“He liked you, too,” I said, and told her about his finding me in the desert.
“During the next few years, Johannes, you should be thinking about your future.
What do you want to be? What do you want to become? “To succeed as a human being is not always the same as succeeding in your life’s work, although they can go hand in hand.
“You are alone, or almost alone, but that can make you stronger, for you will not be inclined to lean on anyone. You have enemies, but that can be an advantage. Enemies can be an incentive to survive and become someone in spite of them. Enemies can keep you alert and aware.”
We ate a small supper, quite late. “You read a great deal, Johannes, so you can be a help to me in the store.”
“I’d like to help.”
“Good! We will think about that. In the meanwhile, tomorrow you begin school.” The room in which I slept was small, with a narrow bed and two windows. There was a chest in which to keep clothing, a table, a washbasin, and a pitcher with water. On the floor were two rag rugs. The walls were bare, of plastered and whitewashed adobe.
Lying in bed that night, I worried. At no time had school been pleasant for me, although I had an abiding interest in learning. Wherever I’d gone to school, I’d come in after all the others were settled in and knew each other. I’d come along late and would know nobody and frequently I was one of the youngest in the school.
They knew about the same things and the same people. They could talk about them. I didn’t know any of those things, and none of the people, and I’d lived in different places and mostly I’d talked with older folks or been talked to by them.
Usually a strange boy in school was teased. Often he had to fight, and twice I got licked. Once we fought until we were both tired out and it was kind of even up, although I had a bloody nose when it was over. I got blood on my clothes and I hadn’t any others.
Each time a day was over, I was glad to go home. I said nothing to my parents, and except the time when I was bloody, they did not know about the fights. That time Papa took me out back and tried to show me something about fighting. He didn’t show me much, but it helped.
“Most boys in schools,” Papa said, “hit for the face. Keep your hands up, and when you can, hit ‘em in the belly.”
Later he said, “These are rough boys. If they push or shove you, don’t talk, don’t call names, don’t argue. Hit them first, and hard.” I did, and it worked. It worked on that same boy who gave me the bloody nose. He shoved me and I swung a backhanded blow and hit him in the belly, knocking his wind out. Before he could fall, I hit him in the face. That day he had the bloody nose.
Now I had it to do again. There were two boys, and I could be sure one of them would think he was something big.
Miss Nesselrode, I was afraid, would not look kindly upon fistfighting. Nowhere in Los Angeles was far from anywhere else in those days. The school was only about three or four minutes’ walk from Miss Nesselrode’s, and it was a little before eight o’clock when I showed up.
Two boys and two girls were sitting on benches outside, but not together. They all looked up when I came into the yard, but nobody said anything. One of the boys was bigger than me, both taller and heavier, and he was older, too, I thought.
“What do you want here?” he demanded aggressively.
“I am going to school.”
“Supposin’ I said I wouldn’t let you?”
This was the beginning of trouble which I did not want, but one does not avoid trouble by backing away from it, not in all cases. I walked toward him. He had not expected that, and it bothered him a little.
“Mr. Fraser knows me. He expects me this morning.” “Ol’ Fraser doesn’t run things out here. He runs things in the schoolroom. I run ‘em in the yard.”
I said nothing, I simply waited. My heart was pounding heavily. Big as he was, I did not think he was any stronger than some of the Indian boys with whom I had wrestled.
“Who are you, anyway? I never saw you before.”
“I have just come from the sea. I came around the Horn in a Boston ship.”
The other boy was fascinated. “Around the Horn? Gee!”
“My name,” I said, “is Johannes Vickery.”
“That ain’t so much,” the big boy said. “Anybody can come around the Horn.”
“Of course. But I did it.”
I was lying. I had not come around the Horn, but there was need to establish my story. Miss Nesselrode had told me that, and so had Jacob Finney. At that moment Thomas Fraser turned into the yard from the street. “Good morning, Johannes. I see you have met Rad Huber. And this”-he indicated the smaller boy- “is Philo Burns.
“The young ladies,” he said, “are Delia Court and Kelda O’Brien.” He glanced around. “Where is Meghan?”
“She’s coming.” It was the girl called Delia who answered. “She was expecting her father to come in.”
Fraser glanced at me. “Her father is Captain Laurel, of the Queen Bess,” he explained.
We went inside and took seats at the table. The others had seats occupied before I arrived, and I waited until they were seated, then sat down. “That’s where Meghan sits,” Rad said belligerently.
“I’m sorry,” I said, and moved over one space.
“You go sit at the other table,” Rad ordered.
“Where he’s sitting will be quite all right,” Fraser said, and Rad shifted irritably, started as if to speak, then subsided, muttering. “This morning,” Fraser said, “we will continue with the study of inflection and emphasis in the spoken language.”
That was how my school days began.
Twenty-one
For three days I attended school, and each day the seat beside me was empty.
On the fourth day, Rad Huber stopped me in the yard as I approached the school. He stood squarely in front of me, feet spread apart. Philo Burns stood at one side, but the girls had not yet come to school. Or I did not see them. “Meghan’s coming back to school today,” Rad said. “You move to that other table.”
“Mr. Fraser told me where to sit. I shall stay there.”
“Meghan’s my girl! You move or I’ll move you!”
“I do not know Meghan,” I said, “but I shall stay where I am.” He struck me. I was not expecting it, and he knocked me down. Dazed, I sat on the ground, and when I put my hand to my mouth, there was blood on it. Angry, I started up, and he hit me again before I got to my feet, knocking me down again. Rolling over, I tried to get up, and he kicked me in the ribs. Time and time again I tried to rise; each time, he kicked me or knocked me down. Stunned, bleeding, and hurt, I kept trying. I did not know why I kept trying, but something inside me drove me to it.
One of the girls was crying. “Rad! You leave him alone!”
“Come on, Rad! Leave him be!” Philo demanded.
“Shut up!” Rad said rudely. “He thinks he’s smart! I’ll show him!” Again I started up, and when I was on my hands and knees, he kicked me in the ribs. I gasped painfully, but struggled to get up. “See?” Had sneered. “He ain’t so much! Just a big baby!” He backed off and turned away, and I struggled up, then rushed at him, swinging both fists. Somebody yelled, and Rad turned. One of my flailing fists caught him in the mouth, cutting his lip, but then he pushed me away and rushed at me, swinging both fists. He was larger, and had longer arms. He hit me again and again. Suddenly Mr. Fraser was there.
“Here, here! What’s going on? Rad, stop that! Leave him alone!”
“Hah! He had it coming!”
He walked away. Slowly, painfully, I got up and tried to brush off my clothes.
Thomas Fraser came over to me. “Are you hurt?” he asked.
“No,” I lied.
“Wash your face, then, and come to school.”
There was a washbasin on a shelf around the corner from the schoolroom door. I washed the blood and dust from my face and dried it on the towel. I felt sore and stiff. Limping, I went into the school.
Rad turned, sneering at me. Walking over, I sat down in my usual place. Rad started up, but Mr. Fraser said, “Rad! Sit down!” “You tell him to move, or I’ll move him!”