Confederacy of Dunces, A - John Kennedy Toole [163]
“What?” Ignatius thundered. “Do you mean to tell me that you have been permitting some old man to paw all over you?”
“Claude’s a nice man. All he done is hold my hand a few times.”
The blue and yellow eyes crossed in anger. The paws closed over the ears so that he would not have to listen to more.
“Goodness only knows what unmentionable desires that man has. Please don’t tell me the whole truth. I would have a total breakdown.”
“Shut up!” Miss Annie screamed from behind her shutters. “You people are living on borrowed time in this block.”
“Claude ain’t smart, but he’s a nice man. He’s good to his family and that’s what counts. Santa says he likes the communiss because he’s lonely. He ain’t got nothing else to do. If he was to ax me to marry him this very minute, I’d say, ‘Okay, Claude.’ I would, Ignatius. I wouldn’t haveta think twice about it. I got a right to have somebody treat me nice before I die. I got a right not to haveta worry about where my next dollar’s coming from. When Claude and me went to get your clothes from that head nurse and she hands us over your wallet with almost thirty dollars in it, that was the last straw. All your craziness was bad enough, but keeping that money from your poor momma…”
“I needed the money for a purpose.”
“For what? To hang around with dirty women?” Mrs. Reilly lifted herself laboriously from Rex’s grave. “You ain’t only crazy, Ignatius. You mean, too.”
“Do you seriously think that Claude roué wants marriage?” Ignatius slobbered, changing the subject. “You’ll be dragged from one reeking motel to another. You’ll end up a suicide.”
“I’ll get married if I want to, boy. You can’t stop me. Not now.”
“That man is a dangerous radical,” Ignatius said darkly. “Goodness knows what political and ideological horrors lurk in his mind. He’ll torture you or worse.”
“Just who the hell are you to try to tell me what to do, Ignatius?” Mrs. Reilly stared at her huffing son. She was disgusted and tired, disinterested in anything that Ignatius might have to say. “Claude is dumb. Okay. I’ll grant you that. Claude is all the time worrying me about them communiss. Okay. Maybe he don’t know nothing about politics. But I ain’t worried about politics. I’m worried about dying halfway decent. Claude can be kind to a person, and that’s more than you can do with all your politics and all your graduating smart. For everything nice I ever done for you, I just get kicked around. I want to be treated nice by somebody before I die. You learnt everything, Ignatius, except how to be a human being.”
“It’s not your fate to be well treated,” Ignatius cried. “You’re an overt masochist. Nice treatment will confuse and destroy you.”
“Go to hell, Ignatius. You broke my heart so many times I can’t count them up no more.”
“That man shall never enter this house while I am here. After he had grown tired of you, he would probably turn his warped attentions on me.”
“What’s that, crazy? Shut up your silly mouth. I’m fed up. I’ll take care of you. You say you wanna take a rest? I can fix you up with a nice rest.”
“When I think of my dear departed father barely cold in his grave,” Ignatius murmured, pretending to wipe some moisture from his eyes.
“Mr. Reilly died twenty years ago.”
“Twenty-one,” Ignatius gloated. “So. You’ve forgotten your beloved husband.”
“Pardon me,” Mr. Levy said weakly. “May I speak with you, Mr. Reilly?”
“What?” Ignatius asked, noticing for the first time the man standing up on the porch.
“What you want with Ignatius?” Mrs. Reilly asked the man. Mr. Levy introduced himself. “Well, this is him in person. I hope you didn’t believe that funny story he give you over the phone the other day. I was too tired to grab the phone out his hands.”
“Can we all go in the house?” Mr. Levy asked. “I’d like to speak with him privately.”
“It don’t matter to me,” Mrs. Reilly said disinterestedly. She looked down the block and saw her neighbors watching them. “The whole neighborhood knows everything now.”
But she opened the front door and the three of them stepped into the