Studs Lonigan (38 page)

He caught up with the other guys, and sobbed that he was worried because he thought that he still might have that dose of his, and he was afraid that if he had any kids, it would make them blind, or even nuttier than Kilarney.

“Blah!” mouthed Kenny.

“Say, for Christ sake, will somebody drag that puppy home to his she-bitch,” Barney complained.

Paulie mumbled it was no fooling. He was worried because it might even mean that he'd have kids like Kenny Kilarney. He fell down. They had to carry him, and he wouldn't shut up.

“I'm drunk!” Paulie said emphatically, as he floundered beside Studs.

“I'm weak,” Studs said.

“I'm drunk, Studs.”

“Didn't it give you a headache,” Studs said, feeling his head, glad he had vomited it up.

“Christ, Studs, I'm drunk!”

Studs belched.

Paulie complained, too, because of that dose and having kids like Kilarney. He said he loved his wife. Studs wanted to mention Lucy, but he didn't get a chance. Paulie talked a leg off him. He left Paulie, and walked slowly home, his head pounding. He felt proud of having been drunk, and sorry, and rotten. He worried lest he would wake up the family. He started walking on a crack in the sidewalk, back and forth, to prove to himself that he could walk straight. And if anybody was up, they might smell his breath.

Getting in, he fumbled with his key, and it seemed like he was as noisy as an earthquake.

“That you, son?”

He stood still, like an apprehended burglar. His mother said she'd worried because it was late. He said he was all right, and had only been talking with some of the fellows. Luck! He quickly tumbled into bed, into its soft whiteness, protection from his headache, and thoughts, and everything.

STUDS LONIGAN,
Tommy Doyle, Red Kelly, Benny Taite, and Kenny Kilarney acted slightly aloof, while a gang of bloodthirsty kids swirled and milled about them reiterating the cry of “Let's go!” Clubs and sticks were brandished. Three Star Hennessey gritted his teeth, and slashed the air with a straight razor. Weary Reilley casually and publicly examined a twenty-two revolver. Kenny Kilarney put on a pair of brass knuckles, and permitted the punks to examine them. Studs Lonigan gripped a baseball bat, and swung as if stepping into a pitch. He said that when he cracked a dinge in the head, the goddamn eight ball would think it had been Ty Cobb slamming out a homer off Walter Johnson. Red Kelly unsheathed a hunting-knife, and vowed that he was ready. Andy Le Gare tried to tell everyone that in close fighting they should kick the niggers in the shins. Tommy Doyle said the niggers were never going to forget the month of July, 1919. Studs said that they ought to hang every nigger in the city to the telephone poles, and let them swing there in the breeze. Benny Taite said that for every white man killed in the riots, ten black apes ought to be massacred. Red said that the niggers had caught Clackey Merton, from Sixty-first Street, down in the black belt, and slashed his throat from ear to ear, and plenty of niggers had to be slashed to pay for the death of Clackey. They lamented that Clackey was a victim of the riots. Fat Malloy started telling how the Regan Colts were marching into the black belt and knocking off the niggers. Andy said well the Fifty-eighth Street guys were going to do the same thing.

STUDS walked with Paulie and his Eileen towards the park, and he and Paulie gassed about the good old days. But it seemed stiff with her there, smiling politely at everything they said, even the things they kept exaggerating and making more than they actually had been, in order to make her think that they'd been great guys.

They talked about what the boys from Fifty-eighth Street had done in the race riots last month, and she acted horrified, but Studs guessed it was only put on. They told each other that the niggers needed a couple more riots.

Crossing South Park Avenue, Paulie took her elbow. Studs envied him, because she was his girl, his woman, and she slept with him, undressed in front of him, and he could do whatever he wanted with her body. It was something, having a woman all the time. When you walked down the street, with her on your arm, everybody could see she was yours and gave it to you whenever you wanted it. And you could bring her around to meet your friends, and let them see you got it, and they'd look her over, and envy you, seeing she had nice legs, a swell figure, enough meat on her in the right places. Maybe he did kind of wish he had a woman of his own, as nice and as hot as Paulie's with a good figure, and good-looking clothes like the blue suit she had on. Studs fell behind, pretending to pick up something, so he could get a look at her. She was hot-looking all right, with plenty of meat on her, nice tocus, slim ankle, and the fragment of leg between dress and ankle was the stuff too, fleshy and shapely. She was gorgeous to look at, to touch, to. . . .

It was swell out, just cool enough, with the park air smelling sort of cool; and the trees were green and leafy, their shadows falling in solid black now as it got dark. He looked at her again, then up at a tree, and in back of him; she must be catching on that he had to keep looking at her. What a sweet piece she must be!

She told Paulie about the new set of dishes she wanted; he didn't seem to be interested; Studs thought that part of things should be taken care of by the wife, and she shouldn't bother the guy about it. Same way at home, the old lady always had to tell the old man what she'd buy, and he didn't want to hear it.

“Going to have a football team in the fall, Studs?” Paulie asked, ignoring her as she harped about dishes.

“I think so. Looks like it will be pretty good.”

Maybe Paulie would say something to let her know he'd be captain and quarterback, and that he was one damn sweet football player. Next fall, she might even come out to one of the games and see for herself how good he was.

“You're not going to play, Paul?” she said, entreating.

“No.”

They walked along on the path that led from the entrance, and curved around to the left, past the boathouse.

Studs used to like to talk to Paulie; now, with his wife around, there didn't seem anything to talk about, and it didn't mean much; it was like stabbing in the dark to reach something when there was nothing to reach. Paulie was different.

“Think you'll be getting married?” Paulie asked, and Studs saw that his wife smiled condescendingly.

“No,” Studs said, luckily checking himself from putting a “hell” first; he'd just thought that it had its advantages, but then the way it kept a guy from his pals, the arguing, the kids later on, the time to come when your wife wouldn't be a hot hunk any more; there were both sides to it.

“You'll tumble some day,” Paulie said in the voice of experience.

“No danger,” Studs insisted, dismayed by her steady smile.

“It's always the ones talking like you who fall the hardest,” she said, smiling sweetly.

“You'll fall!” Paulie said confidently.

Studs enjoyed being the center of conversation like that. If it kept on, Paulie might say something like, how's Lucy, or, why don't you marry Lucy? Of course, he'd answer he didn't want to, but he didn't know if he did or not. And he'd shrug his shoulders don't-care-like when Eileen would ask who Lucy was, and Paulie would say she was a nice girl, Studs' girl. The whole business suddenly seemed goofy. Still, he waited to hear Paulie mention her name.

“Yes, Studs, some morning you'll just wake up to find yourself married.”

He forced another laugh. He tried to think of himself settling down with a wife. Himself getting up in the morning, kissing her, sitting down to be served breakfast, eating supper with her; himself coming home one night and telling the family he was going to be married, looking Fran in the face when he said it. He was glad he wasn't going through that kind of thing yet. But having a woman! Fellows saying Studs' woman. That was all right. Thinking about it, at least, was. They'd kid him, but it would only be fun and half jealousy on their part. Himself coming home in winter, she taking his shoes off, putting his slippers on, sitting and watching him with love while he read, doing things for him, and then, when it was cold out, going to bed, he taking her clothes off, she taking his off, getting all warmed up together. That would be better than hanging around the poolroom. But then, if she nagged! He had time, and there were both sides of it.

“Why so quiet?” asked Paulie.

“Ope, just looking around, and thinking about the team we'll have in the fall,” Studs hurriedly answered, feeling, though, as if Paulie had seen right into what he'd been thinking.

They sat on a bench near the circle with the fountain, where the path curved.

Studs noticed a doodish guy on the bench across from them. He was classily dressed, the kind of a bird who'd go over bigger with girls than fellows.

“Gee, it's a swell night,” Paulie said.

“I think I'll be dashing along,” Studs said.

“Hang around a while,” Paulie said.

He sat on the edge of the bench. Maybe they wanted to be alone. He wanted a girl, Lucy, a girl to be sitting with him on a bench, under the trees like this.

“Dear, it's perfectly grand here.”

“Swell,” Paulie said, looking up at the trees that roofed in the gathering darkness.

“Yeah,” muttered Studs abstractedly, raw with thoughts of himself and Lucy in the park, himself all open so that every thought and word seemed like they were touching an open cut inside him.

“Many's the times we had in this park, huh, Studs?”

“Yeah,” Studs said, observing that the guy seemed to be looking at her, wishing that Paulie would speak of some of the fights he had had.

He glanced down at Paulie, and saw that his wife had her legs crossed, showing her leg almost up to the knee. No wonder the guy looked. Couldn't blame the guy; hell, her legs were worth seeing all the way up. If he sat alone on a bench and saw a girl like her with legs crossed, he'd look for all he was worth. . . . But Paulie was his friend, and she was Paulie's wife. He liked Paulie and liked to stick with him; it was his duty to a friend to tell Paulie, and, if necessary, help him sock the guy. Anyway, he didn't like the bastard's looks. Some of the guys might be in the boathouse too, if they needed help, but they wouldn't. Studs turned to tell Paulie, but saw that he was on to it.

“See anything green?” asked Paulie.

The fellow didn't answer.

“Hey!” snarled Paulie.

“Paul!” she begged, touching his sleeve.

“Hey, you, I said: ‘See anything green?'” Paulie said, rising and brushing his wife's hand aside; Studs jumped up.

“The grass is green,” the fellow said, smiling good-naturedly, an expression of almost sick friendliness on his face.

“Buddy, there ain't room for all of us around here!”

“Yeah, fellow, shove on while you're all together!” Studs said.

“Paul, please . . . please, don't go fighting; he hasn't done a thing to you,” she pleaded, pulling at his coat.

“Shut up!” he snapped at her.

“It's healthier in that direction,” Studs said, pointing with his right hand.

The fellow, taller than Paulie, started to slink away. Paulie swung, catching him unexpectedly in the jaw from the side. The fellow staggered, then made a start to run. Paulie caught him, and jerked him around, for Studs, who drove him a fierce uppercut. The fellow punched and kicked back.

“Oh, you will, will you!” Paulie said, his wife screaming as her husband's fist drove into the bastard's mouth. It bled. He went down, and they kicked him. He went off, holding a handkerchief to his face.

“Brutes!” she said.

“Listen, bitch!” Paulie said.

A fellow asked what was the matter. Studs said the guy had monkeyed around with his pal's wife. The fellow said it was good for him. There was a lot of damn mashers like that, and they all needed a sock in the puss.

“And you listen to me. Any goddamn time you sit like you were then, showing off everything you own, there'll be trouble. My wife ain't acting like a whore in a public park when I'm around. Get that straight, and don't forget it!”

She cried, denying his accusation.