Snow Globes and Hand Grenades (17 page)

Miss Kleinschmidt flicked the ashes on the cigarette behind her back, wanting him to leave. “Nothing going on up here.”

“May I borrow a cigarette?”

She put the cigarette in her mouth, took a drag, and opened the door all the way. “Come on in.”

As he entered, Father Ernst scanned the room, looking for some sign of intruders. He peeked his head in the cloakroom and saw nothing but empty hooks.

“Nobody's here but us,” Miss Kleinschmidt said. “The door was locked when I came in.”

“That's good.” She gave him a Benson and Hedges, not his brand, but still a smoke. He lit up and looked about the room some more, noticing the bookcase in the corner. The books attracted him. He walked toward the bookcase while he smoked.

“I hope you catch those little shits, excuse my French, Father,” she said, “I mean, what nerve, if it is them, sneaking in the school on a night like this.”

Mimi, Patrick, and Tony looked at each other as they heard the footsteps of Father Ernst approaching. Patrick considered the possibility, the glorious possibility, that they were about to get caught. He envisioned all three of them knocking over Father Ernst and running out the door for the tracks. There, he and Tony could kiss Mimi farewell and leave on the first slow freight. Father Ernst stopped. He was so close they could taste his cigarette. But he wasn't looking behind the bookcase. He was looking at the books in the bookcase.

“You never really know what they're learning, what they're really thinking at this age,” he said.

“Who?”

“Eighth graders.”

“Hmmmph,” she said looking at her empty desks. “I know what they're thinking. They're thinking of themselves, how they can get through life easy without having to keep their promises or make any commitment. All they want is pleasure and to mock authority, mock teachers, mock the church.” She wandered over to her snow globe and wound it up and put it on her desk.

“I didn't know it was musical,” Father Ernst said. He walked away from the bookcase and looked at the snow globe, which was swirling with snowflakes from being disturbed. “What that song?”

“You know, ‘Love Me Tender'.”

They both smoked and watched it for a few puffs. Miss Kleinschmidt smoldered at the memory of the man who gave it to her and quit writing, never called. She picked it up after a few stanzas and stuffed it back on the shelf where the song wound down and ended abruptly. “Are you gonna catch these little bastards, for what they did to me, or what?”

Father Ernst flinched. “We will. We have some good leads.”

“I should hope so. Time is short.”

“You're right. I'd better go. Better have a look around the rest of the school. Thanks for the smoke.”

“Sure.”

Mimi, Patrick, and Tony kept hidden, listening to the sound of Miss Kleinschmidt unwrapping a fresh sleeve of crackers. She was munching away at her desk when the music from the Spring Follies started back up and the crowd downstairs in the gym applauded. She put away the crackers, got up, turned off the lights, and shut the door behind her.

MONSIGNOR O'DAY'S big scene was upon him. At the United Nations, world leaders played by parish finance committee volunteers, sat behind cafeteria tables draped with the flags of many nations. They debated and shouted at each other, threatening to go to all out war. That's when the Archbishop of County Mayo, played by Father Maligan, appeared in long flowing vestments and the tall hat and shepherd's cane.

The piano player trembled some upstart Irish chords.

“Listen up, you birds,” Maligan told the UN delegates.

“Out of order. Who is this man?” yelled the delegate from Great Britain.

“You mind your place, England. This is a job for the Irish.”

Irish parishioners applauded.

Mimi opened Miss Kleinschmidt's desk drawer, the one on the left where she kept her box of crackers. She took out the crackers and opened the opposite drawer on the right, moved some things around, and put the crackers in there.

“Done, let's go,” she said.

“That's it?” Patrick said, “You brought us up here for just that?”

“Yeah, shouldn't we crumble them up all over her desk top at least?” Tony asked.

“No, just moving them is enough,” Mimi said. “You'll see.”

Patrick and Tony looked at each other. For the first time in a while, Tony could see that Mimi didn't know everything. Patrick seized the moment, hoping to drive a wedge between Tony and Mimi.

“Look, we got into this school your way,” Patrick said to Mimi, “but let's get out of it my way.”

“OK, what?” she said.

Tony looked at Patrick.

“We need to split up, so we won't all three get caught,” Patrick said. He wanted to go with Tony so if they got caught, they could bust loose for the tracks together and run away. But before he could say that, Mimi jumped in.

“You're right,” she said, “Me and Tony will go one way and you go the other.”

Tony grabbed Mimi's hand as if they were jumping off a river bluff together. “We'll meet at the bridge,” Tony said. “Good luck.”

“Good luck.” Patrick watched Tony and Mimi run out the door. He looked at Miss Kleinschmidt's desk and the empty room and walked out slowly, without a plan.

Father Ernst was lurking in the dark of the first floor hallway behind the statue of St. Joseph. He heard running. Two figures ran past him. He couldn't see their faces, but he knew a third wouldn't be far behind. Then he heard footsteps. He shot his arm out and grabbed the criminal.

Sister Mathilda screamed and started slapping her attacker.

Detective Kurtz, still sitting behind the desk in the investigation room, heard the scream and jumped up. He ran out into the hallway and saw Father Ernst apologizing to Sister Mathilda as she righted her habit. Then she took his arm and he led her into the gym. Detective Kurtz was alone in the dark hallway about to give up.

Way down at the other end, he heard footsteps. A boy came down the steps and stood still facing him, silhouetted by the red Exit sign. Patrick could also see someone silhouetted by the Exit sign at the opposite end of the hallway. Patrick squinted into the distance. Whoever it was seemed to be facing him. Then he could see the shape of his gun holster. He knew who
it was. Detective Kurtz began to walk slowly toward Patrick, lessening the distance between them to a hundred feet.

The crowd inside the gym shouted with excitement.

Detective Kurtz walked closer. Patrick stood still. Plenty of time to boogie out the door. But Patrick was thinking. What if he just got caught alone? Was he ready to run away from home alone? Would it be any fun without Tony? He thought and thought and thought, while the black polished shoes of Detective Kurtz got seventy-five feet away, then sixty, then fifty.

“Don't try to run,” Detective Kurtz said, his voice calm, soothing. “Just stand still and it will be all right.”

Patrick obeyed.

Detective Kurtz was a mere forty feet away, his hand reaching for the handcuffs on his belt. “Just stand still. I'm here to help you.”

Patrick closed his eyes and waited.

The gymnasium door between Patrick and Detective Kurtz flung open. With a loud roar, a crowd of parish men carrying Monsignor O'Day burst out. “Call an ambulance,” shouted Mickey Riley, the former usher whose confession O'Day had heard earlier in the week. O'Day had attempted a George M. Cohan wall kick during the show, fell, and broke his leg. Patrick opened his eyes. The men holding Monsignor O'Day filled the hallway, and all he could see over the crowd was Detective Kurtz's hat. He turned and ran.

“Don't make a fuss,” O'Day said raising his hand to bless the crowd. His black wig fell off and someone bent over to scoop it up as Detective Kurtz tried to push through the mob. But it was too late. The wig was kicked across the floor as the boy in the dark fled the scene. A delegate from the United Nations and several soldiers who had danced with O'Day near the trenches grabbed Detective Kurtz.

“Thank God you're here,” the UN delegate said, “You can radio for an ambulance much quicker than the phone.”

Detective Kurtz took his walkie-talkie from his belt and radioed the dispatcher.

Patrick found Tony smoking a Camel non-filter at the bridge, but Mimi had already left.

“Where is she?” Patrick asked.

“All I did was try to make out a little,” Tony said.

“What did she do?”

“She turned her head and said she likes me, but not like that.”

“You never know with girls,” Patrick said. They walked along the tracks both missing Mimi, but not willing to admit it. If a freight train had come along good and slow right then, Tony might have agreed to leave town with Patrick. But the tracks were quiet. And they decided maybe they should both get back to their homes and pretend they never went out that night for the sake of an alibi, if they needed one later.

THE LAST WEEK of eighth grade finally arrived. It was Monday morning, and Patrick and Tony walked to school the same way they had for years. It was sunny, hot, and windy. As they approached the building, they looked up at the sets of windows, each representing a classroom they'd done time in as they progressed toward eighth grade. In just five days, the whole experience of being in grade school would end. When the last bell of the last day rang, they would get up from their desks to leave, but try as they might, they couldn't imagine what that moment would feel like. No kid could remember all they'd been through, all the bones of their former selves they had scrambled over in the long climb from grade to grade. Instead of joy and anticipation, there was emptiness, a blank chalkboard, a feeling without a name yet. It was the first tug of the constant uncertainty of the adult world, of not being told exactly what to do, of not having the school building looming over them anymore telling them who they are—grade-schoolers.

The bell rang. Patrick and Tony slunk into the classroom where they'd hidden behind the bookshelf Saturday night. It was bright with sunlight and glaring overhead lights. Most of the students were already in their desks. Miss Kleinschmidt was seated behind hers. She looked up at them, sniffed, and looked back down at some paperwork. They took their seats. Mimi's desk was empty.

“Today in history, May, 21, 1864. The Battle of Spotsylvania ended with 32,000 causalities.”