Eventide - Kent Haruf [16]
One of the boys next to DJ was yelling at him: Go ahead. Why won’t you fight?
He’s a chickenshit, a boy across the ring hollered. That’s why. He flapped his arms and crowed and hopped up and down. The kids next to him hooted.
The other boy in the ring was somewhat bigger, a blond boy in jeans and red shirt.
Go on. Hit him, Lonnie.
They don’t want to fight, DJ said. Let them go.
Stay out of this. The boy next to him stepped out and shoved the blond boy forward, and he swung and hit Joy Rae’s brother on the side of the face and then stepped back to see what he’d done and her brother put his hand up to his cheek.
Don’t, Joy Rae’s brother said. He spoke very softly.
Hit him again. You better hit him.
He doesn’t want to fight, DJ said. He’s had enough.
No he hasn’t. Shut up.
The boy shoved the blond boy again, and he hit her brother and grabbed him around the neck and they went down in the gravel. The blond boy rolled over on top of him, their faces close to each other, and hit him in the face and throat, and her brother tried to cover his face with his hands. His eyes looked frightened and his nose was bleeding. He began to wail.
Then the circle was broken by a girl rushing into the ring, Joy Rae, in a blue dress too short for her. You’re hurting him, she cried. Stop it. She ran over and pulled the blond boy off her brother, but the first big boy, the loudmouthed one, shoved her and she tripped over the little boys and fell on her hands and knees in the gravel. One knee was cut but she jumped up and pulled at the blond boy crying: Let go, you little son of a bitch.
The big loudmouthed boy grabbed her and this time hurled her backward into the ring of onlookers, and two boys grabbed her by the arms.
She twisted and kicked at them. Let go of me, she screamed.
DJ stepped into the ring and pulled the blond boy off and stood her brother on his feet. He was crying hard now and his face was smeared with blood. The ringleader grabbed DJ by the arm. What do you think you’re doing, asshole?
He’s had enough.
I’m not done with him yet.
Then a boy cried: Oh shit. Here comes Mrs. Harris.
The sixth-grade teacher came striding into the circle. What’s this? she said. What’s going on here?
The boys and girls began to walk off fast with their heads down.
Every one of you come back here, she called. Come back here.
But they all went on, some of them running now. The two boys holding Joy Rae let her go and sprinted off as Joy Rae hurried over to her brother.
What’s this about? the teacher said. She put her arm around the little boy and lifted his chin to see in his face. Are you all right? Talk to me. She wiped at the blood with a handkerchief. His eyes were red and there were bruises starting on his cheeks and forehead and the front of his shirt was ripped open. What’s this about? She turned to DJ. Do you know?
No, he said.
Who started it?
I don’t know.
You don’t know, or you’re not telling me?
He shrugged.
Well, you’re not helping anybody by not telling.
I know who it was, Joy Rae said, and named the big boy who’d been out in the ring.
He’s in very serious trouble then, the teacher said.
She led Joy Rae and her brother into the school building, but DJ lingered on the playground until the bell rang.
AFTER SCHOOL HE WAS WALKING HOME THROUGH THE park next to the railroad tracks when two boys appeared from behind the rusted WWII tank that served as a monument. They rushed up at him across the newly mown grass. How come you told old lady Harris on me? the big loudmouthed boy said.