Part 15 (1/2)

”Okay,” I said. ”Good. Good. Now push it up. Breathe in, now blow out and shove the bar up, shove, blow, shove.” I did some cheerleading.

Paul arched his back and struggled. His arms shook more. I put a little pressure under the bar and helped him. He got it extended.

”Now onto the rack,” I said. I helped him guide it over and set it in its place. His face was very red.

”Good,” I said. ”Next time we'll do two.”

”I can't even do it,” he said.

”Sure you can. You just did it”

”You helped me.”

”Just a bit. One of the things about weights is you make progress fast at first It's encouraging.”

”I can't even lift it without the weights,” he said.

”In a couple of months you'll be pressing more than your own weight,” I said. ”Come on. We'll do another one.”

He tried again. This time I had to help him more.

”I'm getting worse,” he said.

”Naturally, you're getting tired. The third try will be even harder. That's the point. You work the muscle when it's tired and it breaks down faster and new muscle builds up quicker.” I was beginning to sound like Arnold Schwarzenegger. Paul lay red-faced and silent on the bench. There were fine blue veins under the near-translucent skin of his chest. The collarbone, the ribs, and the sternum were all clearly defined against the tight skin. He didn't weigh a hundred pounds.

”Last try,” I said. He took the bar off its rest and this time I had to keep it from dropping on him. ”Up now,” I said, ”blow it up. This is the one that counts most. Come on, come on, up, up, up. Good. Good.”

We set the bar back on the bench. Paul sat up. His arms were still trembling slightly.

”You do some,” he said.

I nodded. I put two fifty-pound plates on each end of the bar and lay on the bench. I lifted the weight off the cradle and brought it to my chest.

”Watch which muscles move,” I said to Paul, ”that way you learn which exercise does what for you.” I pressed the bar up, let it down, pressed it up. I breathed out each time. I did ten repet.i.tions and set the bar back on the rack. A faint sweat had started on my forehead. Above us in the maple tree a grosbeak with a rose-colored breast fluttered in and sat I did another set. The sweat began to film on my chest. The mild breeze cooled it.

Paul said, ”How much can you lift?”

I said, ”I don't know exactly. It's sort of a good idea not to worry about that. You do better to exercise with what you can handle and not be looking to see who can lift more and who can't and how much you can lift. I can lift more than this.”

”How much is that?”

”Two hundred forty-five pounds.”

”Does Hawk lift weights?”

”Some.”

”Can he lift as much as you?”

”Probably.”

I did a third set. When I got through I was puffing a little, and the sweat was trickling down my chest.

”Now we do some curls,” I said. I showed him how. We couldn't find a dumbbell light enough for him to curl with one hand, so he used both hands on one dumbbell.

After two hours Paul sat on the weight bench with his head hanging, forearms on his thighs, puffing as if he'd run a long way. I sat beside him. We had finished the weights. I handed Paul the canteen. He drank a little and handed it back to me. I drank and hung it back up.

”How you feel?” I said.

Paul just shook his head without looking up.

”That good, huh? Well, you'll be stiff tomorrow. Come on. We'll play with the bags a little.”

”I don't want to do any more.”

”I know, but another half hour and you'll have done it all. This will be fun. We won't have to work hard.”

”Why don't you just let me alone?”

I sat back down beside him. ”Because everybody has left you alone all your life and you are, now, as a result, in a mess. I'm going to get you out of it.”

”Whaddya mean?”

”I mean you don't have anything to care about. You don't have anything to be proud of. You don't have anything to know. You are almost completely neutral because n.o.body took the time to teach you or show you and because what you saw of the people who brought you up didn't offer anything you wanted to copy.”

”It's not my fault.”

”No, not yet. But if you lay back and let oblivion roll over you, it will be your fault. You're old enough now to start becoming a person. And you're old enough now so that you'll have to start taking some kind of responsibility for your life. And I'm going to help you.”

”What's lifting weights got to do with that stuff?”

”What you're good at is less important than being good at something. You got nothing. You care about nothing. So I'm going to have you be strong, be in shape, be able to run ten miles, and be able to lift more than you weigh and be able to box. I'm going to have you know how to build and cook and to work hard and to push yourself and control yourself. Maybe we can get to reading and looking at art and listening to something besides situation comedies later on. But right now I'm working on your body because it's easier to start there.”

”So what,” Paul said. ”In a little while I'm going back. What difference does it make?”

I looked at him, white and narrow and cramped, almost birdlike, with his shoulders hunched and his head down. He needed a haircut. He had hangnails. What an unlovely little b.a.s.t.a.r.d.

”That's probably so,” I said. ”And that's why, kid, before you go back, you are going to have to get autonomous.”

”Huh?”

”Autonomous. Dependent on yourself. Not influenced unduly by things outside yourself. You're not old enough. It's too early to ask a kid like you to be autonomous. But you got no choice. Your parents are no help to you. If anything, they hurt. You can't depend on them. They got you to where you are. They won't get better. You have to.”

His shoulders started to shake.

”You have to, kid,” I said.