A Stone for Danny Fisher (1952) (18 page)

I didn’t answer. I watched her face impassively, waiting for her to speak.

“He wants you to throw the next fight. He stands to lose a lot of money if you win.” Her voice was low.

I nodded my head. I had guessed something like that. “He ought to know better,” I said.

Her hand caught at my arm. “You don’t know him,” she whispered bitterly. “He’s bad and he’s mean. He won’t stop at anything. You should have seen him at the fight while you were taking a beating. He was laughing and happy as could be. It was a lot of fun for him until you knocked that boy out. If you had lost, he wouldn’t have bothered getting you up here tonight.”

I laughed shortly. “I won, an’ now there’s nothin’ he can do.”

Her fingers were gripping tightly into my arm. “You’re just a kid, Danny, and you don’t know him. He’ll stop at nothing. If he can’t buy you one way or another he’ll have his boys take care of you. Then you won’t be able to fight.”

I stared at her, my lips tightening. “Where do you fit in?” I asked.

She didn’t answer, she didn’t have to. She was no different from anyone else. Nobody had a chance against the guy with the buck. It was the old story, I thought bitterly. Now I had all the answers. To go along with Sam and become a fighter was my only way out,
the only chance to escape being a failure like everybody else, a nobody, one of the many who walk the streets of the city anonymously, who are never missed. It was my only chance to make a buck.

Slowly I sat up. She slipped into the seat beside me, her eyes alive with sympathy. She knew what I was thinking. “Now do you believe me?” she asked. “We’re both in the same boat.”

I got to my feet, nodding silently, and went to the window. I raised the blind and peeked out. Spit was still in the doorway, his cigarette glowing.

“Is he still there?”

“Yeah,” I said in a dull voice.

She looked at her watch. “Another fifteen minutes and you can go. You might as well sit down until then.”

I slumped into a chair, facing her, and felt the tiredness all through me.

“What are you going to do, Danny?” she asked.

“Nothin’.” I shrugged my shoulders. “What can I do?”

She came over to me and sat down on the arm of my chair. Her hand stroked my forehead. I closed my eyes wearily.

“Poor Danny,” she said gently. “There’s nothing you can do, nothing anybody can do.” Her voice grew suddenly bitter. “He’s got you like he’s got me, like he’s got everybody around him. Like a blood-sucking monster that lives off everything around it.” There were tears running from her open eyes.

“You’re crying,” I said in surprise.

“So I’m crying.” She stared back at me defiantly. “You know a law that stops a whore from crying, or don’t you think he’d like that either?”

“I’m sorry,” I said quickly. It wasn’t her fault. We were both lost, neither of us could escape. There was no use in kidding ourselves. We couldn’t win.

I put my hand on her shoulder and pulled her down to me. I kissed her. Her lips were soft and I could feel her teeth behind them. Now she lay across my lap, looking up at me. Her eyes were wide and
wondering
. “Danny,” she said softly, “You said you had a girl.”

“I have.” I laughed grimly. “But you’re here.” I kissed her again. “What’s your name?” I asked suddenly.

“Ronnie,” she answered. “But that’s not my real name. My name is Sarah, Sarah Dorfman. I want you to know it.”

“What difference does it make?” I laughed bitterly. “Maybe my name is not my own. Nothing else belongs to me. The only thing important is that if I have to do what he says, I might as well take everything he’s willing to give me.”

Her arms went up around my neck and pulled me down to her. I felt her lips moving against my ear. “What I have to give you, Danny, is something he could never buy—no matter how much he was willing to pay.”

Her lips were against mine. I could hear her crying softly.

Then the tension had gone, and we were silent, our breath rushing in each other’s ears. She was staring at me. I could see she understood.

“You’re going to take his money?” she asked, a sound of
disappointment
in her voice.

I stared back at her. “I don’t know,” I said bitterly. “I don’t know what I’m gonna do.”

I
CLOSED
the door behind me and stepped out on the side-walk. The night air was cool on my face. It was fresh and sweet and for a few short hours would stay that way—until the street started waking up. Then it would grow heavy and dirty again so that you couldn’t stand the taste of it in your lungs.

The glow of a cigarette in a doorway across the street caught my eye. I crossed the street quickly, anger swelling inside me. Spit was still in the doorway, a pile of cigarette butts scattered around him. His startled face stared at me.

“Gimme a butt, will yuh, Spit?” My voice was cold and echoed flatly in the empty street.

“Sure, Danny.” Spit’s voice was nervous, but his hand held a cigarette toward me.

I put it in my mouth. “Light.”

“Sure, Danny.” Spit’s hand held a trembling match. It flickered and burst into flame, casting a dancing shadow over his face.

I drew the smoke deep into my lungs. It felt good, it had been such a long time. Mr. Spritzer insisted on it, but it didn’t make any
difference
now.

“Did yuh see him, Danny?” Spit’s voice was anxious.

I stared at him. There was a wise and knowing look on his face. Even he had known what Fields wanted. I could feel the anger growing stronger inside me. The whole world knew what Fields wanted. It also knew what I would do. Nobody expected anything
different. I was just another shnook. I didn’t stand a chance.

“No,” I answered, a sudden tension in my voice. “He was out cold. Drunk.”

“You were up there wit’ the dame alla time?” Spit’s voice was curious, yet knowing.

I nodded silently. She hated Fields too, but there was nothing she could do about it. We were all caught just as she said. We couldn’t escape him. He held all the cards.

Spit’s leering voice grated in my ear. “Did yuh lay ’er, Danny?”

My eyes jumped to his face. The saliva was running crazily from the corner of his mouth, giving him a wickedly obscene expression. It was almost as if in the shadows behind him I could see Maxie Fields hanging over his shoulder. I grabbed his shirt and pulled him toward me. “What if I did?” I asked harshly. It was none of his affair.

Spit struggled in my grasp. “Nothin’, Danny, nothin’.” His
frightened
eyes stared up at me. “Le’ me go!”

I stared at him coldly. “What for?” I asked, my grip still tight in his shirt.

“I’m yer friend, Danny,” Spit gasped, his collar suddenly tight around his neck and choking him where I held it. “Didn’ I bring yuh to Fields? Put yuh in a way to make some dough?”

I laughed. That was rich. My friend? I laughed again and let go of his shirt.

He stepped back, staring at me nervously. “Jeeze, Danny,” he wheezed noarsely. “Fer a minute I t’ought yuh was gonna slug me.”

I laughed again. About that he was right. My fist sank into his soft belly. He doubled over and began to sink to his knees. I looked down at him contemptuously. “I was,” I said.

He stared up at me, his eyes blurred with stupid confusion. His voice was hoarse. “What’s wrong wit’ yuh, Danny? I was on’y doin’ you a favour.”

I slapped him across the face with my open hand, knocking him on his side. “I don’t want any favours,” I snapped harshly.

He sprawled flat at my feet for a moment; then his hand reached for the doorknob and he began to pull himself to his feet. The
expression
in his eyes had changed to raw hatred. His free hand fumbled beneath his shirt.

I waited until the switch knife was free in his hand, then I hit him again, and the knife clattered to the sidewalk. He fell forward, retching violently.

There was cold satisfaction coursing in me. Maybe I had no chance against Maxie Fields, but there was some where along the line I could level.

His face turned up to me. “I’ll get yuh for this, Danny,” he swore in a low, husky voice. “God help me, I’ll get yuh for this!”

I laughed again. “I wouldn’t try that, Spit,” I said, bending over him and pushing his face into the gutter. “Your boss might not like it.”

I turned my back and left him lying in the doorway.

I paused in my hallway and looked at my watch. It was almost 2.30. I began to climb the stairs. A light was coming from under our kitchen door when I reached the landing. I hoped Papa wasn’t up. I’d had enough for one night.

I put my key in the door and opened it. Mamma’s face looked out at me. I smiled at her. “You didn’t have to wait up for me, Ma,” I said, closing the door behind me.

She got out of her chair and came toward me, her eyes searching my face. “Are you all right, Danny?” she asked anxiously.

“Sure, he’s all right.” Papa’s voice came from the other doorway. “That’s Dynamite Danny Fisher. Nothing can hurt him. It says so here in the morning paper.” His hand waved the paper at us. “A new name they got for him,” he continued sarcastically, “in honour of breaking a boy’s jaw in two places with one punch in tonight’s fight.”

I stared at him in surprise. “It’s in the paper already?”

Papa waved the paper again. “What did you think? It would be a secret? What were you doing all night, celebrating with your shiksa?”

I didn’t answer him. There was no use in talking to him any more. He could never understand that it was an accident.

Mamma’s hand was on my shoulder. Her face was lined and worried. “It said in the paper you took a terrible beating in the first two rounds.”

I squeezed her hand gently. “It wasn’t so bad, Mamma. I’m okay now.”

“But that boy’s not!” Papa burst out. “Now you’ll stop maybe? Or you’ll go on until you kill somebody?”

“Don’t be a fool, Papa,” I snapped. “It was an accident. Those things happen sometimes. I didn’t mean it!”

“Accident, hah!” Papa shouted disbelievingly. “How can it be an accident when the main purpose is to beat up the other boy?” He turned to Mamma. “Some day we’ll have in our house a murderer, and then he’ll tell us that’s an accident too!”

The harsh monotony of his continual shouting ripped apart my nerves. “Leave me alone!” I shouted hysterically. “Leave me alone, I tell yuh!” I sank into a chair and covered my face with my hands.

I felt Mamma’s hands grip my shoulders. Her voice came from over
my head, filled with quiet strength. “Harry, go in to bed,” she told him.

“You’re doing wrong, coddling him,” he warned ominously. “Some day he’ll kill somebody and you’ll be to blame as much as him!”

“So I’ll be to blame,” she answered quietly without hesitation. “He’s our son and whatever he is or will be, we’ll have to take the blame.”

“You will, not me,” Papa retorted angrily. “I made up my mind. He gives up this fighting or I’m through. One more fight and he don’t have to come home. I won’t have any murderers sleeping under my roof!”

His footsteps stamped down the hall to the bedroom. There was a moment’s silence, then Mamma spoke gently to me. “Danny, I got some fresh-made chicken soup. I’ll warm it up for you.” Her hands were stroking my hair.

I raised my head and looked at her. Her eyes were filled with a sorrowing sympathy. “I’m not hungry.” I felt dull and numb.

“Take some,” she insisted. “It’ll do you good.” She turned the light on under the pot.

Maybe Papa was right, but if we hadn’t been so hard up for dough, it might never have happened. There was nothing else to do now.

Mamma put the plate of soup in front of me. “Eat,” she said, slipping into the chair next to me.

I tasted the soup. It was good and I could feel it warm away the numbness in me. I smiled gratefully at her, and she smiled back.

The warm soup was making me drowsy. I could feel the weariness creeping through me, the ache returning to my back and sides. I picked up the paper idly from the table where Papa had dropped it and began to turn the pages to the sports section. Some pieces of white notepaper fell from it. I looked at them curiously. There were figures scrawled in pencil all over them.

“What’s this?” I asked, holding them toward Mamma.

She took them from me. “Nothing,” she said. “Your father was just trying to figure out something.”

“What?”

“A friend of his has a store he wants Papa to buy, and Papa was trying to figure out where he could get the money for it.” She looked at the sheets of paper in her hand. “But there’s no use,” she continued, a note of hopelessness creeping into her voice. “He can’t get the money. He’s got enough stock that he put away at Uncle David’s the night he closed up the other store, but he can’t raise enough cash for a down payment. We might as well forget it.”

I was awake again. Maybe if I could get the money he wouldn’t think I was so bad. “How much does he need?” I asked.

Mamma got to her feet and took the empty plate from in front of me. She went to the sink and began to wash it. “Five hundred dollars,” she said tonelessly over her shoulder, “but it might as well be five million. We can’t get it.”

I stared at her back. Her shoulders were drooping tiredly. There was an air of futility and resignation about her. The fight had gone, the only thing left was the concern of existing from day to day.

Five hundred dollars. Fields should be good for that—easy. He had told me himself that he had booked over four grand on the fight. I looked up suddenly. Mamma was speaking.

It was almost as if she were speaking to herself, though she had turned around and her eyes were on my face. “It was nice even to think about, Blondie. Then maybe things would be again like they were. But it’s no use.”

I got to my feet. My mind was made up. “I’m tired, Ma. I’m going to bed.”

She came toward me and took my hand. “You’ll listen to your father, Danny,” she said gently, her eyes pleading with me. “You’ll give up this fighting business. He means what he said. He swore it all night.”

I wanted to tell her what had happened, but I couldn’t. She wouldn’t understand. There was only one answer I could give her now. “I can’t, Mamma.”

“For my sake then, Blondie,” she begged. “Please. In June you’ll graduate school, then you’ll get a job and everything will work out.”

I shook my head. I looked down at the sheets of notepaper with the figures on them that Mamma had left on the table. That wasn’t the answer. We both knew it. “I can’t quit now, Mamma. I gotta do it.”

As I started from the room, her hand caught at my arm and pulled me toward her. She pressed her hands to the side of my face and looked into my eyes. Fear was mirrored in her face. “But you might be hurt, Danny. Like that boy tonight.” The tears began to spill from her eyes. “I couldn’t stand that.”

I smiled reassuringly at her and caught her head to my chest. “Don’t worry, Mamma,” I said, pressing my lips to her head. “I’ll be all right. Nothing will happen to me.”