Читать книгу The Vultures - Mark Hannon - Страница 11

6.

“All right, I think that will be enough of Plato’s government by timocracy for today,” the professor said.

“Boy, is it,” Tom whispered, putting his pencil in his pocket and closing his notebook. HR leaned over to him and whispered, “Stop by College A, Artie scored last night.”

Tom nodded, and the two of them walked across the frozen lawns of the campus to Main Street, where the experimental College A was housed in a storefront. Inside, the walls were covered in posters advertising student events around the neighborhood, including several sponsored by the Students for a Democratic Society. Bushy haired Artie waved them to a back room past a bespectacled older man stacking flyers.

“Take some, spread them around, fellas. We’re mobilizing against the ROTC on campus,” the older man said.

“Ok, professor,” HR said, taking a handful.

“That guy’s a teacher?” Tom asked quietly.

“You know it. That’s professor Fred and that’s what College A is all about.” Pointing to a sign over the door, he spoke the motto: “Self and Community.”

In the back room, Artie, HR and Tom shared a joint.

“How about a beer next door, guys? I’d like to check that place out,” HR suggested.

“Gotta help Fred,” Artie said.

“Gotta get home,” Tom said, picking up his books. As he shuffled down the ice-covered sidewalk towards home, Tom thought about Rory. He remembered his older brother crouching behind cars in the wintertime, hanging on to the bumper, “pogeying” as the cars drove down the icy street and smiling back at him as his feet slid over the pavement.

“Don’t tell mom and dad,” he’d say when he hopped back onto the sidewalk a block or two later. Now he’s in the jungle in Vietnam fighting this insane war, he thought, shaking his head.

When he got onto his street, Tom saw the sheriff’s car and another vehicle pull away from the house. He ran inside to find his mother crying at the kitchen table and his dad holding her shoulders from behind. When his dad looked up, Tom could see he had been crying too.

“What happened?” Tom shouted.

His dad wiped his eyes and his mom sobbed.

“It’s Rory, Tom. He’s been wounded,” his dad said.

Tom dropped his books and stared at them, trying to choke out some words.

“What...how...is he going to be ok?”

“He’s in a hospital now over there. He’s alive. That’s about all we know right now, son.” His dad nodded towards the telegram on the table.

Tom picked it up and read it. “Don’t call? What’s this bullshit, don’t call? We gotta find out, dad!” Rory never should’ve listened to dad’s bullshit about duty. He’d be ok now.