The Long Run (47 page)

Sighs and murmurs all around. The two guards turn and look at Blackie.

“Last meeting of the Dare Klub . . . for Blackie,” he says, and lowers his head. “Soon I'm no longer gonna be with you.”

The runners sense what's up. The others stare in astonishment.

“My last day at the Mount.”

More murmuring. There's a long silence as he fixes his dark eyes on us, a steady beam.

“You know me. How I love the backup. In baseball. In life. Had a backup all along.”

I look at Oberstein. He knows what's coming and he's crying as if his heart is broken.

“Tomorrow I'm gonna slip away, run my own marathon, a Comrades. Got some runnin' and some hitchin' to do. To Argentia. The ferry to the mainland. Then to Harlem. Gotta make it to the ferry in less than six hours. Be slippin' away in the mornin' when we head out for the regatta. Marathon starts 'round noon. Ferry's leavin' at eight. The brothers won't be back for the little ones till six. I'll be long gone. On my way to Nova Scotia. To freedom.”

“I wanna go with you,” Kavanagh cries out.

“Me too,” Ryan says.

“And me,” Murphy cries.

Everyone volunteers to go.

“He'll be killed if he's caught,” I tell Oberstein. “We gotta stop him.”

“‘He's as constant as the northern star,'” Oberstein says. “Since the strapping, nothing will change his mind. The rabbis say, ‘When one must, one can.' Blackie
must
.”

Blackie raises his hand. There's a long silence.

“Goin' it alone. Ain't no other way. ‘There is a tide in the affairs of men . . .'”

There's another long silence, and Blackie indicates he wants to say goodbye to each of us, one at a time. He fixes his eyes on Murphy and Kavanagh, pats them both on the shoulders and passes them a piece of paper. “Name of the street I lived on in Harlem,” he says, “in case you wanna visit sometime.” It's the saddest moment, because we're thinking about what will happen to him if he gets caught. Or worse, if he makes it to Nova Scotia. How will he make out? What will he eat? Where will he sleep? We're worried for him, and sad because we're losing our leader and we know nobody can replace Blackie,
ever
.

When he gets to Oberstein, he hugs him and smiles a long smile and says he's the smartest man in Newfoundland. “Rabbi, you're the noblest norphan of all. Everything kosher?” he asks, and Oberstein says everything's kosher, and Blackie laughs again. He tells him he will send him a postcard from New York. “Gonna sign it Yogi Berra,” he says. Oberstein turns away to hide his tears.

He shakes everyone's hand, Roman style. “When you're runnin',” he says to Richardson and Ryan, “be thinkin' of me. When I'm runnin', I'll be thinkin' of you.”

When he gets to me, he locks my eyes in a terrible gaze, and my heart jumps. Then he smiles a wide smile, flashes his gold tooth and puts a hand on each shoulder. I can feel the heat of his hands through my sweater. As he speaks, his thumbs press hard against my neck like he is sending a signal for me to listen carefully.

“The last of the Romans . . . There's a writer hidden in you somewhere,” he tousles my hair. “All you gotta do is let him out. You got what it takes. Stuff you wrote 'bout Floyd Patterson . . .” He shakes his head. “A sports writer, maybe. Don't let nothin' get in your way. Remember to listen hard when someone speaks. Like Rags. Most people never listen hard.” He removes his hands from my shoulders and just stands there with that far-off look on his face. “‘Forever and forever, farewell, Cassius.'” I try to speak. The words barely come. “I'll miss you, Blackie,” I say, and turn away.

“Gonna miss you too,” Blackie says, “for a day or so.”

Everyone laughs, and Oberstein starts booming out: “And we'll all glow together . . .”

Ryan wakes me in the middle of the night. “Got a cigarette?” he says.

“You're runnin' tomorrow, Ryan. Jesus.”

“I need a cigarette.”

I go to Cross's bed and fetch a Viceroy. Ryan sits on my bunk and lights up.

“You okay?” I ask.

“Yeah,” he says. “As much as I'll ever be.”

He's dragging pretty hard on the cigarette, so I tell him not to inhale so much. He doesn't say anything, so I poke him and tousle his hair, the way Rags does when he wants you to cheer up.

“Don't
touch
me,” he says. “You know I hate being touched.”

I tell him I'm sorry. We smoke for a while and outta the blue he asks, “Did you ever think you could kill someone?”

I swallow my Adam's apple. “Jesus, Ryan, what are you getting on with?”

“It's been on my mind. Since what he did to Blackie.”

“Ryan, we've all been strapped . . .”

“Not like that . . .” he shakes his head. “Not like that.”

“But
killing
. . .”

“I know. I know. It's a mortal sin. I'm not saying I'll do it. I'm just saying I
want
to. The thought's entered my mind, that's all. I know I don't have the balls to. But Blackie does. Maybe that's why he's taking off. He told me once that he'd like to kill McCann.”

“He didn't mean it. Blackie wouldn't—”

“He
meant
it. One time at the cave he told me he would do it or find someone who could. Someone who could believe strong enough.” Ryan passes me the cigarette. “I might not run tomorrow,” he says. “I might just see Blackie off and go to the races.”

He starts to cry. “Why the fuck did Bug do it? Back-stabbin' Brutus! Blackie was his best friend. Some fucken friend. With friends like that, who needs enemies?” He rocks back and forth, his face grimacing.

“Bug's gone now, Ryan,” I say.

“Yeah. Bug's gone. And Blackie's goin'. And I might too. We all should. How far's New York, anyway?”

“Quite a ways! Far as ever a puffin flew.”

“Wish we could all fly that far,” he sighs. “I'm gonna ask Blackie to let me join him when we head out tomorrow. I know he'll let me go with him. I just know it. He will, won't he?”

“Blackie's goin' alone, Ryan. You know Blackie. Besides, we need you for the marathon.”

“Fuck the marathon,” he says. “I hope I die of exhaustion. Like the first guy who ran one.”

He's so upset I start to worry. “We better get some sleep. Got a big day tomorrow.”

“Yeah, the big day,” he says, and walks away.

Oberstein rouses me at five o'clock. “The heavens opened an hour ago,” he says. “Worse than Noah's flood. It's coming down in buckets.”

Murphy appears. “Jesus, it's pissin' out,” he says. The rain is so heavy you can hear it pattering on the windowpanes.

Soon all the runners are up. We stare out the open window at the gray rain. The pigeons are cooing mournfully from the shelter of the eaves, as if they know our plight. I lean my head out, straining to see if Nicky's around.

“Never rains but it pours,” Oberstein chuckles.

“Shuddup! What's the forecast?” Blackie says.

“Spoze to clear by noon,” Oberstein says.

“Shit. I gotta go,” Blackie says. “I'm New York–bound. Gotta leave by nine. Got a heavy date.”

“It's gonna clear. Relax. It'll clear,” Oberstein says.

“Better. Can't run in this shit.” Blackie slaps the wet stone of the window frame.

“Don't worry, Blackie, it'll clear.”

“Gonna talk to one of your prophets. Noah, maybe?” Blackie's angry and nervous that something might go wrong.

“Noah's not a prophet,” Oberstein scoffs.

“Where's your God when we really need him?” Blackie whines. “Always on holiday when he's needed.”

The rain beats harder. “Jesus! You can't all run in this shit. Best to let Shorty and Ryan run it alone. Others join the peashooters. Work the sidelines. Gonna be our best chance.”

“We've prepared for all conditions,” I say. “You're the one who says to believe.”

“Shit,” Blackie says, staring out the window. “Can't even see Torbay Road. He turns and stares at everyone. “
Shit
.
Shit
.
Shit
.”

He kicks one of the wooden lockers. And for the first time, I detect a flash of defeat in his beady black eyes.

Father Cross appears. “Richardson's fine. Slight temp, but he's okay. Says he'll win by a country mile.” Oberstein is moody, but determined to beat all odds. “We're taking Blackie's advice,” he says. “Only Richardson and Ryan will run. The rest will join the trackers and spotters and peashooters and work from the sidelines. I want the whole Klub peashooting. Make sure we get a medal.”

The rain slows after breakfast, around nine o'clock, just before Blackie and Ryan head out. Murphy's transistor informs us that the St. John's Royal Regatta Marathon will take place on a gray, drizzly day. Richardson is up and about, stretching and running on the spot. “He's never looked better,” Father Cross says.

When Ryan returns, he refuses to do warm-ups. We learn that he ran with Blackie the short distance across Elizabeth Avenue to Kenmount Road. Blackie stopped there, hugged him and told him to go back. Ryan was shocked. He thought he'd run with him all the way to the Nova Scotia ferry.
To freedom
, Ryan whispers. He felt at first like he was being betrayed, and later like a dog leaving his master. He kept looking back at Blackie running toward the horizon. He tells us he yelled out Blackie's name once and started running toward him. Blackie stopped and laughed and picked up a stone and threw it at him and told him next time he wouldn't miss. He told him to hurry on back to the Mount to help with the marathon. Ryan says he stood and stared until the green boxers disappeared. Then he turned and ran toward the city, crying his eyes out. He was crying so much he said he couldn't see the road. He had to start walking. He couldn't run for the longest time.

He is pouting and downcast. His departure from Blackie has given him a severe bout of the spells. Oberstein is worried. “He's in no mood to run a race,” he says. “Go get Kavanagh and try to perk him up.”

“Do you want something to eat, Ryan? Some juice?” I ask.

“No,” he says.

I try to understand his bitter mood. So much happens at the Mount, your mood can change in a flash. I think of the day he got strapped for running away. Maybe something happened to him that day and it took all this time. Maybe it took seeing it happen to someone else to make him as angry as he is now. I look at him and know that he's thinking of Blackie and wishing he was by his side, running to freedom. I half understand, and I want to go to him and whisper that I wish I had the guts to run away.

Oberstein returns, smoking a cigarette. His fingers are yellow with nicotine.

“Hence, home, you idle creatures,” he laughs. “The brothers are all gone. They just left for Hogan's Pond. Only poor little norphs at a norphan home.” He looks at Ryan. “Are you gonna warm up? Richardson's been asking where you are. He's down in the yard.”

“I'll warm up,” he says.

“And you gotta eat, drink some juice.”

“I'll drink some juice.”