The Collected Stories of Richard Yates Read Online Free Page A

jam his hands in his windbreaker pockets and force himself to keep on walking; he had to force his voice to be steady when he said, “Nunnya business, I told ya. Lea’ me alone.”
    But they were right in step with him now. “Boy, she must of given you the works,” Warren Berg persisted. “What’d she say, anyway? C’mon, tell us, Vinny.”
    This time the name was too much for him. It overwhelmed his resistance and made his softening knees slow down to a slack, conversational stroll. “She din say nothin’,” he said at last; and then after a dramatic pause he added, “She let the ruler do her talkin’ for her.”
    â€œThe ruler ? Ya mean she used a ruler on ya?” Their faces were stunned, either with disbelief or admiration, and it began to look more and more like admiration as they listened.
    â€œOn the knuckles,” Vincent said through tightening lips. “Five times on each hand. She siz, ‘Make a fist. Lay it out here on the desk.’ Then she takes the ruler and Whop! Whop! Whop! Five times. Ya think that don’t hurt, you’re crazy.”
    Miss Price, buttoning her polo coat as the front door whispered shut behind her, could scarcely believe her eyes. This couldn’t be Vincent Sabella—this perfectly normal, perfectly happy boy on the sidewalk ahead of her, flanked by attentive friends. But it was, and the scene made her want to laugh aloud with pleasure and relief. He was going to be all right, after all. For all her well-intentioned groping in the shadows she could never have predicted a scene like this, and certainly could never have caused it to happen. But it was happening, and it just proved, once again, that she would never understand the ways of children.
    She quickened her graceful stride and overtook them, turning to smile down at them as she passed. “Goodnight, boys,” she called, intending it as a kind of cheerful benediction; and then, embarrassed by their three startled faces, she smiled even wider and said, “Goodness, it is getting colder, isn’t it? That windbreaker of yours looks nice and warm, Vincent. I envy you.” Finally they nodded bashfully at her; she called goodnight again, turned, and continued on her way to the bus stop.
    She left a profound silence in her wake. Staring after her, Warren Berg and Bill Stringer waited until she had disappeared around the corner before they turned on Vincent Sabella.
    â€œRuler, my eye!” Bill Stringer said. “Ruler, my eye!” He gave Vincent a disgusted shove that sent him stumbling against Warren Berg, who shoved him back.
    â€œJeez, you lie about everything, don’tcha, Sabella? You lie about everything !”
    Jostled off balance, keeping his hands tight in the windbreaker pockets, Vincent tried in vain to retain his dignity. “Think I care if yiz believe me?” he said, and then because he couldn’t think of anything else to say, he said it again. “Think I care if yiz believe me?”
    But he was walking alone. Warren Berg and Bill Stringer were drifting away across the street, walking backwards in order to look back on him with furious contempt. “Just like the lies you told about the policeman shooting your father,” Bill Stringer called.
    â€œEven movies he lies about,” Warren Berg put in; and suddenly doubling up with artificial laughter he cupped both hands to his mouth and yelled, “Hey, Doctor Jack-o’-Lantern!”
    It wasn’t a very good nickname, but it had an authentic ring to it—the kind of a name that might spread around, catch on quickly, and stick. Nudging each other, they both took up the cry:
    â€œWhat’s the matter, Doctor Jack-o’-Lantern?”
    â€œWhy don’tcha run on home with Miss Price, Doctor Jack-o’-Lantern?”
    â€œSo long, Doctor Jack-o’-Lantern!”
    Vincent Sabella went on walking, ignoring them, waiting until they