The other day, as I was watching the Newises 1992 film, I realized that Crutchy is the only newsies that Wiesel seems to not get too annoyed with. And I so desperately want to believe that he is at least somewhat good at heart, so here is a scene set in the musical-verse, because I like that one better. XD
(Also, I wanted to post something and this was my only idea at the moment.)
Enjoy!
-Marcelle
He sees the boy hit the ground and does not say a word.
It should be wrong of him, Alex Wiesel knows, to simply let this happen. But what had he said earlier?
It's a beautiful day to crack some heads.
Words he knows now that he does not mean.
So he stands back and watches as the nice boy tries in vain to scamble back from the dominating figure that is Warden Snyder. He's the one they call Crutchie, Wiesel remembers, and this boy is the only one to ever bother to pronounce his name correctly. But Crutchie is getting nothing in return for his kindness today.
Wiesel remains motionless from his place near the distribution counter, his sacred post, while Synder's hands clench around the boy's crutch. He immediately connects the dots, and the picture they form does not exactly please him. Some part of him recognizes how simply, unbearably wrong this is all is, but it is quickly shut down by the parts of him that know to say anything would be his own downfall
If word were to get back to Pulitzer, the big boss upstairs, that Wiesel had aided a pathetic striker, an enemy to the cause, it would be the end of him. Termination, effective immediately. And he can't allow that, not with his wife due to bear their first child any day now. But, he thinks solmenly, their child could grow up to be just ike Crutchie - just as aimabe, just as respectful. Only perhaps a bit more lucky.
The poor newsboy is drawing in staggered breaths, pleading, letting out sounds that seem so much like sobs that they almost physically hurt Wiesel. As though he was the one being beaten with a crutch. But between it all, still Crutchie repeats one name.
Jack.
That infernal Jack Kelly, that meance to society who Wiesel knows is on the fast track to nowhere. That kid is too much trouble for his own good, and a fleeting second goes by in which Wisel wishes the street rat were on the ground instead. But the moment passes, and he knows that, for all his faults, Wiesel does not wish this upon anyone. After all, he knows that if he and Mary hadn't taken in her sister's children, it could easily be Morris and Oscar on the run now, or lying curled up in a protective but ultimately useless ball as Crutchie is. He knows that the tables could very well be turned.
But they are not. And Wisel has seen many things today that he wishes he hadn't.
He wishes he hadn't seen that danged Racetrack Higgins dashing down an alley with the police on his tail.
That sweetalker Romeo slugged in the face.
Those bratty new kids stuck in the middle of it all, the younger one thrown in a trash can.
Most of all, he wishes he could replace the scene in front of him with anything else.
"It's off to the Refuge for you, little man."
"No! No, no, please! Jack!"
Wiesel blocks out the shouts and turns away. He can do nothing but his job. To interfere is to put his own family ar risk, a mistake he is in no way inclinded to make. And these boys are simply newsies. Nobodies. Expendable.
But the knowledge does not silence the cries that still ring in his ears.