it.”

“Sho ‘nough is,” Beulah said to Diego, with a giggle. “Ah was ‘spectin’ to jus’ come over to visit with you and yo’ momma with some fried chicken and sweet taters. This here is all Mista Richards doin’.

A police barricade with a permit stapled to it prevented cars from entering the block. A hand painted banner hanging from it read:

Congratulations Diego

The Whiz Kid from Dean St.

Lots of Luck in High School

Next September

A table in the street was filled with food. A stack of ham a foot high, courtesy of Mr. Herzog, sat in the middle. Alongside, is a stack each of salami, roast beef, potato salad, pickles, loaves of Wonder Bread and Levi’s Rye.

Mrs. D’avino stayed up late the night before baking everybody’s favorite, meat balls and trays of lasagna.

Karen and Ana cooked up a pot of gandules with yellow rice over Karen’s stove. They also baked a couple of chickens to go along with that and lots of brownies topped with confectioner’s sugar. Three pitchers of different flavors of Kool Aid were made and placed nearby.

Kids played Johnny on the Pony, while others whacked a volley ball over an improvised net. A little earlier, Mr. Herzog had set up a phonograph with speakers. “Tequila”, by the Ventures, a favorite, enlivened the neighbors enough for a few to start dancing.

Diego could not believe that this was all for him. “Say Bill, did you have a hand in this?”

“Bill looked up at the roof. “Wale, I…?”

“He sho did,” said Beulah. “He went and had a little talk with that assembly man fella, that’s what he did, dintcha, Mr. Jackson?”

“Wale, I…, it wern’t nothin’. Mr. Richards did it all. Spoke to his good friend Herzog at the Deli. He be the one that put all o’ this here together. Spoke to the De-vinas, too…and the po-leece. I’ll tell you, that Mista Richards feller sho knows ever’body.”

Walking toward them was Louie, his wife Yolanda and their two teenage girls, Lucy and Rosalinda. Fat Tony was around somewhere, busy at the moment hunting down his kids.

“Hey, yo, what’re you doing way over there? Where’s your mother, Diego?”

Diego answered from the other end of the table. “Hi Louie, home…her hip…you know.”

“Nah! that ain’t no good. She ought a be out here with you. Let’s go get her. You and me, whaddya say? She shouldn’t be alone in the house like that.”

Ana, sitting in a chair next to the window, looked up when Louie entered with Diego. “Louie, come in, sientate.”

“Whaddya sittin’ by the window for, Ana? Come down with us,” said Louie. “We’re here to bring you to da party.”

“Oh, no, please! I’m no look so good.”

“Your fine like that. Nice dress by the way.”

Ana self conscientiously closed the collar. “My house dress? No…thees is a rag.”

“Nonsense, Ana. You look great.”

“Mom, stop fighting, please. Do it for me?”

“Caramba! Okay, fine! Are ju going to help me down dee steps? I cannot walk by myself. Not today.”