Bridge of Sighs

attractions might be, since he hadn’t figured them out yet.
    Three Mock did as he was told, taking a seat near the door. Perry Kozlowski, who apparently expected him to leave once he’d set up the record player, cast a sullen, resentful look in the teacher’s direction. “Mr. Berg?” he said, still staring at the boy.
    But the man was shuffling through the stack of records he’d brought, finally slipping one from its sleeve and balancing it on the spindle. When the record dropped onto the turntable and the tone arm lowered gently onto the vinyl, there was a loud hissing. The record had clearly been worn scratchy, a problem Mr. Berg seemed to believe could be remedied by turning the volume up, causing everyone to wince. Spreading his feet wide, he began snapping his fingers to the beat, bobbing his head and grinning his yellow grin. Was this another joke? Nobody seemed to know.
    “Mr. Berg?” Perry repeated, still eyeing Three Mock. Noonan assumed he was going to ask why the boy hadn’t left, but he was mistaken. “How come we’re meeting in
here
?” Kozlowski asked instead.
    They’d all assumed the room assignment on their printed schedules was a mistake until the office secretary informed them that, no, Mr. Berg had specifically requested the stale, dusty, windowless former storage room, though why he should prefer it to the bright, airy plum of a room set aside for honors classes remained a mystery.
    Mr. Berg grinned unpleasantly at Perry Kozlowski. “Which answer would you prefer?” he said finally.
    “Which answer?” Perry repeated, glancing around to see if the question made any more sense to his companions than it did to him.
    Mr. Berg nodded. “In your other classes you’re used to getting one answer, usually a lie. In this one you’ll get two or more, depending on the question. Among these answers you will search for the truth and mostly not find it.”
    “You’re going to lie to us?”
    “For instance, I could tell you I’ve selected this room so we could listen to loud jazz without disturbing other classes, and that would be true, though it wouldn’t be the whole truth and nothing but the truth. Not so help me God.” He was now fishing around in his jacket pocket, from which he extracted a crumpled pack of cigarettes and a tarnished silver lighter. “It might also be true that I selected a room far from all other classrooms because”—he lit up, inhaled deeply and exhaled into the room—“I like to smoke.” Nan Beverly wrinkled her nose.
    “That’s against the rules,” Perry pointed out.
    “Yes, it is,” Mr. Berg conceded, filling his lungs a second time, exhaling through his nose. “But I really do enjoy smoking, don’t you?”
    “If I get caught with a cigarette, I’m off the football team.”
    “And you’re afraid I’ll report you?”
    “You’re supposed to. You’re a teacher. Or somebody else could.”
    “Who do you imagine might betray you? Mr. Mock, perhaps?”
    Perry was clearly startled by this reference to Three Mock, who seemed to register that his name had been spoken, but gave no other indication of following the conversation. “Maybe.” Perry shrugged. “How do I know? Marconi, maybe.”
    “You’re suspicious of Mr. Marconi?”
    “I said maybe. I don’t know.”
    Mr. Berg turned to Noonan. “Do
you
like to smoke, Mr. Marconi?”
    “Yes,” said Noonan, whose repeated violations of the prohibition had often gotten him in trouble at the academy, though he saw no reason to volunteer this information. He’d also been written up for drinking and brawling with townies, where he’d again broken his wrist. No reason to volunteer any of that either.
    “Here, have one,” Mr. Berg said, tossing him the pack.
    “He’s on the team, too,” Perry said.
    Noonan surprised himself by taking out a cigarette and lighting it with the lighter Mr. Berg held out to him. He felt Lucy’s amazed eyes on him.
    “There,” Mr. Berg said, again addressing Perry. “Now you don’t have to worry about Mr. Marconi. He can’t betray you without betraying himself.”
    “Somebody else might, though.”
    Mr. Berg leaned forward, lowering his voice in mock confidentiality. “Miss Beverly, for instance?”
    Nan started at this suggestion.
    “No, not her,” Perry said quickly.
    “Why not?”
    “She just wouldn’t.”
    “She’s too blond?”
    Perry grimaced. “What?”
    “She’s very blond, isn’t she.”
    “So what?”
    “It’s dark people who do