The Hotel New Hampshire Part 11

It was quiet for a second, between the deep breaths the sirens take, and we heard Franny. Flesh on flesh, I thought - but it was different now. Franny made a sound that moved Harold Swallow to remember who might might help her. help her.

'Junior Jones could handle those guys,' Harold said. 'Junior Jones don't take no s.h.i.+t from n.o.body n.o.body.'

'Yes!' I said. 'And he's your friend, isn't he? He likes you better than them, doesn't he?'

'He don't like n.o.body n.o.body,' said Harold Swallow, admiringly; but suddenly his weight was off me, and he was pawing at the net, unwinding it from around me. 'Get up off your a.s.s,' he said. 'Junior does does like somebody.' like somebody.'

'Who's he like?' I asked.

'He likes everybody's sister,' said Harold Swallow, but this thought did not rea.s.sure me.

'What do you mean?' I asked him.

'Get up on your feet!' said Harold Swallow. 'Junior Jones likes everybody's sister - he told me so, man. He said, "Everybody's sister is a good girl" - that's just what he said.'

'But what's he mean mean?' I said, trying to keep up with him, now, because he was the fastest fastest organization of human flesh at the Dairy School. As Coach Bob said, Harold Swallow could fly. organization of human flesh at the Dairy School. As Coach Bob said, Harold Swallow could fly.

We ran toward the light at the end of the footpath; we ran past where I knew I'd last heard from Franny - where the ferns were, where Iowa Bob's backfield was taking turns. I stopped there; I wanted to run into the woods there, and find her, but Harold Swallow pulled me along.

'You can't do nothing to those guys, man,' he said. 'We got to get Junior.'

Why Junior Jones would help us, I didn't know. I only thought that I would die before I found out - trying to keep up with Harold Swallow - and I thought that if Jones indeed liked 'everybody's sister,' as he apparently claimed, that didn't necessarily mean good news for Franny.

'How does he like everybody's sister?' I panted to Harold Swallow. does he like everybody's sister?' I panted to Harold Swallow.

'He likes them like he likes his own own sister,' Harold Swallow said. 'Man!' he said to me 'Why are you so sister,' Harold Swallow said. 'Man!' he said to me 'Why are you so slow slow? Junior Jones has got a sister himself, himself, man,' Harold said. 'And some dudes raped her. s.h.i.+t,' he said. 'I thought everybody knew that!' man,' Harold said. 'And some dudes raped her. s.h.i.+t,' he said. 'I thought everybody knew that!'

'There's a lot you miss, not living in the dorms,' Frank was always saying.

'Did they catch them?' I asked Harold Swallow. 'Did they catch the guys who raped Junior's sister?'

's.h.i.+t,' said Harold Swallow. 'Junior 'Junior caught them! I thought everybody knew that.' caught them! I thought everybody knew that.'

'What'd he do to them?' I asked Harold Swallow, but Harold had beaten me to Junior Jone's dorm. He was flying up the stairwell and I was easily a full flight of stairs behind him.

'Don't ask!' Harold Swallow yelled down to me. 's.h.i.+t,' he said. 'n.o.body knows what he did to them, man. And n.o.body asks.'

Where the h.e.l.l does Junior Jones live live? I wondered, pa.s.sing the third floor and climbing higher, my lungs breaking, Harold Swallow nowhere in sight. But Harold was waiting for me at the landing of the fifth and topmost floor.

Junior Jones lives in the sky sky, I thought, but Harold explained to me that most of the black athletes at the Dairy School were quartered on the top floor of this one dorm. 'Where we're out of sight, you know?' Harold asked me. 'Like f.u.c.king birdies in the nests in the tippy-tops of the trees, man,' said Harold Swallow. 'That's where the black people get put at this s.h.i.+t-a.s.s school.'

The fifth floor of the dorm was dark and hot. 'Heat rises, don't you know?' said Harold Swallow. 'Welcome to the f.u.c.kin' jungle.'

Every light in every room was out, but music music was playing and escaping from under the doors; the fifth floor of that dorm was like a tiny street of nightclubs and bars in a city observing blackout conditions; and from the rooms I heard the unmistakable shuffling of feet - dancing and dancing in the dark. was playing and escaping from under the doors; the fifth floor of that dorm was like a tiny street of nightclubs and bars in a city observing blackout conditions; and from the rooms I heard the unmistakable shuffling of feet - dancing and dancing in the dark.

Harold Swallow pounded on a door.

'What you want?' said the terrifying voice of Junior Jones. 'You want to die?'

'Junior, Junior!' said Harold Swallow, pounding harder.

'You do do want to die, don't you?' said Junior Jones, and we heard a series of locks, as if from a jail cell, unlocking the door from inside. want to die, don't you?' said Junior Jones, and we heard a series of locks, as if from a jail cell, unlocking the door from inside.

'If some mother wants to die,' said Junior Jones, 'I'll help him.' More locks unlocked; Harold Swallow and I stepped back from the door. 'Which one of you wants to die first?' said Junior Jones. Heat and a saxophone throbbed from his room; he was backlit by a candle burning on his desk, which was draped - like the coffin of a President - with the American flag. help him.' More locks unlocked; Harold Swallow and I stepped back from the door. 'Which one of you wants to die first?' said Junior Jones. Heat and a saxophone throbbed from his room; he was backlit by a candle burning on his desk, which was draped - like the coffin of a President - with the American flag.

'We need your help, Junior,' said Harold Swallow.

'You sure do,' said Junior Jones.

'They've got my sister,' I said to him. They've got Franny,' I said. 'And they're raping her.'

Junior Jones seized me by my armpits and hoisted me up to him, face to face; he leaned me, gently, against the wall. My feet felt a foot or two off the floor; I didn't struggle.

'Did you say rape rape, man?' he asked.

'Yeah, rape, rape!' said Harold Swallow, darting around us like a bee. They're raping his sister, man. They really are.'

'Your sister sister?' Junior asked me, letting me slide to the floor against the wall.

'My sister Franny,' I said, and for a moment I feared he would say, again, 'She's just another white girl, to me.' But he didn't say anything; he was crying crying - his big face as s.h.i.+ny and wet as the s.h.i.+eld of a warrior left out in the rain. - his big face as s.h.i.+ny and wet as the s.h.i.+eld of a warrior left out in the rain.

'Please?' I said to him. 'We have to hurry.' But Junior Jones started shaking his head, his tears spraying Harold Swallow and me.

'We're not gonna be in time time,' Junior said. 'No way are we going to be in time time.'

There's three three of them,' said Harold Swallow. 'Three times takes time.' And I felt sick - I felt like Halloween, again and again, with a bellyful of junk and trash. of them,' said Harold Swallow. 'Three times takes time.' And I felt sick - I felt like Halloween, again and again, with a bellyful of junk and trash.

'And I know which which three of them, don't I?' said Junior Jones. I noticed he was getting dressed: I three of them, don't I?' said Junior Jones. I noticed he was getting dressed: I hadn't hadn't noticed he'd been naked. He pulled on a baggy grey pair of sweat pants, he pulled on his high-topped white basketball shoes over his huge bare feet. He put on a baseball cap, with the visor turned backwards; that was all he was going to wear, apparently, because he stood in the fifth-floor hall of the dorm and shouted suddenly. 'Black Arm of the Law!' he said. Doors opened. 'Lion hunt!' Jones yelled. The black athletes, quarantined on the top floor, peered out at him. 'Get your s.h.i.+t together,' said Junior Jones. noticed he'd been naked. He pulled on a baggy grey pair of sweat pants, he pulled on his high-topped white basketball shoes over his huge bare feet. He put on a baseball cap, with the visor turned backwards; that was all he was going to wear, apparently, because he stood in the fifth-floor hall of the dorm and shouted suddenly. 'Black Arm of the Law!' he said. Doors opened. 'Lion hunt!' Jones yelled. The black athletes, quarantined on the top floor, peered out at him. 'Get your s.h.i.+t together,' said Junior Jones.

'Lion hunt!' cried Harold Swallow, flying up and down the hall. 'Get your s.h.i.+t together! Black Arm of the Law!'

It was then that it occurred to me that I didn't know any black students at the Dairy School who weren't weren't athletes - of course: our s.h.i.+t-a.s.s school wouldn't take them if they couldn't be of some use. athletes - of course: our s.h.i.+t-a.s.s school wouldn't take them if they couldn't be of some use.

'What's a lion hunt?' I asked Junior Jones.

'Your sister's a good girl,' Jones said. 'I know she is. Everybody's own sister is a good girl,' he said, and I agreed with him, of course, and Harold Swallow b.u.mped my arm and said, 'You see, man? Everybody's sister is a good girl.' good girl,' he said, and I agreed with him, of course, and Harold Swallow b.u.mped my arm and said, 'You see, man? Everybody's sister is a good girl.'

And we flew down the stairwell with remarkable silence, considering how many of us there were. Harold Swallow led us, waiting impatiently on every landing. Junior Jones was surprisngly quick for his size. On the second-floor landing we encountered two white students coming home from somewhere; they saw the black athletes descending the stairs and fled down the hall on their floor. 'Lion hunt!' they cried. 'f.u.c.king Black Arm of the Law!'

Not a door opened; two lights went out. And then we were outside in the Halloween night, heading for the woods and the place just off the footpath that I would recognize and remember all my life. There's not a day when I couldn't locate those ferns, where Franny and I were first and always alone.

'Franny,' I cried out, but there was no answer. I led Jones and Harold Swallow into the woods; behind us, the black athletes fanned out along the footpath and entered the woods all up and down the path - shaking the trees, kicking the dead leaves, some of them humming a little tune, all all of them (I suddenly noticed) wearing those baseball caps turned backwards, all of them bare-chested; two of them wore catchers' masks. The sound they made coming through the woods was like the whirring of a large rotary blade cutting through a field. Flashlights blinked, and like a swarm of large fireflies we came upon the ferns where Lenny Metz, his pants still off, held my sister's head pinched between his knees. Metz was kneeling on Franny's arms, stretched over her head, while Chester Pulaski - who no doubt, had been third in line - was finis.h.i.+ng his turn. of them (I suddenly noticed) wearing those baseball caps turned backwards, all of them bare-chested; two of them wore catchers' masks. The sound they made coming through the woods was like the whirring of a large rotary blade cutting through a field. Flashlights blinked, and like a swarm of large fireflies we came upon the ferns where Lenny Metz, his pants still off, held my sister's head pinched between his knees. Metz was kneeling on Franny's arms, stretched over her head, while Chester Pulaski - who no doubt, had been third in line - was finis.h.i.+ng his turn.

Chipper Dove was gone; he had been first, of course. And like the careful quarterback he was, he hadn't held the ball too long.

'Of course I knew what he was going to do,' Franny told me, much later. 'I was prepared for him, I'd even imagined it - with him. I always knew it would be him - the first time - somehow. But I never thought he'd let the others even see see me with him. I even me with him. I even told him told him that they didn't have to force me, that I'd let that they didn't have to force me, that I'd let him him. But when he left left me with them - I wasn't prepared for that at all. I never even imagined that.' me with them - I wasn't prepared for that at all. I never even imagined that.'

It seemed to my sister that she'd been made to pay disproportionately for her mischief with the lights in in the Hotel New Hamps.h.i.+re and her inadvertent contribution to Howard Tuck's departure from our world. ' the Hotel New Hamps.h.i.+re and her inadvertent contribution to Howard Tuck's departure from our world. 'Boy, are you ever made to pay for a little fun,' Franny said.

And it seemed to me that Lenny Metz and Chester Pulaski hardly paid enough for the 'fun' they'd had. Metz released my sister's arms when he first caught sight of Junior Jones; he pulled his pants up and made a break for it - but he was a running back used to good blocking in front of him and a relatively open field. In the dark woods he could barely see the dark bodies of the humming black athletes, and although he ran with power and with some speed, he struck a tree as big around as his thigh and it broke his collarbone. He was surrounded rather quickly then, and was dragged back to the holy ground in the ferns, where Junior Jones ordered all his clothes stripped off him and had him tied to a lacrosse stick; he was then carried, naked, to the Dean of Men. I learned, later, that the lion hunters always delivered up their prey with a certain flair.

Once they'd caught an exhibitionist who'd been bothering the girls' dorm. They hung him by his ankles to the shower head in the most populated of the girls' bathrooms - wrapped naked in a transparent shower curtain. Then they called the Dean. 'This is the Black Arm of the Law,' said Junior Jones. 'This is the sheriff of the f.u.c.king fifth floor.'

'Yes, Junior, what is it?' the Dean asked.

'There's a male nudist in the females' dorm, first-floor bathroom, on your right,' Jones said. The lion hunters captured him in the act of exhibiting himself.'

Thus Lenny Metz was lugged to the Dean of Men. Chester Pulaski got there ahead of him. 'Lion hunt!' Harold Swallow had screamed in the woods, and when Lenny let go of Franny's arms, Chester Pulaski slipped out of my sister and made a break for it, too. He was completely undressed, however, and on his tender bare feet he trotted slowly between the trees, not striking them. Every twenty yards or so, he was scared to death by the Black Arm of the Law, the black athletes who crept through the woods, swis.h.i.+ng the trees, snapping sticks, and humming their tune. It had been Chester Pulaski's first gang bang, and the jungle ritual had completely coloured the night for him - he thought the woods were suddenly full of natives natives! (cannibals! he imagined) - and he stumbled whimpering and bent over, appropriate to my imagination of Early Man, not quite upright, mostly on all fours, when he arrived at the dormitory apartment of the Dean of Men.

The Dean of Men had not been happy at the Dairy School since the school had admitted women. Before then he'd been Dean of Students - a prim, fit man with a pipe and a fondness for racquet sports, he had a pert, fit wife of the youthful, cheerleader variety, her age betrayed only by an alarming pouchiness about her eyes; they had no children. The boys,' the Dean of Students liked to say, 'are all my children.'

When the 'girls' arrived, he never felt the same about them and quickly appointed, to a.s.sist himself, his wife in the role of Dean of Women. His new t.i.tle, Dean of Men, pleased him, but he despaired at all the new sorts of trouble his boys got into now that there were girls at Dairy.

'Oh no,' he probably said, when he heard Chester Pulaski clawing at his door. 'I hate Halloween.'

'I'll get it,' his wife said, and the Dean of Women went to open the door. 'I know, I know,' she said, cheerfully, 'trick or treat!'

And there was a naked and cringing Chester Pulaski, the blocking back - blazing with boils, smelling of s.e.x.

The scream of the Dean of Women was said to have awakened the bottom two floors of the dorm the two deans lived in - and even Mrs. Butler, the night nurse, who was sleeping at her desk in the infirmary next door. 'I hate Halloween,' she probably said to herself. She went to the infirmary door and saw Junior Jones and Harold Swallow and me; Junior was carrying Franny.

I had helped Franny get dressed in the ferns and Junior Jones had tried to untangle her hair while she cried and cried, and finally he'd said to her, 'You want to walk or ride?' It was a question Father used to ask us children when we were years younger, which meant did we want to walk or did we want to take the car. Junior, of course, meant he would carry her, and that's what Franny wanted - so he did.

He carried her past the spot in the ferns where Lenny Metz was being lashed to a lacrosse stick and prepared for a different land of travel. Franny cried and cried, and Junior said, 'Hey, you're a good good girl, I have very good judgement about that.' But Franny kept crying. 'Hey, listen,' said Junior Jones. 'You know what? When someone touches you and you don't girl, I have very good judgement about that.' But Franny kept crying. 'Hey, listen,' said Junior Jones. 'You know what? When someone touches you and you don't want want to be touched, that's not really to be touched, that's not really being being touched - you got to believe me. It's not touched - you got to believe me. It's not you you they touch when they touch you that way; they don't really they touch when they touch you that way; they don't really get get you, you understand. You've still got you, you understand. You've still got you you inside you. n.o.body's touched you - not really. You're a really good girl, you believe me? You've still got inside you. n.o.body's touched you - not really. You're a really good girl, you believe me? You've still got you you inside you, you believe that?' inside you, you believe that?'

'I don't know,' Franny whispered, and went on crying. One of her arms lolled down Junior's side and I took her hand; she squeezed; I squeezed back. Harold Swallow, darting through the trees, guiding us like a hush up the path, found the infirmary and opened the door.

'What's all this?' said the night nurse, Mrs. Butler.

'I'm Franny Berry,' said my sister, 'and I've been beaten up.'

'Beaten up' would remain Franny's euphemism for it, although everyone knew she had been raped. 'Beaten up' was all Franny would admit to, although no one missed the point; this way it would never be a legal legal point, however. point, however.

'She means she was raped,' Junior Jones told Mrs. Butler. But Franny kept shaking her head. I think that her way of interpreting Junior's kindness to her, and his version of how the her her in her had not been touched, was to convert her s.e.xual abuse into the terms of a mere fight she had lost. She whispered to him - he still held her against his chest and in his arms - and then he put her down on her feet and said to Mrs. Butler, 'Okay, she was beaten up.' Mrs. Butler knew what was meant. in her had not been touched, was to convert her s.e.xual abuse into the terms of a mere fight she had lost. She whispered to him - he still held her against his chest and in his arms - and then he put her down on her feet and said to Mrs. Butler, 'Okay, she was beaten up.' Mrs. Butler knew what was meant.

'She was beaten up and and raped,' said Harold Swallow, who couldn't stand still, but Junior Jones cooled him down with a look and said to him, 'Why don't you fly away, Harold? Why don't you fly off and find raped,' said Harold Swallow, who couldn't stand still, but Junior Jones cooled him down with a look and said to him, 'Why don't you fly away, Harold? Why don't you fly off and find Mr. Dove Mr. Dove?' That put the gleam back in Harold's eye, and he flew away.

I called Father, before I remembered there was no working phone in the Hotel New Hamps.h.i.+re. Then I called Campus Security and asked them to give Father the message: Franny and I were at the Dairy School Infirmary; Franny had been 'beaten up.'

'It's just another Halloween, kid,' Franny said, holding my hand.

'The worst one, Franny,' I said to her.

The worst one so far,' she said.

Mrs. Butler took Franny off, to fix her - among other things - a bath, and Junior Jones explained to me that if Franny cleaned herself there would be no evidence that she was raped, and I went after Mrs. Butler to explain it to her, but Mrs. Butler had already explained this to Franny, who wanted to let it go. 'I've been beaten up,' she said, although she would listen to Mrs. Butler's advice about checking, later, to see if she was pregnant (she wasn't) - or infected with a venereal disease (someone had pa.s.sed on a little something, which was eventually cured).

When Father arrived at the infirmary, Junior Jones had gone to lend his a.s.sistance to the delivery of Lenny Metz to the Dean, Harold Swallow was combing the campus, like a hawk, looking for a dove - and I was sitting in an all-white hospital room with Franny, fresh from her bath, her hair in a towel, an ice pack on her left cheekbone, her right ring finger bandaged (she'd torn out a nail); she wore a white hospital smock and was sitting up in bed. 'I want to go home,' she told Father. Tell Mother I just need some clean clothes.'

'What did they do to you, darling?' Father asked her, and sat beside her on the bed.

'They beat me up,' Franny said.

'Where were you you?' Father asked me.

'He got help,' Franny said.

'Did you see what happened?' Father asked me.

'He didn't see anything,' Franny said.

I saw the Third Act, I wanted to tell Father, but although we all all knew what 'beaten up' meant, I would remain faithful to Franny's term for it. knew what 'beaten up' meant, I would remain faithful to Franny's term for it.

'I just want to go home,' Franny said, although the Hotel New Hamps.h.i.+re seemed, to me, to be a large and unfamiliar place to curl up in. Father went to get her clothes.

It was a pity he missed seeing Lenny Metz trussed up on the lacrosse stick and carried through the campus to the Dean like a poorly prepared piece of meat on a spit. And a pity Father didn't witness the precociousness of Harold Swallow searching for Dove, gliding up to every dorm room like a shadow. Until Harold ascertained that Chipper Dove could only be in the girls' dorm. After that, he thought, it would be just a matter of time until he found whose room Dove was hiding in.

The Dean of Men, covering Chester Pulaski with his wife's camel's-hair coat - it was the nearest thing handy - cried out, 'Chester, Chester, my boy! Why Why? Only a week week before the Exeter game!' before the Exeter game!'

'The woods are full of n.i.g.g.e.rs,' Chester Pulaski said, mournfully. They're taking over. Run for your life.'

The Dean of Women had locked herself in the bathroom, and when the second set of clawing sounds, and banging, reached her ears, she cried to her husband. 'You can answer the G.o.dd.a.m.ned door can answer the G.o.dd.a.m.ned door this this time!' time!'

'It's the n.i.g.g.e.rs n.i.g.g.e.rs, don't let them in!' Chester Pulaski cried, clutching the Dean of Women's coat around him. The Dean of Men bravely opened the door; for some time he'd had an arrangement with Junior Jones's secret police, which was Dairy's highly underground and very good arm of the law.

'For G.o.d's sake, Junior,' the Dean said. This is going too far.'

'Who is is it?' cried the Dean of Women from the bathroom, as Lenny Metz was brought into the Deans' living room and stretched out on the hearth before the fireplace; his broken collarbone was killing him, and when he saw the fire he must have thought it was meant for him. it?' cried the Dean of Women from the bathroom, as Lenny Metz was brought into the Deans' living room and stretched out on the hearth before the fireplace; his broken collarbone was killing him, and when he saw the fire he must have thought it was meant for him.

'I confess!' he cried.

'You bet you do,' said Junior Jones.

'I did it!' cried Lenny Metz.

'You sure did,' said Junior Jones.

'I did it, too!' cried Chester Pulaski.

'And who did it first first? ' asked Junior Jones.

'Chipper Dove!' sang the boys in the backfield. 'Dove did it first!'

'There you have it,' said Junior Jones to the Dean of Men. 'You got the picture?'

'What did they do - and to whom whom?' the Dean asked.

They gang-banged Franny Berry,' said Junior Jones, just as the Dean of Women emerged from the bathroom; she saw the black athletes swaying in the doorway, like a choral society from an African country, and she screamed again; she shut herself back up in the bathroom.