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Alfie didn’t answer.

“Because, Alfie,” Tree went on—he swallowed loudly—“Alfie, I got bad news.”

Tree paused a moment to see if Alfie was going to answer. Then he cleared his throat. He said, “You’re not going to believe this.” He swallowed again as if forcing down a large and bitter pill. He moved up one rung on the ladder. “Lizabeth beat me.”

The silence stretched out, long and painful.

“I just don’t know how it happened,” Tree went on in a rush, “because I was really up for it, you know? That’s supposed to count for a lot in sports—being psyched up.”

He sighed. “Here’s the way it was, Alfie. I came into the gym, all psyched up, and there were a lot of people there. It was packed. It had gotten all over school about our war—even Mrs. Steinhart was there—and I felt real good, Alfie; that’s what makes it so unbelievable. If I’d been nervous and uptight—if I’d had a virus—but I never felt so good. It was like the time I fought Richie Davis, remember?”

There was a pause while he got into a better position on the ladder. “Anyway, we got out on the floor, Lizabeth and me, and I clowned around a little—you know me, and everybody was laughing, and in the middle of all this Lizabeth goes up to the free-throw line and without any warning—I mean, she doesn’t even bounce the ball for luck—she
flings
the ball at the basket,
flings
it, Alfie. It’s the worst-looking thing you ever saw. It’s like she’s throwing a Frisbee, and it goes right in. All the girls go, ‘
One!’
Then they start yelling and clapping. Naturally all the boys are booing.

“Now I step up. I bounce the ball three times and I feel good, Alfie. I’m ready. I throw, and Alfie,” he sighed, “I miss.”

There was another pause while Tree got the strength to continue. “I don’t know how it happened, Alfie. It was
my
shot. I did everything right, and—”

He broke off as Alfie’s mother came in from the kitchen. She said, “Oh, I’m sorry, Tree. I thought you were through.”

“No, I’m just getting started.”

“Who won on
Match Game?
The water was running and I didn’t hear.”

“I didn’t hear either, Mrs. Mason.”

“Well, don’t fall off that ladder.”

“It wouldn’t matter if I did,” Tree said. He waited until she went back into the kitchen. Then he said, “So now it’s one to nothing, favor of her. Only, Alfie, I’m still not worried, because I know she just had a real lucky break. She could fling that ball a thousand more times and she’d be lucky to even hit the backboard.

“Now the principal comes in—
Mr. Harrington,
Alfie! I haven’t seen Mr. Harrington since I cheated on those history dates. Mr. Harrington is like Howard Hughes, Alfie, he never comes out, and here he is strolling in to see me beat Lizabeth! It’s the biggest thing our school has ever had!

“I figure I got it made now. I always do good under pressure, and Lizabeth will fall apart—remember when she had to sing that solo in the pageant, started too soon, and threw the whole chorus off? She steps up to the free-throw line, flings the ball—you won’t believe how she does this—get her to show you when you come down—and the ball goes in.

“‘
Two!
’ yell all the girls.

“Now I
am
worried. Sure, free throws are my thing, but even Wilt Chamberlain can have a bad day. I bounce the ball three times, throw, and, Alfie, it goes in. I never saw a sweeter sight in my life. The boys go crazy. Everybody’s yelling but the girls, and they’re booing. It really made me feel good.

“Lizabeth comes up now. She flings and—I knew it would happen sooner or later—she misses.

“I come up. I bounce three times, throw, right through the old hoop.

“Now the score is two to two, a tie which I figure I’m about to break. I can’t wait till my time. I’m hot now. She gets up there, throws, misses. I get up there and I’m too eager, Alfie. I forget to bounce three times for luck. I miss. The score is still two to two.

“She gets up, flings, hits. The score is now
three
to two, her favor.

“I get up there, miss.

“She gets up there, flings and—real bad news—she hits. The girls go
‘Four!’
real loud, Alfie. I felt like crying because, Alfie, now I’m down by two. I’m good, but being down by two is bound to affect my performance. I’ve never been known as a catch-up player. My way is to get in front and stay in front. You can’t lose that way, and now I’m down by two!

“I get up, throw a bad ball, but it goes in anyway. Four to three. The boys are yelling so loud now I can’t even hear myself think. They figure I’m closing the gap.

“She shoots, misses.

“I shoot, miss.

“She shoots, scores.

“I shoot, score.

“Now it’s five to four, Alfie, and we each have one more ball. If she hits, I’m done for. It’s all over. She gets up there and I’m praying, Alfie. Every boy in the gym is praying. It gets real quiet. There’s not a sound. She flings. She misses! Now I got a chance. I’m still alive. I figure I’ll score and we’ll go into sudden-death overtime. I can’t wait. Sudden death is my thing. I get up to the line, bounce three times, throw, and, Alfie, it’s the most beautiful throw I ever made in my life. It goes right for the basket. It rolls around the rim like it’s going in—you know how golf balls do—it rolls around the rim like it’s going in and then, Alfie—you won’t believe this—it pops out! Alfie, it
pops out
!

“I just stood there and, Alfie, my mind went blank. It’s a merciful thing that happens sometimes to people who’ve been in accidents and stuff, their minds just go blank, and that’s what happened to me. I mean, I
must
have walked out of school and I
must
have walked to your house because here I am. But I don’t remember one single thing from the time that ball popped out of the hoop until I climbed this ladder.”

“Oh, Tree, are you
still
here?” Alfie’s mother said, coming into the room again.

“I was just getting ready to leave, Mrs. Mason.”

“Well, don’t go on my account. My shows are over. Anyway, I’ve got to go next door and make a call.”

“I was through.”

Alfie’s mother paused at the door. “Don’t tell me
you’ve
got troubles too, Tree.”

“Yes,” he answered.

Her voice got louder to reach Alfie. “Too bad you don’t have an attic to lock yourself in.”

“Yes.”

“That’s the trouble with this world,” she snapped. “There aren’t enough attics to go around.”

“You can say that again, Mrs. Mason.”

Tree climbed slowly down the ladder, crossed the room, and left. The screen door slammed shut behind him.

A
LFIE SAT IN THE
attic, hands folded in front of him. He was tired—no,
weary
was the word for how he felt. His English teacher was always urging the class to find just the right word for their feelings, and now he had found it. He was weary. He had to make an effort to hold his eyes open.

Since Tree had gone, the house had been quiet. Pap was probably outside reading yesterday’s newspaper, Alfie thought, looking for things to blame on the president. His mother had not returned from borrowing the Wilkinses’ telephone.

The sunlight showed the dust in the air. Alfie thought that this floor had never been swept, not since he’d lived here anyway. There was enough dust, Alfie imagined, to make a man, like in the Bible. Or a boy. A dust boy could be made and sent downstairs while he, Alfie, stayed in the attic forever. His family would notice the difference, but they would excuse it by saying, “Alfie has never been the same since he locked himself in the attic.”

He lowered his head to his arms. He closed his eyes. He remembered hearing that in seven years a person became entirely new. It was the first happy thought he’d had. Every cell was replaced. Maybe in seven years, pink and shiny and new, he could come down the ladder.

“Why, Alfie, you look marvelous. Come look at Alfie. He’s brand new.”

“Alfie, are you still up there?” Alma called from downstairs, breaking into his thoughts. “Are you all right?” He had not heard her come in. He lifted his head. It seemed heavy.

“Alfie, I was hoping you were going to be down,” she called.

He did not answer.

“Because I’ve been thinking about you all day. In Typing I got my hands on the wrong keys and typed for two minutes without noticing.”

Alfie heard her drop her books on the TV. “Listen, want me to fix you something hot to eat? I’ll slip it up when nobody’s looking, because I remember how cold I felt that time Mom took my money. I felt like I’d never get warm again. How does hot chocolate sound?”

Suddenly the front door slammed. “Pap, where are you?” It was Alfie’s mother and she sounded upset. “Where’s Pap?”

“He’s out in the backyard,” Alma said. “Is anything wrong?”

“Is anything wrong? Is anything
not
wrong?”

“What’s happened?”

“Alma, I am so mad. I am furious! Do you know what Maureen’s parents are doing?”

“No.”

“They are now trying to get Bubba and Maureen to live with
them!”

“I’m surprised they want them.”

“Well, they probably didn’t until they found out
I
did. I could never stand that eely little woman. I
knew
she’d pull something. I told her I had the attic all fixed up. I told her all the plans I had. Alma, I could hardly get a word in. It was like trying to talk to a parrot.
She
had Maureen’s old room all fixed up.
She
had Maureen’s dressing room for the baby. She! She! She! And Piggie—don’t forget that awful husband of hers.
Piggie’s
getting Bubba a job at Quaker State. Piggie’s doing this. Piggie’s doing that. I tell you I could have smacked her—it was a good thing all this was happening over the telephone or I would have.”

“Did you talk to Bubba? What did he say about all this?”

“You think she’d let me talk to Bubba? To my own son? Oh, no! And I know he was there. I heard his voice in the background at one point saying, ‘I wish everybody would get off my back.’”

“Well, maybe it’s the best thing, Mom.”

“Best thing for who? Not me! Not me who just put a ten-dollar down payment on a double bed at Hill’s.”

“Mom—”

“I wish you could have heard the conversation, Alma. Everything I said, she turned it around. I mentioned, just mentioned, that I was going to replace the ladder, and as soon as I said the word
ladder,
she said, ‘Oh, Maureen could
never
go up a ladder. Maureen’s afraid of heights. Maureen once froze on the diving-board ladder at Marilla Pool, and four firemen had to get her down.’”

“Mom—”

“That did it for me. I said very sweetly, ‘Only four firemen? I should think, considering Maureen’s size, it would have taken at least
six.
’ Then she said, not so sweetly, ‘Maureen’s size is none of your business.’ And I said—I was really furious now—”

“Mom!” Alma interrupted.

She broke off. “Oh, where’s Pap? I want to see Pap.”

“He’s probably out back.”

“Pap, I’ve been had!” she called. She stopped suddenly in the doorway to the kitchen. She said, “Although I realize I cannot expect sympathy from any of you. You have all been against me from the start. You, Alma, have been very clear about your feelings. And Alfie up there in the attic—” She raised her voice without turning around. “Did you hear the news, Alfie? You can come down now. Maureen and Bubba aren’t coming. Your precious attic is saved. You’ve won!”

Alfie did not move. His mother’s words rang in his ears. He had won. This was victory. He remembered an old cartoon he had seen of a soldier slumped forward, tired beyond caring, worn down, eyes that had seen too much staring straight ahead at nothing. It seemed to Alfie the cartoon had been called “Victory.” Alfie felt too flat and wound down to remember exactly.

Pap came lumbering into the house. His mother said, “Pap, did you hear the news?”

“Me and everybody else on the block.”

“Oh, it is so infuriating! And that awful Piggie! During the whole conversation, Pap, he was babbling in the background. Tell her this. Tell her that. I could have wrung his neck.” She raised her voice even louder. “Well, are you getting the message, Alfie? You can have your attic. You can go up there anytime you want to now.”

“If
he comes down.”

“Pap!”

“Well, he can’t go
up
if he don’t come
down
first.”

“If you start in now, I just cannot take it.”

“It’s the simple truth. He can’t—”

“Well, I don’t feel like hearing any simple truths now, if you don’t mind. I want to hear some good old comforting lies.” She raised her voice again. “Did you hear, Alfie? You have won.”

“He heard you, Mom.”

Alfie’s shoulders sagged a little more. He hurt without being able to put his finger on what really was hurting. It was like the time Bubba had teased an old cat that lived with them. He had clamped a clothespin on its ear, and the cat had crouched down, cringing, but not shaking its head or scratching at its ear. It was as if it couldn’t locate the hurt.

Suddenly Alfie wondered if Bubba had felt this way the first time he had done something wrong. He tried to remember the first of Bubba’s deeds. Maybe it was the firecrackers he had set off in Cinema I.

Would this become a family joke too, Alfie wondered. Would his mother laugh and make this
funny
? “Did I ever tell you about the time Alfie locked himself in the attic? You’ll die laughing at this.”

Anguished, he shook his head from side to side. He remembered the time he had gone to the zoo with Pap and his mother. In a cage painted arctic blue, a polar bear had sat, shaking his head from side to side, just as Alfie was doing. He had been the picture of despair.

At once Alfie had wanted to leave. He could feel the bear’s hopeless anguish too clearly.

“Let’s go to the monkey house,” he had pleaded. Monkeys could always make him laugh. They chattered and picked each other’s fleas and screeched at people as if the people were trying to get into their cages.

Also, he knew his mother loved the monkeys. She had had one as a pet when she was a girl. Pap had bought it from a gas station attendant. It had had seven outfits, and they were washed and ironed with the family’s clothes. The monkey was dressed every day, and it had run away wearing a two-piece pink playsuit. Alfie’s mother had never seen the monkey again, even though they ran ads in the newspaper for a month.