Studs Lonigan (73 page)

“Listen, I was telling these dumbbells that there's a fellow named Cardigan who beat Locke of Iowa running backwards. Remember you told me about it. This Cardigan beat Locke in the hundred yards, running backwards, and he made a backward dive over the tape to nose Locke out. Remember you told me, Studs?”

“You heard Father Shannon, didn't you? Well, for Christ sake, leave it alone before it's too late.”

“Hink wouldn't have a leg to stand on after that sermon,” Tommy said, as they trailed back to the corner.

“He sure laid it on thick,” Les said.

“That's the only way to do it,” said Red.

“Well, then, let's see if you guys cut out the bottle after the mission is over, and quit adding to the revenue of whore houses,” Barney said.

“Say, Barney, at a time like this, when we're all making the mission, there's no place for kidding. I know we all done things, but the flesh is weak, and that's why we're making the mission. It's to help us be more decent. We all know he told us the truth, and we all know that at times we've been pretty filthy bastards. But we're going to try not to from now on,” Red said.

“Yeah,” Studs added, as if with deep reflection.

“He didn't tell you nothing I ain't been telling you for years,” Barney said.

“This is serious,” Red crisply said.

They had coffee an' in the Greek restaurant. Coming out, Studs told about hearing Christy talk with Davey.

“Why don't he go back to Greece where he belongs,” Barney said.

“I think we ought to boycott the restaurant until Gus gets rid of him,” Red said.

“We'll make the punks do it too,” Studs said.

“We don't want radicals like that in this neighborhood. Father Shannon showed just what they are,” Kelly said.

“Well, finished with religion yet?” Slug asked, coming towards them.

“Gus is not there now. But I'm going to speak to him tomorrow. If he wants our trade, he'll get a Greek waiter in there who isn't radical,” Red said.

Slug told about the beer he had in Colisky's saloon down the street. Barney said all the boys would be back having it on Sunday night. Red said not this time, and asked the boys how about it. They agreed. Slug said that for him, seeing was believing, and that he had never given that religion stuff a go because you couldn't live up to it.

Red was still trying to explain religion to Slug when Studs started home. He saw Phil kissing Loretta in the hallway, and walked back towards the corner. It was a clear fall night. Even the Jew had a girl to kiss. Aw, hell, it was all the bunk. He turned back from the corner and took his time. Phil came along, whistling gaily. Studs started whistling in a don't-give-a-damn manner.

“Say, Studs, wasn't it swell? He's the best speaker I ever heard,” Phil said.

“You got what he said, didn't you?”

“Sure. Why?”

“Well, now, don't try any monkey business.”

“You know I wouldn't, Studs. You know I think too much of Loretta, and she's too fine a girl. If I did, she'd probably give me the gate. And anyway, I wouldn't because I think too much of her, and I'm not a sonofabitch.”

“You got your warning,” Studs said, walking on.

“I saw Gus last night. He gave that radical bastard his pay when he came down tonight, and he's through. There's a new man in there. I told Mike we'd boycott the place, and that if that wasn't enough, wreck that bastard,” Red said.

“Good stuff,” Studs said.

“How was the church tonight, boys?” asked Slug.

“Not so good. Father Shannon only gave the short talk tonight, and his partner, Father Kandinsky, gave the sermon. He's a bit dull,” Red said.

Slug muttered an “oh,” as if he understood. Tommy remarked that there wasn't as many as last night, and that no priest drew them like Father Shannon. Les said Father Shannon was an artist.

“Whenever he gives a mission in this town, there's a lot of people, particularly girls, who are Father Shannon fans, and travel all over the city to hear him,” Studs said.

“He's worth hearing,” Tommy said.

“Notice how the girls and women go for him,” said Red.

“My old lady thinks he's a saint,” Tommy said.

“Mine too,” Studs said.

“Speaking of women, I know a new girlie that sure can guarantee to keep the sailor warm when it's zero outside,” Slug said.

“Save it, Slug,” Red said.

“Jesus, you guys must have got religion,” Slug said, shaking a puzzled head.

“Studs went to confession,” Red said.

“Yeah, Foul-Mouth Lonigan has got to keep his mind pure until Sunday morning. But then, I'll bet the bastard makes up for it,” Barney said.

“Nix, Keefe,” said Red.

“Sure, go ahead. I'll tell all of you, you have such filthy minds that I'm risking my immortal soul associating with you,” Barney said, getting laughs.

Slug said he hadn't gotten the dope about Studs straight. Red explained that Studs had confessed his sins, and that he had to keep his soul in the state of grace by not committing any new sins between now and Sunday morning when he received Holy Communion.

“You mean he told the priest about all the parties we have been having?”

“Yeah.”

“Wasn't the priest jealous?”

They tried to explain it to Slug, but he finally went back to the saloon for a drink. Red said that Phil Rolfe had meant things and was really baptized. Studs said sure, he went the whole hog. Stan said he was sweet on Studs' sister. Studs nodded, frowning. Tommy said he hadn't realized Phil was so intelligent as to really accept the faith. Red said to wait and see how much he accepted it before tossing bouquets at him. You should never trust a Jew.

“For Christ sake, Fat, where you been?” asked Studs.

“Hell, I moved out of this nigger neighborhood,” Fat Malloy answered.

“Where you living?”

“Out near Sixty-seventh and Stony.”

“My old man's thinking of selling the building, and buying one out somewhere south,” Studs said.

“You belong in a white man's neighborhood,” Fat said.

“What you doing, Malloy?” asked Doyle.

“Down at the water works with my old man.”

“I been thinking of going into the political game myself,” said Tommy.

Fat pulled out a poem about gonorrhea. Studs said he went to confession. Fat said he was sorry. The other boys looked at it privately. It turned Studs' mind to girls. He started home to avoid the occasion of sin. He stepped on sidewalk cracks to keep his mind off women. Christ, he wanted one. He remembered how, as a kid, he used to count the cracks on a sidewalk as he walked. Those days. A girl walked ahead of him. Young. He liked young girls, something about them when they were just budding, when they were the age Lucy had been that day the punks had had the tin-can fight, the age that that bitch, Nellie Cullen, had been. But it had been nice with her, even if he had been dosed. Jesus, he wanted a girl that age again. Like the one in front of him. He would take her over to the park, kiss her, gradually work her up, pat her head, kiss her hair, her eyes, nose, mouth, ears, neck, feel her back and her boobs on the outside, stick his hand inside her dress, french-kiss her, grab under her dress. . . . He came to realizing what kind of thoughts these were. But he hadn't done it willfully. They had been temptations, not sins. They had come on him without his being aware of them. A sin had to be a grievous matter and have sufficient reflection and full consent of the will before it was mortal. He hadn't thought of having these thoughts or willed them. They had just snuck up on him. He couldn't keep his eyes off the girl. He wanted to swear, do something. And he had to keep himself in the state of grace all day tomorrow, until Sunday morning. He counted his steps, and avoided landing on the cracks in the sidewalk.

On Sunday morning at the eight o'clock mass, St. Patrick's Church was jammed with young people. Father Shannon, in his brief sermon, said it was an edifying sight indeed to see how successful this mission had been, to see so many young men and young women doing the honorable, courageous thing by marching up to the altar to receive their God. It was the kind of a demonstration that made himself and Father Kandinsky, and also Father Gilhooley and his assistants, take renewed heart and courage, because they realized that they did not labor in the Lord's Vineyard in vain, did not sow seed on fallow ground.

Three priests and over twenty minutes were required to give out Holy Communion. Studs went to the altar rail with a free conscience. He had gone back to confession again on Saturday, even though everybody had kidded him. He was certain that way that he was in a state of grace, after the thoughts he'd had Friday night. All the hoods received and Phil Rolfe knelt amongst them receiving his first Holy Communion.

In the afternoon, the church was crowded for the formal closing of the mission. Father Kandinsky delivered a short sermon, lauding them for their good works and intentions of the past week, and telling them about the mission collection that would be taken up before they left the church. He followed it with a short exposition of the sins in violation of each commandment, but he said little exciting about the sixth commandment. They lit their candles, and followed him, word by word, in a renewal of their baptismal vows. They received the Papal Blessing and Plenary Indulgences, and Benediction of the Most Blessed Sacrament followed. After it, the mission was over.

On Sunday evening, the boys gathered around the corner. Slug suggested a drink. They refused. They hung around, gassing, and smoking, looking at the drug store clock, wondering what the hell to do. Again they refused to drink with Slug. They hung around. Slug kept insisting that one beer wouldn't hurt them. They went down the street to Colisky's saloon and had a beer. They had another. Before they realized it, they were drinking gin. They got drunk and raised hell around the corner. They hung around until Slug talked them into going to a new can house, a small place. They went and had the girlies, and gypped them out of their pay. It was a big night.

A DISTURBING
sense of loneliness caused Danny O'Neill to close the copy of
The Theory of Business Enterprise
which he was studying for one of his courses at the University. The elation of intellectual discovery and stimulation, the keenness of feeling mental growth within himself, the satisfaction of having uncovered additional proofs to buttress his conviction that the world was all wrong, which he had derived from his reading, suddenly eased.

His sense of loneliness seemed to grow upon him. The air compressor behind him suddenly whirred, and he jumped with that fear that is caused by unexpected distraction in a moment of over-sensibility. He sat down again. He opened a book of readings in English literature, and read
The Garden of Proserpine.
His realization that death was the end terrified him. Then he was lulled, and he imaged a world when the last human had died, a world of tall grass over the gravestones of humanity, with winds sweeping the grass, through which the sunlight spread to reflect colors perceivable by no eye. Death seemed like a sensuous falling into sleep. But it was not so. It was the last slap in one's face, a final defeat, disgusting, disintegrating, insensate. His courage ebbed. Who was he to dream of doing things? What did he know
?
What had he accomplished
?