Acts of Defiance

Acts of Defiance

By Gary Beck

Smashwords Edition

This story is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents are either the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously, and any resemblance to actual events, locales, entities or persons, living or dead, is entirely coincidental.

Copyright © 2013 Gary Beck

All Rights Reserved

Smashwords License Notes

This book is licensed for your personal enjoyment only. It may not be re-sold or given away to other people. If you would like to share this book with another person, please purchase an additional copy for each person you share it with. If you are reading this book and did not purchase it, or it was not purchased for your use only, then you should return to Smashwords.com and purchase your own copy. Thank you for respecting the hard work of this author.

Dedication

To Nancy, beloved companion on a strange voyage.

Acknowledgments

Excerpts from Acts of Defiance were published by: Whortleberry Press, Stone Table Review, New Works Review, Greensilk Journal, Shattercolors literary Review, the beat-U.K., Footsteps to Oxford, Conceit Magazine, Pens on Fire, The Harbinger Journal, Lotus Reader, Badosa-Spain, Fiction on the web-U.K., The Houston Literary Review, Active Underground, The 2nd Hand, Literary House, Fresh Literary Magazine, 971 Menu, Cerebral Catalyst.

Chapter One

Connecticut 1947

I first met Steve when we were seven years old at the Wessex Country Club. It was an outpost of the eastern tennis establishment's snob circuit. Weather permitting, from spring to fall, amateur tennis was played outdoors on grass or clay courts by the privileged. That spring, Mr. Delson, our socially concerned club director, persuaded several member families to sponsor visits by disadvantaged youth. Dad agreed to house one of the unfortunate creatures for the summer. We got Steve. Dad informed me that my social duty was to be his host and companion for a summer of sharing. I was less than enthusiastic.

Do I really have to, Dad?

Yes. We have an obligation to share our blessings. In this case it's with an underprivileged boy. I expect you to behave properly with him.

Yes, Dad.

I resented not having a choice. It didn't seem fair that I should lose my freedom for the summer. I'd also be saddled with the burden of a lower class kid who would embarrass me in front of my friends. Dad didn't allow a protest. We were both stubborn, but he was more determined. Dad had been back from the war in the Pacific for more than a year, but we were still getting to know each other. I was only two when he joined the Marine Corps after Pearl Harbor, so he was a stranger when he returned. He was cold and withdrawn for almost six months. Then he slowly started to relax and become more approachable. He was tall and athletic looking, with blond hair and blue eyes. Everyone said I looked just like him. I loved him, but I was always resisting his considerable authority.

I spent a wonderful Fourth of July Sunday blowing up grasshoppers and frogs with firecrackers. This celebrated the end of my freedom. On Monday morning, in tennis whites, I waited at the club with my charitable parent for the arrival of the exile from the slums. Mr. Delson, the club director and the cause of my misery, opened the gate to the court and walked towards us with a boy in tow. Hamilton Delson was a large, pink-fleshed, aggressively cheerful man with a politician's grin. He was always quick with a handshake. He wore his usual work uniform, khaki pants, a light blue polo shirt and the dark blue club blazer with its gold crest. He held his head back when he talked and pronounced his words through his nose. He introduced us pompously.

Here's your summer guest, Steve Genelli. Steve, this is Mr. Pierce and his son Randall. They'll be your hosts for the summer. Say hello to them.

How do you do, sir.

Welcome, Steve. I hope you'll have a good time with us.

Thank you, sir.

I want you and Randall to become good friends.

Yes, sir.

Dad's quick look reminded me to answer.

Yes, Dad.

The club had contributed tennis gear to our special guests. Steve was dressed in whites just like mine, though his were a little baggy. He had black hair, smoldering dark eyes and pale skin. We stared at each other, burning with resentment at the arrangements. Then the strangest thing happened; instead of bashing each other over the head with our rackets, we found ourselves grinning like monkeys. It had never occurred to us that the other boy might feel reluctant about this enforced companionship. Somehow we recognized our mutual feelings of rebellion and became instant friends. Mr. Delson was eager to see us get along, as part of his summer of good works program.

Why don't you boys play a get-acquainted set to start the summer?

Dad saw that Steve was still uncomfortable and took charge. I don't know if they're ready, Ham. Do you know how to play, Steve?

No, sir.

I think I'll give them a lesson before they play, Dad said pleasantly.

Your call, Dave. See you later.

Take care, Ham. He waited until Ham left the court, then turned to us. All right. Let's see if I can show you boys some of the basics to start with.

Dad had been on the Yale team in the 1930's. He was a patient teacher, unlike most tennis parents, who maniacally demanded impossible achievements from confused youngsters. Steve was an intense student, determined to do well. I had casually played last summer and didn't have any real skills, but I was eager to please Dad. I also wanted to do better than Steve. He showed us how to stand, how to grip the racket and how to turn and hit the ball. The rest was up to us. We practiced for a few hours, hitting harder and harder as our control improved. We had been completely involved in keeping the ball going and we didn't notice Dad watching us. When he called: Stop, we were surprised.

Have a swim and meet me for lunch.

I don't have a bathing suit, sir, Steve said shyly.

Randall will lend you one of his.

Sure. Come on, Steve.

I was slightly bigger than Steve, but he was more muscular. He swam better than I did, winning every race. I determined to improve my swimming. We ate lunch on the club terrace. Steve gobbled his food until he realized we were staring at him, then he slowed down and watched everyone, paying particular attention to how I ate.

Dad was encouraging. You boys did pretty well on the court. I'll give you lessons this summer whenever I can, as long as you're interested.

We were fervent in our assurances of interest. After lunch, Dad reviewed the basics from earlier that morning, then showed us how to serve. He gave us a copy of the rules of lawn tennis.

I'll test you tomorrow. If you do well on the test I'll teach you how to play a set. That sounded very exciting and we wanted to do well. We played for three hours, until the late afternoon crowd arrived and evicted us. Adults always got court priority over kids. Then we had another swim and got dressed. We joined Dad for the drive home and the meeting with Mother and Lorna, my nine year old sister. Steve was wearing a cheap nylon button shirt, denim pants and heavy leather shoes. He was clean and neat, with an honest, intelligent face, but he looked like the kids we saw on tenement steps when we drove past poor neighborhoods in New Haven. Dad was very aware of how differently we were dressed, but treated us exactly the same and Steve was beginning to relax. Then we reached home. The introductions to Mother and Lorna were an agony for Steve, despite Dad's warm support.

Elaine, Lorna, this is Steve. He'll be spending the summer with us. Steve, this is Mrs. Pierce and Randall's sister Lorna.

How do you do, ma'am.

Mother was not as kind as Dad and said haughtily: Don't call me ma'am. You may call me Mrs. Pierce.

Mother found numerous opportunities to remind Steve of his inferior status and Lorna mirrored her. Steve was painstakingly polite and showed no sign of his anger. Dinner was a torment for him. Mother instructed Steve in everything in painstaking detail and started each admonition with: This is how we cut our asparagus, or This is how we hold our spoon. Lorna smirked at Steve, challenging him to respond. He ignored her. Steve was fascinated by our live-in maid Dahlia. He couldn't take his eyes off her while she was serving. After an endless meal, we were finally allowed to escape the table. I took Steve to his room, which was down the hall from mine. Early that morning it was much too close, now it was already too far away from my newfound friend.

He unpacked his meager possessions from a shabby old workman's canvas bag.

I was ashamed for him. You can share my things if you need anything.

I can manage with what I brought, he said coldly.

I started to realize how proud he was and tried to find a better approach. It's just for the summer and it would make it easier for you to fit in.

We'll see, he said noncommittally.

We went to my room, sprawled out on the bed and proceeded to learn the rules of lawn tennis. Some of them were a little silly to us, like 'The server shall then project the ball by hand into the air in any direction and before it hits the ground strike it with his racket;' 'The server shall not change position by walking or running.' Our favorite was 'The word foot means the extremity of the leg below the ankle,' which we repeated in different voices, louder and louder, until Dad yelled at us to Pipe down.

Dad came by at 9:00 a.m. to introduce the curfew. Without a word or look at each other we determined to thwart it, but not this night. After a day of sun, swim and sport, we were both yawning wider than bear cubs at hibernation time. Steve said good night and went to his room. Dad sat down on the bed and affectionately tousled my hair. What do you think of our guest?

I was reluctant to talk about my new friend and just said: He's okay.

Dad kissed me good night which surprised me, because he hadn't done it for a while and shut off the light. I don't remember falling asleep.

***

I was dreaming that I was a tree, with my branches shaking in the wind and I woke up with Steve pulling on my arm, saying: Get up. We arm wrestled good morning. When we realized we were evenly matched, we went into a full contest that ended in a draw. I came up with a clever idea to deal with Steve's lack of suitable clothing.

I think that we should wear tennis whites as a special uniform this summer.

Steve thought it over and agreed and we shook hands. He understood that I didn't want him to be uncomfortable about his shabby clothes, and he wasn't the least bit threatened by my awareness of his feelings. We went down to breakfast with a strong bond developing between us. I told him the meal schedule.

There are eating rules in our house. Dahlia will make breakfast for us anytime, but lunch and dinner are always at 1:00 p.m. and 8:00 p.m.

Steve watched Dahlia with the same fascination as the night before. He gobbled huge amounts of bacon, eggs, waffles and cinnamon buns. It became a contest to see who gave in first. Dahlia finally conceded. She scowled at Steve and said gruffly:

The kitchen is closed until lunch time. You probably won't starve to death 'til then.

I wasn't sure, but I let it pass.

Dahlia, please tell Dad we'll be at the club.

I'll be glad to, as long as you take that hungry wolf with you.

Dahlia and Steve glared at each other for a moment, then burst out laughing. Another friendship was born.

***

We got our rackets and I took Steve to the garage where we kept our bicycles and other recreational equipment. I let him pick a bike. We rode the two and a half miles to the club and were on the court by eight a.m. Dad showed up at eleven and we took a break from backhands for the big test. We passed with flying colors. Dad was so impressed that he gave us permission to charge lunch at the club to his account. He explained how points, games and sets were played, introduced strategy and tactics, then walked us through a practice set. We played two sets, showered and had a swim. Then we went to lunch on the terrace. We ordered giant hamburgers, French fries and strawberry milkshakes that we devoured like a horde of locusts. After we stuffed ourselves, I grandly told the waiter to charge it to the account of Mr. David Pierce and we rushed back to the newfound pleasures of tennis.

We were two young hooligans, unleashed in the boundary of white lines, discovering with wild abandon what we could do on the court. We were already keeping the ball in play for five or six shots, sometimes longer. When it went back and forth, over and over, we felt a rapture of the court that was completely absorbing. We were startled when Dad interrupted us.

I'd like to remind you youngsters that the objective of the game is to score points by making the other person miss the ball. That is generally done by hitting the ball away from your opponent.

But Dad, we're just beginning to hit the ball well.

You have to practice both.

It seemed very unreasonable to us, but we obliged as long as dad was watching. As soon as he left we went back to controlled hitting.

We played for three hours, took a quick swim in the pool, then headed towards home. We were getting along so well that I decided to share one of my special places.

Do you want to see a cave?

Sure.

We rode our bikes until the woods became too dense, then left them and walked the rest of the way. I guess my first thought was to scare a city kid in the eerie woods, but Steve was enjoying himself so much that I started showing him my past discoveries; deer tracks, a wasp nest, a bird's skeleton and a rusty ax head buried in a tree. He appreciated everything. By the time we got to the cave any possible resentment between us was completely gone and we were becoming best friends. I lit the candle I had brought with me and looked around carefully before we cautiously entered the cave.

Are you looking for bears?

No. There aren't any bears in Connecticut, but there might be snakes.

Steve didn't seem frightened by the prospect of snakes and my respect for him went up a notch. I was scared of snakes. The cave was about twenty feet deep and five feet high, with small chambers at the back. It stank, but we sat down, blew out the candle and waited until our eyes adjusted to the dark. We made up scary stories about who used to live in the cave. We agreed that my tale of Red-Eye, the pirate who ate nasty sisters, was the best. We could see well enough, so we crawled in and out of the chambers without finding any treasure. I was crawling out of the last chamber when some rocks shifted and fell on my foot. I tried to wriggle out, but the more I moved the tighter I was trapped. I felt a pang of fear.

Steve, my foot is stuck.

He reached past me and tried to move the rocks, but they pressed harder onto my foot.

Stop. It's hurting me.

Okay.

He moved around me to the other side and said jokingly: I'm sorry for sticking my butt in your face.

We had a good laugh that helped calm my growing panic. He tried again, but it hurt too much. I took a deep breath and considered the options.

We can't get my foot out, so you have to go for help.

He immediately objected. I can't leave you alone.

There's no other way, I said reasonably. You have to get to the bike, ride to the house and bring back Dad.

Will you be all right alone?

I'll be fine. Get going.

Okay.

I described the path to our bikes and repeated it until Steve said he could find them. Then I told him how to follow the road to our house. It was cold in the cave so he gave me his tennis sweater. He took two pieces of hard candy from his pocket, handed me one and put the other at the entrance.

Why did you do that?

He grinned mischievously. To attract bears.

Then he was gone. I listened to his footsteps fade away and I waited. Steve couldn't have been gone for more than ten minutes, but it was already beginning to feel like forever. I started repeating the rules of tennis aloud to pass the time. I was reviewing the dimensions of the court, 78 feet by 27 feet, for the third time when I heard a large beast sniffing around outside. I was really getting scared. I picked up a rock to defend myself against the ferocious monster, when I saw the chipmunk sitting at the entrance eating the piece of candy. I was so relieved that it wasn't a critter that would eat me that I tossed him my piece of candy. He kept making little squeaks, so I named him 'chatter.' We talked for a long time. I coaxed him to come closer and he did, but not quite enough for me to pick him up. When I reached impatiently for him he dashed out. It was lonelier without him.

I thought it was getting darker outside. It felt like I had been trapped for hours. I tried singing, but that didn't help. I was afraid they'd never come back. When I heard Dad's voice calling me, I felt a surge of relief. Now that they finally showed up, it turned out that I had been there less than an hour. Dad brought a flashlight, looked at how I was stuck, quickly released my foot and checked me for injury. When he saw I was fine he yelled at me for being reckless. He was still upset on the way home.

If you go to that cave again you'll spend the next two years in your room, except for school.

Then he praised our bravery and resourcefulness. We were so proud that we were ready to conquer Red Eye the pirate.

You both behaved so well that from now on you should be special friends.

We shook hands knowing we were bound together for life, and we decided since Steve was a month older he would be Pappy and I would be Junior. Our pleasure was short lived when Mother told us that little boys shouldn't be allowed in the woods without a grown-up. Lorna was even more aggravating and said in a snippy voice:

Little boys shouldn't be allowed to do anything at all, except sit quietly in a corner.

War on the girls was officially declared. The battle began that evening at dinner, when we accidentally spilled Lorna's ice cream in her lap. She protested loudly that we did it on purpose and Dahlia dispensed instant justice.

Boys who spill things on people should spend the rest of the evening in Randall's room.

She helped us on our way by leading us each out by the ear. It really wasn't punishment. We had hours to inspect my treasures, make plans for the summer and find out more about each other. I offered a plan.

Are we agreed that we'll carry pocket knives and small flashlights everywhere we go, so we'll always be ready for emergencies?

Agreed. Do you know that when Dahlia pulled my ear it was the first time that a black person ever touched me? How come she tells everyone what to do, even your parents?

Dahlia worked for Grandmama, who asked her to work for Dad when he got married. She's the real boss of the house.

Yeah, I see that.

Dahlia had her own small cottage on the grounds, which also had a guest house, a handyman/chauffeur's cottage, a pool with cabanas, a four car garage, a clay tennis court that could only be used if it was rolled regularly, the stables with an apartment upstairs, the kennels and the main house. The buildings were fieldstone and looked real old, but everything was modern inside.

How many rooms does your house have?

Fourteen. I'll show it to you tomorrow. You'll like the game room. Do you know how to play Ping-Pong?

No.

Well, I'll teach you. It's a lot easier than tennis.

Steve was fascinated by Dahlia, so I told him all I knew about her. It wasn't much. We got to know her better during the summer. We found out that she wrote stories that she submitted