Wanda Hickey's Night of Golden Memories by Jean Shepherd Page B

15 feet away.
    Farkas half crouched, Mariah digging into his grimy thumb, the rusty metal washer he used for a button jabbing out between his fingers. His arm jerked down and out, the string snapped, black Mariah struck. That is, she missed, by less than an inch. The two tops spun side by side for a moment until I darted forward, scooped mine up and backed off. Before me, black Mariah sat toadlike, growling moodily, while Farkas watched with ill-concealed contempt
    I decided to go in for the kill. Again my arm dropped, the orange top streaked out, heading straight for black Mariah’s vitals. It was a good shot. Farkas knew it. He snarled low in his throat The crowd murmured excitedly as my orange top cracked smartly against Mariah—but wobbled off weakly among the feet of the onlookers. Mariah did not budge.
    â€œSpin it again, ya chicken bastard.”
    Farkas picked up Mariah and waited for my next move. I knew this was it. I had missed my chance. But then, I wasn’t counting on this poor top. My big move was on the way.
    I spun. Then, with his accustomed sardonic ease, the showboat attitude he always displayed when picking up a scalp, Farkas neatly cracked my top into kingdom come,the deadly spike sending up a thin spray from the wet pavement.
    By habit or tradition, the multitude indicated its approval of Scut’s victory:
    â€œWow!”
    â€œHoly smokes!”
    â€œGee whiz!”
    â€œWhoooiee!”
    And other sickening sounds.
    Farkas casually picked up Mariah, turned his back on me and, followed by Dill, started to walk away, the crowd parting before them. It was
now!
    My hand whipped down into my back pocket, quickly snaked Wolf out into the open, and in the twinkling of a moment, I had him wound and instantly laid Wolf down hard and solid Its high, thin note, steady as a dentist’s drill and twice as nasty, cut through the falling rain and stopped Farkas in his tracks. He turned and stared for a long instant. His eyes seemed to widen and he actually, for a moment at least, appeared to grow pale-but even more baleful—as he recognized Wolf for what it was. Between us, the silver-gray top sang tauntingly. I didn’t say a word. Wolf said it all.
    The crowd, sensing that something had happened, became hushed and tense. Somewhere off in the south a mutter of thunder rumbled and stilled. Casually, Farkas wound his top string about Mariah and, without a word, laid it down with a hard, vicious, overhand, cracking shot that missed Wolf by the thickness of a coat of paint. The two tops spun together with no daylight between,Mariah’s bass rumble blending with the shuddering whine of Wolf in an eerie, angry duet.
    Quickly I picked up Wolf, and this time, with all the force I had, I went in for the big one. A silver-gray streak, Wolf blurred out before me. The crowd gasped audibly. Scut peered sharply down at Mariah as Wolf screamed toward the
coup de grâce.
    I couldn’t believe it! Moving like a shadow over Mariah, Wolf missed by the thickness of a hair. Instantly, with a cackle, Farkas gathered in Mariah and, with a guttural laugh, sent her down the rails to finish off Wolf. I had seen him really angry at an opponent before, but nothing like this. I was afraid to look, half turning away—but the roar of the crowd told me that, incredibly, Mariah had missed!
    It was my turn now. For once in my life, my nerves were like steel. This time, with infinite deliberation, I aimed and carefully let fly, a little higher, with more lift, a more deadly trajectory. Wolf rose and came down like a fiend of hell, swooping out of the sky like some gray eagle. But at the last impossible instant, it actually seemed to change course in mid-air, grazing Mariah slightly and skittering off into a puddle.
    Again and again we attacked each other, first Wolf, then Mariah. Over and over we drove at each others vitals. Something was happening that slowly began to dawn first on Farkas and me and then on