Page 156

By Jack Joseph Smith

Bull shit. They're hungry Beaver, said Dandy. They didn't get any of Murphy meat. We were all high with one after anouther of the golden brew, and I went passing through the conversation and on to anouther dismal place, that seemed ready for lighting. Which one? Beaver was ready. The meat was gone and the fire was still in kindle. That one. Get him Beaver. He is on the prowl. Better get him now. I turned in time to see the last moments of dreamer being turned to savage, as Beaver sprung across the dark medow and his victum went down. I ran toward them, my eyes fastly catching their twisting movements. You bastard O'Dandy, I cried, as I ran. But it was to late. The victums friends were coming strong now and swinging wildly as they ran. Notre Dame was charging through the blackness with their white college teeth flashing and their lungs seem ingly desired their mouths to foam. Young Ben, Earnest the Adventurer, Murphy, O' Dandy, and the every popular Frost, cocked our fists and waited for the onslaught. All others that we knew? Scattered. The first wave came with their heads low under the moonlight. Girls screamed in the shadows, as if their heads were thrown back so as the earth dragged their hair into the roots of beginnings. Murphy caught one on the run and threw him to me. His jaw cracked and my fist felt it break, as I lifted him in his stumble. All stopped for a moment in the horror sound of shattered bones. O'Dandy thought himself very funny as he said. Anyone who wants to continue this, can step over the hill with my buddy Murphy. He was leaning with his cocky head, and pointed toward Murphy over his shoulder with his stubby thumb. Angry yells rose in the layered air and a moan of lost understanding was coming from the pitted grass.

Original Scan

Page 156

AI Interpretation

GPT

Beaver jumps his target, the Notre Dame boys rush in, Michael and the others brace for the charge, and Michael feels his fist break a man's jaw, bringing the fight to a sudden, sickening pause.

This is where the swagger breaks and the scene finally becomes morally legible to the speaker himself. The page keeps insisting that nobody could see anyone clearly inside the rage, which makes the injury feel less like victory than collective blindness.

Claude

O'Dandy sics Beaver on a target - 'Get him Beaver. He is on the prowl' - and the narrator watches 'the last moments of dreamer being turned to savage' as the victim goes down, crying 'You bastard O'Dandy' too late. Notre Dame charges 'through the blackness with their white college teeth flashing,' girls screaming 'in the shadows,' and Murphy throws a man to him whose jaw the narrator's fist 'felt it break,' freezing everyone 'in the horror sound of shattered / bones.' O'Dandy turns even this into a cocky jeer, pointing 'with his stubby thumb' that anyone wanting more 'can step over the hill with my buddy Murphy' - swagger laid over 'a moan of lost understanding' rising from the grass.