Mohawk

ground below, and with reluctant glances over their shoulders retrace the path down to the chainlink fence at the end of the alley. Only a few realize when they hear the heavy machinery awaken precisely at thestroke of one that they have been victims of anything more sinister than cruel mischance or bad timing.
    With the majority of the schoolboys out of the way, the demolition crew begins with the most remote wing of the hospital, a section whose windows had been knocked out nearly a year before when the first ward had been evacuated to the new hospital. Unfortunately, the first swing of the ball is poorly aimed, plunging harmlessly through one of the vacant window frames on the second floor, eliciting a hoot from the crowd as the huge ball punches only a tiny hole in the red brick on its backswing. The next attempt, though, is on the mark, the black ball tearing through the brick and ivy with explosive force, blowing dust and smoke out the adjacent windows with a whoosh. An excited cheer goes up from the crowd, coinciding with a groan from the building itself, one corner of which shudders.
    In the Mohawk Grill, Harry is perplexed by what’s happened to his lunchtime crowd. The first explosion of the wrecker’s ball is still reverberating when the bakery delivery man pulls open the alley door and backs in with a handtruck full of Sunbeam bread and hamburger rolls.
    “What the hell was that?”
    “The hospital,” the delivery man says. “Wisht I could take the time. You oughta see the rubberneckers. Three deep.”
    The blood drains from Harry’s face. The other man is too busy stacking buns to notice.
    “Friday!” Harry shouts. “It’s supposed to be on Friday!”
    The man is startled by Harry’s frantic expression. “Gonna snow by then. Maybe—”
    “Jesus God,” Harry says. “Jesus God.”
    He is a large man, and while his movements are efficient in the narrow space behind the familiar lunch counter, he’s lost and sluggish in open spaces. He runs the first fifty yards to the base of Hospital Hill, but when he starts up the grade he slows like a swamp-bound dinosaur. Halfway up, he feels a tremor beneath his feet as a large section of wall collapses. All at once the air is full of dust. Harry imagines that he’s still running, but only his crazy arm jerks suggest rapid motion. Otherwise he looks like a fat comedian doing an impression of an Olympic walker, all hips and elbows. He thinks of all those childhood dreams where he was pursued by something nameless and fearsome, his legs heavy and rooted like tree trunks. Near the top of the hill he has to stop and lean against the stone wall. The air is thick with the collective groans of men, machines and foundations. Even the people on the porches and rooftops are indistinct in the dust-fouled air. Their excitement is now fueled by sound more than sight. From where Harry slumps, panting, he can see that a large portion of the old hospital is already gone. The sight pushes him upward again.
    On the other side of what remains of the building, a small knot of boys holds its ground despite the noise and dust and flying debris. Their original intention was to watch from high up in the trees, but the ground shudders each time the ball makes contact and instead they cluster at the top of the hill, prepared to retreat, if need be, down the slope. From their angle, the outline of the building looks a little jagged but not radically altered, for it is the front and side walls that are collapsing under the relentless attack of the ball. With each blast, though, dust and debris are exhaled from the windows. For a second at the moment of impacteverything blurs before focusing again. The boys inexplicably find themselves rooting for the old hospital, seeing something admirable in its apparent defiance of the ball. When a section of roof collapses and the ground shakes, the air is so thick and dark they cannot see if the back wall is still standing. Gradually its form becomes visible again, though sagging badly. In a lull the air begins to clear, and what the boys see then they do not at first believe.
    On the third floor, behind one of the broken windows, stands a stock-still figure. The boys see him clearly for an instant before the building suddenly vibrates and coughs forth another whoosh of dust. Not all of the boys saw the figure and when those who did point out the spot, it’s gone.
    Those who saw the man at the window are staggered. Each boy arrives