Authors: Peter Held
Dittle gave Edward Cooley a sour look. "They won't wink if it's costing us eighty-six thousand smackers!" He slapped the papers down on his desk. "Try for a settlement with Mrs. Struve. Explain that she hasn't got much of a case against Hovard. It's a matter of illegalities canceling each other. For instance, maybe Robert ran into the Cadillac—how does she know? Maybe Hovard will get a judgment against her. Then she'll be up a pole." I see.
"Sound her on a cash settlement. Don't let her get near her attorney; he'll ask for the moon."
When Cooley approached Elsbeth the second time, he found her at the lowest ebb of her spirits. The hospital was demanding money; there was none to be had. The school term had started —it would have been Robert's first semester at high school. Now he'd have to wait until January. Marschott was confident of success and Elsbeth wanted to believe him, but in her heart she found it impossible. It was as if she had wandered the hospital corridors for years, breathing the anti-
septic air, choking back her worry. Fifty thousand dollars? A pipe dream.
She put up small resistance to Edward Cooley, even took a weird comfort in letting him gull her. She put forward argumentative straw men, and made no protest when Cooley knocked them down. Anything to get this over, to get Robert home! A big company like Magna Insurance wouldn't take advantage of her! Of course not, said Cooley. A realistic lawyer would advise her to make a friendly settlement on reasonable terms.
"We'll pay hospital expenses up to now, and another thousand to take care of odds and ends —plastic surgery, stuff like that."
Elsbeth felt a pang of rebellion. "A thousand won't hardly get started!"
"Well," said Cooley, "I think I can talk Dittle into twelve hundred fifty. In fact, I'll put that figure here in the settlement, even if I get fired for it!"
"That's very nice of you," said Elsbeth weakly, and signed where Cooley showed her.
When Elsbeth telephoned Albert Marschott, he found it difficult to control his voice. After a moment, he told Mrs. Struve that she was entitled to manage her own life. He said, "Good day," and hung up. Elsbeth felt bleak and lost
and lonesome. "What have I done?" she whispered to herself.
The check for $1,250 was deposited in Robert's "college fund." Elsbeth had only worked part time during Robert's stay in the hospital, and she was forced to borrow from the $1,250.
Robert finally came home. His face had healed, but Elsbeth had to stifle gasps every time she looked at him. Could this be her Robert, the dear little boy who was all she had? His mouth was drawn over to the side; his left cheek was like a dish of brains. Above the mouth was a low gristly ridge, with black holes for nostrils. The eyebrows had been burnt off, and were growing back in odd angles. The forehead was unmarred; the eyes looked forth bewildered and frantic.
Robert refused to leave the apartment. He closed himself in his room, the shades drawn.
"I'm never going out," he said. "Never again . . . Everybody looks at me and stares. I'm a freak."
At last, Elsbeth said, "Only a coward is afraid of what people think, Robert. The worst kind of coward. A man who runs from danger is wise, but a man who runs from what people think, when he knows he's right, isn't true to himself."
"Okay," said Robert, looking bleakly out the window. "Okay, I'll try it."
He bandaged his face, and went with Elsbeth to the supermarket. No one paid any attention to him, and Robert took courage.
A week later he resumed his paper route. He still bandaged his face, but less elaborately. On the fourth day he met Carr Pendry riding his bike home from high school. Carr signaled urgently. Robert halted and slid from his bike. Carr made a circuit and coasted up.
"Hi," said Robert.
"Hi." Carr's eyes lingered on the bandage. "I heard you were out of the hospital. How do you feel?"
"Okay."
Carr nodded. He was solid and chunky, with a square face, a thatch of golden hair. He said bluntly, "What about my jigger?"
"What about it?" Robert asked, puzzled.
"It's wrecked, isn't it?"
Robert had nothing to say.
"I heard the insurance company made you a big payment," said Carr. "My father says you're responsible for the damage."
Robert looked uneasily up the street. "I'm not going to pay for something I didn't do."
"But you were riding it!" Carr was becoming angry.
"I'm sorry," said Robert. "Mr. Hovard ran into me. I'm not going to pay his damages.
Especially when Julie Hovard was driving."
Carr nodded bitterly. "That's what I get, lending my stuff to guys."
"I was delivering your route. It might have been you!"
Carr looked startled. "I never thought of that. I guess I was lucky."
"I guess I wasn't."
Carr leaned forward, peered at the bandage. "Did you get burned pretty bad?"
"Yeah."
Carr came a step forward. "Let's see what it looks like."
"It's nothing special." Robert turned away, preparing to get on his bike.
"Aw, come on."
Robert shook his head. "Wait till I get the plastic surgery."
"When's that?"
"I don't know yet. Pretty soon."
Carr called up the street: "Hey, Grant!"
Grant Hovard sauntered up. He was fifteen, an ungainly bean pole. His head was like his father's, low and round, with soft black hair cut close to the scalp, like a pad of black felt. His eyes were large and bulging.
He propped himself against the trunk of an acacia tree which grew out of the sidewalk strip.
"Hi, Grant," said Robert. He threw his leg over the frame of his bike.
"Just a minute," said Carr.
Robert gripped the handlebars uneasily. Carr was known for sudden recklessness. It was rumored that he beat up his sister Dean in wild tantrums.
Grant Hovard lounged back against the tree. "What's the deal?"
"Robert was just telling me about his accident," said Carr. "What do you think of a guy that ruins another guy's jigger, then won't pay for it?"
Grant shrugged, eyeing Robert sidelong.
"He says Julie ran into him."
"That's silly," said Grant.
Carr's eyes were bright and daring. "He says he's uglier than you are."
"Maybe he is," said Grant. "He'll have to prove it, though."
"Oh, hell," said Robert, feeling the warm blood pulsing under the scars. He pushed Carr away from the front of his bike. "I got to deliver my route."
"Just a minute," said Grant. "You mean to say you're uglier than I am?"
"I don't care one way or the other," said Robert tensely.
Carr laughed mockingly. "We ought to find out, hey, Grant?"
"I got a title to defend," said Grant, even though something inside his brain quailed and shrank. "Let's take a look."
Robert tried to ride off, but Grant caught him from behind, under the armpits. The two tripped on the bicycle, fell to the dry grass between street and sidewalk. Carr snatched at the bandage; the adhesive tape tore at the pale pink tissue.
They looked into Robert's face. Carr dropped the bandage as if it were foul. Grant rose to his feet, drew back a step.
Robert felt himself a different person—strong and swift as the wind. He reached out, grabbed the air pump from the clip on Carr's bicycle, and leaped to his feet.
"Look out," muttered Grant.
Carr stumbled. Robert hit him on the ear, then swung at Grant, but Grant skipped away.
Carr tried to struggle up. Robert struck him again, and Carr fell back to his knees. Robert raised his arm, but Grant snatched the pump out of his grasp. Robert rushed at Grant, ran him backwards into the picket fence.
Grant, yelling in alarm and pain, managed to writhe free.
Carr staggered forward. Robert struck with his fist, felt the warm wad of Carr's nose under his
knuckles, the spurt of blood. Grant was coming at him with the pump. Robert ran to meet him. Grant shied back and stood panting.
"You better be careful." He raised the air pump. "I'll let you have it."
Robert looked at Carr, who was holding a handkerchief to his nose. For a few seconds there was a peculiar hush. Then Robert went to his bike, got on and rode away.
A block down the street Robert remembered his bandage. He laughed. His face was naked, and it was as if his whole body were naked. He felt immensely powerful. His face was responsible. It gave him a stern and terrible force.
He never wore the bandage again.
In late October, he and Elsbeth paid a visit to the county hospital. The "college fund" had dwindled to an even $800.
Dr. Sunderland inspected Robert's face. "Healing very well. You've got tough tissue there, Robert."
"What about plastic surgery?" asked Elsbeth.
The doctor leaned back in his chair. "Frankly, Mrs. Struve, it's a big job—specialist's work. Not just skin graft, but an entire modeling of the face. I'd suggest that you consult Banbery, in San Francisco. Dr. Felix Banbery. He's the best man in the field."
"Is he expensive?" Elsbeth ventured.
Dr. Sunderland smiled briskly. "Any work of this kind is expensive. You might try the clinic —but of course they're working overtime on emergency cases."
Elsbeth rose to her feet. "Thank you, Dr. Sunderland."
They descended to the county clinic in the basement. The nurse was busy with paper work; it seemed to Elsbeth that she listened with only half an ear.
Elsbeth explained the problem. The nurse looked over Elsbeth's clothes, which were inexpensive, but carefully chosen. "You're without means?"
Elsbeth bridled at the nurse's tone. "We're not paupers; we—"
The nurse interrupted, "I can put your name down, but we're full up for two months. Also, you understand that the boy'11 be immobilized; he'll have to lie quiet for months."
"But he's starting high school," protested Elsbeth. "Can't the work be done on week-ends? Or after school?"
The nurse shook her head. "No ma'am."
Elsbeth gave her name, then she and Robert went home. Robert had never seen her look so old. He wandered restlessly about the room, fingering magazines, the bits of pottery that Elsbeth considered cute: roguish kittens, prancing deer,
squirrels, puppies, skunks. Elsbeth said, "I don't know what to do. I just don't know what to do."
"I don't want to go to the hospital."
Elsbeth shook her head. "But you've got to, Robert!" She considered. "If I could get a good job in the city, we'd be near the doctor ..."
"I got to deliver my route," said Robert. Elsbeth jumped up and hugged him fiercely, tears burning in her eyes.
The telephone rang. It was Mrs. Agnes Sadko, office manager at Hegenbels. She sounded very cool. "You'll be in for sure tomorrow?"
"I surely will, Mrs. Sadko."
"Very well, Mrs. Struve. We'll see you in the morning."
The next day Mrs. Sadko took Elsbeth aside. "Now, Mrs. Struve, I know you've been under a great strain, and we all feel the utmost sympathy. But the work here at the office is suffering. We're going to have to make some kind of arrangement."
Elsbeth's heart came into her mouth. "Arrangement?"
Mrs. Sadko cleared her throat. "We've got to get the work done, that's what we're here for . . . We're getting behind."
Elsbeth heaved a great sigh. "I think the worst of it's over. Robert's well now. We've decided to wait before going into plastic surgery."
Mrs. Sadko nodded brusquely. "Well, I'm glad to hear you're getting straightened out."
CHAPTER III
In January, Robert started high school. Els-beth had concocted a brave fiction that nothing really had happened; that Robert was like the other boys.
If Robert was not precisely cheerful, at least he did not mope. He fitted into school routine without effort, applying himself to his homework with a remarkable intensity. He never had been a confiding boy; now he closed up tighter than a clam.
During his second semester, and to Elsbeth's surprise and vague disapproval, Robert decided to play football. He wore a wire mask and practiced with the same intensity he gave his homework. It was a foregone conclusion that he'd make the Junior Varsity.
The JV quarterbacks were Alonzo Sanguarez, a Mexican in his junior year, and Carr Pendry, a low sophomore and one football season ahead of Robert. Alonzo was fast and a good ball-handler;
Carr was clever, brash and confident. The coach rated them about even.
Carr started the first game of the season, against Calmetta. After two minutes it was clear that Carr was not planning to make Robert look good. During the whole of the first quarter he handed off either to left halfback Ron Caffrey, fullback Jim Smith, or threw passes. Robert tackled, applied his blocks, ran interference.
The game was not going well for San Giorgio. Calmetta was strong and tough. They intercepted one of Carr's passes and ran it to a touchdown. In the early second quarter Carr called on Robert for a line buck. Robert had been waiting for this moment. The ball touched his hands, and it was like a fuse. Calmetta arms and shoulders seemed to melt in front of him. He was running free. Touchdown.
Robert throbbed with a grim joy, pleased but not surprised. Carr set out to prove that Robert had been lucky, and handed off to him six times in a row. Four times Robert broke loose for long gains; the last time he scored a touchdown.
Carr stopped handing off to Robert, sought rather to overshadow him by a series of brilliant passes, but twice his passes were intercepted, and one more went for a Calmetta touchdown.
At half time the coach gave Robert a slap on the
back. "Good work, kid. Just don't kill anybody out there."
During the third quarter, Alonzo Sanguarez came into the game as quarterback. Robert scored two more touchdowns.
The team had a successful season, winning all but the game against Paytonville. Elsbeth's initial disapproval became delight and pride. She suggested a party for the football team, but Robert vetoed the idea with a curtness that bewildered her.
Plastic surgery was still a project for the middle future. The clinic never called about an appointment, and Elsbeth put off making inquiries. She must not make a nuisance of herself.