Some boys are very tough. They're afraid of nothing.
They are the ones who climb a wall and take a bow at the top. Not only
are they brave
on the roof, but they make a lot of noise in the darkest part of the cellar where even the super hates to go. They also jiggle and hop on the platform
between the locked doors of the subway cars.
Four boys are jiggling on the swaying platform. Their
names are Alfred, Calvin, Samuel, and Tom. The men and women in the cars
either side watch them. They don't like them to jiggle or jump but don't want to interfere. Of course some of the men in the cars were once brave
boys like these. One of them had ridden the tail of a speeding truck from New York to Rockaway Beach without getting off, without his sore fingers
losing hold. Nothing happened to him then or later. He had made a compact with other boys who preferred to watch: starting at Eighth Avenue
and Fifteenth Street, he would get to some specified place, maybe Twenty-third and the river, by hopping the tops of the moving trucks. This was
hard to do when one truck turned a corner in the wrong direction and the nearest truck was a couple of feet too high. He made three or four starts
before succeeding. He had gotten this idea from a film at school called The Romance of Logging. He had finished high school, married a good friend,
was in a responsible job, and going to night school.
These two men and others looked at the four boys
jumping and jiggling on the platform and thought. It must be fun to ride
that way, especially now
the weather is nice and we're out of the tunnel and way high over the Bronx. Then they thought. These kids do seem to be acting sort of
stupid. They are little. Then they thought of some of the brave things they had done when they were boys and jiggling didn't seem so risky.
The ladies in the car became very angry when they
looked at the four boys. Most of them brought their brows together and
hoped the boys
could see their extreme disapproval. One of the ladies wanted to get up and say, be careful you dumb kids, get off that platform or I'll call a cop.
But three of the boys were Negroes and the fourth was something else she couldn't tell for sure. She was afraid they'd be fresh and laugh at her and
embarrass her. She wasn't afraid they'd hit her, but she was afraid of embarrassment. Another lady thought, their mothers never know where
they are. It wasn't true in this particular case. Their mothers all knew that they had gone to see the missile exhibit on Fourteenth Street.
Out on the platform, whenever the train accelerated,
the boys would raise their hands and point them up to the sky to act like
rockets going off,
then they rat-tat-tatted the shatterproof glass pane like machine guns, although no machine guns had been exhibited.
For some reason known only to the motorman, the train
began a sudden slowdown. The lady who was afraid of embarrassment saw the
jerk forward and backward and grab the swinging guard chains. She had her own boy at home. She stood up with determination and went to the
door. She slid it open and said, "You boys will be hurt. You'll be killed. I'm going to call the conductor if you don't just go into the next car and sit
down and be quiet."
Two of the boys said, "Yes'm," and acted as though
they were about to go. Two of them blinked their eyes a couple of times
and pressed their lips
together. The train resumed its speed. The door slid shut, parting the lady and the boys. She leaned against the side door because she had to get off at
the next stop.
The boys opened their eyes wide at each other and
laughed. The lady blushed. The boys looked at her and laughed harder.
They began to
pound each other's back. Samuel laughed the hardest and pounded Alfred's back until Alfred coughed and the tears came. Alfred held tight to
the chain hook. Samuel pounded him even harder when he saw the tears. He said, "Why you bawling? You a baby, huh?" and laughed. One of the
men whose boyhood had been more watchful than brave became angry. He stood up straight and looked at the boys for a couple of seconds. Then
he walked in a citizenly way to the end of the car, where he pulled the emergency cord. Almost at once, with a terrible hiss, the pressure of air
abandoned the brakes and the wheels were caught and held.
People standing in the most secure places fell forward,
then backward. Samuel had let go of his hold on the chain so he could pound
as well as Alfred. All the passengers in the cars whipped back and forth, but he pitched only forward and fell head first to be crushed and killed
between the cars.
The train had stopped hard, halfway into the station,
and the conductor called at once for the trainmen who knew about this kind
of death and
how to take the body from the wheels and brakes. There was silence except for passengers from the other cars who asked, What happened!
What happened! The ladies waited around wondering if he might be an only child. The men recalled other afternoons with very bad endings. The
little boys stayed close to each other, leaning and touching shoulders and arms and legs.
When the policeman knocked at the door and told her
about it, Samuel's mother began to scream. She screamed all day and moaned
night, though the doctors tried to quiet her with pills.
Oh, oh, she hopelessly cried. She did not know how
she could ever find another boy like that one. However, she was a young
woman and she
became pregnant. Then for a few months she was hopeful. The child born to her was a boy. They brought him to be seen and nursed. She smiled. But
immediately she saw that this baby wasn't Samuel. She and her husband together have had other children, but never again will a boy exactly like
Samuel be known.
Paley's stories are noted for their spare, deceptively simple style
of conventional plotting. She often relies on voice alone to carry the narrative
forward. Her stories are generally peopled with husbands and wives, friends
and neighbors in New York's middle class and focus on the shifting dynamics
of personal relationships. "Samuel," originally published in The Atlantic
Monthly and collected in 1974, represents something of a departure from this
pattern. Here Paley explores the thoughts of a group of strangers, passengers
riding in an elevated train. Although simply told, the story touches on com-
plex emotions and raises difficult questions about responsibility and loss.