Story of the Phantom (11 page)

The Carruthers home was a large white frame house surrounded by a green lawn, flower bushes, big trees and a white picket fence. It was on a shaded quiet street with other houses with lawns and picket fences. The Carruthers were not wealthy, but they were what is known as "comfortable," and they moved in the leading society of Clarksville, Missouri, a city of 50,000 people sprawled on the banks of the wide lazy brown Mississippi River.

Kit had a large airy room on the second floor. The Carruthers had a small room for Guran in the basement next to the furnace. Kit insisted firmly that Guran share his room on the second floor, annoying Uncle Ephraim. To keep the peace, Aunt Bessie prevailed, and Guran moved in with Kit. It was difficult enough for the Carruthers to adjust to their unusual nephew. As for Guran-he would have been a rarity in any town or village in Bangalla-but in the Carruthers' white-frame house, he was a phenomenon: a wild pygmy from the Deep Woods, an expert in the preparation and use of deadly poisons, who spoke only his own language which sounded like grunts and coughs to the people of Clarksville.

Though Guran had learned to read and write with Kit in the Deep Woods during those classes with beautiful mother, he had little practice in conversation and was too shy to try. Then there was the matter of the beds. A second cot was put in Kit's room, and Aunt Bessie was surprised and pleased to find them made up each morning after Kit left for school. After a few days, she was amazed to learn that they didn't use the beds. They put extra blankets on the floor and slept on them.

"Why on the floor, for heaven's sake?" she asked.

Kit explained that Guran was used to sleeping on a straw mat on the ground, and that in the Skull Cave he slept on an animal skin on the rock floor. He had always done this, and found beds with mattresses too soft and uncomfortable. Uncle Ephraim found this outrageous. "Sleep on the floor?"

he said. "They're animals. They should sleep in the stable." But then, almost everything about Kit irritated Uncle Ephraim. As for Guran, he refused to discuss "the little savage" or to have him at their dinner table. So Kit also refused to eat dinner with his Aunt and Uncle, and ate in the kitchen with Guran.

It was a difficult time for everyone in the Carruthers house, and Kit wondered about his parents'

wisdom in sending him there. He knew the Carruthers were good people, but their way of life was so different from the Deep Woods. Perhaps, he thought hopefully, things would get better.

Aunt Bessie had bought a modest wardrobe for both Kit and Guran in New York, accompanied by Uncle Ephraim who protested every purchase as being "too high." Uncle Ephraim was prudent about money. Some called him tight. But Kit still found city clothes uncomfortable, and shorts and a T-shirt were as far as he would go, while Guran followed suit.

They had reached Clarksville at the end of the summer, in time for the new school term. Though all of the town had heard about the new arrivals, the Carruthers did not introduce them or take them to such places as their church or country club. This was due to Kit's insistence that Guran accompany him everywhere, and no one of Guran's color had ever entered either the church or the country club.

So Kit was denied the blessings of the church and the pleasures of the country club, for the time being. Kit, for all his surface calm, was nervous and uncertain. This was all new and he was only twelve. Guran had been his companion since he could crawl. He had a protective feeling about this shy little man, who was completely lost in this strange world. The Carruthers had reserved a place 54

for Kit in a local private boys' school, Clark Academy. This was a day school, where Kit would attend classes and return home each day to eat and sleep. Guran went with him the first few days until they had surveyed the place, then both agreed it was best for Guran to wait at home.

Clark Academy covered the primary and secondary school years. He was put through a series of tests to determine his grade, and was placed with other boys of his own age. Thanks to his mother's instructions, he was well-prepared in the academic subjects. His knowledge of languages amazed teachers and students alike.

Some of his other knowledge amazed them as well. History, for example. During his first week of the seventh grade history class, conducted by Mr. Hackley, Clark's football coach, the subject of Alexander the Great came up for discussion.

"What can anyone tell us about Alexander?" he asked.

A bright boy wearing glasses raised his hand.

"Sir, he conquered the whole world. And he cried because there were no more worlds to conquer," he said.

"Correct. Anyone else?" asked Mr. Hackley. At Clark, the boys were required to address all their teachers as 'sir.' Kit raised his hand, memories of lessons in the Skull Cave coming back to him. The class looked curiously at the new boy. This was the first time he had spoken.

"Alexander was not Great. He was a gang lord and he led his mobsters to kill and loot weaker people."

Mr. Hackley and the boys stared at him. Then the boys looked at Mr. Hackley who grinned.

"What an amazing interpretation. Where did you hear that?" he said. "And don't forget your 'sir.'"

"My father told me."

"Sir," said Mr. Hackley.

"Sir," said Kit.

Mr. Hackley laughed, and the boys joined him.

"What else did your father tell you," said Hackley.

"He said . . ."

"Sir," said Mr. Hackley.

"Sir, he said that Alexander the Great was the same as Attila the Hun, only it depended on who wrote about them."

"Attila the Hun," roared Mr. Hackley with great relish. "Oh, that's marvelous. And where did your father learn all these original facts?"

All the boys were grinning and snickering. It was like the time he had been in the woods with a few pygmy boys, and had by mistake picked a bouquet of leaves for his mother that were poisonous and

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caused a severe rash. He flushed, and faced the sarcastic faces.

"He said it because he knows what is true, and he does not lie," he said firmly.

"Sir," said Mr. Hackley.

"Sir," said Kit.

The boys waited expectantly for more funny comments from Mr. Hackley. But he was a kindly man, not given to baiting his pupils, and he saw that the new boy was tense. He explained that there were many versions of history, and that some might agree with Kit's father, but that in this class he would attempt to teach the more orthodox versions. Kit remained on his feet during this. Something was bothering him.

"Mr. Hackley . . ." he began.

"Sir," said Mr. Hackley.

"Are you a knight? Is that why they call you sir?"

"A knight?" said Mr. Hackley.

"Like the Knights of the Round Table?"

The roar of laughter was interrupted by the bell, ending the class. The boys fled out, still laughing.

Knights of the Round Table! Word about it got around, and it was a joke among the faculty and students for some time. That new boy was an odd one.

Kit was not the first foreign student to enter Clark. There had been a few others from Mexico, Canada, South America, and an occasional European boy. But word of his exotic background and behavior had spread. Where was Bangalla? And the sight of Guran added to the boys' interest. Kit was bigger and heavier than most of the boys in his group, but he was a boy, after all, and he had to go through the usual schoolyard trials. This school had its bully, a hulking lad in an upper grade who delighted in roughing up the younger boys. Jackson-that was his name-was also the football team's fullback, wrestling star, and weight lifter. Jackson went after Kit the first day Guran stayed at home.

He backed him into a corner of the yard and sneered in his face.

"Afraid to come to school all by your itsy-bitsy self without your black boy?" he said.

The boys crowded around, waiting for Kit to get it, a ritual many of them had gone through with Jackson.

"He's not a boy. He's a man," said Kit evenly. He recognized the menace here. Jackson reminded him of the chief steward on the ship.

"What are you stupid, some kind of half-breed from the Congo?" continued Jackson, also using four-letter swear words which were meaningless to Kit.

"Are you attempting to provoke a fight?" said Kit. Jackson was a bit taller than Kit, and twenty-five pounds heavier. He shouted at Kit's formal English.

"Pro-voke a fight? How can I, with a yellow-bellied coward from the Congo?" Jackson announced to the watching crowd. "Does this pro-yoke you?" he went on, shoving Kit hard so that he fell back 56

against the wall. Kit was like an animal at bay. He looked around at the watching circle of faces.

Some were grinning, some were sympathetic. Jackson's face was mean, like a hyena.

"Or this?" continued Jackson, shoving him again so that he fell to one knee.

Kit came out of the crouch like a tiger. His fist cracked into Jackson's stomach, doubling him over.

An immediate blow on Jackson's jaw straightened him up, and another blow knocked him to the ground. Blubbering, Jackson struggled to his feet. But Kit was after him like an angry hornet, chopping him down with a karate blow, then another fist hard in the face. The circle of boys stood gaping arid shocked by this ferocious attack. This was not schoolyard fighting. Jackson's jaw was swollen and his nose was bleeding. He was crying incoherently now, but Kit was not finished with him. He grasped the crying boy with both hands and lifted him above his own head. Holding him in the air, he marched the short distance to the six-foot iron picket fence and carefully hung Jackson there by his coat collar, so that his feet dangled, not touching the ground. Then he turned to the watching crowd in a slight crouch, his fists poised, his eyes narrow. The crowd hesitated. A few started to cheer, then stopped. None of them liked Jackson. But these were gently reared boys and the violence of Kit's attack had frightened them. A few lifted Jackson from the fence and took him to the infirmary.

The school's headmaster had been watching from a window. Jackson's bullying was well-known. The headmaster went to the infirmary to make certain the boy's injuries were not serious. There was the matter of the swollen jaw. That would require a little time to heal.

As for Kit, he became a hero to his seventh grade class, many of whom had been through Jackson's torments. Boys in the upper school heard about this phenomenal new boy who beat the tar out of Jackson, then lifted him over his head like a feather and hung him on the fence! But this hero-worship and admiration was from a distance. The new boy was too different. To these small town middle-class boys, he seemed dangerous, like some kind of exotic jungle beast that could be admired only when it was safely behind bars. Kit was shy in this new world, and the boys misunderstood this, thinking he was unfriendly. Kit sat alone in the cafeteria during the lunch hour and pretended to read a book while he ate. And during recess time in the schoolyard, while the others played and laughed and talked, he sat in a corner and pretended to read his books. He was lonely and as his classmates chased each other and shouted about him, he dreamed of the Deep Woods.

Kit was called into the head's office for a brief talk concerning fighting. The headmaster was sympathetic, but firm. Kit nodded.

"I behaved properly. I did not try to kill him," said Kit. He looked at Kit for a moment. The boy's manner was honest and sincere.

"That will be all," said the headmaster, and Kit returned to his class. The headmaster looked out of the window for a long time. What kind of boy was this?

In the weeks that followed, he didn't find out much more. The boy was quiet, and worked hard at his studies. He talked little about himself, and never answered questions about his homeland. He refused efforts of the athletic coaches to coax him onto their school teams and never remained after school to chat in the yard or join the gang at the nearby ice cream parlor. He always rushed home, where Guran was patiently waiting, sitting on the floor of their room like a stone idol.

Clarksville had a small zoo, and Kit and Guran discovered it with shouts of glee. It was one of the few places in the town they liked. The zoo had a few animals from their jungle: two lions, a leopard, a black panther, chimpanzees, two zebras, and monkeys. They greeted them happily, like old friends, and almost climbed into the cages to embrace them. As it was, the keepers were constantly yelling at

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them to stay away from the bars. This was not necessary since both Kit and Guran knew their animals better than the keepers. But the keepers couldn't be expected to know that. The boys were fascinated with animals that were new to them, such as the grizzly bear. This huge animal- they understood-was more than a match for the biggest jungle cat. They were amazed at the size of its claws and fangs, and delighted when it reared up on its hind legs. Also, the mountain wolves were new to them. Though there were wolves in distant parts of Bangalla, neither had seen one, and Kit was struck by their pale blue eyes and stealth. "They're wild things impossible to tame," a keeper told them. Impossible? thought Kit. He doubted that, remembering the animal-training at Eden. "I'd like to try someday," he told Guran. They sat for hours watching the sleek black panther. Like all of its species, this was a restless, suspicious animal, constantly on the prowl in its cage, stalking every passerby, its yellow eyes glittering.