Mohawk

had given it to him had told him to forget it, so he had. Forgetting was something he was good at. Sometimes he just went ahead and did it without having to be told. The only trouble was that some things just wouldn’t stay forgotten. Once he figured he had them erased real good, his memory would jog and therehe’d be—remembering again before he could do anything about it.
    He didn’t want to remember who had given him the coat because he knew he wasn’t supposed to, but the coat was so nice and warm that he couldn’t help thinking about it. If he ever
needed
to remember, by concentrating hard and reconstructing the series of events that led up to having it, he’d be able to. First, he would recall where he had been and how he’d felt without the coat, and then how it felt not to be cold anymore, until the person who handed it to him and made him try it on to see if it fit became a clear image in his mind’s eye. Just thinking about the process of remembering almost made him do it, but when he saw the image focusing he forced everything to go blank before any harm was done.
    The coat was waist length, dark blue with white stripes along the sleeves. It seemed full of air and squeaked when he swung his arms. The coat made Wild Bill feel a little like a balloon. It was very warm, especially in the pockets where he stuffed his hands. Maybe he didn’t remember exactly where it came from, but even Harry’s needling could not shake Wild Bill’s conviction that he hadn’t stolen it.
    Wild Bill drank his coffee quickly, his face sweaty. He was unaccustomed to such warmth and so many questions from his only friend. He had some coins and put them on the counter. Harry took one or two and shoved the rest back for Bill to put in his pocket. Outside, the November air was raw and the wind that howled down Main Street made Wild Bill feel comfortable all over again inside the coat. He neither sweated nor shivered. He hoped no one would take the coat away.
    When he emerged from the alley, the junior high was getting out and some of the boys and girls along the other side of Main Street called to him. He waved and shouted back, which increased the general merriment. One of the boys began to walk with an exaggerated limp, his arms hanging down at his sides like a gorilla’s. Wild Bill thought several of the young girls were pretty, though not nearly as pretty as the girl he had forgotten. At times, if he thought real hard, he could remember her, how she had looked with her long black hair and slender white arms, but because he was afraid his father or his uncle the policeman would catch him at it, he didn’t think of her often. Sometimes, though, he would see somebody that reminded him of her, and there she was. She was beautiful to think about. Occasionally he waited for her in front of the high school, but she never came out, and he was always told to move along.
    When the boys and girls were gone, Wild Bill zipped his coat and headed back up the alley between the Mohawk Grill and the junior high, still thinking about, and nearly remembering, the girl. He failed to notice that he wasn’t alone until he had practically walked into the circle of boys. He recognized them immediately, though he knew none of their names. One of them had once punched him hard, and the blood from his nose had trickled down into his mouth and tasted like salt. When Wild Bill got closer, he saw that this boy had another pinned to the ground, one arm twisted up under his shoulder blade. The others were hooting encouragement. The smaller boy squirmed and, every time he tried to wriggle free, the boy on top grabbed him by the hair with his free hand and pushed his nose in the gravel. The victim didn’t cry, though he wasbleeding from the nose and mouth. Wild Bill thought he knew this boy, too, though it was hard to tell with his face so scraped and bloody.
    Wild Bill drew closer and watched, at once concerned and skeptical, since these particular boys had once tricked him by pretending to fight among themselves. When he had tried to stop them, they hooted, made faces and told him to go do a bad thing with his mother. Then they ran away. Wild Bill was not at all certain that this wasn’t a similar trick, despite the blood from the one boy’s nose and the fear in his eyes.
    Everyone seemed to notice Wild Bill at the same instant, even the boy on the ground. “Get out of here,” said the larger boy, refusing to surrender his victim’s twisted