George said, “Why don’t you let George speak for himself?”
And Patrolman Hooper said, “Yeah, why don’t you guys let George speak for himself.”
George did. He said, “Officer, I suggest that you search the backseat of that car. After you have done that, I think you would like to call the mother of these young men. Dial 798-4651 in this area code. You’ll have to let it ring a long time. She sleeps very soundly.”
The cop nodded and led them to the patrol car where he locked them in while he examined the backseat of the old blue Buick.
“Are you trying to get even with me, George?” Ben asked.
“No, Ben, I’m surprised that you ask. I’m merely doing what you know should be done.”
Ben nodded. “I just wanted to be sure that we’re in this together. Some of the best things are just understood between us.” He then turned to Howard and said, “You know, we forced you into this whole thing, Howie.”
Howard answered, “If you say so, I won’t fight you, Ben. It’s never fair. It’s always two against one.”
Patrolman Hooper pulled their car to the side of the road, emptied the backseat and carried the contents to his car, locked the old Buick, returned to the patrol car, called headquarters and told them that he was bringing in the Carr boys. Howard and Ben smiled at each other when they heard that. Hooper then told headquarters to telephone Mrs. Carr and tell her to meet them at the Juvenile Court House. He was about to put down his microphone when he added, “Ring it a long time; she sleeps sound.” Then, shooting an embarrassed glance into the backseat, Patrolman Hooper took contents and criminals to the police station.
eleven
Ben and Howard (and George) sat on a bench to the side of the desk while Patrolman Hooper filed a report with the counselor. The counselor was tired. He, too, was working overtime; instead of leaving at 11:30, he was staying so that he could advise and help those of the college crowd who would be brought to him. It would be that way all week. After the policeman filed his report, Counselor Boggs talked to Ben. He asked him if he had ever taken drugs himself, and he wanted to know if Ben was aware of the seriousness of what he had done. Did Ben know that the manufacture, sale, and general use of LSD had become illegal in 1966? And did he know how dangerous it could be to his health? Ben said that he didn’t know the details, but that he knew that it was wrong.
Howard asked, “Where do you suppose Mom is?”
Counselor Boggs asked Ben, “Do you realize what you have done, inviting your brother along, involving such a young man in traffic with drugs?”
Ben said, “I don’t mean to be fresh, sir, but he was invited along just for the drive. For the driving, really.”
Howard leaned against Ben and asked, “How do you figure that Mom will get here since she won’t have the car?”
George answered, “She’ll arrive with Mr. Berkowitz.”
Howard yawned and mumbled, “Thanks, George.”
The counselor looked puzzled for a minute, then glanced at the forms that had been filled out by Patrolman Hooper. Ben saw him look at their names and then look again at their names. He said cautiously, “You won’t find George written down.”
Counselor Boggs looked up from his papers, Ben drew in his breath, and then he knew that he would tell. “George, you see, is the little man who lives inside of me. He’s the guy that Dr. Herrold, my psychiatrist doesn’t believe in. Neither does Marilyn, nor my father. No one believes in George except me and Howard. Howard knows George.”
Counselor Boggs listened as Ben explained. He asked a question now and then, and once he consulted the telephone directory for the correct spelling of Dr. L. Daniel Herrold, practice limited to psychiatry. He realized that Ben was not a smart aleck trouble maker, and he realized that Howard was merely a sleepy little boy who had been brought along for the drive, for the driving.
Ben and Howard and George were sent to a small room to wait. The room was called Hold Room #2 and more than anything else, it resembled a bare, walk-in refrigerator with only one shelf. The shelf was a bench. Ben allowed his brother to lie across it while he sat on the floor and waited for his mother. She would arrive with Mr. Berkowitz. George would be proven correct. George knew so much; Ben was delighted to have him back and have him on his side.
Howard didn’t want to sleep, but being horizontal, he was left with no choice. Ben saw his brother’s eyes close; they seemed to lift the corners of his brother’s mouth.
“What are you thinking about, Howie?” Ben asked.
“Only that they’re going to have one heck of a time fingerprinting George.”
Ben smiled and said, “They won’t fingerprint George.”
Howard answered sleepily, “You better believe they won’t.”
“And they won’t fingerprint us either. We’re underage. William isn’t; he’s seventeen already, and he can be tried as an adult in Florida. That’s why George and I are taking the blame. That way it won’t come to court and get the school and Mr. Berkowitz in trouble. It’s never going to get in the papers even. Everyone thinks that I’m crazy anyway.”
Howard yawned. “How nice,” he said. His smile drooped; his jaw dropped. Howard always did sleep with his mouth open. Adenoids.
While Howard slept and Ben waited, he and George had a long talk about important matters. There are some friends who know your pulse, who lie so close to your heart that they know its beat from age to age. With those friends, cushioned always close, there is never a need to catch up. So it was with George and Ben. They spoke as if the three and a half months of silence had been a brief pause between the lub and dup of Benjamin’s gentle heart.
“You better tell Berkowitz the real truth, Ben.”
“If I do, he may not let us go through with taking the blame. He wouldn’t want us to sacrifice to save him.”
“You’re right. You’re getting smarter all the time, Ben. Actually, to tell you the truth, I’m not willing to let William and Cheryl get off scot free, and it isn’t because of my old grudge against William.”
“George?”
“Yes, Ben?”
“Admit that it is partly that. Partly your old grudge.”
“O.K., Ben, it is partly that. But it is also because I’m going to hate having to listen to a bunch of lectures and psychiatric sessions on the perils of drugs when I already know them.”
“We can silently talk to each other about other things while that is going on. The problem is getting the message to William and Cheryl without getting the research program at Astra in trouble.”
“I’ll think of something, Ben. I’ll enjoy thinking of something.”
In the time between arrest and release, in the time that Howard slept, Ben and George completed their plans. George, Ben’s little man, whom no one believed in, would get the blame. Everyone, legal, educational, and psychological, who would come to learn of the case, would believe that crazy Ben had attempted to manufacture and sell LSD to the college crowd. Because Ben was young and Ben was not normal, they would keep things quiet and private and not blame the whole school for one poor, sick, little boy’s misconduct. When they would ask him about how he managed to get the stuff, he would tell them to ask George, and of course, George wouldn’t tell.
Ben would have to continue seeing Dr. Herrold, but the authorities would consider Ben’s age and the fact that he was under psychiatric care and would release him to his mother’s custody. They would think that he, Ben, was not responsible for his actions; they would think that—even though Ben’s sense of responsibility went farther and deeper than that of any normal boy.
Ben’s chief worry was that the judge of the divorce court might find out and consider Mrs. Charlotte Carr an unfit mother. Ben realized that motherhood is the only profession where a person is not judged by the quality of the product. Everyone thought that Mrs. Hazlitt was one terrific mama, because she tried hard. They might want Ben to live with his father, but something (or was it George?) told Ben that Marilyn would
think twice before taking Ben and Howard to live with her for all time. She would want the court to give Charlotte Carr another chance. And then another. Perhaps, divorce court would tell Mrs. Charlotte Carr that Ben needed the attentions of a father. Mr. Berkowitz would do for that.
“What are we going to do about William and Cheryl after all?” Ben asked.
“We’re not going to do anything. We’ll let Berkowitz do it. After all the fuss has calmed down, after Easter recess, after it’s too late to change things but not before the end of school, we’ll let Berkowitz do what must be done.”
“What is that, George?”
“Give William and Cheryl failing grades for the rest of the year. Both of them. F’s for the whole course.”
Ben laughed out loud. He knew that George had discovered the way. Bad grades were probably the only thing that would cause trouble for William and Cheryl at home. They would be asked for an explanation. They would tell the truth, maybe, and then their parents would investigate. Or they would lie, (probably!) and then their parents would march to the school to find out why it is possible for a teacher to fail them for an entire year on the basis of only part of the course—a voluntary part, at that. Mr. Berkowitz could take it from there. The truth would come out, and maybe their parents would even choose to do something about it.
Ben was grateful to George for taking the blame, and he told George so.
“It’s all right, Ben; you don’t have to grovel.”
“I’m not grovelling; I am merely being polite. You can’t recognize good manners because you don’t have any yourself.”
“That’s right, I don’t. I don’t need them because I don’t face the world. You shouldn’t have manners with me, nor I with you. So I am not going to tell you, ‘Don’t mention it,’ about the favor I am doing for you.”
“If you’re not going to say ‘Don’t mention it,’ what are you going to say?”
“I’m going to say that you damn well should be grateful, and I’m going to ask a favor in return.”
“Which is?”
“Which is to listen to me always—don’t neglect me, Ben. Remember me now, especially now, as the pull of your courses and the pull of your classmates tries to drown out my voice forever. It’s a critical time, Ben. Always listen to me, Ben. If you don’t shut me up forever now, I’ll be rich within you. You’ll always have me to fall back on.”
“O.K., George, I’ll promise, but I don’t really see how I can help but listen if you’re talking.”
“You can stop hearing me, Ben. Don’t ever do that.”
“I won’t, George. You don’t have to grovel.”
Ben was resting on the floor, and Howard was sleeping when Mrs. Carr and Mr. Berkowitz arrived. Mr. Berkowitz’s hair and moustache looked like a molting bird. He had buttoned his shirt wrong and had only one front flap tucked inside his pants. Mrs. Carr looked no better.
Ben told his mother that she would now have to believe in him in public and believe only what he would tell her in private. Charlotte Carr did that. She listened to what her son said in public and believed what he said in private.
And Mr. Berkowitz, hearing of Benjamin’s troubles, waited for the real explanation to come along. When it did, after the court records had been made, after Ben was committed to his mother’s care, after Ben was again under treatment at the psychiatrist’s, after school had resumed, when the real explanation came, Mr. Berkowitz said thank you. He said thank you to Benjamin Dickinson Carr for wanting to help him, and he said thank you to Charlotte Carr for rearing him as she had. Mr. Berkowitz urged Ben to return to court and tell the truth. He would back him up, but Ben refused. He asked only that Cheryl and William get failing grades. That turned out to be the least and the most that he could do.
after
In the two years since these happenings, William and Cheryl have entered college. William did not get a scholarship that he was counting on because of his failing grade in chemistry and because of the poor recommendation written by Mr. Berkowitz. William is working part time in the college library to help pay for what the scholarship would have. He often feels very sorry for himself, and he hates Berkowitz and Ben. Hate is a hole; it can be filled, and maybe someday, it will be. With gratitude.
Cheryl is engaged to marry someone other than William. The whole incident left her slightly saddened and inconvenienced. Her parents took away her driving privileges until the following September.
Charlotte Carr became Mrs. Sheldon Berkowitz, and Howard is considering changing his name to Howard Berkowitz Carr instead of Howard Ferrari Carr. He watches his stepfather trim his moustache twice a week.
Yes, and Ben.
Ben was dismissed from the psychiatrist’s care a year and a half after these happenings. Ben’s own voice had deepened by then, and it had become indistinguishable from George’s. But for all the rest of his life, Ben will be mindful of his inner parts. He’ll watch his diet and never swallow orange seeds or watermelon pits because to do so could bring on an attack of appendicitis, and that he realizes would involve surgery.
here’s a glimpse at the latest
extraordinary novel
from two-time Newbery Medalist
e. l. konigsburg
IN THE LATE AFTERNOON ON THE SECOND FRIDAY IN September, Amedeo Kaplan stepped down from the school bus into a cloud of winged insects. He waved his hand in front of his face only to find that the flies silently landed on the back of his hand and stayed there. They didn’t budge, and they didn’t bite. They were as lazy as the afternoon. Amedeo looked closely. They were not lazy. They were preoccupied. They were coupling, mating on the wing, and when they landed, they stayed connected, end to end. They were shameless. He waved his hands and shook his arms, but nothing could interrupt them.
He stopped, unhooked his backpack, and laid it on the sidewalk. Fascinated by their silence and persistence, he knelt down to watch them. Close examination revealed an elongated body covered with black wings; end to end, they were no longer than half an inch. The heads were red, the size of a pin. There was a longer one and a shorter one, and from what he remembered of nature studies, their size determined their sex—or vice versa.
The flies covered his arms like body hair. He started scraping them off his arms and was startled to hear a voice behind him say, “Lovebugs.”
He turned around and recognized William Wilcox.
William (!) Wilcox (!).
For the first time in his life Amedeo was dealing with being the new kid in school, the new kid in town, and finding out that neither made him special. Quite the opposite. Being new was generic at Lancaster Middle School. The school itself didn’t start until sixth grade, so every single one of his fellow sixth graders was a new kid in school, and being new was also common because St. Malo was home to a lot of navy families, so for some of the kids at Lancaster Middle School, this was the third time they were the new kid in town. The navy seemed to move families to any town that had water nearby—a river, a lake, a pond, or even high humidity—so coming from a famous port city like New York added nothing to his interest quotient.
Amedeo was beginning to think that he had been conscripted into AA. Aloners Anonymous. No one at Lancaster Middle School knew or cared that he was new, that he was from New York, that he was Amedeo Kaplan.
But now William (!) Wilcox (!) had noticed him.
William Wilcox was anything but anonymous. He was not so much alone as aloof. In a school as variegated as an argyle sock, William Wilcox was not part of the pattern. Blond though he was, he was a dark thread on the edge. He was all edges. He had a self-assurance that inspired awe or fear or both.
Everyone seemed to know who William Wilcox was and that he had a story.
Sometime after William Wilcox’s father died, his mother got into the business of managing estate sales. She took charge of selling off the contents of houses of people who had died or who were moving or downsizing or had some other need to dispossess themselves of the things they
owned. She was paid a commission on every item that was sold. It was a good business for someone like Mrs. Wilcox, who had no money to invest in inventory but who had the time and the talent to learn a trade. Mrs. Wilcox was fortunate that two antique dealers, Bertram Grover and Ray Porterfield, took her under their wings and started her on a career path.
From the start, William worked side by side with his mother.
In their first major estate sale, the Birchfields’, Mrs. Wilcox found a four-panel silk screen wrapped in an old blanket in the back of a bedroom closet. It was slightly faded but had no tears or stains, and she could tell immediately that it had been had painted a very long time ago. She priced the screen reasonably at one hundred twenty five dollars but could not interest anyone in buying it. Her instincts told her it was something fine, so when she was finishing the sale and still couldn’t find a buyer, she deducted the full price from her sales commission and took the screen home, put it up in front of the sofa in their living room, and studied it. Each of the four panels told part of the story of how women washed and wove silk. The more she studied and researched, the more she became convinced that the screen was not only very fine but rare.
On the weekend following the Birchfield sale, she and William packed the screen into the family station wagon and tried selling it to antique shops all over St. Malo. When she could not interest anyone in buying it, she and William took to the road, and on several consecutive weekends, they stopped at antique shops in towns along the interstate, both to the north and south of St. Malo.
They could not find a buyer.
Without his mother’s knowing, William took photos of the screen and secretly carried them with him when his sixth-grade class took a spring trip to Washington, D.C. As his classmates were touring the National Air and Space Museum, William stole away to the Freer Gallery of Art, part of the Smithsonian that specializes in Asian art and antiquities.