The Outsiders
Day Nine
They moved in a circle under the light, counter-
clockwise, eyeing each other, sizing each other up,
maybe remembering old faults and wondering if they
were still there. The rest of us waited with mounting
tension. I was reminded of Jack London's books-you
know, where the wolf pack waits in silence for one of
two members to go down in a fight. But it was different
here. The moment either one swnng a punch, the
rumble would be on.
The silence grew heavier, and I could hear the harsh
heavy breathing of the boys around me. Still Darry and
the Soc walked slowly in a circle. Even I could feel
their hatred. They used to be buddies, I thought, they
used to be friends, and now they hate each other
because one has to work for a living and the other
comes from the West Side. They shouldn't hate each
other. I don't hate the Socs any more they
shouldn't hate.
"Hold up!" a familiar voice yelled. "Hold it!" Darry
turned to see who it was, and Paul swung-a hard
right to the jaw that would have felled anyone but
Darry. The rumble was on. Dallas Winston ran to join
us.
I couldn't find a Soc my size, so I took the next-best
size and jumped on him. Dallas was right beside me,
already on top of someone.
"I thought you were in the hospital," I yelled as the
Soc knocked me to the ground and I rolled to avoid
getting kicked.
"I was." Dally was having a hard time because his
left arm was still in bad shape. "I ain't now."
"How?" I managed to ask as the Soc I was fighting
leaped on me and we rolled near Dally.
Talked the nurse into it with Two-Bit's switch.
Don't you know a rumble ain't a rumble unless I'm in
it?"
I couldn't answer because the Soc, who was heavier
than I took him for, had me pinned and was slugging
the sense out of me. I thought dizzily that he was going
to knock some of my teeth loose or break my nose or
something, and I knew I didn't have a chance. But
Darry was keeping an eye out for me; he caught that
guy by the shoulder and half lifted him up before
knocking him three feet with a sledge-hammer blow. I
decided it would be fair for me to help Dally since he
could use only one arm.
They were slugging it out, but Dallas was getting the
worst of it, so I jumped on his Soc's back, pulling his
hair and pounding him. He reached back and caught
me by the neck and threw me over his head to the
ground. Tim Shepard, who was fighting two at once,
accidentally stepped on me, knocking my breath out. I
was up again as soon as I got my wind, and jumped
right back on the Soc, trying my best to straggle him.
While he was prying my fingers loose, Dally knocked
him backward, so that all three of us rolled on the
ground, gasping, cussing, and punching.
Somebody kicked me hard in the ribs and I yelped
in spite of myself. Some Soc had knocked out one of
our bunch and was kicking me as hard as he could. But
I had both arms wrapped around the other Soc's neck
and refused to let go. Dally was slugging him, and I
hung on desperately, although that other Soc was
kicking me and you'd better believe it hurt. Finally he
kicked me in the head so hard it stunned me, and I lay
limp, trying to clear my mind and keep from blacking
out. I could hear the racket, but only dimly through
the buzzing in my ears. Numerous bruises along my
back and on my face were throbbing, but I felt
detached from the pain, as if it wasn't really me feeling
it.
"They're running!" I heard a voice yell joyfully.
"Look at the dirty-run!"
It seemed to me that the voice belonged to Two-Bit,
but I couldn't be sure. I tried to sit up, and saw that
the Socs were getting into their cars and leaving. Tim
Shepard was swearing blue and green because his nose
was broken again, and the leader of the Brumly boys
was working over one of his own men because he had
broken the rules and used a piece of pipe in the
fighting. Steve lay doubled up and groaning about ten
feet from me. We found out later he had three broken
ribs. Sodapop was beside him, talking in a low steady
voice. I did a double take when I saw Two-Bit-blood
was streaming down one side of his face and one hand
was busted wide open; but he was grinning happily
because the Socs were running.
"We won," Darry announced in a tired voice. He
was going to have a black eye and there was a cut
across his forehead. "We beat the Socs."
Dally stood beside me quietly for a minute, trying to
grasp the fact that we had really beaten the Socs.
Then, grabbing my shirt, he hauled me to my feet.
"Come on!" He half dragged me down the street.
"We're goin to see Johnny."
I tried to run but stumbled, and Dally impatiently
shoved me along. "Hurry! He was gettin worse when I
left. He wants to see you."
I don't know how Dallas could travel so fast and
hard after being knocked around and having his sore
arm hurt some more, but I tried to keep up with him.
Track wasn't ever like the running I did that night. I
was still dizzy and had only a dim realization of where
I was going and why.
Dally had Buck Merril's T bird parked in front of
our house, and we hopped in it. I sat tight as Dally
roared the car down the street. We were on Tenth
when a siren came on behind us and I saw the
reflection of the red light flashing in the windshield.
"Look sick, Dally commanded. "I'll say I'm taking
you to the hospital, which'll be truth enough."
I leaned against the cold glass of the window and
tried to look sick, which wasn't too hard, feeling the
way I did right then.
The policeman looked disgusted. "All right, buddy,
where's the fire?"
"The kid," Dally jerked a thumb toward me "he
fell over on his motorcycle and I'm takin him to the
hospital."
I groaned, and it wasn't all fake-out. I guess I looked
pretty bad, too, being cut and bruised like I was.
The fuzz changed his tone. "Is he real bad? Do you
need an escort?"
"How would I know if he's bad or not? I ain't no
doc. Yeah, we could we an escort." And as the police-
man got back into his car I heard Dally hiss, "Sucker!"
With the siren ahead of us, we made record time
getting to the hospital. All the way there Dally kept
talking and talking about something, but I was too
dizzy to make most of it out.
"I was crazy, you know that, kid? Crazy for wantin'
Johnny to stay outa trouble, for not wantin him to get
hard. If he'd been like me he'd never have been in this
mess. If he'd got smart like me he'd never have run
into that church. That's what you get for helpin'
people. Editorials in the paper and a lot of trouble.
You'd better wise up, Pony, you get tough like
me and you don't get hurt. You look out for yourself
and nothin can touch you."
He said a lot more stuff, but I didn't get it all. I had
a stupid feeling that Dally was out of his mind, the
way he kept raving on and on, because Dallas never
talked like that, but I think now I would have under-
stood if I hadn't been sick at the time.
The cop left us at the hospital as Dally pretended to
help me out of the car. The minute the cop was gone,
Dally let go of me so quick I almost fell. "Hurry!"
We ran through the lobby and crowded past people
into the elevator. Several people yelled at us, I think
because we were pretty racked-up looking, but Dally
had nothing on his mind except Johnny, and I was too
mixed up to know anything but that I had to follow
Dally. When we finally got to Johnny's room, the
doctor stopped us. "I'm sorry, boys, but he's dying."
"We gotta see him," Dally said, and flicked out
Two-Bit's switchblade. His voice was shaking. "We're
gonna see him and if you give me any static you'll end
up on your own operatin table."
The doctor didn't bat an eye. "You can see him, but
it's because you're his friends, not because of that
knife."
Dally looked at him for a second, then put the knife
back in his pocket. We both went into Johnny's room,
standing there for a second, getting our breath back in
heavy gulps. It was awful quiet. It was scary quiet. I
looked at Johnny. He was very still, and for a moment
I thought in agony: He's dead already. We're too late.
Dally swallowed, wiping the sweat off his upper lip.
"Johnnycake?" he said in a hoarse voice. "Johnny?"
Johnny stirred weakly, then opened his eyes. "Hey,"
he managed softly.
"We won, Dally panted. "We beat the Socs. We
stomped them-chased them outa our territory."
Johnny didn't even try to grin at him. "Useless,
fighting's no good." He was awful white.
Dally licked his lips nervously. "They're still writing
editorials about you in the paper. For being a hero and
all." He was talking too fast and too calmly. "Yeah,
they're calling you a hero now and heroizin all the
greasers. We're all proud of you, buddy."
Johnny's eyes glowed. Dally was proud of him. That
was all Johnny had ever wanted.
"Ponyboy."
I barely heard him. I came closer and leaned over to
hear what he was going to say.
"Stay gold, Ponyboy. Stay gold." The pillow
seemed to sink a little, and Johnny died.
You read about people looking peacefully asleep
when they're dead, but they don't. Johnny just looked
dead. Like a candle with the flame gone. I tried to say
something, but I couldn't make a sound.
Dally swallowed and reached over to push Johnny's
hair back. "Never could keep that hair back that's
what you get for tryin to help people, you little punk,
that's what you get.
Whirling suddenly, he slammed back against the
wall. His face contracted in agony, and sweat streamed
down his face.
"Damnit, Johnny," he begged, slamming one fist
against the wall, hammering it to make it obey his will.
"Oh, damnit, Johnny, don't die, please don't die."
He suddenly bolted through the door and down the
hall.
CHAPTER 10.
I walked down the hall in a daze. Dally had taken
the car and I started the long walk home in a stupor.
Johnny was dead. But he wasn't. That still body back
in the hospital wasn't Johnny. Johnny was somewhere
else, maybe asleep in the lot, or playing the pinball
machine in the bowling alley, or sitting on the back
steps of the church in Windrixyille. I'd go home and
walk by the lot, and- Johnny would be sitting on the
curb smoking a cigarette, and maybe we'd lie on our
backs and watch the stars. He isn't dead, I said to
myself. He isn't dead. And this time my dreaming
worked. I convinced myself that he wasn't dead.
I must have wandered around for hours; sometimes
even out into the street, getting honked at and cussed
out. I might have stumbled around all night except for
a man who asked me if I wanted a ride.
"Huh? Oh. Yeah, I guess so," I said. I got in. The
man, who was in his mid-twenties, looked at me.
"Are you all right, kid? You look like you've been in
a fight.
"I have been. A rumble. I'm okay." Johnny is not
dead, I told myself, and I believed it.
"Hate to tell you this, kiddo," the guy said dryly,
but you're bleedin' all over my car seats."
I blinked. "I am?"
"Your head."
I reached up to scratch the side of my head where
it'd been itching for a while, and when I looked at my
hand it was smeared with blood.
"Gosh, mister, I'm sorry," I said, dumfounded.
"Don't worry about it. This wreck's been through
worse. What's your address? I'm not about to dump a
hurt kid out on the streets this time of night."
I told him. He drove me to my house, and I got out.
"Thanks a lot."
He waved me on. "I'm just naturally a great guy."
He vroomed the motor and peeled out.
What was left of our gang was in the living room.
Steve was stretched out on the sofa, his shirt unbut-
toned and his side bandaged. His eyes were closed, but
when the door shut behind me he opened them, and I
suddenly wondered if my own eyes looked as feverish
and bewildered as his. Soda had a wide cut on his lip
and a bruise across his cheek. There was a Band-aid
over Darry's forehead and he had a black eye. One side
of Two-Bit's face was taped up-I found out later he
had four stitches in his cheek and seven in his hand
where he had busted his knuckles open over a Soc's
head. They were lounging around, reading the paper
and smoking.
Where's the party? I thought dully. Weren't Soda
and Steve planning a party after the rumble? They all
looked up when I walked in. Darry leaped to his feet.
"Where have you been?"
Oh, let's don't start that again, I thought. He
stopped suddenly.
"Ponyboy, what's the matter?"
I looked at all of them, a little frightened. "Johnny
he's dead." My voice sounded strange, even to me.
But he's not dead, a voice in my head said. "We told
him about beatin' the Socs and I don't know, he
just died." He told me to stay gold, I remembered.
What was he talking about?
There was a stricken silence. I don't think any of us
had realized how bad off Johnny really had been. Soda
made a funny noise and looked like he was going to
start crying. Two-Bit's eyes were closed and his teeth
were clenched, and I suddenly remembered Dally.
Dally pounding on the wall.
"Dallas is gone," I said. "He ran out like the devil
was after him. He's gonna blow up. He couldn't take
it."
How can I take it? I wondered. Dally is tougher than
I am. Why can I take it when Dally can't? And then I
knew. Johnny was the only thing Dally loved. And
now Johnny was gone.
"So he finally broke." Two-Bit spoke everyone's
feelings. "So even Dally has a breaking point."
I started shaking. Darry said something in a low
voice to Soda.
"Ponyboy," Soda said softly, like he was talking to
an injured animal, "you look sick. Sit down."
I backed up, just like a frightened animal, shaking
my head. "I'm okay." I felt sick. I felt as if any minute
I was going to fall flat on my, face, but I shook my
head. "I don't want to sit down."
Darry took a step toward me, but I backed away.
"Don't touch me," I said. My heart was pounding in
slow thumps, throbbing at the side of my head, and I
wondered if everyone else could hear it. Maybe that's
why they're all looking at me, I thought, they can hear
my heart beating.
The phone rang, and after a moment's hesitation,
Darry turned from me to it. He said "Hello" and then
listened. He hung up quickly.
"It was Dally. He phoned from a booth. He's just
robbed a grocery store and the cops are after him. We
gotta hide him. He'll be at the lot in a minute."
We all left the house at a dead run, even Steve, and I
wondered vaguely why no one was doing somersaults
off the steps this time. Things were sliding in and out
of focus, and it seemed funny to me that I couldn't run
in a straight line.
We reached the vacant lot just as Dally came in,
running as hard as he could, from the opposite direc-
tion. The wail of a siren grew louder and then a police
car pulled up across the street from the lot. Doors
slammed as the policemen leaped out. Dally had
reached the circle of light under the street lamp, and
skidding to a halt, he turned and jerked a black object
from his waistband. I remembered his voice: I been
carrin' a heater. It ain't loaded, but it sure does help a
bluff.
It was only yesterday that Dally had told Johnny
and me that. But yesterday was years ago. A lifetime
ago.
Dally raised the gun, and I thought: You blasted
fool. They don't know you're only bluffing. And even
as the policemen's guns spit fire into the night I knew
that was what Dally wanted. He was jerked half
around by the impact of the bullets, then slowly
crumpled with a look of grim triumph on his face. He
was dead before he hit the ground. But I knew that was
what he wanted, even as the lot echoed with the cracks
of the shots, even as I begged silently-Please, not him,
not him and Johnny both-I knew he would be
dead, because Dally Winston wanted to be dead and he
always got what he wanted.
Nobody would write editorials praising Dally. Two
friends of mine had died that night: one a hero, the
other a hoodlum. But I remembered Dally pulling
Johnny through the window of the burning church;
Dally giving us his gun, although it could mean jail for
him; Dally risking his life for us, trying to keep
Johnny out of trouble. And now he was a dead
juvenile delinquent and there wouldn't be any edito-
rials in his favor. Dally didn't die a hero. He died
violent and young and desperate, just like we all knew
he'd die someday. Just like Tim Shepard and Curly
Shepard and the Brumly boys and the other guys we
knew would die someday. But Johnny was right. He
died gallant.
Steve stumbled forward with a sob, but Soda caught
him by the shoulders.
"Easy, buddy, easy," I heard him say softly, "there's
nothing we can do now."
Nothing we can do, not for Dally or Johnny or
Tim Shepard or any of us. My stomach gave a
violent start and turned into a hunk of ice. The world
was spinning around me, and blobs of faces and visions
of things past were dancing in the red mist that
covered the lot. It swirled into a mass of colors and I
felt myself swaying on my feet. Someone cried, "Glory.
look at the kid!"
And the ground rushed up to meet me very sud-
denly.
When I woke up it was light. It was awfully quiet.
Too quiet. I mean, our house just isn't naturally quiet.
The radio's usually going full blast and the TV is
turned up loud and people are wrestling and knocking
over lamps and tripping over the coffee table and
yelling at each other. Something was wrong, but I
couldn't quite figure it out. Something had happened
I couldnt remember what. I blinked at Soda
bewilderedly. He was sitting on the edge of the bed
watching me.
"Soda,"my voice sounded weak and hoarse
"is somebody sick?"
"Yeah." His voice was oddly gentle. "Go back to
sleep now."
An idea was slowly dawning on me. Am I sick?"
He stroked my hair. "Yeah, you're sick. Now be
quiet."
I had one more question. I was still kind of mixed
up. "Is Darry sorry I'm sick?" I had a funny feeling
that Darry was sad because I was sick. Everything
seemed vague and hazy.
Soda gave me a funny look. He was quiet for a
moment. "Yeah, he's sorry you're sick. Now please shut
up, will ya, honey? Go back to sleep."
I closed my eyes. I was awful tired.
When I woke up next, it was daylight and I was hot
under all the blankets on me. I was thirsty and hungry,
but my stomach was so uneasy I knew I wouldn't be
able to hold anything down. Darry had pulled the
armchair into the bedroom and was asleep in it. He
should be at work, I thought. Why is he asleep in the
armchair?
"Hey, Darry," I said softly, shaking his knee. "Hey,
Darry, wake up."
He opened his eyes. "Ponyboy, you okay?"
"Yeah," I said, "I think so."
Something had happened, but I still couldn't
remember it, although I was thinking a lot clearer
than I was the last time I'd waked up.
He sighed in relief and pushed my hair back. "Gosh,
kid, you had us scared to death."
"What was the matter with me?"
He shook his head. "I told you you were in no
condition for a rumble. Exaustion, shock, minor con-
cussion-and Two-Bit came blubberin' over here with
some tale about how you were running a fever before
the rumble and how it was all his fault you were sick.
He was pretty torn up that night," Darry said. He was
quiet for a minute. "We all were."
And then I remembered. Dallas and Johnny were
dead. Don't think of them, I thought. Don't remem-
ber how Johnny was your buddy, don't remember that
he didn't want to die. Don't think of Dally breaking
up in the hospital, crumpling under the street light.
Try to think that Johnny is better off now, try to re-
member that Dally would have ended up like that
sooner or later. Best of all, don't think. Blank your
mind. Don't remember. Don't remember.)
"Where'd I get a concussion?" I said. My head
itched, but I couldn't scratch it for the bandage. "How
long have I been asleep?"
"You got a concussion from getting kicked in the
head-Soda saw it. He landed all over that Soc. I've
never seen him so mad. I think he could have whipped
anyone, in the state he was in. Today's Tuesday, and
you've been asleep and delirious since Saturday night.
Don't you-remember?"
"No," I said slowly. "Darry, I'm not ever going to be
able to make up the school I've missed. And I've still
got to go to court and talk to the police about Bob's
getting killed. And now with Dally. "I took
a deep breath, "Darry, do you think they'll split us
up? Put me in a home or something?"
He was silent. "I don't know, baby. I just don't
know."
I stared at the ceiling. What would it be like, I
wondered, staring at a different ceiling? What would it
be like in a different bed, in a different room? There
was a hard painful lump in my throat that I couldn't
swallow.
"Don't you even remember being in the hospital?"
Darry asked. He was trying to change the subject.
I shook my head. "I don't remember."
"You kept asking for me and Soda Sometimes for
Mom and Dad, too. But mostly for Soda."
Something in his tone of voice made me look at him.
Mostly for Soda. Did I ask for Darry at all, or was he
just saying that?
"Darry," I didn't know quite what I wanted to
say. But I had a sick feeling that maybe I hadn't called
for him while I was delirious, maybe I had only wanted
Sodapop to be with me. What all had I said while I
was sick? I couldn't remember. I didn't want to re-
member.
"Johnny left you his copy of Gone with the Wind.
Told the nurse he wanted you to have it."
I looked at the paperback lying on the table. I didn't
Want to finish it. I'd never get past the part where the
Southern gentlemen go riding into sure death because
they are gallant. Southern gentlemen with big black
eyes in blue jeans and T shirts, Southern gentlemen
crumpling under street lights. Don't remember. Don't
try to decide which one died gallant. Don't remember.
"Where's Soda?" I asked, and then I could have
kicked myself. Why can't you talk to Darry, you idiot?
I said to myself. Why do you feel uncomfortable
talking to Darry?
"Asleep, I hope. I thought he was going to go to
sleep shaving this morning and cut his throat. I had to
push him to bed, but he was out like a light in a
second."
Darry's hopes that Soda was asleep were immediately
ruined, because he came running in, dad only in a pair
of blue jeans.
"Hey, Ponyboy!" he yelped, and leaped for me, but
Darry caught him.
"No rough stuff, little buddy."
So Soda had to content himself with bouncing
and down on the bed and pounding on my shoulder.
"Gosh, but you were sick. You feel okay now?"
"I'm okay. Just a little hungry."
"I should think you would be," Darry said. "You
wouldn't eat anything most of the time. You were sick.
How'd you like some mushroom soup?
I suddenly realized just how empty I was. "Man, I'd
like that just fine."
"I'll go make some. Sodapop, take it easy with him,
okay?"
Soda looked back at him indignantly. "You'd think I
was going to challenge him to a track meet or some-
thing right off the bat."
"Oh, no" I groaned. "Track meet. I guess this just
about puts me out of every race. I won't be back in
condition for the meets. And the coach was counting
on me."
"Golly, there's always next year," Soda said. Soda
never has grasped the importance Darry and I put on
athletics. Like he never has understood why we went
all-out for studying. "Don't sweat it about some track
meet."
"Soda," I said suddenly. "What all did I say while
I was delirious?"
"Oh, you thought you were in Windrixville most of
the time. Then you kept saying that Johnny didn't
mean to kill that Soc. Hey, I didn't know you didn't
like baloney."
I went cold. "I don't like it. I never liked it."
Soda just looked at me. "You used to eat it- That's
why you wouldn't eat anything while you were sick.
You kept saying you didn't like baloney, no matter
what it was we were trying to get you to eat."
"I don't like it," I repeated. "Soda, did I ask for
Darry while I was sick?"
"Yeah, sure," he said, looking at me strangely. "You
asked for him and me both. Sometimes Mom and Dad.
And for Johnny."
"Oh. I thought maybe I didn't ask for Darry. It was
bugging me.
Soda grinned. "Well, you did, so don't worry. We
stayed with you so much that the doctor told us we
were going to end up in the hospital ourselves if we
didn't get some sleep. But we didn't get any anyway."
I took a good look at him. He looked completely
worn out; there were circles under his eyes and he had
a tense, tired look to him. Yet his dark eyes were still
laughing and carefree and reckless.
"You look beat," I said frankly. "I bet you ain't had
three hours sleep since Saturday night."
He grinned but didn't deny it. "Scoot over." He
crawled over me and flopped down and before Darry
came back in with the soup we were both asleep.