Black Evening (20 page)

I stopped eating fries and frowned at him. "What are you talking about?"

"Don't you get the feeling we're not going anywhere?"

I shook my head, confused. I'd never heard Joey talk that way before.

"Left out," he said. "All the extra stuff they do at school. The student council, the way they're always included in what's going on."

"That stuck up Bill Stedman. Ever since he got elected president last year, he walks around like he owns the goddamned school."

"And the plays the drama club puts on, and the debating team, and — "

"All that's candy ass. What's with you? You want to be an actor now?"

"I don't know what I want to be." Joey rubbed his forehead. "But I want to be
something
. Those guys on the football team. They look like…"

"What?"

"Like they enjoy being good at what they do. They look damned proud. You can tell they're glad to belong."

"But all that pain."

His eyes had been bright. They seemed to be looking at something far away. Then all at once they came back to normal. He gave me that sly grin of his. "But there's a payoff. Those football players date the sexiest girls in school. All those muscles give the cheerleaders the hots."

I grinned right back. "Why didn't you say so? Now I get it. Why hang around here when there's a chance to date Rebecca Henderson?"

"Or her girlfriend, huh?"

We started laughing so hard that the waitress told us to shut up or leave, and that's how we came to try out for the football team, and how I learned about Mumbo Jumbo.

These days I've got a beer gut, and I puff if I walk up a couple flights of stairs, and my doctor says my cholesterol count's too high. Cholesterol. Back then you should have seen us, though. Granted, what Joey had said was right. We were overweight and soft. But we soon changed all that. The conversation I just described took place the week before school started, and Joey had us lifting weights and running laps even before Coach Hayes announced the dates for try-outs. When we showed up on the football field behind the gym that first Saturday of the school term, asking to join the team, Coach Hayes took his cap off, scratched his head, and wondered if we were kidding.

"No, we mean it," Joey said. "We really want to join."

"But you guys know my rules. You can't be on the team unless your scholastic average is B."

"Then we'll study harder. We'll raise our grades."

"Or waste my time, not to mention the team's. Your record speaks for itself. I've got no patience with guys who don't commit themselves."

"We'll try. We promise," Joey said. "Please. It's important to us."

"But look at the flab on you two. Sure, you're tall enough."

"Six foot," Joey said. "Danny's a quarter inch taller."

"But how are you going to keep up with the other guys? Look at Welsh over there. He's been working out all summer."

I glanced at Welsh, who was running through the holes in a double row of tires laid out on the field. He made it easily. Me, I'd have been groaning on my way to the hospital.

"You'll give up as soon as thing's get tough," Coach Hayes said. "Why pretend different?"

"All we're asking for is a chance," Joey said. Coach Hayes rubbed a big, tanned, calloused hand across his mouth. "A chance? Okay, I'll give you one. The same chance the other boys have. Show me you can keep up with the training. Get in shape, and earn decent grades. We'll see."

"That's all we want. Coach, thanks."

"One hundred percent. Remember, I won't accept less. If you guys get on the team and then stop trying, you'll wish you hadn't asked to join."

"One hundred percent."

"And Danny, what about you? You haven't said anything." I nodded, wondering what the hell I was doing there. "Yeah, right, one hundred percent."

It was more like two hundred percent — of torture. The weightlifting and sprints Joey and I had been doing were a joke compared to what Coach Hayes soon made us do. Even the guys who'd stayed in shape all summer had trouble keeping up with the routines. That two-mile double-time warmup nearly killed me. And the calisthenics — I threw up when I got home and smelled the meat loaf my Mom had cooked.

The next morning, Sunday, my knees felt so stiff I hobbled when I crawled out of bed. I groaned to Joey on the phone, "This isn't going to work. I'm telling you I can't make the try out today. I feel like shit."

"Danny," my mother said from the kitchen. "Watch your language."

"You think you feel worse than me?" Joey asked. "All night I dreamed I was doing situps. My stomach's got rocks in it."

"Then let's not go."

"We're going. We promised. I won't break my word."

"But what's the point? Even a date with Rebecca Henderson isn't worth the agony we'll be going through."

"Rebecca Henderson? Who cares? The team," he said. "I want to make the team."

"But I thought — "

"I said that just to get you interested. Listen, Danny, we've got a chance to belong to something special, to be good at something, better than anybody else. I'm tired of being a fuckup."

On the phone in the background, I heard Joey's mother tell him to watch his language.

"But my back feels — "

"We've been friends a long time, right?"

"Since we started grade school."

"And we've done everything together, right? We went to the movies together, and we went swimming together, and we — "

"I get the idea. But — "

"So I'm asking you, let's do this together, too. I don't want to lose your friendship, Danny. I don't want to do this by myself."

Inside I felt warm, knowing what he was trying to tell me. Sure, it was sappy, but I guess I loved him like a brother.

"Okay," I said. "If it means that much to you."

"It means that much."

When we showed up that afternoon behind the gym, Coach Hayes blinked. "Wonders never cease."

"We told you we're serious," Joey said.

"And sore?"

"You bet."

"Legs feel like they've been run over by a truck?"

"A steamroller."

Coach Hayes grinned. "Well, at least you're honest. Even the pros admit they hurt. The trick is to do the job no matter how much it hurts."

I silently cursed.

"We won't let you down," Joey said.

"We'll see. Danny, you sure don't say much. Everybody, let's get started. Double-time around the track. After that, I've got a few new exercises for you."

Inwardly I groaned.

After the first mile, I nearly threw up again.

But it's funny. I guess you can get used to anything. Monday morning, I felt awful. I mean really wretched. There wasn't a part of me that didn't ache.

And Tuesday morning was worse. I don't want to remember Wednesday morning. Plus, we didn't hang around the Chicken Nest anymore or go down to my rec room, playing records. We didn't have time. And I felt so tired all I wanted to do was watch the tube.

But I had to hit the books. Every night after supper, Joey phoned to make sure I was studying. What I missed most were those cherry Cokes and fries, but Coach Hayes insisted we stay off them. We could eat spaghetti but no mashed potatoes, beef was okay but the next day had to be chicken or fish. My mother went crazy trying to figure out the menus. For the life of me, I didn't understand the diet. But along about Saturday, after a week of tryouts, I started feeling not too bad. Oh, I still ached, but it was a different kind of ache. Solid and tight, pulling me in. And my mind felt brighter, clearer.

The first quiz I took I got an A.

Two Sundays later, Coach Hayes lined us up after our workout. The bunch of us stood there facing him, breathing hard, sweating.

"Freddie," Coach Hayes told the kid beside me. "Sorry. You just don't have enough weight. The West High team'd mash you into the field. Maybe next year. For what it's worth, you're nimble enough to get on the track team." He shifted his glance. "Pete, you'd make a good tackle. Harry, I like the way you block."

And so on. Down until only Joey and I were left.

Coach Hayes spread his legs, put his hands on his hips and scowled. "As for you two guys, I've never seen a more miserable pair of…"

Joey made a choking sound.

"But I guess you'll do."

Joey breathed out sharply.

I cheered.

"We made it." Joey grinned with excitement. "I can't believe we're on the team!"

We stood on the corner where we always separated going home.

I laughed. "It's the first thing I ever really tried for."

"And got! We're on the team!"

"I owe you. I couldn't have done it without you," I said.

"Same goes here."

"But I'd have quit if you hadn't…"

"Naw. I was close to quitting a couple times myself," Joey said.

I didn't think so. He'd wanted it more than I had.

"I'd better go. My Mom'll have supper ready," I said.

"Yeah, mine will, too. I'll meet you a half hour early tomorrow so we can study for that science quiz."

"You bet." I didn't add what I was thinking.

Joey added it for me. "Now comes the hard part."

He was right. What we'd been doing until then was only exercises and sloppy scrimmage. Now we really got down to business.

"I've diagrammed these plays for you to memorize." Coach Hayes aimed a pointer against a blackboard in the social studies room after Monday's final bell. "I'll soon give you plenty more. You'll have to learn about game psychology, how to fake out the other team. And you'll have to build team spirit. That's as important as anything else. I want you guys to hang around with each other, go to movies together, eat lunch together. I want you all to understand each other until you can guess what Joey or Pete or Danny will do on the field. Anticipate each other. That's the secret."

But Coach Hayes had another secret. I didn't learn about it until our first game, and that was two weeks away. In the meantime, the pressure kept building. Harder longer exercise sessions. Practice games until my shoulder ached so bad I thought I'd dislocate it throwing the ball.

That's right. Throwing the ball. I guess Coach Hayes had been more impressed with us than he let on. After trying different guys in different positions, he'd actually picked me as a quarterback and Joey as a receiver.

"You two think alike. Let's see if you can make it work for you."

Sure, I was proud. But there were still grades to keep up and even more plays to memorize. I had no time to think about Rebecca Henderson. The school, the team, and winning were all Coach Hayes told us mattered.

Six-thirty Friday night, we showed up at the locker room and put on our uniforms. I felt shaky already. The other guys hardly spoke. Their faces were pale. Coach Hayes didn't help any when he started bitching about how good the other team was.

"Covington High's gonna stomp us. You guys aren't ready. You look like a bunch of losers. Eight winning seasons, and now I'm stuck being nursemaid to a bunch of sissies. I can't take the embarrassment of going out there with you. Pussies."

He went on like that, sounding meaner, more insulting as he went along until he had us so mad I wanted to shout at him to shut the fuck up. I knew what he was doing — using psychology to work us up, so we'd take out our anger on the other team — but all of us respected Coach Hayes so much and wanted him to like us so much that hearing him put us down made me feel like we'd been fools. You bastard, I thought.

Joey kept glancing from Coach Hayes to me, his face in pain.

At once the insults stopped. Coach Hayes glared and nodded. "All right." He walked to a wooden cabinet at the far end of the room.

It was always locked. I'd often wondered what was in there. Now he put a key in the lock and turned it, and behind me I heard a kid who'd been on last year's team whisper, "Mumbo Jumbo."

Next to me, Joey straightened. Those who'd been on last year's team started fidgeting, and somebody else whispered, "Mumbo Jumbo."

Coach Hayes opened the cabinet's door. I couldn't see what was in there because he stood in front of it, his back to us.

Then he slowly stepped away.

Several guys breathed in.

I was looking at a statue. It wasn't big, a foot tall if that. Maybe four inches thick. Pale brown, like the color of a cardboard box. It was made from some kind of stone, not shiny and smooth but dull and gritty-looking, like the stone was sand squeezed together. It had tiny holes here and there.

The statue was a man, distorted, creepy. He had a round bald head and huge bulging lips. His stomach was so swollen he looked pregnant. He sat with his legs crossed, his hands in his lap so they hid his dong. His navel was an upright slit. He reminded me of pictures I'd seen of Chinese idols. But he also reminded me of those weird statues on Easter Island (we'd studied some of this in history class) and those ugly ones in ruins in Mexico. You know, the Aztecs, the Mayans and all that.

The guys who'd been on last year's team didn't act surprised, but they sure looked spellbound. The rest of us didn't know what the hell was going on.

"Boys, I'd better explain. For our new members anyhow. This is… I don't know what you'd call him. Our mascot, I suppose. Or maybe better, our team's good luck charm."

"Mumbo Jumbo," a kid from last year murmured.

"For quite a few years now, we've gone through a little ritual before each game." Coach Hayes slid a table into the middle of the room. Its legs scraped on the concrete floor. "Just as we're going out to play, I set the statue on this table. We walk around it twice. We each put our right hand on the statue's head. Then we go out there, kick the other team's butt, and win."

What kind of shit is this? I thought.

Coach Hayes seemed to read my mind. "Oh, sure, I know it's silly. Childish." He grinned in embarrassment. "But I've been having the team do it so often now, and we've had so many winning seasons, I'm almost afraid to stop. Mind you, I don't think for a second that touching old Mumbo Jumbo's head does us any good. But well, when you've got a good thing going, why change the pattern? It's not as if I'm superstitious. But maybe some of you guys are. Maybe stopping the ritual would throw off your timing. Why not leave well enough alone?"