all wrists and fluttered fingers.
Dale said nothing.
"You'd better go if you're going to mow the yard," said Mike. There was an edge to his voice.
Harlen glanced at O'Rourke, hesitated, said, "Yeah. See ya, simps," and pedaled away down Depot Street.
"See. I toldya it was weird," said Sandy and rode away with Donna Lou. Donna shouted "Tomorrow!" back over her shoulder as they reached the line of sentinel elms on the southeast side of the schoolyard.
Dale waved.
Gerry Daysinger said, "Hell, nothing else's going to happen. I'm going home to get a soda pop." He ran off toward his frame-and-tarpaper house on cinderblocks across School Street.
"Ke-VIIINNN!" The shrill cry sounded like a Johnny Weissmuller Tarzan shout. Mrs. Grumbacher's head and shoulders were just visible at the front door.
Kevin wasted no time for farewells but spun his bike and was gone.
The shadow of Old Central spread almost to Second Avenue, pulling the color from the playing fields lying green where sunlight touched and shading the lower levels of three great elms.
J.P. Congden emerged a few minutes later, shouted something bullying at the kids, and then drove away in a shower of gravel.
"My dad says that he uses that Chevy to trick people into speeding," said Mike.
"How?" said Lawrence.
Mike sat down in the grass and plucked a blade of grass. "J.P. hides down in the dairy driveway on the hill where the' Hard Road dips down to cross Spoon River. When people come along, he roars out and tries to race them. If they race, he puts his light on top of his car and arrests them for speeding. Drags them to his house and fines them twenty-five dollars. If they don't race…"
"Yeah?"
"He gets in front of them right before the bridge, slows down, and arrests them for passing within a hundred feet of the bridge when they finally go around."
Lawrence chewed on his grass and shook his head. "What a shitheel."
"Hey!" said Dale. "Watch your mouth. If Mom hears you talking like that…"
"Look," said Lawrence, jumping up and running over to a furrowed ridge in the soil. "What's this?"
The two boys ambled over to look. "Gopher," said Dale.
Mike shook his head. "Too big."
"They probably dug a ditch to lay in some new sewer pipe or something and the hump's still here," said Dale. He pointed. "See. There's another ridge. They both run to the school."
Mike walked over to the other furrow, followed it until it disappeared under the sidewalk near the school, and chewed on his blade of grass. "Doesn't make much sense to put in new pipes."
"Why not?" said Lawrence.
Mike gestured toward the shaded side of the school. "They're tearing it down. A couple more days, once they get all the junk out, they'll be boarding up the windows. If they…" Mike stopped, squinted up toward the eaves, and backed away.
Dale Walked over to join him. "What is it?"
Mike pointed. "Up there. See in the center window on the high-school floor?"
Dale shielded his eyes. "Uh-uh. What?"
"Somebody looking out," said Lawrence. "I saw a white face before it moved away."
"Not somebody," said Mike. "It was Van Syke."
Dale glanced over his shoulder, past his house, to the fields beyond. Tree shadow and distance kept him from seeing if the Rendering Truck was still out by the ballfield.
Eventually Mrs. Cooke, Cordie, Barney, and Old Double-Butt came out, said a few unheard words, and drove away in different directions. Only Dr. Roon's car remained and just before dark, just before Dale and Lawrence were called in for dinner, he too came out, locked the school door, and drove away in his hearselike Buick.
Dale kept watching from his front door until his mother ordered him to the table, but Van Syke did not emerge.
He checked after dinner. Evening light touched only the tops of the trees and the scabby green cupola. The rest was darkness.
SIX
Saturday morning, the first Saturday of summer, and Mike O'Rourke was up at dawn. He went into the darkened parlor to check on Memo-she hardly slept
Dale said nothing.
"You'd better go if you're going to mow the yard," said Mike. There was an edge to his voice.
Harlen glanced at O'Rourke, hesitated, said, "Yeah. See ya, simps," and pedaled away down Depot Street.
"See. I toldya it was weird," said Sandy and rode away with Donna Lou. Donna shouted "Tomorrow!" back over her shoulder as they reached the line of sentinel elms on the southeast side of the schoolyard.
Dale waved.
Gerry Daysinger said, "Hell, nothing else's going to happen. I'm going home to get a soda pop." He ran off toward his frame-and-tarpaper house on cinderblocks across School Street.
"Ke-VIIINNN!" The shrill cry sounded like a Johnny Weissmuller Tarzan shout. Mrs. Grumbacher's head and shoulders were just visible at the front door.
Kevin wasted no time for farewells but spun his bike and was gone.
The shadow of Old Central spread almost to Second Avenue, pulling the color from the playing fields lying green where sunlight touched and shading the lower levels of three great elms.
J.P. Congden emerged a few minutes later, shouted something bullying at the kids, and then drove away in a shower of gravel.
"My dad says that he uses that Chevy to trick people into speeding," said Mike.
"How?" said Lawrence.
Mike sat down in the grass and plucked a blade of grass. "J.P. hides down in the dairy driveway on the hill where the' Hard Road dips down to cross Spoon River. When people come along, he roars out and tries to race them. If they race, he puts his light on top of his car and arrests them for speeding. Drags them to his house and fines them twenty-five dollars. If they don't race…"
"Yeah?"
"He gets in front of them right before the bridge, slows down, and arrests them for passing within a hundred feet of the bridge when they finally go around."
Lawrence chewed on his grass and shook his head. "What a shitheel."
"Hey!" said Dale. "Watch your mouth. If Mom hears you talking like that…"
"Look," said Lawrence, jumping up and running over to a furrowed ridge in the soil. "What's this?"
The two boys ambled over to look. "Gopher," said Dale.
Mike shook his head. "Too big."
"They probably dug a ditch to lay in some new sewer pipe or something and the hump's still here," said Dale. He pointed. "See. There's another ridge. They both run to the school."
Mike walked over to the other furrow, followed it until it disappeared under the sidewalk near the school, and chewed on his blade of grass. "Doesn't make much sense to put in new pipes."
"Why not?" said Lawrence.
Mike gestured toward the shaded side of the school. "They're tearing it down. A couple more days, once they get all the junk out, they'll be boarding up the windows. If they…" Mike stopped, squinted up toward the eaves, and backed away.
Dale Walked over to join him. "What is it?"
Mike pointed. "Up there. See in the center window on the high-school floor?"
Dale shielded his eyes. "Uh-uh. What?"
"Somebody looking out," said Lawrence. "I saw a white face before it moved away."
"Not somebody," said Mike. "It was Van Syke."
Dale glanced over his shoulder, past his house, to the fields beyond. Tree shadow and distance kept him from seeing if the Rendering Truck was still out by the ballfield.
Eventually Mrs. Cooke, Cordie, Barney, and Old Double-Butt came out, said a few unheard words, and drove away in different directions. Only Dr. Roon's car remained and just before dark, just before Dale and Lawrence were called in for dinner, he too came out, locked the school door, and drove away in his hearselike Buick.
Dale kept watching from his front door until his mother ordered him to the table, but Van Syke did not emerge.
He checked after dinner. Evening light touched only the tops of the trees and the scabby green cupola. The rest was darkness.
SIX
Saturday morning, the first Saturday of summer, and Mike O'Rourke was up at dawn. He went into the darkened parlor to check on Memo-she hardly slept
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