88
PARTISAN REVIEW
weapon." He began laughing, pointing at her pointer.
"That's it," she said, lifting the pointer high and hitting him on the
shoulder. "You deserve that and more. For your attitude towards
individuals and country."
Nick said, "You know, violence is often the mark of the desperate. I
pity you."
I can still see her beefY red face, her furious rising bosom, her shaking
hand dipping into her neckline
to
find a crumpled tissue with which to
wipe her sweating brow.
"Lucy , you'd better tell him to say he's sorry," she said, turning
to
me.
"Nicky," I whispered obediently, "Tell Mrs. O'Shea you didn't
mean what you said."
My brother stared ahead silently, dramatically rubbing his shoulder.
"And tell him
to
tell
YOll
he's sorry too," she said. "You're a nice
child and don't deserve him."
"Nicky, please," I said. "Just apologize to her. Not
to
me." I whis–
pered, "Or else I'm afraid she'll hit you again. "
"I hit no one," she said. "You never saw me hit a soul."
She winked at me, with nervous little blinks, as if to say, I know I
can count on you - you're not like him. I looked away
to
Nick, who
still wouldn't look at me.
His skin was brown and smooth, his eyes narrow slits of defiance. He
looked like the Indian on the nickel, and I felt the terrible pain of his
rejection.
Suddenly I heard myself saying, "You did so hit him."
" I hit no one," Mrs. O'Shea shouted, sweating hard now and hold–
ing her tissue to her brow like a compress.
"You hit him," I shouted back, surprised by the boom of my voice.
"You hit my brother. You did, you did."
Throwing my arms around Nick's neck, I began
to
cry. "Did she
hurt you? Did she hurt you, Cocoa?" I said. How good it felt to call
him by the special affectionate name, in honor of the color of his skin,
we brought out for the tender family moments we still sometimes
managed. How good it felt to hear him say, "Watch the shoulder,
Missy," calling me by my own special family name, short for Miss Mousy,
in acknowledgment of my fear and scampering - which now, holding
my brother's strong neck, seemed worlds away.
The next moment we were standing arm in arm and walking from
the school to the avenue. At the phone booth at Bob's luncheonette
we called our mother, who met us. She told us she was proud that we'd
stuck together, and rewarded us with double hot fudge sundaes. Then
she walked us back to school, where she told Mrs. O'Shea she'd kill her,
