John Fitzgerald GB 04 Great Bra (8 page)

Sweyn looked at him, “Don’t be a spoilsport,” he said.

Tom sure as heck didn’t want the fellows to think he was a spoilsport. “I’ll go first,” he said.

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He got down on his hands and knees and began crawl-ing between the legs of the eighth graders. Each one whacked him on the rump with a textbook. Jerry came next. And then one by one the rest of the seventh graders crawled through the torture tunnel. Fun was fun but Tom thought some of the eighth graders, especially Rory, could have taken it a little easier. Three of his classmates had tears in their eyes as they came out of the torture tunnel.

If Tom thought that was the end of the initiation he was mistaken. Rory put a chair at one end of the dormitory and sat down on it.

“We will now prove that all seventh graders are dummies,” he said. “Line up and come one at a time to sit on my lap.”

All the seventh graders looked at Tom as if expecting him to go first. He walked over and sat on Rory’s lap, wondering what this was all about. He didn’t have to wonder for long. Rory grabbed hold of the back of his neck as if Tom was a ventriloquist’s dummy.

“I’ve got a dummy on my lap who thinks he is a rooster,” Rory said- “Crow like a rooster, dummy.”

“Cock-a-doodte-doo!” Tom pretended to crow like a rooster, as both eighth and seventh graders laughed.

Jerry was next on Rory’s lap.

“I’ve got a dummy who thinks he is a cat,” Rory said. “Show me you are a cat, dummy.”

“Me-ow, me-ow,” Jerry said.

One by one the other seventh graders had to sit on Rory’s lap. He made them bark like a dog, moo like a cow, whinny like a horse, caw like a crow, roar like a lion, croak like a frog, cry like a baby, and howl like a wolf.

Then Rory stood up, “I guess that proves that all lit-

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tie seventh graders are dummies,” he said. “Os habent, et non loquentur.”

Sweyn laughed. “Oculos habent, et non videbunt,” he said.

Billy Daniels nodded his head. “Ares habent, et non audient,” he said.

“And,” Larry Williams said, “Nares habent, et non odorabunt.”

Then all the eighth graders began to laugh like all get out,

“And don’t forget, fellows,” Rory said, “when we want to say something we don’t want these little seventh graders to know about, all we have to do is to speak in Latin.”

Tom didn’t like the idea of anybody saying anything he couldn’t understand. He walked over to Sweyn.

“What did you fellows say in Latin?” he asked.

“After proving all seventh graders are dummies,” Sweyn said, “Rory said they have mouths and speak not. I said they have eyes and see not. Billy said they have ears and hear not. And Larry said they have noses and smell not-But don’t ask me to translate any more Latin for you. Like Rory said, when we want to say something to each other we don’t want you seventh graders to understand, we will speak in Latin.”

Tom admitted this was one time when even his great brain couldn’t help him. He knew he couldn’t learn Latin any faster than Father O’Malley taught it to him. Sweyn told him that was the end of the initiation but seventh graders would be forced to wash up twice and stand at attention in the mornings for the rest of the week.

It was a good thing Tom had a great brain. There was

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no time to do any homework before supper. And after supper he had to spend almost an hour in the chapel doing the penance Father O’Malley had given him. This left him Just one hour to do all his homework.

During his third and fourth mornings of peeling spuds Tom was surprised that Father Rodriguez didn’t come to check on him. But he got an even bigger surprise on his fifth and last day. When he and the superintendent arrived in the kitchen at four o’clock that morning he found Father Petrie waiting for them.

“This morning, Thomas,” Father Rodriguez said, “you are going to have an audience. Father Petrie and I are going to sit right here and watch you peel all those potatoes in less than an hour.”

Tom knew he was cornered and only his great brain could save him. But how? He mustn’t show any surprise. He had to convince the priests that he alone had peeled all the potatoes on the other four mornings and at the same time get out of peeling them this morning. His great brain came to his rescue.

“First I have to hypnotize myself,” he said.

Father Rodriguez stared at him. “Hypnotize yourself?” he asked,

“Bless my soul,” Father Petrie said, “you look as if you mean it, Thomas.”

Tom put his index fingers to his temples and shut his eyes. He began rocking back and forth.

“I am the fastest potato peeler in the world,” he chanted softly, “I am the fastest potato peeler in the world.”

He kept saying this over and over until his great brain

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gave him the solution to his problem. He dropped his arms and opened his eyes.

“I must get a paring knife now,” he said.

To get the knife he had to walk around the sack of potatoes. He made certain it was obvious to both priests that he stubbed his toe on the sack of potatoes. He fell to the floor bracing his fall with his hands. He lay there quietly until the two priests turned him over on his back. Then he blinked his eyes several times.

“What am I doing lying on the floor?” he asked. Then he took hold of his left wrist with his right hand and bit his lip as if in pain. “My wrist hurts. It feels as if I sprained it.”

“Bless my soul,” Father Petrie said. “Self-hypnosis in a mere boy. I just can’t believe it, although you did tell me that Thomas had what he called a great brain.”

Both priests helped Tom to his feet and Father Rodriguez examined the wrist.

“I don’t see any swelling,” Father Rodriguez said.

“Maybe it is just a twisted muscle,” Tom said. “I twisted my ankle one time and it didn’t swell up. But I couldn’t step on it for hours.” Tom wasn’t lying about his ankle. It really had happened.

“Come with me to the dispensary,” the superintendent said.

Tom followed the priest up to the second floor. Father Rodriguez turned on the light in the dispensary. The room contained two beds, a table, and a cabinet holding gauze, bandages, scissors, cans of salves, and other medical supplies.

The superintendent nodded toward a washbasin in the corner. “Let cold water run on your wrist,” he said.

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Tom did as he was told while the priest opened the cabinet and removed a roll of gauze and a pair of scissors.

“Dry your wrist now with a towel,” he said. “I’ll bandage it loosely. And if it starts to swell or your fingers start feeling numb, you come see me.”

Tom pretended it was painful as he opened and shut his fingers. “I doubt if I could hold a potato in my left hand let alone peel it now,” he said.

“I have no intention of forcing you to peel potatoes with a sprained wrist,” Father Rodriguez said. “You can return to bed as soon as I bandage it. Father Petrie and I will take care of the potatoes.”

A few minutes later Tom entered the dormitory. It was too good a joke to wait until the six o’clock bell, so he awakened Jerry, Phil, and Tony and told them what had happened.

“And right now,” he said as he finished, “Father Rodriguez and Father Petrie are peeling spuds in the kitchen.”

They all had a good laugh and then went back to bed.

Father Rodriguez conducted the first class that morning as usual. Five minutes before the period ended he made a surprise announcement.

“You will all now hold out your right hands so that I may inspect them,” he said.

Tom knew he was caught as he watched the superintendent inspect the fingers of each boy’s right hand. The inspection ended just as Father O’Malley entered the classroom to take over as teacher for the rest of the day.

“The following boys,” Father Rodriguez said, “will accompany me to my office: Thomas Fitzgerald, Jeremiah

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Moran, Phillip Martin and Anthony Colacci.”

They followed the priest down to the superintendent’s office on the ground Hoor. Father Rodriguez sat down at his desk.

“I admit, Thomas,” he said, “that your remarkable skill in peeling potatoes had me completely baffled. Then this morning 1 made a discovery. While helping Father Petrie peel potatoes I noticed that the work leaves telltale marks from the paring knife on the thumb and index finger of the right hand.”

“I take all the blame,” Tom said. “I talked Jerry, Phil, and Tony into helping me.”

“That is very noble of you, Thomas,” Father Rodriguez said, “but a person who participates in a con-spiracy is just as guilty as the ringleader.”

Tom was determined to try to save his friends. “If I had never come to the academy,” he said, “they wouldn’t be in trouble right now.”

“You plead like the devil’s advocate,” the priest said. “But you did come. However, you do have a point. The punishment for your three conspirators should be lighter than your own. And since you have made expert potato peelers out of them, they will peel potatoes for the next three weeks. Jeremiah will take the first week, Phillip the second week, and Anthony the third week.”

Tom heard his three friends groan as the sentence was pronounced.

“As for you, Thomas,” Father Rodriguez said, “beginning tomorrow you will clean the dormitory washroom between seven thirty and eight o’clock in the evening on Mondays through Fridays and during the afternoon on Saturdays and Sundays. And make no mistake about it, I

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want that washroom really cleaned. You will scrub the washbasins, shower room, and toilets and mop the floor daily. And that will be your assignment until you go for an entire month without getting any demerits. In addition each of you will receive five demerits. And may I remind you, Thomas, this makes fifteen demerits tor you this month. You may all return to your classroom now.”

Jerry took the punishment like the good sport he was. “It could have been worse,” he said as they climbed the stairs.

Phil was shaking his head. “I told you we would get in trouble,” he said. “And that stuff you gave us about you helping us, Tom, was just stuff. Father Rodriguez is going to make sure we don’t get any help peeling spuds-even if he has to sit there and watch us. You sure got us into a mess. Don’t come to me with any more of your bright ideas.”

“That goes for me too,” Tony said.

“But fellows,” Tom pleaded, “I thought you were my friends. You don’t hear Jerry crying, do you? What good is a friend if he deserts you the first time there is a little trouble?”

“Well,” Phil said, “when you put it that way I guess I’m still your friend.”

“Me too,” Tony said.

“You won’t regret it,” Tom said, “because my great brain has finally figured out a way to get rid of Father Rodriguez.”

Tom couldn’t have caused more astonishment if he’d said he was going to murder the superintendent. His three friends stared at him bug-eyed. Jerry was the first to recover enough to speak.

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“And just how are you going to do that?” he asked.

Tom’s idea had come to him so suddenly that he knew his great brain must have been subconsciously working on it since his first day at the academy.

“I’m going to write a letter to the Pope,” Tom said. “I’m going to tell him that Father Rodriguez is running this place like a reform school. When I get through telling Pope Leo what is going on around here I’ll bet he and the general will excommunicate Father Rodriguez.”

Jerry stared at Tom- “Who is the general?” he asked.

“The head of the Society of Jesus is called the general,” Tom explained. “But the general and all Jesuits have to take a special vow of obedience to the Pope. And when Pope Leo tells the general to get rid of Father Rodriguez you can bet the general will do it.”

Phil was shaking his head. “Don’t you have to get permission or something before you can write a letter to the Pope?” he asked.

“I’ll explain to Pope Leo in the letter,” Tom said, “that I sure as heck can’t get permission from Father Rodriguez.”

Tony still had his doubts. “If Father Rodriguez sees a letter going out of here from you to the Pope,” he said, “he will make you let him read it first.”

“I never thought about that,” Tom said.

Phil said, “Daniel could mail it.”

“Who is Daniel?” Tom asked.

“My older brother,” Phil said. “He comes to visit me with our mother and father every Sunday.”

“That does it,” Tom said grinning. “Pope Leo is going to get an earful about this place and how Father Rodriguez is running it.”

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I PERSONALLY DIDN’T BELIEVE Tom would last another month at the academy after getting fifteen demerits his first month. And I knew things must be pretty tough for Tom when he wrote me about having to peel spuds and clean the washroom. So tough that he had even written a letter to the Pope to complain.

But I didn’t have any time right then to think about Tom and his troubles, because I had troubles of my own, and his name was Frankie Pennyworth. He was a four-year-old boy whose parents and brother had been killed in a land slide in Red Rock Canyon. Uncle Mark couldn’t find any relatives, so Papa and Mamma had adopted

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Frankie. Having a foster brother was sure keeping me busy.

Frankie was a real take-over kid. Tom used to swindle me out of my things. But not Frankie. He just took them. I guess he figured that now that he was a member of the family, anything the family owned he owned. Whatever he wanted of mine he would just take. Then he would look at me with those big dark eyes of his and say, “My wagon,” or whatever it was he wanted. He even took my pup Prince this way. I had to borrow my own slingshot from Frankie when I wanted to use it. But I’ll admit that he was generous. Anything I used to own that he now owned he would let me borrow. If you are wondering why I didn’t put up a fight, there were two reasons. Papa said I must humor Frankie because of the great shock the boy had in losing his own family. And having a younger brother, to play with and love was worth everything Frankie took from me.