Page 95 - What They Did to the Kid
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What They Did to the Kid                                   83

               young Catholic gentlemen can do.” He flourished the plate. “Who
               is ‘Tank’?” he shouted.
                  He knew. Everyone knew. Everyone looked at Hank squirming
               next to me. He was a boy big in size trying to make himself very
               small. He raised his arm up, sheepish, not very far.
                  “Stand at attention, Mr. Rimski,” Gunn ordered.
                  Hank’s chair squawked back across the terrazzo floor and he
               stood.
                  “Who is ‘Porky’? We know, don’t we. Stand up, Mr. Puhl.”
                  Three names later, five boys of our whole table of eight were
               standing in ignominy except for Lock and Dempsey and me. Every
               eye in the refectory turned toward us.
                  “Hey, Tank,” I whispered. “You fub-duck.”
                  He looked his famous daggers at me.
                  Gunn studied the plate, then looked down upon the room, the
               tables spread with the interrupted noon meal. “I need not say,” he
               said, “how outraged Rector Karg has become at this terrible insult
               to the good sisters. It must be Providence that this note was found.
               Providence that the dishwashing machine did not scrub off the vul-
              garity, letting us discover at last the low ingratitude I always knew
              lurked among you. You come from nothing and we try to make you
              into something.” His strawberry hair flashed in the sunlight as he
              rocked from one foot to the other.
                  “Gott in Himmel, God in heaven! The good sisters try,” he said.
              “God knows they try with what time and money Rector Karg gives
              them. Anyone taking grievance about their valiant efforts certainly
              lacks the worldly detachment necessary for the priesthood. You
              should know the real hardship of soldiers at war, of nuns at war.
              Then you might appreciate what’s given to you.”
                  He began the Father-Treasurer’s story of the blind German
              lady, but I hardly heard him, remembering Hank’s bravado the
              night before. I started to laugh because Hank and his cronies stood
              shamed by the fable of the little old lady’s quarter. I laughed harder
              and harder, Gunn up in the lectern waving the plate, unable to see
              me, because of the five disgraced boys standing all around me.
                  Lock poked me, worsening my laughing jag. “Nuns at war!”
                  When Gunn announced that the gang of five had to wash every


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