The Liberty Circle by Phil Campagna

Author:Phil Campagna
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: Dundurn

Fifteen

Apounding at the door smashed into my sleep. “Corey, get the hell out of bed! It's past eleven o'clock!” Dad's voice, like thunder through the wood. But when I swung myself out, pain surged up my leg; it was all I could do to keep from crying out. I sat back on the edge of my bed.

The door burst open and Dad strode in. His face was the colour of fire. “When I tell you something, mister, I expect—well, what the hell happened to you?”

I glanced down at my leg, seeing for the first time how swollen and bruised it was. No wonder it hurt! “I fell,” I said lamely. “I tripped in the dark last night.”

Dad smiled, a dangerous, knowing smile, I thought. “Terrific. There I thought I had one idiot for a son. Instead, I find I have two.” He reached into the pocket of his jeans and pulled out a familiar, folded sheet. “I'm going to ask you something, kid, and I'd better get honest answers. I'm going to ask you one more time if you believe what it says in this thing.”

I looked at the sheet. It was one of the pamphlets we'd been handing out the night I was caught. It told all about the conspiracy, from the black cops to the Jewish bankers. I'd believed every word of it then, and nothing had happened since to change that.

“I believe it,” I said, “because all of it is true.”

Dad crumpled the leaflet and tossed it onto my desk with a curse. “This is my fault, you know. I left too much of your upbringing to your goddamned mother.”

“I didn't get my ideas from Mom.”

“I know that. What I don't know is, where do you get your ideas?”

“I get them from me. From reading the paper and watching what's on the news.”

“According to this crap-sheet, all that's supposed to have been censored.”

“It is. But you can see through it if you look real close. It's real, Dad. It's all absolutely real.”

“Where'd you get those sheets?”

“You asked me that before. Like I said: some guy drove up one day and asked me to give them out.”

“Did he pay you?”

“No.”

“I've worked with Negroes, you know. Blacks. Side by side every day, on the same construction sites. They bust their humps like everyone else.”

“It doesn't change anything,” I replied. I wished he would understand.

For several seconds, he stared at me hard. “You're always like this—every time some club, some group, some gang comes along, you get sucked right into it. Peer pressure pretty much does what it wants with you.”

He turned toward the door. “Get dressed and get out here,” he snapped. “We're having an early lunch.” He left the room, leaving no chance to argue.

I dressed quickly and hobbled to the kitchen, an uneasy feeling in my gut. Only yesterday, when the principal had doubted my word, Dad had stood up for me. Even during the family fight that followed, he was more ticked off at Mom and himself than me.

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