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Show -nu 1 ma, ut" II xu h "iafSIl :n!l !h( FirTSOM THE JAGGED SCAR fM Leah ! I SVMVn By DONALD HUNTER p ill ast we Cothev JJMJL' ir e of'1 e Colle Tom and his dad had always been pals, so much so that when "the riCE C man" suddenly became sullen and morose toward his son, Tom attrib- FIK j uted it to his "growing up" and he began to find life almost unbearable. breath, his young chest swelling quickly with the sharp intake of air. He held it, stiffened his lip. He would not cry. Crying wasn't grown up! The thought struck him then that maybe that was the whole thing that was wrong. He was growing up! He wanted to turn down that thought right away. If this was what it was Kke, if this was growing grow-ing up then he didn't want to be big! He didn't want to be. It hurt too much. Why couldn't It be like it used to be with the old man and him? But if that was it if it was just growing up then it never would be like that again. And Rosemary she would never treat him the same again, either. She knew, too! Just getting big, you had to be hard, cold, without love, understanding, under-standing, feeling or There was something wrong in just growing up! The boy started to rub his knuckle into his eye, but stopped. A bleak chill was settling in his heart, as he watched the old man him. He called him the old man when he was with the other boys his age, not with any disrespect but be always called him dad around his mother. "Oh, leave your father alone, can't you?" she said. And he went away sensing an even greater wrong. Even little Rosemary, the girl he talked to shyly in the school yard sometimes, seemed to be treating him different lately. "What's wrong with you?" she'd ask right in the middle of his wondering won-dering what was wrong with the old man and his mom. "Oh, nothing nothing!" he'd say quickly. "Why?" "Well, you don't talk near so much anymore," she'd say, "and you seem so far awa., like!" He wondered if just not paying any attention to her while he was thinking about his dad and mom made her think there was some- F ii yd L. T ! TpHE Tow-Headed Boy with the lade e ;j A hair close cropped didn't know ns of i what it was. The old man spent u Lav.j hours just gazkig off into space. ;d, com -j HlJ sat 0Q tjjg tQp fjnt porcri step, of Sec his cane between his knees, his f Rans ieet Planted on the second step and otice ( the cane end set on the bottom inal pi ! one. With his hands crossed over 0 the 1 the cane head, the right hand it I ex j carefully covered the jagged scar ?ttled ' across the back of the left one. ed sai Other times, when the boy was laws ar around, he always seemed busy 'ee'lyw reading the newspaper. He kept it ntati've folded so he could hold it with one f the Si hand, the scarred hand concealed n No ! in his lap. the fa ! Of course, he had never been ! very talkative. Stoic, like the hill people he came from, he never Bak i mentioned his troubles. When he'd ihhnt! i chopped his hand with an ax out ublicat i toe back yard' he'd sneaked i through the kitchen hiding the man- ''' ; gled bloody member behind him sc. the boy's mother, wouldn't see. ! The boy had stood in the front fj. ; room wide-eyed and anxious with fy j J fear when the old man saw him. igjH? i "Don't tell your mother, boy!" V$V he'd warned before he went into 'i " the bedroom to tear up an old sheet i for wrapping his hand. f"CMw But the boy's mother had noticed. J i She sensed the strange atmosphere, f5kj ; the unusual actions. She'd followed v , ' him into the bedroom, and the boy Crowlti : had heard the old man shushing ivabou ner while she bawled him out for n the i ' hiding the thing. He kept saying , ! it was nothing and afterwards he es ' never talked about it, never com- ose str J plained. He just never let anyone lookaff see me jagged scar across the most l back of nis Dand u ne could helP it- ffham i Now' tne old man was witn" - V drawn; he couldn't get near him fw i anymore, couldn't talk to him. lsnelii j Once, he'd been able to get a kind a aga Word out of the old man. He'd ce it'-; say, "That's good, Tom!" or, 1 decern J "That's not the way that ought to , . j be done, Son!" And though there ! usetna, weren't very many words between that u j them, they were the kind that made Ithe boy feel good, and know that everything was all right. Now, it was different. The old J man didn't seem to have time for him. He didn't want to take their i long silent walks together anymore, j like he used to. And he didn't move j around much. He even seemed to I rsent the boy's presence, like j when he'd stumbled that time in 'I the front room and caught himself on hi- cane. He growled at the boy, leaving him speechless and hurt. But he wasn't old, not like Grampa and and the old mare down on ' t i the farm. j 1 Still, the last time he'd brought ! his report card home from school, happily expecting the old man to j say, as he sometimes did, "That's j i good, Son, good that you're getting j' ' your learning!" and smile at him ! j quietly, he hadn't done it. i j He'd only glanced at the card on j one side then turned it over and ; said something that sounded like "Humph!" and handed It back to i ; him shortly. The boy had worked 1 extra hard that last month to get V the grades up hoping the old man 4 ; might break through to him again. I He couldn't understand that short v R i "Humph!" T j There was something wrong, and i the boy wondered if it could be him. j His mother seemed to act the same "4 way toward him. Cut him off short, k j when he'd tried awkwardly to ask V- 1 1 her about how dad was treating "Oh, leave your father alone, can't you?" she said. And he went away sensing an even greater wrong. go in the front door. But he followed fol-lowed him, some strange knowing-ness knowing-ness urging him to get his answer confirmed. To make sure that was it. The old man was bent over fumbling fum-bling around on the floor for the worn leather change purse he'd dropped, when the boy walked in. His hand closed on the purse and he straightened quickly. "Here, boy," he said hurriedly, digging into the pouch. "Run down to the corner and get me a paper!" He often asked him to do that, and the boy felt a rise of that good feeling at anything he could do fo. the old man. He -held out his thing wrong with him. Or if maybe there was really something wrong with him. He hated the thought, but it kept cropping up in his mind. Maybe he was adopted! Maybe the old man and his mom were not really his father and mother, but had just adopted him and he was just now finding it out. The thought frightened fright-ened him, and he buried it deep in his mind. If it was true, he'd be like the old man; hide his hurt. He'd never let them know he knew! His father called him "boy" now, instead of "Tom" or "Son," like he had. And he was sharp, almost al-most harsh sometimes. HE WAS bouncing his ball off the side of the house when the old man came around from the backyard. back-yard. In an excess of boyish joy, he forgot for a moment what the situation situa-tion was between them. He threw the ball to the old man. Instead of catching it and firing It back so it would sting his hands the old man ignored it. He did nothing till the ball bit him, and bounced harmlessly off his shoulder. He tensed then, lifted his cane. "Stop that infernal nonsense, boy!" he yelled. The boy could feel his own lip tremble as he stared at the old man's angry face. He took a deep hand and the old man laid three coins in his palm. "Now hurry, boy!" he urged harshly. The boy felt disappointment disappoint-ment at the sharp, urgent tone, until he glanced down at the coins. Suddenly, he stood very still. Two dimes and a penny lay In his hand to pay for the three-cent paper. Waves of coldness washed up his spine as the bitter acid of knowledge knowl-edge bit into his nerve ends and settled in his brain. He made no outcry; not even the sound of a murmur passed his tight lips. But hot liquid emotion scalded two lines of silent tears down his cheeks as he gazed, knowingly at last, up into his father's slowly blinding eyes. "Okay, dad!" he said, his voice stumbling over his heart, "Okay, dad!" |