Studs Lonigan (46 page)

Captain Arnold turned, and staggered across the rolling deck, with waves washing foamily past him, into his cabin. While the door was opened to admit him, wind and water gushed in, a flickering candle almost died, and a whiskey glass tumbled off the table, to crash. In a bunk, Captain Arnold's timid Indian wife cowered like a small and frightened rabbit, her baby girl in her arms.

“Christ, he's a mean-looking brute,” Studs Lonigan whispered to Slug Mason, as Captain Arnold's scowl revealed his fangs.

“You said it.”

There was conversation, glowering hatred on the Captain's face, naked fear on the countenance of his wife. With wild animal ferocity in his eyes, Captain Arnold pointed demonstratively at the cabin door. The little Indian wife strained her baby girl more tightly to her bosom, huddled herself into a corner of the bunk, and shook her head. Her mouth opened in a scream as he approached her. He clutched her arm, and brutally yanked her out of the berth. He tore the baby from her, and dropped it in the berth, flinging her aside with such force that she catapulted against the cabin wall. Wrenching her arm, he pulled her out of the cabin, dragged her through the high, icy waves, and shoved her amongst the crew of outcast sailors who worked like demons amidst falling spars. A wave knocked her down, and she rolled to the edge of the ship. He struggled towards her, pulled her to her feet by the hair, and forced her back amongst the men. A falling spar cracked her head, and she fell. He commanded his sailors, while she lay unattended in a puddle, prey of the washing waves. Morgan staggered back to the cabin with her in his arms. He gently placed her in a berth, gave her whiskey, and carefully covered her with warm blankets. Through the long and stormy night, he tended her.

And came the dawn, calm and peaceful over the waters by the rock-bound coast of adventurous Alaska. The Indian wife lay at death's door. With her last forced words she begged that Morgan save the baby daughter from its heartless father. Captain Arnold entered the cabin, tore off his sou-wester, and guzzled whiskey. With a face as unfeeling as the sea, he watched his wife die.

“He's a bastard all right!” Studs muttered.

Morgan shook his head sadly as he gazed upon the tragic face of the dead woman. Gently, he covered it with a blanket. He turned and looked into the animalistic eyes of Captain Arnold, and saw a fiend in human form. An overpowering rage stirred him. He punched Arnold's jaw. Taken by surprise, the captain's head snapped back. He stumbled backwards to the wall. Arnold rushed at the brave, impetuous Morgan and stunned him with a blow. He grasped Morgan in his arms and hurled him into a corner. The baby cried. Captain Arnold, his powerful arms threatening, heavy-footedly approached. Morgan saw a murderous intent written on that beastly face. He clutched a club from the floor and when Captain Arnold was upon him, he leaped up, and crashed it on Captain Arnold's head.

“The little guy has guts,” Slug said with his mispronunciations.

Captain Arnold staggered backwards in a daze. Morgan clubbed him, until he toppled like a heavy, dropped sack of potatoes. He looked at the prostrate form of Captain Arnold, fearing that he had killed him. He took the baby, hustled out of the cabin, and escaped in a lifeboat.

Years passed, and much water ran under a crumbling wooden bridge. Seventeen years later, Morgan, now known as Jerome because he feared that he had murdered Captain Arnold, owned a general store in Flamingo, Alaska, where men still gambled their lives and souls with the dice of death, and sin for love and gold. Tenderly reared and named Gloria by Morgan, the baby girl had become a beautiful wild flower of Alaska. Not the faintest suspicion that she was a half-breed clouded her pure and innocent mind. She had been sent away to school, and on the day of her expected return, the Law came to Flamingo. The commanding officer of the contingent of soldiers was Lieutenant Ames Dubois, a cynical Southern aristocrat and Don Juan.

Morgan, now Jerome, feared that the soldiers might discover him to be the murderer of Captain Arnold. Morgan's friend, the half-breed Durer, feared them because he was engaged in fur-trading enterprises which they might halt. Durer loved Gloria, the wild flower of Alaska, but she reciprocated only with the affection she would have borne a brother. An even greater fear developed for both men when Lieutenant Ames Dubois captivated Gloria's innocent heart. For they perceived that the officer was only a trifler. And Gloria was young, and as lovely and as innocent as the flowers and sunshine of the springtime.

Then one day, a strange ship put into the harbor, apparently for repairs and supplies. When the captain strode into the general store like a self-confident bully, Morgan, now Jerome, recognized him. He recognized Morgan, now Jerome. Morgan, now Jerome, was relieved of the fear that he was a murderer only to have it supplanted by the fear that Captain Arnold might demand his daughter, and tell her that she was a half-breed. Smiling, and just as innocent, she ran into the store, and back of the counter to the rear, girlishly pecking a kiss on the forehead of Morgan, now Jerome. The captain asked who she was, and Morgan, now Jerome, replied that it was his own daughter. The captain nodded his head sceptically.

But he bided his time.

And one day while Morgan, now Jerome, lived harassed with his new fears, gold was discovered. Gloria quickly persuaded Ames to go out with her and stake some promising claims. As they journeyed, Ames attempted to climax his pursuit of Gloria, and ruin her. She resisted girlishly, suddenly touching the deeper and better chords of his nature.

“Pretty broad, all right,” Studs mumbled.

“If the guy gets her, he's gettin' something,” Slug said.

Ames changed from a trifler and a Don Juan into a genuine lover. She promised him her hand. They sacredly sealed their newly awakened love by a kiss under a snow-laden spreading chestnut tree. Happy as two larks, they staked some of the best claims.

In the meantime, Morgan, now Jerome, and Durer had gone out to stake ground. On their return, the happy news of love was broken. In the midst of the congratulations and new-found joyousness, Captain Arnold nefariously revealed to Gloria that she was a half-breed.

“He's a rat, all right!” Studs whispered.

His interest was completely absorbed. He was, and he wasn't and he was Ames. He felt, that that rat, Arnold, would crimp up all the plans. Ames had to get the girl. Usually in the pictures the hero did. But it was exciting, and wracking waiting, and he was strung tight.

Ames and Gloria walked moodily off by themselves, their faces saddened with this new rift that had been cast, like a menacing cloud, between them. He pleaded with her that this new revelation, that no revelation, could chill the ardor of his love for her.

Just like Studs had so often pleaded with Lucy in his mind.

She was stunned, and it did matter to her. One small tear crawled from her eye, slid down her cheek. And another. Gloria wept. Ames' tender solicitations and persuasions were vain. She turned and walked slowly away, and Ames' face gleamed disappointment as he watched her disappear beyond the snow-laden spreading chestnut tree where they had sealed their love with a sacred kiss.

Gloria returned home, and quickly packed a few belongings, determined that duty demanded that she go off with her father, no matter if he were a vicious brute. Durer, discovering her note, followed. Ames returned to the general store, and he too set out to apprehend and save his beloved. In a threatened icefloe, Captain Arnold set sail with his daughter. The ship was jammed in an ice field. The crew deserted. Captain Arnold and Gloria were alone on the ice. Separately, Durer and Ames stumbled and fought their way over the slippery ice. Heavy, blinding Alaska snow fell. Ames slipped into the water, and clung tenaciously for life to the precarious ice.

In the cabin of the ship, Arnold looked with eyes of lust on Gloria. She was his daughter. But he was a brute.

Like a bastard, Studs watched, hoping that Arnold would be successful, and rape her. No, he didn't. He thought of himself as Ames, coming to the vessel in the nick of time.

Arnold trapped her in a corner, and imprinted a long and filthy kiss upon her unsoiled lips. She squirmed free. He trapped her in another corner. She dodged under his arm, her sleeve ripping, and fled behind a table. He faced her with eyes of lust.

Studs could just see him grabbing her, flinging her on the bunk, and . . .

Outside, in an Alaskan blizzard, Ames crawled back onto the ice, inch by inch. Durer reached the ship, staggering from his exertions. He busted into the cabin, just as the powerful arms of Captain Arnold encircled the girlish waist of Gloria. Arnold flung her aside, and her left breast almost, but not quite, fell out of her torn dress. The dent where her breasts commenced, and about half an inch of warm bare flesh were revealed.

Durer punched Arnold. Arnold fell. He rose and drove Durer to the other side of the cabin. Durer charged, and with a punch knocked Arnold back three feet. Arnold lifted the table, and brought it down on Durer's head. Durer toppled.

His shirt torn, his unshaven face a mask out of Hell, his hairy arms and chest visible, he moved, like a gorilla, upon Gloria. Ames regained the ice, and staggered into the face of the Alaskan blizzard with the courage of desperation, borne of the flames of a powerful love. He fell, arose, fell, arose, rushed undauntedly onwards. Arnold drew the exhausted, dishevelled Gloria near to him. Ames staggered through the cabin door, snow flying from his clothes. He leaped upon Captain Arnold, and the men fought, knocking each other down, driving each other back and forth across the cabin, while Gloria stood trembling with her hands flat upon her cheeks. The men clinched, and Captain Arnold attempted to gouge Ames. Ames knocked him into the wall. Rebounding, he grasped a club. Ames dodged low, and twisted his wrist. The club dropped to the floor. The men went down, and rolled over and over, punching fiercely. They arose. Arnold hurled a chair at Ames. Ames ducked, and the chair broke against the wall. They staggered at each other. Ames warded off Arnold's blow, and connected with a last punch, into which he put all of his ebbing strength. Arnold fell unconscious. Durer shook his head, regained consciousness. They bundled Gloria in warm blankets, and carried her back across the ice, in the Alaskan blizzard. Arnold remained to die a villain's lonely death in the ice-jammed ship.

Back at the general store of Morgan, now Jerome, the three friends enjoyed a happy and delicious dinner which Gloria had prepared. After dinner, she sat on Ames' knee, and the men smoked. Suddenly, Durer arose and said goodbye. He walked out and away to a new village, singing, but with a heart painted in the deep dyes of sorrow and unrequited love. Ames and Gloria saddened as they looked out the window to see him disappear. But love overpowered their sadness. They walked out into the glory of an Alaskan twilight, with the fading sun glowing over the snow. Under a tree, in the snow, before the setting sun, they kissed.

And under an Alaskan sunset, Studs Lonigan kissed Gloria, and kissed Lucy.

He made his exit with Slug, wishing there were more of it.

In front of the Michigan Theatre Studs guessed that he'd get coffee an' with Slug near the show, and then go straight home. Slug wanted to go down to Fifty-eighth first and see if the lads were around. Studs said all right he'd go along, but he didn't want to be out late because he needed rest; hadn't had a decent night's sleep all week. They crossed Garfield Boulevard, and walked south on Indiana Avenue. Studs felt close to Slug, as if Mason were his best friend. They seemed to understand each other, and when they were alone, they didn't say much; but there seemed to be something deeper than words could express between them. Studs wondered did Slug have the same kind of thoughts that he had.

Exciting picture, full of action; peachy fight at the end, it was. And the broad had been a knockout. When Arnold went at her, her boobs had almost fallen out. If they only let the boobs really fall out in scenes like that. If they could show everything in movies. Wished that she had gotten her clothes wet; they would have stuck to her body, and it would have been the next thing to seeing her stripped. Would be plenty of delights marrying a jane like that. He kissed her; married her; went to bed with her . . .

“Good picture,” Slug mumbled.

“Yeah.”

“Have one,” Slug said, offering his pack of Camels to Studs.

Studs wondered what it would be like, hunting gold in Alaska. Yukon Lonigan in the gold fields. Taking a roulette game in Flamingo, Alaska, for a buggy ride. Shooting his way out to keep the gold he'd won. The picture made him want things like that, big dough, travel, broads as gorgeous as Gloria. The things he did, had no comparison with such a life; hanging around the poolroom, now and then a small-time crap game or round of poker; benders on Saturday night, and maybe a couple of times during the week; sometimes a can house. Nothing like it. And he could see himself returning from Alaska, with endless stories to tell, and his jeans sagging with dough. Knock everybody for a row then!

There were lots of things in life he'd been missing. He was doing a lot of the things he dreamed of doing when he'd been a kid. He wanted more and felt that somewhere there was something else for him in life, and it was the ticket that would satisfy the feeling he always got from the movies, from seeing a nice jane on the street, sometimes from walking in the park in summer and maybe looking at the sky, sometimes when walking home from work in the sunset.

Maybe if he married Lucy, it would turn out happy. Or some one like Gloria. If she and Lucy were the same girl! But what about when she would get old, and he'd want younger broads, and she had him tied home like a trained monkey in a zoo, and there'd be regiments of squawling brats coming along; he hated kids. He could just see himself parading the hall in the middle of the night, carrying a bawling baby, and maybe having the baby let go in his arms. But having a decent girl, who was your wife, must be different than being with whores or bums you took over to the park. Slug said all broads were the same. There had to be more to it than that, more than it was like in a can house, hurrying through with it and being disgusted afterwards. But was it worth having a jane sink the hooks into you, and handcuff your dough? He didn't know, but on summer nights when he saw guys out with their broads, he felt different about it than he pretended when he was with the guys.