Authors: Robert Cormier
I Am the Cheese (10 page)
But now at this moment he was a raw wound, bleeding panic, the bedsheet a shroud, crazy. He tried to send his mind in different directions, past and
future, but it did not work. Faces passed by as if on a whirling merry-go-round but they vanished before he could focus on them, pin them down, bring them into sharp portrayal.
There was a strange sound in the room. And he listened, mouth agape, bones chilled. His own sounds, a moan issuing from his body. He tried to clutch at something in the dark, seeking something to hold on to, but there was nothing. He was surrounded by nothingness, here in the bed and here in his life. What life—whose life?
| T : | We have filled in many blanks. Or don’t you remember? |
| A : | Not enough. Not enough. |
| T : | These things can’t be rushed. You were told that in the beginning. You must relax. You must ride out these panics. I am as much in a hurry as you to fill the blanks but it’s a time-consuming thing. |
| A : | Why can’t I remember? Why can I remember just so much, a little at a time? |
| T : | Do you suppose it’s because you really don’t want to remember? |
| A : | But I do, I do. |
| T : | Perhaps one part of you wants to remember and another part doesn’t. |
| A : | But why? |
| T : | Who knows? |
| A : | Is it because there’s something so terrible there that one part of me doesn’t want to know about it? |
| T : | That’s what we must learn. Slowly and patiently. (10-second interval.) |
| T : | It is late—do you wish something to make you sleep? To ease, as you call it, the panic? |
| A : | I’m tired of pills and needles. |
| T : | Perhaps that’s a good sign. |
| A : | Why do you have so many “perhapses” and “maybes” and “we’ll sees”? Can’t you help me? |
| T : | This is the best way I can help you. |
| A : | It isn’t enough. |
| T : | Should we review, then? Review all you have remembered? All the blanks that have been filled? |
| A : | No. I don’t care about the blanks that are filled in. It’s the ones that are still blanks that I want to talk about. What am I doing here? How long have I been here? I hate this place. The people here hate me, too. |
| T : | Why should they hate you? |
| A : | They know I’m not like them. That’s why they hate me. |
| T : | Tell me, how do you know they hate you? |
| A : | I know. I know. |
| T : | But how? (5-second interval.) |
| A : | I’m tired now. |
| T : | Is the panic gone? |
| A : | Yes, I think I can sleep now. Without the pills. |
| T : | You may have one if you wish. |
| A : | Well, maybe one. |
| T : | Fine. Fine. We shall meet again in only a few hours. |
| A : | Good. I’m really sleepy. |
| T : | Sleep well, sleep well. |
| A : | Thank you. |
END TAPE OZK007
I am about to get on my bike and leave the town of Carver forever when I spot the telephone booth down the street. At last. I lash my father’s package to the basket and push the bike toward the booth. An old lady looks at me as I go by and she smiles at the
took
on my head. She has a hat on her head, too. It looks like a red flowerpot. Complete with flowers. I smile at her. I am happy suddenly. I will survive Carver and next comes Fleming and then Hookset and Belton Falls. There are long distances between Fleming and Hookset and then between Hookset and Belton Falls but this does not discourage me. I feel strong and resolute. I defeated the troublemakers in the lunchroom and I will defeat anyone else. But most of all, I am about to talk to Amy, to hear her voice again.
I fumble for change and insert the coin and the male operator comes on the line. I give him the number and go through all the rest of the routine and then the line is ringing, ringing. Please be home, Amy, please be home.
“Hello, hello.”
The voice is harsh and impatient: Mr. Hertz’s headline voice.
“Hello, may I speak to Amy?”
“Who is this?”
“Adam. Adam Farmer. I’d like to speak to Amy, please.”
“Amy who? There’s no Amy here.”
The voice is not the headline voice of Mr. Hertz, after all. This is not her father.
I see the three fellows from the lunchroom on the street. They are drifting in my direction. Two of them are walking side by side, slowly and leisurely but something threatening in their pace. The other one, Whipper, walks alone, ahead of them. I feel trapped in the booth. The bike is vulnerable, untied and unbolted outside the booth. And I have a wrong number.
“Listen,” the man on the phone begins, “I’ve got the bug and I been hacking away all day and I finally doze off and then the phone rings …”
“I’m sorry,” I say.
And I slam down the phone. I don’t like to hang up on people but the troublemakers are drifting closer and I have to get out of there. I’m sorry, Amy. I can’t even get a telephone number right. I don’t deserve you.
The boys are coming closer, slowly but surely and menacingly, and I swing open the door of the booth and grab the bike. I run along beside the bike and then leap upon it. My feet engage the pedals and I
pump away. I shoot through a red light and a car blows its horn at me but I am away, leaving Carver behind, leaving the troublemakers behind, but I don’t feel brave anymore and my cheeks are wet even though it isn’t raining.
| TAPE OZK008 | 0930 | date deleted T-A |
| A : | The gray man. |
| T : | One moment, please. Let me sit, first. |
| A : | The gray man. |
| T : | You look positively excited. I have never seen you in such a state. This is good. |
| A : | The gray man. |
| T : | And who is this gray man? |
| A : | I’m not sure. But he’s important. It happened last night after I returned to my room. They gave me a pill. And I lay there, letting myself drift. Thinking of all the blank spots that have been filled in—Amy—the clues—and suddenly I remembered him. |
| T : | And you call this person the gray man? |
| A : | Yes. But only in my mind. That’s what I always called him. The gray man. |
| T : | And why was that? |
| A : | I don’t know. I’m not sure. But I think it’s important. He’s important. |
| T : | In what way? |
| A : | I can’t tell yet, I’m not certain. But I think of him, what he looked like, and I know he’s important, a real clue. I can feel it in my bones. |
| T : | Tell me more. (3-second interval.) |
| A : | I wish I could. But I can’t. |
| T : | Can’t or won’t? |
| A : | Can’t, won’t? Don’t you think I want to remember, that I want to know? All I know right now is that there was a man in the past, someone I referred to as the gray man, and I have a feeling he was important. In all that blackness, he’s the only clue I’ve got. |
| T : | Then rest easy, relax, let it come. Perhaps a pill … |
| A : | No, no pill. No shot, either. |
| T : | Whatever you wish. (10-second interval.) |
| T : | Anything? |
| A : | Nothing. |
| T : | Don’t force, don’t force. Let the thoughts come. Try to think of this gray man, what he looked like, what his name was, what he did, where did you see him most of the time, was he a friend, a relative, an uncle, perhaps— |
| A : | Shut up, stop. (10-second interval.) |
| A : | He’s gone. I had him—I had him right on the brink—I almost remembered and now he’s gone. (5-second interval.) |
| T : | He’ll return. The important thing is that you made contact. Remember earlier? How the clue of the dog led to the clue of Amy Hertz and that phone call. And the phone call led to the birth certificates— |
| A : | I don’t want to talk about all that. I want to go back to my room. |
| T : | There is no hurry. |
| A : | I’d prefer to go back. |
| T : | Let us talk of something else. |
| A : | I want to go to my room. (10-second interval.) |
| T : | For instance, Paul Delmonte— |
| A : | Is he the gray man? |
| T : | Do you think he is? |
| A : | I don’t know. You asked me about him before. At the beginning. And I said I didn’t want to talk about him. But I was bluffing. I didn’t know who he was. |
| T : | Do you know who he is now? |
| A : | No. |
| T : | Who do you think he is? |
| A : | I want to go back. I’m not going to say another word. (5-second interval.) |
| T : | As you wish. Let us suspend. |
END TAPE OZK008
I am a mile or so outside of Carver on a narrow road in the country, no houses anywhere. Once in a while a car passes, uncomfortably close on the narrow roadway. The road is paved but it’s pockmarked with ruts and holes. The road drops off into a ditch about four feet deep and there is no sandy shoulder. I have no rearview mirror and I try to maintain a straight course as I pedal along. I am glad to be leaving Carver behind and glad for the bike and glad for the sun shining and glad to be safely away from the wise guys, the troublemakers. I am only sad about Amy but I will call her the next time I see a phone booth, before I eat or stash my bike or anything else. She is more important to me than food, than the bike even.