We All Fall Down by Robert Cormier

Author:Robert Cormier [Cormier, Robert]
Language: eng
Format: epub, azw3
ISBN: 978-0-307-54907-5
Publisher: Random House Children's Books
Published: 1991-10-02T04:00:00+00:00

“Harry’s glad you’re here,” Harry Flowers said as they sat in his car two streets away from Buddy’s house. Buddy preferred this spot rather than some public place. He did not want to be seen by anyone, particularly the police, in the company of Harry Flowers.

“Harry thought you might have better things to do.” That same phony voice. Buddy hated people, like ball players and politicians, who referred to themselves in the third person. He shrugged, did not feel particularly like talking. Let Harry Flowers carry the ball. This meeting was his idea, anyway.

Silence gathered in the car as dusk deepened into the first stages of night, the streetlights brightening in the gathering darkness.

“Have a drink,” Harry said, offering a half pint of gin he had pulled out of the glove compartment.

Buddy wanted to refuse, wished desperately that he could refuse, but he needed all the defenses possible when talking to Harry Flowers and he accepted the bottle, took a tentative gulp, then a good healthy swallow, grimacing as usual at the taste, the burning in his throat.

He handed the bottle back to Harry and noticed dimly that Harry did not take a drink.

“Tell me something, Buddy, why don’t you trust Harry?”

The question surprised Buddy. But Harry always was capable of the surprise, the verbal ambush.

“What makes you think I don’t trust you?” Buddy asked, hoping the gin would do its work quickly, relaxing him so that he would be able to hold his own with Harry Flowers in what promised to be a delicate conversation.

Harry handed him the bottle again. Buddy hesitated still wanting to refuse it but giving in. Christ, he always gave in. As he raised the bottle to his lips, he stalled before drinking, studying Harry’s face.

Buddy could not deny the fact that Harry had kept his word, had shouldered the blame for the trashing without naming anyone else. His father had paid for the damages. Sat down and wrote a big check without quibbling, according to Marty. Throughout the week, Buddy had waited for the phone to ring, a knock on the door, a summons to police headquarters. None of that had happened. A three-paragraph story on the inside page of the newspaper ran under a modest headline in small type:

ARCHITECT’S SON

ADMITS VANDALISM

The brief story gave no details, only the names of Harry and his father, and reported that restitution had been made, Harry placed on probation. Did not mention the name of the family whose home was vandalized and omitted any reference to the girl who had been pushed down the stairs.

“Admit it, Buddy. You thought Harry would blow the whistle on you and Marty and Randy,” Harry said.

Swallowing the booze, eyes watering a bit, Buddy knew he could not deny the truth of Harry’s statement.

“Of course, I don’t blame you for that,” Harry continued. He had dropped the third-person Harry: “The kind of world we’re living in nobody expects you to do the right thing.…”

“Okay, Harry,” Buddy heard himself saying. “I appreciate what you did.

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