Here, the principal said. We’re not going to have this.
But this is just his side of it, Mrs. Beckman cried. She swung back to face the principal. She picked up the paper and shook it disgustedly in the direction of Tom Guthrie. It’s only what he says. Why don’t you ask Russell what he has to say? Or don’t you care about telling the truth either?
Careful now, the principal said. You don’t want to say something you’re going to regret tomorrow. I intend to let the boy say his piece. How about it, Russell?
The big high school boy sat stonelike between his parents. He neither moved nor spoke. He eyed the principal.
Go ahead, his mother said. What are you waiting on? Tell him what you told us.
He looked at his mother, then he stared ahead. I never said nothing to her. I don’t care what he says. I was talking to somebody else. He don’t have no proof. He don’t even know if I said anything or not.
He said something, Guthrie said. Everybody heard it. And after he said it the girl stopped reading and looked at him. Then she ran out of the room.
What was it? Ask him that. He don’t know.
Do you, Tom?
No. I didn’t hear it clearly, Guthrie said. But I can about guess what it was. I asked the other students, but none of them would repeat it. Whatever it was, it caused her to flee the room.
How does he know that? Mrs. Beckman said. That’s just his assumption.
No, Guthrie said. It was more than an assumption. Everybody in the room knew it. Why else would she run out?
Well my God, Mrs. Beckman said. There’s lots of reasons. She’s pregnant, isn’t she? The little bitch got herself knocked up. Maybe she had to run out and piss in the toilet.
Lady, Tom Guthrie said, looking at her, you’ve got a filthy mouth. You’re about as ignorant as they come.
And you’re a dirty liar, she cried.
Here, the principal said. I already warned you. We’re going to keep this civil and orderly.
Tell him, then.
I’m telling both of you. I’ll stop it right now.
Mrs. Beckman glared at the principal, then she peered at her husband and lastly at her son. She pulled the sweater down tightly over her chest and stomach. All right, she said. What about out in the school hallway? What about that? Tell him your side of what happened there. See how he weasels out of that.
The high school boy sat as before, sullen and rigid, staring silently across the table.
Go on, his mother said. Tell him.
What for? It won’t make no difference. He already made up his mind.
Tell him anyhow. Tell him like you told us. Go on now.
He sat looking ahead, looking at nothing, then he began to talk in a flat monotone, as though what he was saying was some indifferent and irksome rehearsal. He called me out of the room out in the hall, he said. I went out there with him. We were talking. Then all of a sudden he grabs me by the arm and twists it up behind my back and shoves me against the lockers. I told him to stop it. Told him he couldn’t touch me. Then I got loose and went outside and went home.
The principal waited. And that’s all? That’s it. That’s all that happened?
Yeah.
You didn’t hit him?
No.
You didn’t say anything else?
Like what?
You tell me.
No. I never said nothing else.
That’s not what it says here, the principal said.