Pool_1

rilla," giving the "go" part long play, with hooting gorilla noises and hilarious laughter. Ted Bornstein, paying his college tuition as a lifeguard in the summer and as a professional arm wrestler during the winter school season - would take this cue to hold his disproportionate arms like a gorilla over his head - wrists hanging limply down - and waddle after the kids with a "hoo hoo hoo grunk grunk hoo hoo," as they all jumped on him, singing "You a gorilla. A big hairy gorilla. Haa ha haaa." Lou the gorilla and the pile of children on him usually wound up in the water in a big splash. Broad Ted, having so much body hair, was a real curiosity to these slim kids with hairless bodies. He played to it, letting the little ones sit on his lap and do corn rows on his chest. It was fascinating and it had style. That differentness, his, was outclassed by the style. It was also funny. Frank laughed every time he saw it. If Frank laughed, then it was OK to laugh. If any person had an unusual characteristic, not seen before, the glances were to Frank. His feigned blindness to it made it totally invisible. Totally. It went unspoken and unexplained. It was outside the constructed reality of the unity, the singularity, like the rags. Nonexistent. Aver was a mountain. If you saw a mountain range in the distance, moving, it might be Frank Aver, forested by children. They hung from his arms, his shoulders, sat on his head, and clutched to his legs as he walked unperturbed on his rounds. We once counted thirteen children riding this hulk of a man. From this foliage of children's bodies, an arm would rise and point, "Shondra, don't let that fool grope you," and sweeping the clinging and laughing kids to another gesture, " You get your hands where they belong, Lyle, or I'll have a walk with you!" "Wooooo," the cry went up from the trees and bushes on this mountain. Mr. Aver had warned. You did not want to have a walk with Frank, not that kind.