Heart/The Fight
THE FIGHT
Sunday, 5th.
It was what might have been expected. Franti, on being expelled by the principal, wanted to revenge himself on Stardi, and after school he waited for Stardi at a corner, when he was passing with his sister, whom he escorts every day from an institute in the Dora Grossa street.
My sister Sylvia, on leaving her schoolhouse, saw the whole affair, and came home thoroughly terrified. This is what took place. Franti, with his cap of waxed cloth tilted over one ear, ran up on tiptoe behind Stardi, and, in order to provoke him, gave a tug at his sister's braid of hair, a tug so violent that it almost threw her on the ground. The little girl uttered a cry; her brother whirled round. Franti, who is much taller and stronger than Stardi, thought:—
“He'll not utter a word, or I'll break his skin for him!”
But Stardi never stopped to think. Small and ill-made as he is, he flung himself with one bound on that big fellow, and began to beat him with his fists. He could not hold his own, however, and he got more than he gave. There was no one in the street but girls, so there was no one who could separate them. Franti flung him on the ground; but the other instantly got up, and then down he went on his back again, and Franti pounded away as though upon a door. In an instant he had torn away half an ear, and bruised one eye, and drawn blood from Stardi's nose. But Stardi was gritty; he roared:—
“You may kill me, but I'll make you pay for it!”
Down went Franti again, kicking and cuffing, and Stardi under him, butting and striking out with his heels. A woman cried from a window, “Good for the little one!” Others said, “It is a boy defending his sister; courage! give it to him well!” And they screamed at Franti, “You bully! you coward!” But Franti had grown savage; he held out his leg; Stardi tripped and fell, with Franti on top of him.
“Surrender!”—“No!”—“Surrender!”—“No!”
In a flash Stardi was on his feet. He clasped Franti by the body, and, with one furious effort, hurled him to the pavement, and fell upon him with one knee on his breast.
“Ah, the villain! he has a knife!” shouted a man, rushing up to disarm Franti.
But Stardi, beside himself with rage, had already grasped Franti's arm with both hands, and bitten the fist so fiercely that the knife fell from it, and the hand began to bleed. More people had run up in the meantime, separated them and set them on their feet. Franti took to his heels in a sorry plight, while Stardi stood still, with his face all scratched, and with a black eye,—but triumphant,—beside his weeping sister, while some of the girls collected the books and copy-books which were strewn over the street.
“Bravo, little fellow!” said the bystanders; “he defended his sister!”
But Stardi, who was thinking more of his satchel than of his victory, instantly set to examining the books and copy-books, one by one, to see whether anything was missing or injured. He rubbed them off with his sleeve, looked over his pen, put everything back in its place, and then, quiet and serious as usual, he said to his sister, “Let us go home quickly, for I have a hard lesson before me.”