Last Summer of the Death Warriors Read Online Free PDF Page B

It was possible that he would speak himself out.
    “I’m not crazy about the name ‘Death Warrior,’ because it has all kinds of negative implications. ‘Life Warrior’ is probably more accurate because the manifesto is about life, but ‘Death Warrior’ is more mysterious-sounding.”
    An older man. An Anglo. A red truck. A silver toolbox. A company name that ended in “and Sons.” He repeated the words to himself so he wouldn’t forget.
    “Do you want to know the first rule of the Death Warrior Manifesto?”
    “No.”
    “Okay, I’ll tell you, but only because I know you to be the kind of person who would understand. The first rule is: No whining. No whining of any kind under any circumstances.”
    “I don’t whine.” For a moment he thought D.Q. was criticizing him.
    “Yeah, you do. You’re a whiner. You just don’t hear yourself whine. It takes training to hear one’s internal whine.”
    “I’m no whiner!” Pancho felt a rush of anger.
    “You know what whining is? Whining is that little voice inside of us that always complains about whatever happens. The voice doesn’t have to be heard by others for it to be whining.”
    Pancho turned sideways and looked out the window. Kids were beginning to assemble on the basketball court. He faced D.Q. “Are you a whiner?” he asked.
    “Yes. Like you, I don’t whine out loud all that much, and I’m getting better about the inner whining, but I still whine. It’s thehardest thing, not to whine. It means you accept whatever is happening to you. I’m not quite there yet. That’s why I’m writing the manifesto, as a reminder. ‘Rule number one: A Death Warrior does not whine aloud or in silence under any circumstances.’ You want to know rule number two?”
    “No.”
    “All right, one rule per day. If you ever hear me whine, feel free to whack me in the head.”
    Pancho stared at D.Q.’s head.
    “Okay, maybe not on the head.” D.Q. lifted his cap for a second and rubbed the top of his skull. Underneath the soft thin hair, the skin was fragile and shiny like an eggshell. Pancho looked away. D.Q. placed the cap back on his head, and the cap sank down to his ears. “There’s something I need to ask you.” D.Q.’s voice was serious.
    Pancho stood up. “I’ll take these boxes out,” he said.
    “The boxes can wait. Sit down. I need to ask you something.”
    Pancho was about to walk out, but he stopped, put the box down, and said, “Look. I’m not much of a talker. I’ll push you around and clean rooms until the Panda gets me another job, but that’s as far as it’s going to go.” He pointed at the open window. “Why don’t you get one of those kids out there to talk to you?”
    “I’ll answer your question in a moment. Sit down. This is important.” D.Q. motioned to a stool by the door.
    Pancho deliberated for a few moments and then sat down. He did it in a way that conveyed he was doing it voluntarily and not in obedience to a command.
    “Thank you,” D.Q. said. His voice was soft. He rolled thewheelchair closer to Pancho and fixed his bloodshot eyes on him. “You have to understand that if I seem pushy, it’s because I’m living in a different time zone than you are. You perceive time as open-ended. I don’t. It makes me want to get to the point.”
    Pancho nodded. Somewhere in what D.Q. said, there was some kind of an apology being offered. He glanced at D.Q.’s face. It was hard to imagine that the person speaking was his same age. The words, the voice, they all seemed to come from someone not just older, but ageless, if such a thing were possible.
    D.Q. continued, “Your question is a good one. Why don’t I ask one of the other kids to help me out? There are kids at St. Tony’s I’ve known for years. We’re a close-knit group here, a family. Something happens to a kid when he comes here. Maybe it’s the fact that we’re pretty much on our own. The rules we follow are the ones we all agree on. Or maybe it’s the fact