A Stone for Danny Fisher (1952) (15 page)

I closed my eyes and tried to fall asleep, but thoughts kept chasing crazily through my mind. What if the cops were only playing dumb? What if Mr. Gold remembered once his pain had gone? He had plenty of time to get a good look at me. My pyjamas were becoming clammy
with perspiration and clinging to my skin. I squeezed my eyes tightly shut in the dark and desperately tried to fall asleep. There was no use. My nerves were jumping at every little sound in the night. A door slammed and I bolted upright in the bed. They were coming after me.

I jumped out of bed quickly and into my trousers and went to the door, straining my ears to hear the voices just beyond it. It was only my mother and father. Papa had just come home.

I slipped out of my trousers and got back into bed again. I sank back against the pillow with a sigh of relief. I was being a fool. Nobody could suspect me. Slowly my nervousness began to leave me, but still I couldn’t sleep.

The night seemed a thousand hours long. At last I turned on my side and stuffed the corner of the pillow into my mouth to keep from screaming. I began to pray silently. I had never consciously prayed before. I begged God not to let them catch me. I swore I would never do it again.

But the grey light of morning had come into the room before my eyes closed in sheer exhaustion. And then I didn’t really sleep. For echoing in my mind was the sickening sound of the snapping bone as I had lacked and Mr. Gold’s sharp, piercing scream was ringing in my ears.

S
OMEONE
was shaking me. I tried to move away from the hands that were holding me. Why couldn’t they leave me alone? I was so tired. A voice was calling me. It repeated the same words over and over: “Wake up, Danny! Wake up!”

I rolled over on my side. “I’m tired,” I mumbled, burying my face in the pillow. “Go away.”

I heard footsteps leave the room and I dozed tensely. I was waiting for the signal. There it was, Spit’s hand was going up to his face. I was moving quickly now. Mr. Gold had just come past the edge of the building. My hand went up. The weight of the sap was heavy in it. It started falling. Just then Mr. Gold turned around.

His white frightened face was staring at me. “I know you!” he screamed. “You’re Danny Fisher!” Then the sap came down and hit him on the side of head and he was falling.

“No!” I groaned. “No!” I tried to claw my way into the pillow. A hand fell on my shoulder and I jumped around in bed, my eyes open and staring.

“Danny!” Mamma’s voice was startled.

I sat up in bed, my eyes adjusting to the realities of the room. I was breathing heavily, as if I had been running.

Mamma was staring at my face. It felt white and clammy with sweat. “Danny, what’s the matter? Don’t you feel good?”

I looked at her for a moment; then I slowly sank back against the pillow. I was very tired. It was only a dream, but it had seemed so real. “I’m all right, Ma,” I said slowly.

A look of concern crossed her face. She placed a cool hand on my hot forehead and pressed me back against the pillow. “Go back to sleep, Danny,” she said gently. “You were crying in your sleep half the night.”

The sun was bright in the street outside when I opened my eyes again. I stretched lazily, pushing my feet all the way down against the foot of the bed.

“Feeling better, Blondie?”

My head snapped round. Mamma was sitting next to the bed. I sat up. “Yeah,” I said shamefacedly. “I wonder what was the matter with me.”

I was glad Mamma didn’t insist on an answer to my question. All she did was hold a glass of tea toward me. “Here,” she said quietly. “Drink this tea.”

I looked at the kitchen clock as I walked into the room. It was after two o’clock. “Where’s Papa?” I asked.

“He had to go down to the store early,” Mamma answered without turning from the stove. “Something happened to Mr. Gold.”

“Yeah,” I said noncommittally, crossing to the door. I opened it.

The sound made her turn around. “Where are you going?” she asked anxiously. “You’re not going out feeling like you do?’

“I gotta,” I answered. “I promised some fellas I would meet them.” Spit and Solly would be wondering about me.

“So you’ll meet them some other time. It’s not so important. Go back to bed and lie down.”

“I can’t, Mamma,” I said quickly. “Besides, a little fresh air will do me good!” I slammed the door quickly and ran down the stairs.

I caught Solly’s eye as I walked past the candy store, gave him the
come-on, and continued down the block. A few doors away I ducked into the building and waited in the hallway. I didn’t have to wait long.

The money was in my hand when they came in. “Here y’are,” I said, shoving it at them.

Solly put the money quickly into his pocket without counting it, but Spit thumbed through the bills. He looked up at me suspiciously.

“Only thirty bucks?” he asked.

I met his gaze. “Yer lucky to get that,” I snapped, “the way you powdered.”

Spit’s eyes fell. “I thought it would be more’n that.”

I clenched my fist. “Why didn’t yuh stay an’ count it?” I half snarled at him.

His eyes came up suddenly and he looked at me through
half-closed
lids. I could see he didn’t believe me, but he was afraid to say anything. I stared back at him and his eyes fell again. “Okay, Danny,” he said, placating me with a fine spray. “I ain’t beefin’.” He turned and slipped silently out the doorway.

I turned to Solly. He had been watching us. “Anything on your mind?” I asked nastily.

Solly’s lips spread in a slow smile. “No, Danny. I ain’t got no complaints.”

I smiled back at him and placed my hand on his shoulder, gently pushing him toward the doorway. “Go on, then, beat it,” I said gently. “I don’t want to stay in here all day.”

We got off the trolley car and Nellie took my arm. She looked up at my face. “Where we going?” she asked curiously.

“You’ll see.” I smiled, not wanting to tell her yet.

It had been like that all night. I had picked her up at the store after closing. “C’mon,” I had told her. “I wanna show you something.”

Willingly she had come down into the plaza with me and we had boarded the Utica-Reid trolley. All through the ride we had been silent, looking out the window, our hands clasped tightly together. I had wanted to tell her where we were going but I was afraid to. I was afraid she might laugh at me. But now I could tell her, because we were there. We were standing on a dark empty corner, almost ten o’clock at night, in a neighbourhood of Brooklyn she had never even known about. I raised my hand and pointed across the street. “See it?” I asked.

She peered across the street, then turned back to me, a bewildered expression on her face. “See what?” she asked. “There’s nothing there but an empty house.”

I smiled at her. “That’s it.” I nodded happily. “Beautiful, isn’t it?”

She turned back to look at it. “There’s nobody living in it,” she said in a disappointed voice.

I turned back to the house. “That’s what we came out to see,” I said to her. For a moment I had almost forgotten she was there. I stared at the house intently. I didn’t imagine there would be much trouble in getting the house back when Papa got Mr. Gold’s job.

Her voice interrupted my thoughts. “Is that what we came out to see in the middle of the night, Danny?” she asked. “An empty house?”

“It’s not an empty house,” I told her. “It’s my house. I used to live there. Maybe soon we’ll be able to move back.”

A sudden light came into her eyes. She glanced quickly at the house, then back at me. Her mouth softened gently. “It is a beautiful house, Danny,” she said in an understanding voice.

My hand tightened on her arm. “Papa gave it to me for my birthday when I was eight years old,” I explained to her. “On the very first day we moved in I fell into a pit and found a little dog and they had to get the cops out to find me.” I took a deep breath. The air was sweet and fresh out here. “She died when we moved. She was run over on Stanton Street. I brought her back here and buried her. This was the only home we had ever known an’ I loved that little dog more’n anything. That’s why I brought her back. It’s the only place she—we could be happy.”

Her eyes were shining and tender in the night. “And now you will move back here,” she whispered softly, pressing her face against my shoulder. “Oh, Danny, I’m so happy for you!”

I looked down at her. A warm feeling came into me. I knew she would understand, once she knew about it. I raised her fingers and pressed them to my lips. “Okay, Nellie. Now we can go back.” Somehow I didn’t mind going back now. I knew it wouldn’t be for long.

I stood in the doorway, my eyes blinking in the bright kitchen light. Mamma and Papa were staring at me as I stepped into the room. “You’re home early,” I said to my father, smiling. Maybe he had the good news already.

Papa’s face was tense and angry. “But you’re late,” he snapped. “Where were you?”

I closed the door behind me and looked at him. He wasn’t acting the way I had expected. Maybe something had gone wrong; maybe Gold had recognized me. “Around,” I said cautiously. Better to say nothing yet.

Papa’s anger raged through his self-control. “Around?” he shouted suddenly. “What kind of an answer is that? Your mother has been worrying herself sick over you all night. You don’t come home, you don’t say nothing, you’re just ‘around’! Where were you? Answer me!”

I tightened my lips stubbornly. Something had gone wrong. “I told Mamma I was all right, she didn’t have to worry.”

“Why didn’t you come home for supper, then? Your mother didn’t know what happened to you. You could have dropped dead in the street and we wouldn’t have known about it. She got herself sick worrying over you!”

“I’m sorry,” I said sullenly. “I didn’t think she would worry.”

“Don’t be sorry!” Papa shouted at me. “Just answer me! Where were you?”

I looked at him for a moment. There was no use in saying anything to him now. His face was almost purple with rage. I turned and started from the room.

Suddenly Papa’s hand was on my shoulder, spinning me back toward him. My eyes widened in surprise. Papa was holding his leather belt in his hand and waving it threateningly at me.

“Don’t go without answering me!” he shouted. “I’ve had enough of your high-and-mighty ways! Ever since we moved down here, you think you can come and go as you please with nobody to answer to. Well, I’ve had enough of it! You’ll come down to earth if I have to beat you down to it! Answer me!”

I pressed my lips firmly together. Papa had never hit me in anger in his life. I couldn’t believe he would do it now. Not when I was bigger than he was and stood there looking silently down at him.

He shook me roughly. “Where were you?”

I didn’t answer.

The belt came whistling through the air. It caught me on the side of the face. Lights flashed in front of my eyes and I could hear my mother screaming. I shook my head and opened my eyes.

Mamma was grabbing at his arm, begging him to stop. He pushed her away, shouting: “I’ve had enough, I tell you, enough! A man can only take so much. From his own son he’ll get proper respect!” He spun toward me and the belt came flying through the air.

I threw up my arms to ward it off, but the belt tore its way past them to my face. I felt myself slipping dizzily to the floor.

I looked up at my father through a sea of pain. I didn’t have to let him hit me. I could take the belt away from him any time I wanted. Yet I didn’t. I didn’t even make a move to escape the next blow. The belt came down again and I gritted my teeth against the pain.

Mamma threw her arms around his sides. “Stop, Harry! You’ll kill him!” she screamed.

He shook his arm and she fell back helplessly into a chair. His eyes, staring down at me, were rimmed with red and puffed as if he had been crying. The belt rose and fell. I closed my eyes.

His voice came floating down to me. “Now will you answer me?”

I looked up at him. Papa seemed to have three heads and they were all going around in circles, first past and then through each other. I shook my head trying to clear it. Papa was raising three hands. There were three belts flying down at me.

“I was at the house!”

The blow I expected didn’t come and I opened my eyes. The three belts hung suspended in the air over my head. Papa’s voice was coming from a long way off: “What house?”

It was then I first realized I had answered him. I let out a slow sigh. My voice was barely a squeak. I didn’t know it at all. “Our house,” I answered. “I went out to see if anyone was living there yet. I thought with Mr. Gold out, Papa would be managing the store and we would be able to move back there!”

There was a silence in the room that seemed to drag interminably. The only sound was the rasping of my breath in my ears and then Mamma was on the floor beside me, cradling my head against her bosom.

I opened my eyes again and looked at Papa. He had sunk into a chair and was staring at me with wide, frightened eyes. He seemed to grow old and shrunken before me. His lips moved, almost silently. I could hardly hear him.

“Where did you get that idea?” he was saying. “Last night Gold told me they were closing the store at the end of the month. They were losing money and I’ll be out of a job on the 1st!”

I couldn’t believe it. I just couldn’t. The tears began to run silently from my eyes and down my cheeks. Then gradually I began to
understand.
That’s what Gold had been doing when he called Papa over to the cash register last night. That’s why Papa had looked so beaten.

Everything was dear to me now. Papa’s anger, Mamma’s worried look this morning, her preoccupation at the stove. For a moment I was very young again and I turned my head back to the comfort of her bosom.

It was for nothing. The whole damn thing was for nothing.

How long could I go on living a kid’s life, dreaming a kid’s dream? It was about time I stopped. There was no way on God’s earth for me to get the house back.

I
ROLLED
easily away from a tired right-hand punch and shot back sharply with my left. I felt it tear through the boy’s guard and I knew I had him. I cocked my right just as the bell rang ending the round.

I let my hands drop to my side quickly and swaggered back to my corner. I dropped down on the stool and grinned at the man who clambered into the ring with the towel and pail of water. I opened my mouth and let some of the water trickle into it from the sponge on my face.

“How you feelin’?” he asked anxiously.

I grinned again. “Okay, Gi’sep,” I said confidently. “I’ll take him in this round. He shot his load.”

Giuseppe Petito shushed me. “Save yer breat’, Danny.” He ran the sponge across my neck and shoulders. “Be careful,” he warned me. “The guy’s still got a wicked right. Don’t take no chances. I promised Nellie I wouldn’ let yuh get hoit.”

I brushed my glove fondly across Giuseppe’s head. I liked this guy. “I guess you’re safe this time,” I grinned.

Giuseppe smiled back at me. “Make sure I am,” he retorted. “She may be your girl, but she’s my sister an’ you don’ know her like I do. I still catch hell from her for gettin’ you into this.”

I was just about to answer when the bell sounded. I bounced to my feet as Giuseppe slipped out of the ring. I walked quickly to the centre of the ring and touched gloves with my opponent. The referee struck up the gloves and I side-stepped a sudden left jab.

I held my hands high and loose in front of me, circling the boy carefully, waiting for an opportunity to start punching. I dropped my left slightly, trying to feint him into a right-hand lead. The kid didn’t bite and I dropped back.

I started circling him again. The crowd began to boo and stamp their feet in unison. I could feel the vibration in the taut, canvas floor of the ring. What did they want us to do for a ten-dollar gold watch? Kill each other? I looked anxiously back to my corner.

A sixth sense made me duck. From the corner of my eye I had caught a glimpse of a right hand coming toward my chin. It whistled over my shoulder and I came up inside the kid’s guard.

I brought my right hand up in an uppercut carried by the
momentum
of my body. It landed flush on the boy’s chin. His eyes glazed suddenly and he stumbled toward me, trying to grope his way into a clinch.

The crowd was roaring now. I stepped away from him quickly and shot my left. It tore into him and he stumbled forward and fell flat on his face. I turned and walked confidently back to my corner. Nobody had to tell me the fight was over.

Giuseppe was already in the ring, throwing a towel around my shoulders. “I wisht,” he grinned, “you was eighteen already!”

I laughed and went back to the centre of the ring. The referee came toward me and held up my hand. He whispered out of the side of his mouth: “Yer gettin’ too good for this racket, Fisher.”

I laughed again and swaggered back to my corner.

Giuseppe stuck his head into the dressing-room. “Yuh dressed yet, kid?” he asked.

“Tyin’ my shoes, Zep,” I called back.

“Snap it up, Danny,” Zep said. “The house boss wants to see yuh in his office.”

I straightened up and followed him out into the corridor. The noise of the crowd came faintly to our ears. “What’s he want, Zep?” I asked.

He shrugged his shoulders. “I dunno. Maybe he wants to give yuh a medal or somethin’.” But I could tell from his tone of voice that he was worried.

We stopped in front of a door marked:
“Private.”
Giuseppe opened it. “In yuh go, kid,” he said.

I entered the room curiously. I had never been in here before. This was only for the big-time boys, the boys who worked for dough, not for the likes of us who fought for watches. I was disappointed to find it only a small room with dirty grey-painted walls and some photographs of fighters hanging on them. I had expected something grander.

There were several men in the room and they were all smoking cigars and talking. When I came in they stopped talking and turned to look at me. Their eyes were shrewd and appraising.

I glanced at them briefly and then, ignoring their gaze, looked at the man sitting behind the small littered desk. “You sent for me, Mr. Skopas?”

He looked up at me. His eyes were grey and expressionless and his bald head gleamed in the light of the single overhead bulb. “You Danny Fisher?” His voice was just as expressionless as his eyes.

I nodded.

Skopas smiled mirthlessly at me, showing irregular yellowed teeth. “My boys been tellin’ me you got the makin’s. I hear you got a big collection of watches.”

I smiled back at him. He didn’t sound as if he was going to make trouble. “I would have,” I said, “if I could afford to keep them.”

Giuseppe nudged me nervously. “He means he gives ’em all to his ol’ man, Mr. Skopas,” he injected quickly. His eyes flashed warnings at me about the other men in the room. I knew what he meant right away. One of them might be an A.A. inspector.

Skopas turned to Giuseppe. “Who are you?” he asked, fish-eyed.

It was my turn to butt in. “He’s my manager, Mr. Skopas. He used to fight under the name of Peppy Patito.”

Skopas’s eyes widened slightly. “I remember. A fancy boy with a glass jaw.” His voice took on a chill. “So that’s what you do now—work the punks.”

Giuseppe shifted uncomfortably. “No, Mr. Skopas, I—–”

Skopas’s voice cut in on him. “Blow, Petito,” he said coldly. “I got business with your friend.”

Giuseppe looked down at him and then at me. His face was pale under his swarthy complexion. He hesitated a moment and then, with a miserable look in his eyes, started for the door.

I put my hand on his arm and stopped him. “Hold it, Zep.” I turned back to Skopas. “Yuh got Zep wrong, Mr. Skopas,” I said quickly. “Zep’s my girl’s brother. He’s only lookin’ out for me because I asked him. If he goes, I’m goin’ with him.”

The expression on Skopas’s face changed swiftly. He smiled. “Why didn’t yuh say so in the first place? That makes it different.” He took a cigar from his pocket and proffered it to Giuseppe. “Here, Petito, have a cigar, an’ no hard feelin’s.”

Zep took the cigar and put it in his pocket. The sick look had gone from his eyes and he was smiling.

I stared down at Skopas. “Yuh sent for me,” I said flatly. “What about?”

Skopas’s face went blank. “You been doin’ pretty good aroun’ this club, so I wanted you should know it.”

“Gee, thanks,” I snapped sarcastically. “What about this ‘business’ I heard yuh mention a minute ago?”

For a second a light blazed in his eyes and then it was gone and they were cold and empty as before. He continued speaking as if I hadn’t interrupted him. “The boys uptown are always on the lookout for promisin’ new talent, so I tol’ them about you. I wanted you to
know they was watchin’ your last few fights an’ they liked what they saw.” He paused importantly, put a fresh cigar in his mouth, and chewed on it for a moment before he began speaking again. “We think you’re too good for this racket, kid, an’ from now on we’re takin’ you over. You’re through fightin’ for watches.” He struck a match and held it up to his cigar.

I waited until the match burned down before I spoke. “What do I fight for now?” I asked impassively. There was no use in asking for who. I already knew that.

“Glory, kid,” Skopas replied, “glory. We decided you’re goin’ into the Gloves to build yerself a rep.”

“Great!” I said. “And what do I do for dough? At least I get ten bucks for the watch.”

Skopas’s smile was as cold as his eyes. He blew a cloud of smoke toward me. “We ain’t pikers, kid. Yuh get a hunnert a month until yer old enough to turn pro, then we split outta yer earnin’s.”

“I knock down more’n ten watches a month on this beat,” I
retorted
heatedly. I felt Giuseppe’s hand restrainingly on my arm. Angrily I shook it off. This wasn’t what I was looking for. “What if I don’t buy this deal?” I asked.

“Then yuh get nothin’,” Skopas said flatly. “But you look like a bright kid. You know better’n to buck the boys. We even got a guy down here who’s goin’ to manage yuh when yuh move over to the pros.”

I sneered. “You’re too sure of yourselves. What makes you guys think I want to be a fighter, anyway?”

Skopas’s eyes were wise. “You need the dough, kid,” he said surely. “That’s why you’ll be a fighter. That’s why you took up the
goldwatch
beat.”

He was right about that. I did need the dough. Papa was still out of work and this was the only buck I could be sure of outside of
knocking
somebody over the head. And my experience with Mr. Gold had taught me that I didn’t have the stomach for that business. But now I’d had enough of this. It was okay to pick up a few bucks here and there, but I didn’t buy it for a living. I’d seen too many guys walking around with their punches showing. That wasn’t for me.

I turned to Zep. “Come on, let’s go,” I said succinctly. I looked back at the desk. “So long, Mr. Skopas. Thanks for nothing. It’s been nice knowing you.”

I flung the door open and stalked out. A man standing in the
doorway
put out a hand to stop me. I pushed his hand away without looking up and started to step around him. A familiar voice beat at my ears:

“Hey, Danny Fisher, ain’t yuh gonna stop an’ say hello to your new manager?”

I looked up suddenly, a grin leaping to my face. My hand flew out, grabbing the man’s arm. “Sam!” I ejaculated. “Sam Gottkin! I should’ve known!”

Skopas’s voice came from over my shoulder. It had a slightly apologetic note in it. “The kid ain’t buyin’, Mr. Gottkin.”

Sam’s eyes were looking questioningly at me. I made up my mind quickly. I turned to Skopas, a smile on my face. “If it’s okay with you, Mr. Skopas,” I said, “you can tell your friends uptown they got themselves a new boy!”

“C’mon, Danny,” Sam said a few minutes later. “I’ll get you somethin’ to eat.”

I grinned at him. “Sure, Sam,” I said. “Just a minute.” I walked over to Skopas’s desk and looked down at him. The tension had gone from the room; even Skopas was smiling. The other men were watching me carefully. They knew if I had been tapped by boys uptown I was a real comer.

“Mr. Skopas,” I said with a smile, “I’m sorry I blew up. Thanks for what you did.”

He smiled up at me. “It’s okay, kid.”

I held out my hand. “But don’t forget my watch.”

He laughed loudly and turned to the men in the room. “The kid’s okay,” he announced. “He’ll go far. If I had five grand I would have gone for him myself.”

The surprise showed on my face, for the men laughed aloud. I looked at Sam and he nodded his head. I turned back to Skopas, wondering. Sam must be doing all right if he could afford to shell out five grand for me.

Skopas fished two bills from his pocket and placed them in my hand. “I ain’t got any watches on me, kid, so this time we’ll cut out the middleman.”

I put the money in my pocket. “Okay, Mr. Skopas,” I said. I walked back to Sam with a new respect. “Let’s go.”

I looked down at my plate regretfully. One thing about Gluckstern’s special Rumanian broilings. If you could eat all of it you were a hero. I put down my fork. “I’m bustin’,” I admitted. I turned to Giuseppe. “How you doin’?”

Giuseppe grinned with a mouthful of steak. “Okay, Danny.”

I looked across the table at Sam. He had quit too. He was watching
me, a curious look on his face. “I see you couldn’t make it either,” I said.

“Too much,” he said. “I gotta watch my weight now.”

He was right about that. He had put on a little weight since I saw him last. “How come yuh never answered the letter I sent yuh last year?” he asked suddenly.

I looked at him in surprise. “I never got it,” I said simply.

“I was lookin’ for yuh,” he said. “I even went out to your old house to see yuh, but nobody had your address.” He lit a cigarette. “I had a job for yuh.”

“Last summer?” I asked.

He nodded.

I fished a cigarette out of the pack Sam had left on the table. “I could’a used one too,” I said. “Things were pretty rough.”

“Did yuh graduate school yet?”

I shook my head. “This June,” I replied. I looked at Sam curiously. “How’d you happen to find me?” I asked. “Last I heard you had gone to Florida.”

“I did go,” Sam answered. “Did good too. But I didn’t forget about you. I always said some day I’d make a champ outta you, so I put out the word to some friends to keep an eye peeled for yuh. I figured sooner or later you’d turn up. A guy who fights as good as you don’t stay out altogether.” He reached across the table and plucked the cigarette from my mouth with a smile. “You ain’t usin’ these any more if you’re workin’ for me.”

“I like working for you,” I said, watching him squash out the butt. “But I don’t know if I like the idea of being a fighter.”

“Then what were you doin’ in those penny-ante clubs fightin’ for watches?” he asked pointedly.

I nodded toward Giuseppe. “I needed the dough and he knew where I could pick up maybe three, four watches a week for
three-round
amateurs. It looked like easy dough, so I did it. But I never meant to turn pro—it was only till I got out of school.”

“Then what were you gonna do?” Sam asked. “Set the world on fire? Get a job for ten bucks a week? If you’re lucky, that is?”

I flushed. “I didn’t think about that,” I admitted.

Sam smiled. “I thought so,” he said confidently. “But from now on, I’m gonna do your thinkin’.”