390
PARTISAN REVIEW
George's fat cheeks are puffed out in exasperation, even disgust.
"Come on over here," he repeats. His little eyes roll around in dis–
belief. To leave the blocks for a - girl. He wipes out the garage. Soon
he is laying the foundation of an airplane hangar.
Marlene and Ida play house with the cups and saucers. Peggy
opens a small store with the cash register. Joe and Myra walk by as if
alone in the room. Angela,
princesse manquee,
follows their slow circle
with her eyes. Play period is over.
We line up in the dingy hall for the toilet break. They enter the
facilities in small groups. Suddenly from the Boys' Room come cries
and sounds of struggle. In panic, I hurry to separate the tangled
knot of warriors, screaming and clawing at one another. Cheeks and
shirts are spattered and dripping from tears and splashings. "He did
it!" "He did it!" "He did it!" There is the immediate babble assigning
blame. Accusations tumble out. Many frenzied fingers are pointing
to a pale, blond, frail fellow , somewhat girlish, very wet, mussed ,
matted, and rumpled. I shoo them all into the corridor where they
huddle, anxiously waiting for justice. The blond one, meek, not
used to crime, approaches. I stand towering over him. From my five
feet two inches, I feel like Gulliver looking far down below me at the
pale creature hovering near my knees. I hear my voice - suddenly
sterner and larger.
"Did you do it?" I am not even sure what
it
is. From the hubbub
of accusation and finger pointing, half sentences and innuendoes, I
gather they had been peeing in arcs and had got into a fight over
whose was highest. He had hurled the first handful of water. Fists
and splashes and general melee. Now he is exposed in all his weak–
ness and guilt, like Adam, in the Garden, fearing the heavy wrath,
answering God's summons, "Here am
I."
Helpless, he struggles with
terror and truth. His lips and chin quiver. His soft face collapses
with sobbing. Extravagantly large crystal tears plunk like marbles
down the creases on his face . "Did you do it?"
"Yes, I did it," comes clearly through the sobs. The sweet
release of confession. His moral struggle is over. He has fought the
darkness. He has thrown himself on my mercy. And now that I have
caught him, now that he is at bay, what shall I do with him? How
can I make the punishment fit the crime?
He has no luck. Always timid and obedient, today, he too has
slipped out from under the yoke. Always good, he has been
deliriously bad. Just this once. He has gotten caught. He is prepared
to pay for it.
