Page 89 - What They Did to the Kid

What They Did to the Kid 77

readings in silence, except for Saturday and Sunday nights, and lunch
on Wednesdays, Saturdays, and Sundays when we were encouraged
to practice the social graces we’d need living in our future parish
rectories with other priests.
At silent meals, after saying grace, the last boy to be served that
day was allowed to call, in the sign language of food, his tablemates’
portions. When we could speak, boys announced, “Fair share is two
scoops of the noodles and whatever the meat in it is.” A miscall
meant his starvation. If he were cunning, he could call a fair-share
portion small enough to insure that he received a double share before
the counterclockwise return. Noodles were hard to capture in two
scoops, but hungry boys created tricks like loading a tablespoon with
a balanced stack of eight apricot halves while suctioning an extra
bonus half onto the bottom of the spoon. Hank invented that, and
Porky perfected it.
Gunn, always knocking the corners off, realized how his care-
fully planned seating arrangements threw mismatched boys together.
Inevitably Hank sat across from me, sometimes with Ski and a few of
the joy boys from the farm crew, or worse, the elegant boys from the
choir, glee club, and opera society who ran around singing snatches
of Gilbert and Sullivan like they were always starring in Misery’s
all-boy version of The Mikado.
“There’s a new prof coming next year,” Hank the Tank said.
“Peter told me.”
“We’ll have him for history.” Ski ate like a Clydesdale horse.
“His Ordination picture’s in an old yearbook,” Dempsey said.
“I saw it.”
“Looks full of tricks, doesn’t he?” Porky Puhl asked.
“He’s a friend of Arnie Roth who’s no longer a friend of the
faculty,” Hank said, “after that shouting scene over those boys.”
“Pass the bread.” Lock was not interested in the gossip.
“I think he looks tricky,” Porky insisted.
“Bull!” Hank said. He skimmed the enameled metal bread plate
across the table toward Lock. “Peter says he’s a real good guy. He
can tell.”
“How?” I asked. “White horse? White hat?”

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