and taunted with "Tubbo, blubbo, blobbo, fatso, goes to the bathroom on his pratso." Giant had ignored the little boy, but this action had only egged him on to more. He was only little, Giant said, about up to my shoulder, but he had challenged the giant to a fight. Giant had gotten up to walk away, and Frankie had grabbed at his shirt, this very shirt, and had torn it, then had run away laughing. When he thoght of the beating he would get from his dad when he got home because it was the only shirt he had, Giant had begun crying and said that he couldn't stop even though he decided to come back to class. Mrs. Barclay had made him tell her what had happened but simply suggested that he go home until he could stop crying. After this revelation which came in a semi-bashful, abbreviated English, the pride of a World Series hero surrounded me. I gave him a few words of encouragement, and we went to class, a half hour late. Possibly because of the surprise that Giant was even there at all, Mrs. Barclay didn't even acknowledge our entry onto the scene, but all the rest of the class did, disapprovingly. I had now become the defender of the faith, the righteous and exalted leader of the downtrodden minority. Everyone looked at me with dark eyes and tightened lips, and I liked it. During the afternoon recess, I casually had Giant point Frankie out to me. He was a short kid who was chasing a tall, skinny girl. His long, auburn hair streamed behind him. I asked Giant to go see if Billy Stark was playing ball on the other side of the building, so I could gain some revenge while he was gone. As he turned the corner, I charged for Frankie, took his arm with both my hands and dragged him, protesting all the way with half screams and little swear words, to a dark corner of the school grounds behind an old oak tree. I said, "If you ever say anything to Giant, that big guy again, I'll kill you." I took him down on the ground and sat on his chest, holding his arms down with my legs. He looked scared; his eyes kept jumping back and forth. I felt a little sick to my stomach, but I doubled my fist and hit him on the nose pretty hard twice. It started bleeding, and he burst out crying. I covered his mouth with my hand. "And if you ever tell anybody that I did this, I'll cut your hand off," I emphasized. He was only a little kid, and I felt sick and strong at the same time. I got off him, and he scampered away like a rabbit hit in the hind leg with a twenty-two. That afternoon I walked home with Giant. I did most of the talking. He would either grunt in reply or make a mono-syllabic remark to questions. When he turned my way, the pungent odor of strong spices, mostly garlic issued off his breath. In a few minutes we stood in front of a small wood-frame house on a dirt road below the U.P. tracks. There was piecework patching over the front windows, no door where the front door should have been, and the paint was chipping in at least three different colors of white off the front of the house. Broken glass and sundry trash was strewn over the brown patches of grass, dirt, and weeds. When we got to the front steps, Giant stopped and I with him. He didn't invite me in but said, "See you tomorrow." Up the steps he lumbered and walked through the doorway. I stared after him, shook my head, and turned to go. I was in the principal's office the next day for nearly an hour and was forced to cry by Mr. Webb's slashing teeth and sharp, pointed face, first setting me up by telling me what a good boy I was and then shaming me with the disgusting act which Frankie's mother had reported by phone the minute he had stepped into his office that morning. But later, after the tears had dried to salt on my face, I still felt a certain allegiance to my giant friend, even though repulsed by his personal inability to be like others, especially since seeing his home. I could hardly imagine what it would be like to eat and sleep and live in a house like that. I imagined his dad to be a monster cyclops like in the stories about Ulysses. I also conjured up the vision of Giant as having no mother nor brothers and sisters, but having to do the dishes and scrub walls and floors for the cold food that his father would give him. I will never know whether I was as right as I could have been even in such a wildly imaginative situation as that, for I never walked home with him again. Because of my professed allegiance, I went with Giant everywhere during the school day. I made Martha change desks with me, so I could sit next to Giant and help him with schoolwork. I defended him out at recess, and even got a black eye once when Billy Stark slugged me for calling him a nigger, after Billy had called Giant a name. No matter what I did, though, Giant didn't change much, except that he would talk to me some. Mostly, he was a huge, passive beast of burden. It didn't matter what anyone, including me, did; he was impervious to help. He began stupid in September and ended stupid in May. If somebody called him a name or hit him, he would just walk away with his head down, red in the face and sweating, swaying with a passive bounce. If I offered to do something for him or get him something, he would refuse in one or two oft-chosen words. At Christmas some of the PTA mothers had heard about him and gathered some clothes, which were sent to his 32 house. Whether he got them or not, I don't know; but he never wore anything different than the same old clothes, sometimes seemingly washed. When you come right down to it, he was either helpless or hopeless, or both. Shortly after the school carnival in the early part of February things were going pretty well in class. Mrs. Barclay was happy because report cards were soon to come out, and she could release her hostility on them. I was doing really well in school, ahead of the class in most things, except in art which was my personal nemesis. Even Giant seemed to be a little happy, at least superficially. Once I thought that it must be a great relief to him in the winter, not to have to sweat so much. Just before lunch break was over one day three or four boys were playing around in the classroom. Giant and I were there, too, he sitting quietly on a chair and I right in the middle of the conversation. One of the boys was thumbing through the dictionary, trying to find dirty words. If he came across one he thought might be worth discussing, he would read the definition; and the other boys, myself included, would laugh and point at each other, mostly in ignorance. After reading the definition of mammal and making a burlesque of rather skinny teats with his two forefingers, at which we all laughed, Billy said, "Hey you guys," looking at the others, "here's somebody that should know about that," pointing to me. "His fat friend, there's got bigger tits than any girl I've ever seen." I immediately became defensive; but before I could move, Giant was off his chair, faster than I had ever seen him move. He grabbed Billy with one hand at Billy's shoulder and pushed him back against the wall. Billy usually did not avoid fights, but now his hands were over his face. He tried to wrench away, turned, slipped out of Giant's grasp too fast, and fell hitting the ten-gallon aquarium behind him, knocking it off its stand. Giant stood stunned, as did the rest of us. Billy lay on the floor with water running downhill toward the wall and with angel fish, guppies, head-and-tail light fish, and various other assorted tropicals - Mrs. Barclay's prized collection - writhing in anguish on the floor. She was so upset at the death of her only real friends, class was dismissed for the afternoon; but the principals in the capital crime were held without bail for the trial. After she had regained some semblance of composure, the trial began. Everyone looked at every other place in the room except at Mrs. Barclay save Giant, who looked straight at her. "I want to know precisely what happened this afternoon in this room," she began, each word with an emphasized viciousness attached. Harvey Billings, who was pretty good with words, spoke, "It was like this Mrs. Barclay. We were all just horsing around, when Billy called Thaddeus a name. He didn't like it and pushed Billy into the aquarium. It was as simple as that." It was hardly as simple as that. Billy liked the simplicity of the version, and knew that Mrs. Barclay would not blame him for calling Giant a name. "That's right," he said, "that's just how it happened." The others, seeing the strongest one among them agree, affirmed the story. Giant and I said nothing. Mrs. Barclay, apparently sensing something more, I'm sure, looked at Giant with her fierce, brown eyes emitting hatred. "Is that right, Thaddeus?" No answer. "If that is the truth, you will pay for every single fish in that aquarium," she said with spitting precision. No answer. I swallowed but no saliva went down. I looked up at her strained face. "No," I blurted out. "That isn't what happened at all." Everyone burned my face, they were staring so hard. "No," said Giant. "He's right. Billy didn't even call me a name. I was just sick of them smart kids and pushed him to show that I was just as smart." Mouths dropped noticeably. I began to say something, then was quiet. Mrs. Barclay excused all except Giant. I was going to wait for him but remembered my guitar lesson and hurried home. The next day Giant was in school again. All day he evaded me one way or another. When the school bell rang at three-thirty, I followed him out the front door, and down the steps. He didn't even look at me. "Hey, wait," I said. "I've got something to ask you, Giant." I smiled as he turned around. "Look," he said. His face was expressionless. "Don't do me no more favors." That was all he said. He turned and lumbered off toward the little house that I could all too easily remember. School didn't get much better, but it didn't get worse either. I got Martha to trade seats back, and got in the same old seat I had always had before Giant got here. This movement of seating position didn't seem to have any effect on him. I quit going around with him at recess, and he didn't have any defense when some kid would come up and kick him in the shins or spit on his ripped tennis shoes. I got back into the position I had been in previously with the smart guys, the tough guys, and Mrs. Barclay. I was free again to wander over the ceiling looking for odd shapes to which I could attach some exotic image. May came as it always did in those days with eager anticipation on behalf of both teacher and 33