Studs Lonigan (24 page)

They were shocked, but they admired Weary tremendously. They acted casual and gave him some advice. He showed them his rusty twenty-two, and said he needed bullets. Paulie said it might be a little dangerous carrying a loaded gat around, but Weary didn't care. Studs wished that he could walk dramatically out of the house like Weary did; he told himself that he might some day. Paulie asked Weary what he'd been doing, and Weary said he had been hangin' out at White City; he'd picked up a couple of nice janes there. One of them was eighteen and didn't live at home, and wanted him to live with her. They looked at Weary. Weary was a real adventurous kid, after all was said and done, even if he was something of a bastard. Suddenly Weary left, walking toward Fifty-seventh. They watched him. He met a girl . . . it was Iris . . . and the two of them disappeared in her entrance way.

“Well, I say she's no good,” Studs said.

“Well, I'll be damned,” said Paulie, scratching his head.

They looked at each other, knowingly, expressing with their faces what even the lousiest words they could think of to call Iris couldn't express.

“Some day I'm gonna up and bust that jane right in her snoot,” said Paulie.

“And a guy I licked . . . I ought to hang a couple more on him,” Studs said.

“Yeh,” said Paulie.

Studs wished to hell there were more swear words in the list so he could use them to curse the world.

Studs had stayed in the bathroom too long, as he was staying most of these days. The old man bellowed that dinner was ready. Studs came out, feeling relieved. He muttered a hasty act of contrition, promising God and the Blessed Virgin that he would try his hardest not to break the sixth commandment by thought, word or deed.

Sunday dinner of roast beef and mashed potatoes was already on the table; the family was seated.

As Studs sat down, the old lady said that they ought to say grace once in a while, thanking God that they were well off and happy and so much better off than most families. The old man agreed, and he said patriarchially:

“Well, Martin, you say grace!”

“Grace!” said Martin.

They laughed. Then Loretta said grace. The two parents insisted that hereafter grace would be said before and after each meal.

“I say this: if you keep God in the home, active and real, you'll have a happier home and can get along better in all you do,” the old man said oracularly.

“You say the truth,” echoed Mrs. Lonigan.

The old man carved the meat. He spoke to Studs as he sliced. He asked Studs why he was late for dinner. He said Studs was always late for dinner. Everybody else got to the bathroom early enough, so that they could be at the table when dinner was announced. He said that he spent good money for food, and that Studs' mother slaved over a hot stove so that they could have a decent meal. He and the mother both had some right to demand gratitude and respect for this. Studs said that he didn't see nothing wrong in having stopped to wash his hands; and his father, starting into rag-chewing, put Studs in a mood of opposition, made him feel that he was in the right, made him believe that he had delayed only to wash his hands, and that his father was being inconsiderate and un-understanding. The old man said that there had been plenty of time before to wash his hands. Studs said that he didn't see why there was any kicking. He was at the table now, and nothing had happened by his stopping to wash his hands. The old man told him to suppose that the meat had gotten cold. But it didn't get cold, Studs said. Lonigan told him that it might have gotten cold. Frances said that she wished the Sunday quarreling could be stopped. She was tired of sitting down to a Sunday dinner and being forced to listen to this interminable ragging. Old man Lonigan said that there wouldn't be no quarreling if everybody did what was right. He said that he was boss of the household, and that as long as he remained boss of the household there were certain rules that would be observed, and one was that everybody must be at the table on time. It got Studs sore. The old man was always pulling that stuff. Studs said that so far as he was concerned, he wouldn't eat Sunday dinner if there was going to be the same fighting all the time. Frances said that she agreed with Studs. Mrs. Lonigan said that the name was William. The old man said that they could take or leave the rules of the household. Martin asked for meat. Loretta said that the dinner would be cold if it wasn't served soon. She said that there was awful much talking. The old man told her to be more respectful because little children should honor their parents and be seen and not heard. Passing Martin's filled plate down, he assured them that he was a good father. He said he asked very little from them. Frances and Studs looked tiredly at each other, and didn't say anything. They awaited their plates, and then they concentrated on eating.

“This is fine, mama,” the old man said, jamming roast beef into his mouth.

“I like it,” said Martin.

“Any more for anyone?” said the old man.

“Me,” said Martin.

“You got hookworm,” the old man said, taking Martin's plate.

Finally, the old boy said, smiling expansively:

“Well, I'm filled. I ate my share.”

The others said they had had their fill.

Coffee and ice cream were served, and they talked lazily.

The mother changed the stream of conversation, and said:

“William, I wish that you wouldn't be staying out so late.”

“Yeh, Bill, we told you about that once before,” the old man said.

Bill told himself that he was almost fifteen, and that he ought to have some rights. But what the hell could a guy say to an old man like his? He wished he had an old man like Johnny O'Brien did.

“And, William, I know you don't like me to mention this, but you're still young yet, and can't decide. I do wish you would pray to ask God if you have a vocation or not, and next month start in and make the nine first Fridays. Now that is the least you can do for Almighty God who sacrificed His only begotten Son for you on the cross of Calvary.”

“All right,” Studs said, knowing the best thing to do with his parents was to agree with them and let it go at that. His mother harped so much on it that he thought maybe he did have a vocation. But he tried not to think of it, when he could do so, without putting the thought out of his head deliberately, because, well, there was ... Lucy.

“Now, Mary, you know the boy hasn't a vocation. You're putting things in his head, and maybe you'll go and make a priest out of him when I'll be needing him, and then he is not meant for the priesthood, and you know, Mary, it is as bad to send one in that hasn't a vocation as it is to keep away one who really has the call. You know, Mary, there's many the unhappy priest who don't belong in the ranks and is there because his good mother unthinkingly made a priest out of him.”

“Patrick, you know I'm not doing anything of the sort. I'm only trying to put the boy in the right spirit, so he can decide whether or not he has the call.”

“But, Mary . . .”

It started them off again. This time Loretta interrupted the argument to say that she had seen Studs, she meant
William,
hitching on a motor truck. The old lady shuddered, blessed herself and called on Jesus, Mary and Joseph. The old man said it was dangerous, and that Bill ought to be careful and try and have his fun doing less dangerous things. It might seem brave to hitch on trucks, but it wouldn't if Bill came home with a broken leg. Studs glowered at Loretta, and told her she would do well by minding her own business. He was reprimanded for this. Then Loretta said that she had also seen him taking a puff of that terrible Tommy Doyle's cigarette over in Carter Playground the other day. The old lady cried, and spoke of the proverb: tell me your friends, and I'll tell you who you are. She said William was too well educated to associate with such toughs. She said that smoking was a sin against God. Studs asked why; he said that men smoked. The old man said that smoking stunted a boy's growth, ruined his health, disrupted his moral sense, and was against . . . nature. He lit a long stogy. Frances said smoking was nasty, and Studs said nobody asked her for her two cents. Mrs. Lonigan said that it might give him TB. Studs kept wishing they would can the sermon. He asked them to cut it out, and he was reminded of the commandment to honor thy father and thy mother. He said he had some rights. The blah went back and forth.

When they arose from the table, grace was forgotten.

The old man went into the parlor, and put Cal Stewart's account of how Uncle Josh joined the Grangers on the Victrola. He listened to it and laughed heartily. Then he made a decision, and called Studs into the parlor alone.

“Bill, don't you think you ought to keep going to confession regularly?” he said.

“Yeh.”

“When's the last time you were there?”

“May,” said Studs.

It was April, but he could get away with telling the old man it was May.

“At St. Patrick's you had your sodality to remind you and keep you going regular. Now, it's up to you, and you got to make the effort yourself . . . Now, Bill, I want you to promise me you'll go next Saturday,” the old man said.

Studs promised.

A pause.

The old man's face reddened. He started to speak, paused, blushed and said:

“Bill, you're gettin' older now, an' . . . well, there's somethin' I want to tell you. You see, well, it's this way, after a manner of speaking, you see, now the thing is quite delicate after a manner of speaking but you see, I'm your father and it's a father's duty to instruct the son, and you see now if you get a little itch . . . well you don't want to start . . . rubbin' yourself . . . you know what I mean . . . because such things are against nature, and they make a person weak and his mind weak and are liable even to make him crazy, and they are a sin against God; and then too, Bill . . . I wish you'd sort of wait a little while before you started in smokin' . . .”

Silence. The boy and the father looking out at the lazy day, which was suddenly robbed of sunlight by a float of clouds. Studs felt self-conscious; he was ashamed of his body; he needed air and sunlight. Maybe if he ran he'd forget his body, or like it again, because running was good.

Studs promised not to smoke. Why the hell not? The old man would maybe give him a little extra spending money. The old man was glad, shook hands with him, as man to man, and gave Studs six bits. Studs pocketed the dough and got his cap. The old man read the Sunday paper. Studs went out. He felt better in the open air, and walked along, snappy; he wasn't so ashamed of his body. He felt the seventy-five cents in his jeans. After a short debate with his conscience he lit a fag, and let it hang from the corner of his mouth. He told himself that he was tough, all right. He arranged his cap at an angle. He thought about Iris, and he wished her old lady was out, and he could go up there this afternoon. He remembered what the old man said about that thing making you crazy, and it bothered him. He tried his shutter trick to get rid of the thoughts, but it was hard. He walked fast and kept thinking his mind was a shutter, closing on these thoughts, until finally he got rid of them. He went over in front of the pool room, and spent the afternoon smoking cigarettes and listening to the lads talking.

One afternoon, when Studs missed the guys from Fifty-eighth Street, he wandered back around Indiana Avenue and met Helen Shires. She said hello to him, but he felt self-conscious, and said hello back looking away and watching the clouds. He noticed some iodine on her left hand. He could ask what was the matter, and that would keep the talk off of himself not being around there any more. He asked her what had happened.

“Oh, I got a sprained thumb. It was that damn Andy Le Gare. He got fresh, and one day came up and tickled the palm of my hand. Well, I'm not letting anybody try and get dirty around me, so I hauled off on him,” she said.

“You hung one on 'im, huh? Good!”

“Yeah, he started to hit me back, but I hit him again, and he changed his mind. But I sprained my thumb, and it's pretty sore,” she said.

“Gee, that's good, not the thumb, but your hanging a couple on goofy Andy,” said Studs, because he couldn't think of anything else to say.

She asked him where he had been keeping himself and how he was getting along. He did not seem as confused now, and he started bragging about the swell time he had been having. She invited him to her sister's playhouse, where it would be cooler and they could sit there and chew the fat.

“It's been dead around here,” she said.

“Yeh!” said Studs, glad that the street was dead, because it showed that he had been a wise guy in shaking his tail from Indiana.

“I been having a swell time,” he said.

“Well, I been swimming nearly every day. But my mother keeps naggin'. You know how a kid's old lady is. They want to do what's right, but they never understand a kid,” she said.

“My old lady wants me to be a priest. Can you imagine a guy like me bein' a priest?” said Studs as he lit a cigarette, just as Swan lit his cigarettes in front of the pool room.

Helen said that she wasn't getting on so well with the family, because they always kicked that she wasn't like other girls; they said she was too old to go on being a tomboy. Her old lady wanted her to do like other girls and give up playing ball, so that she could pay more attention to other things like studying music, dancing and dramatics. She said for her part, if she would be allowed to play basketball on the Englewood high school team, music, dramatics and dancing could all go hang. She said she was fed up on her old lady's nagging.