Hearts in Atlantis(32)

'Enough,' Ted said, rinsing his razor under hot water and then raising the blade to his lathered neck. 'Galumphing small-town humor in response to pathetic acts of compulsive larceny.'

'I don't understand you.'

'Mr Anderson sounds like a man suffering from a neurosis - a mental problem, in other words. Do you think mental problems are funny?'

'Gee, no. I feel bad for people with loose screws.'

'I'm glad to hear you say so. I've known people whose screws were not just loose but entirely missing. A good many such people, in fact. They are often pathetic, sometimes awe-inspiring, and occasionally terrifying, but they are not funny. CARTS CORRALLED, indeed. What else is there?'

'STARLET KILLED IN EUROPEAN ROAD ACCIDENT?'

'Ugh, no.'

'YANKEES ACQUIRE INFIELDER IN TRADE WITH SENATORS?'

'Nothing the Yankees do with the Senators interests me.'

'ALBINI RELISHES UNDERDOG ROLE?'

'Yes, please read that.'

Ted listened closely as he painstakingly shaved his throat. Bobby himself found the story less than riveting - it wasn't about Floyd Patterson or Ingemar Johansson, after all (Sully called the Swedish heavyweight 'Ingie-Baby') - but he read it carefully, nevertheless. The twelve-rounder between Tommy 'Hurricane' Haywood and Eddie Albini was scheduled for Madison Square Garden on Wednesday night of the following week. Both fighters had good records, but age was considered an important, perhaps telling factor: Haywood, twenty-three to Eddie Albini's thirty-six, and a heavy favorite. The winner might get a shot at the heavyweight title in the fall, probably around the time Richard Nixon won the Presidency (Bobby's mom said that was sure to happen, and a good thing - never mind that Kennedy was a Catholic, he was just too young, and apt to be a hothead).

In the article Albini said he could understand why he was the underdog - he was getting up in years a little and some folks thought he was past it because he'd lost by a TKO to Sugar Boy Masters in his last fight. And sure, he knew that Haywood outreached him and was supposed to be mighty savvy for a younger fellow. But he'd been training hard, Albini said, skipping a lot of rope and sparring with a guy who moved and jabbed like Haywood. The article was full of words like game and determined', Albini was described as being 'full of grit.' Bobby could tell the writer thought Albini was going to get the stuffing knocked out of him and felt sorry for him. Hurricane Haywood hadn't been available to talk to the reporter, but his manager, a fellow named I. Kleindienst (Ted told Bobby how to pronounce the name), said it was likely to be Eddie Albini's last fight. 'He had his day, but his day is over,' I. Kleindienst said. 'If Eddie goes six, I'm going to send my boy to bed without his supper.'

'Irving Kleindienst's a ka-mai,' Ted said.

'A what?'

'A fool.' Ted was looking out the window toward the sound of Mrs O'Hara's dog. Not totally blank the way he sometimes went blank, but distant.

'You know him?' Bobby asked.

'No, no,' Ted said. He seemed first startled by the idea, then amused. 'Know of him.'

'It sounds to me like this guy Albini's gonna get creamed.'

'You never know. That's what makes it interesting.'

'What do you mean?'

'Nothing. Go to the comics, Bobby. I want Flash Gordon. And be sure to tell me what Dale Arden's wearing.'

'Why?'

'Because I think she's a real hotsy-totsy,' Ted said, and Bobby burst out laughing. He couldn't help it. Sometimes Ted was a real card.

A day later, on his way back from Sterling House, where he had just filled out the rest of his forms for summer baseball, Bobby came upon a carefully printed poster thumbtacked to an elm in Commonwealth Park.

PLEASE HELP US FIND PHIL!

PHIL is our WELSH CORGI!

PHIL is 7 YRS. OLD!

PHIL is BROWN, with a WHITE BIB!

His EYES are BRIGHT & INTELLIGENT!

The TIPS OF HIS EARS are BLACK!

Will bring you a BALL if you say HURRY UP PHIL!

CALL HOusitonic 5-8337!

(OR)

BRING to 745 Highgate Avenue!

Home of THE SAGAMORE FAMILY!

There was no picture of Phil.

Bobby stood looking at the poster for a fair length of time. Part of him wanted to run home and tell Ted - not only about this but about the star and crescent moon he'd seen chalked beside the hopscotch grid. Another part pointed out that there was all sorts of stuff posted in the park - he could see a sign advertising a concert in the town square posted on another elm right across from where he was standing - and he would be nuts to get Ted going about this. These two thoughts contended with each other until they felt like two sticks rubbing together and his brain in danger of catching on fire.

I won't think about it, he told himself, stepping back from the poster. And when a voice from deep within his mind - a dangerously adult voice - protested that he was being paid to think about stuff like this, to tell about stuff like this, Bobby told the voice to just shut up. And the voice did.

When he got home, his mother was sitting on the porch glider again, this time mending the sleeve of a housedress. She looked up and Bobby saw the puffy skin beneath her eyes, the reddened lids. She had a Kleenex folded into one hand.

'Mom - ?'

What's wrong? was how the thought finished . . . but finishing it would be unwise. Would likely cause trouble. Bobby had had no recurrence of his brilliant insights on the day of the trip to Savin Rock, but he knew her - the way she looked at him when she was upset, the way the hand with the Kleenex in it tensed, almost becoming a fist, the way she drew in breath and sat up straighter, ready to give you a fight if you wanted to go against her.