Beyond the Chocolate War (4 page)

"Oh, boy." Obie sighed. How do you begin to explain the Vigils? The word was seldom spoken aloud on the Trinity campus. The brothers knew the organization existed but preferred to ignore it, allowing it to function because it served a purpose: kept peace at Trinity during a time when unrest and violence were sweeping the nation's schools and colleges. How to explain all that to a newcomer, someone who didn't know of the long tradition of the Vigils?

"Well, the Vigils is, like, a secret organization at Trinity. A guy by the name of Archie Costello is the Assigner. The Vigils has officers like any club—a jock named Carter is president and I'm secretary—but the Assigner is the key officer. In fact, the Assigner, Archie Costello,
is
the Vigils."

Ray turned away, puzzled. He didn't like this kind of stuff. Secret organizations. Assignors . . . "What the hell is an assigner?" he asked. And had a feeling that he really didn't want to know.

"Well, he assigns kids to certain . . . duties," Obie said, his words limping as if on crutches. "They have to perform certain acts—"

"Like in a college fraternity? Staying all night in the woods, stuff like that? Pranks? Stunts?"

Obie nodded, knowing that Archie would be furious to hear his meticulous assignments described as fraternity pranks and stunts. But he let the description stand. He couldn't tell Ray everything about the Vigils: in fact, he had probably told him too much already.

"Anyway, Brother Leon asked the Vigils to support the chocolate sale," Obie went on. "The first time Leon or any other faculty member acknowledged the existence of the club. That's how the Vigils got mixed up in it . . ."

"What about that kid? Jerry What's-his-name?" Ray asked.

"Renault," Obie supplied As if he could ever forget that name or that kid. "Renault still refused to sell the chocolates. Despite . . . pressure."

"What kind of pressure?"

"The usual," Obie said. How to describe Archie's methods to a stranger? "Archie Costello doesn't like physical violence. But in this case—"

"Violence was used, right?" Ray said, dismayed, head in a whirl. A couple of hours ago he hadn't known anything about Trinity, was a complete outsider. And now this kid named Obie was here in his home, telling him crazy things about the place.

Obie shrugged. "A kind of violence. A boxing match. Between Renault and Emile Janza—"

"The animal I just met at school?" Ray asked. Mimicking Janza's tight-lipped delivery: "Show me a card trick, kid."

"Right," Obie said, a flicker of amusement in his eyes.

"And the Renault kid got beat up, right?" Ray asked.

"Right," Obie said reluctantly. "Look, the kid was hurt, but he survived. Actually, he was a tough little character. They say he went to Canada to recuperate." Obie paused. "Anyway, that's all over now. The chocolate sale was a success. The Headmaster retired. And Brother Leon became top man. . . ."

"All's well that ends well," Ray Bannister said, wondering if Obie detected the sarcasm in his voice.

"Right," Obie said heartily, slapping his hands against his sides. Then frowned. "But . . ."

"But what?" Ray prompted.

"The thing rocked the school," Obie said, putting into words what he had avoided for so long. "That night. The kids calling for blood. Renault's blood. The chocolates became more important than anything else, more important than a kid's blood. . . ."

I wish we had stayed in Caleb, Ray Bannister thought.

"And now," Obie continued, "it's as if those chocolates exploded last fall and we're walking around in the 'leftovers, the crap. See what I mean? Everybody being careful, playing it cool."

"Like you've all got a guilty conscience?" Ray offered.

"Right," Obie agreed. But uncomfortable now, wondering if he had said too much.

"How about that club—the Vigils? They still playing it cool?"

"Well, not exactly," Obie said.

Which brought him to his reason for being here in Bay Bannister's house. To introduce him to the Vigils and how it worked.

Poor Jerry Renault, Obie thought suddenly.

And now poor Ray Bannister. About to learn the facts of life at Trinity High School.

I
n this corner, Archie Costello, five feet nine and a half inches tall, one hundred forty pounds, unchallenged champion of Trinity High School. Champion of what? Of all he surveyed—the classrooms, the corridors, the campus, his power extending even into the residence where Brother Leon and the other faculty members lived.

In
that
corner, the opposite corner, Brother Leon, formerly Assistant Headmaster of Trinity High School, now full-fledged Headmaster, ruler of the school, the faculty, the curriculum, the extracurricular activities, responsible for (and ruling) 387 students between the ages of thirteen and eighteen (with the exception of Richard O'Brien, who had turned nineteen on the fourth of April). Brother Leon of the pale face, the quick and sudden classroom movements in which a student was usually the loser, struck with a teacher's pointer or a piece of chalk flying across the room faster than a speeding bullet. Brother Leon. Whose eyes could flash with malice or quicken with a cold intelligence in which there wasn't an ounce of pity or mercy. Brother Leon of the swift short steps, who had gone moderately mod these days. His thinning hair threatened to cover his collar at the back. Sideburns dropped to his ear-lobes. He wore a silver chain, from which dangled a cross so fancy that you had to squint to make certain it was a cross. Brother Leon, who sometimes seemed a bit ridiculous to Archie. Which didn't deny the fact that Leon could also be dangerous.

And now, gentlemen, step to the center of the ring. . . .

There was no ring, of course, except in Archie's mind He often thought about Brother Leon as he strolled the grounds of Trinity and stopped at the far end of the parking lot, from which point he could inspect the rear of the brothers' residence. Leon's private study, to which students were summoned occasionally, looked out on the parking lot Archie enjoyed standing there, sensing that Leon was hidden behind the stiff white curtain drawn across the window pane. In his mind he was the champion and Leon the challenger, although on the surface one would suppose that Leon had the upper hand. Archie, a student; Leon, the Headmaster. In any contest, the Headmaster would be sure to emerge victorious, wouldn't he? Wouldn't he? Ah, but not according to Archie. Not according to the gospel of Trinity as written by Archie Costello.

Now he stood at that particular spot, glancing up at the residence, not knowing what he was looking for. Certainly not a confrontation with Leon. Archie realized that he and Leon had not talked or even run into each other for weeks. Leon was famous for surprise visits to classrooms, but he either avoided or did not happen to enter any of Archie's classes. Once in a while Archie saw Leon at a distance, across the campus or on the stage of the assembly hall or getting into a car. But their paths never crossed. Accident or design? Archie didn't know and didn't care. He kept his emotions under control, in cold storage, in neutral. He allowed himself measures of enjoyment—for instance, in the car with one of the girls from Miss Jerome's School across town—but always holding a part of himself aloof, never letting go completely. He enjoyed what he saw in the eyes of the other students when he directed his attention to them—fear, apprehension, resentment. He was aware of how others felt about him, but frankly, he paid only passing attention, preferred not to think about other people. People thought too much, anyway. Or talked too much.

Once in a while he expressed his thoughts to Obie. Obie was the only person he allowed into his privacy. But not recently. He and Obie had grown apart. No, that was wrong, not grown apart They had been pulled apart by that girl, all that nonsense of Obie being in love. Love, for crissakes. Obie of all people. Although he hated to admit it to himself, Archie missed the talks with Obie. He could bounce ideas off Obie although Obie was unaware of what Archie was doing. Obie was so normal, so regular, so average, so typical of what a high school guy was like, that Archie, by being close to Obie, knew all the time what the school was thinking. Okay, so he used Obie. But wasn't that what life was all about? Using? Just as Obie, no doubt, used him, used his proximity to the Assignor of the Vigils to set him apart from, probably above, the other students.

The afternoon was dying, turning the campus into long shadows, hidden doorways, bushes and shrubbery hugging the residence, many places now for people to hide. Archie always envisioned lurkers, predators, watchers in the shadows or around corners, peeking out of windows, waiting behind closed doors. That was why he always stood tense, alert, at the ready, keen, eyes shifting, on guard under his exterior of coolness. It was a rotten world, full of treachery and evil, and you had to be on your toes at all times, ready for combat, to outfox, outwit, outdeal everybody else. Archie endorsed the graffiti he had once seen scrawled on a downtown brick wall:
Do Unto Others, Then Split
.

He heard the footsteps behind him at the same moment the voice reached his ears.

"Are you expecting an apparition, Costello?"

Archie didn't turn but winced slightly, instantly humiliated by allowing Brother Leon to creep up and surprise him. He didn't like to be surprised, particularly by Leon. He remained still, waiting for Leon to swing around and come into his view. Which Leon did, a satisfied look on his face, as if he had gained some kind of advantage. Leon was dressed in his black and whites, black suit, stiff white collar.

The campus was still. A car with a ruptured muffler violated the air far down the street.

"You're lurking late here, aren't you, Costello?" Leon asked.

Lurking
and
Costello
. Leon had a trick of choosing certain words and pronouncing them so as to make them seem sinister, unsavory. As if Archie by
lurking
here was doing something illegal, dirty, shameful. And
Costello
. Since assuming the authority of Headmaster, Brother Leon called all students by their last names, kept a strict formality with them. He had never been the buddy-buddy type anyway; now he treated the students as if they were underlings, mere subjects in the kingdom of his royal highness, Leon the First.

Archie shrugged, didn't bother to answer Leon's Question; it didn't require an answer, in fact. To Leon, the question itself was important, not the answer. The question and how he asked it, with that faint smirk, the suggestive curl of his lips. But Archie knew Leon's methods—and Leon
knew
he knew—so Archie permitted himself a smile at Leon, a smile that told Leon exactly how he felt about it all. And then Archie decided to answer, seeing an opportunity to level his own shaft at Leon.

"Just checking the" premises," Archie said. "Some of the neighbors have been complaining about a child molester—wearing a white collar—lurking in the area."

A glitter in Leon's eyes, a quickening, like a sudden touch of cold sunlight on the surface of a lake. His face was expressionless, but Archie sensed a tension in the flesh of Leon's cheeks. He and Leon had always dueled this way, tossing veiled barbs at each other, in a game that wasn't quite a game.

Leon waved his right hand, almost limply, dismissing Archie's barb, showing that he recognized it for what it was, verbal retaliation.

"The campus has been quiet for some time," Leon said, his tone now more conversational, as if some prologue had ended and he could get on with the business at hand. "You have been holding them in check."

Archie knew who he meant by
them
.

"I must express my admiration, Costello. For you. Your methods. I know that your odd activities go on, but you have been discreet. And life has been kind, hasn't it?"

They had made a pact months ago, after the chocolates and immediately after Leon had assumed the Headmastership of Trinity. "Life at Trinity can be very pleasant, Costello, for both of us," Leon had said. "My desire is to continue the fine traditions of Trinity, to make it the best preparatory school in New England. And this takes faculty working together with the student body. Our dear retired Headmaster was a wonderful man but did not comprehend the ways of students, Costello. He was not vigilant."
Vigilant
. Leon had caressed the word with his tongue, his lips, his voice, giving it a special meaning, the word leaping into the air and hanging there. Archie had nodded. Knew Leon's meaning. "I, however, am vigilant. Will continue to be. I also know that boys must be allowed their games, their sports, must indulge their idiosyncrasies on occasion. This I understand and allow. But within limitations. Without obstructions to the lofty goals and purposes of Trinity. And its administration."

Words, of course. Bullshit. The administration of the school was under the strict control of Brother Leon. In fact, he had arranged a transfer for Brother Jacques, the only member of the faculty who had ever showed signs of independence—Jacques had objected to the events surrounding the chocolate skirmish last fall—and Jacques was no longer on the scene at Trinity. So much for Leon's pretensions. But even though Leon's words were bullshit, the meaning came through straight and true to Archie. He and Leon spoke the same language, not the verbal language of ordinary communication but the between-the-lines language of conspirators and plotters. What Leon meant: Play your tricks, Archie, carry out the assignments, let the Vigils have their fun. But keep your distance from me. Don't do anything to embarrass me as Headmaster of the school Otherwise . . .

"Incidentally, Costello, I have some bad news."

Not so incidentally, Archie figured. He knew now the reason Brother Leon had sought him out, confronted him here on the campus as the sun began to droop.
I have some bad news
. He had never known Leon to bring good news.

"It's news from provincial headquarters. In Manchester, New Hampshire."

Get to the point, Brother Leon, and spare the geography.

"Brother Eugene—remember him?" Leon asked, guilelessly, innocently. But not so guileless, not so innocent.

Archie nodded, glad that he seldom perspired, whether under pressure or during heat waves, glad that beads of moisture on his forehead would not betray him.

"He is dead, Brother Eugene. He died yesterday in the infirmary at Manchester."

For a moment, in the shadows, Archie saw the soft, quizzical face of Brother Eugene superimposed on Leon's features, then shrugged it away.

"He never fully recovered," Leon said.

Archie knew what Leon wanted him to ask: Recovered from what? But Archie wouldn't give him the satisfaction. And, anyway, they both knew.

"The Order has lost a wonderful, sensitive teacher," Leon said. "Have you anything to say, Costello? Perhaps a tribute of your own? You had Brother Eugene in class, didn't you?"

"History," Archie said. "One semester."

"Room Nineteen?" Brother Leon asked, malice in his voice as he shifted his body suddenly so that the last flash of the sun's rays struck Archie's eyes, causing him to blink, to look away. Room Nineteen and its beautiful debris, a legend now at Trinity.

"I never had Brother Eugene in Room Nineteen," Archie said, holding his voice steady. "It was some other room in my freshman year." He squared off, changed position so that he could look Leon in the eye again.

Their gazes held for a moment, and it was Leon who broke the contact this time. Casting his eyes downward, he said: "We shall have a special memorial mass for Brother Eugene at assembly. But I think you should make a special visit to your church and offer up prayers for the repose of his soul."

Archie said nothing. He had not prayed for years. Went through the motions during the masses in assembly hall on special occasions. Attended mass with his parents when they insisted, and followed the rituals that pleased them. He didn't care whether he pleased them or not, but peace reigned in the house when he played the role of dutiful son.

"Have you nothing to say, Costello?" Leon said, anger showing through the words.

"Brother Eugene was a nice guy," Archie said. "I bleed him." Having to say something. He spoke the truth, really. There had been nothing personal in the Room Nineteen assignment. There was never anything personal in the assignments.

"I don't want to dwell on the past, Costello," Leon said. "But prayer is always good for the soul. Your own, for instance."

Archie remained silent, and Leon seemed willing to accept his silence as acceptance, because he sighed expansively, as if he had just done his good deed for the day and could go on with his usual routine. He glanced around the darkening campus, the buildings shrouded in silence, the white clapboards of the residence gleaming like dinosaur bones.

"I love this school, Costello," Leon said.

Like a criminal loves his crime, Archie thought. That was the secret of the world's agony, and the reason crime—and, yes, sin—would always prevail. Because the criminal, whether a rapist or a burglar, loves his crime. That's why rehabilitation was impossible. You had to get rid of the love, the passion, first. And that would never happen.

Leon looked at Archie again, seemed about to speak, and then changed his mind.

"Carry on, Costello," he said, and padded away, in those short mincing steps the guys imitated so easily and frequently.

Archie allowed himself a moment of loathing as he watched Leon disappearing into the gloom. What a fake he was. All that phony concern about Brother Eugene. Leon had done nothing about Room Nineteen, too worried about his own career. Archie had always been able to depend on that. And that's what had made him and Leon allies. Which always bothered Archie, being linked with someone like Brother Leon. Then he remembered a surprise that awaited Leon—the day of the Bishop's visit. And maybe some others.