Confederacy of Dunces, A - John Kennedy Toole [27]
“No wonder I cannot support the Church,” Ignatius bellowed. “You should have been lashed right there in the confessional.”
“Now tomorrow, Ignatius, you go try some other place. They got plenty jobs in the city. I was talking to Miss Marie-Louise, the old lady works in the German’s. She’s got a crippled brother with a earphone. He’s kinda deaf, you know? He got himself a good job over by the Goodwill Industries.”
“Perhaps I should try there.”
“Ignatius! They only hire blind people and dummies to make brooms and things.”
“I am certain that those people are pleasant co-workers.”
“Let’s us look in the afternoon’s paper. Maybe they got a nice job in there!”
“If I must go out tomorrow, I am not leaving the house so early. I felt very disoriented all the while I was downtown.”
“You didn’t leave here until after lunch.”
“Still, I was not functioning properly. I suffered several bad dreams last night. I awoke bruised and muttering.”
“Here, listen to this. I been seeing this ad in the paper every day,” Mrs. Reilly said, holding the newspaper very close to her eyes. “‘Clean, hard-worker man…’”
“That’s ‘hard-working.’”
“‘Clean, hard-working man, dependable, quite type…’”
“‘Quiet type.’ Give that to me,” Ignatius said, snatching the paper from his mother. “It’s unfortunate that you couldn’t complete your education.”
“Poppa was very poor.”
“Please! I couldn’t bear to hear that grim story again at the moment. ‘Clean, hard-working, dependable, quiet type.’ Good God! What kind of monster is this that they want. I am afraid that I could never work for a concern with a worldview like that.”
“Read the rest, babe.”
“‘Clerical work. 25-35 years old. Apply Levy Pants, Industrial Canal and River, between 8 and 9 daily.’ Well, that’s out. I could never get all the way down there before nine o’clock.”
“Honey, if you gonna work, you gotta get up early.”
“No, Mother.” Ignatius threw the paper on top of the oven. “I have been setting my sights too high. I cannot survive this type of work. I suspect that something like a newspaper route would be rather agreeable.”
“Ignatius, a big man like you can’t pedal around on no bike delivering newspapers.”
“Perhaps you could drive me about in the car and I could toss the papers from the rear window.”
“Listen, boy,” Mrs. Reilly said angrily. “You gonna go try somewheres tomorrow. I mean it. The first thing you gonna do is answer this ad. You playing around, Ignatius. I know you.”
“Ho hum,” Ignatius yawned, exhibiting the flabby pink of his tongue. “Levy Pants sounds just as bad if not worse than the titles of the other organizations I have contacted. I can see that I am obviously beginning to scrape the bottom of the job market already.”
“Just you wait, babe. You’ll make good.”
“Oh, my God!”
II
Patrolman Mancuso had a good idea that had been given to him by, of all people, Ignatius Reilly. He had telephoned the Reillys’ house to ask Mrs. Reilly when she could go bowling with him and his aunt. But Ignatius had answered the telephone and screamed, “Stop molesting us, you mongoloid. If you had any sense, you would be investigating dens like that Night of Joy in which my beloved mother and I were mistreated and robbed. I, unfortunately, was the prey of a vicious, depraved B-girl. In addition, the proprietress is a Nazi. We barely escaped with our lives. Go investigate that gang and let us alone, you homewrecker.”
Then Mrs. Reilly had wrestled the phone away from her son.
The sergeant would be glad to know about the place. He might even compliment Patrolman Mancuso for getting the tip. Clearing his throat, Patrolman Mancuso stood before the sergeant and said, “I got a lead on a place where they got B-girls.”
“You got a lead?” the sergeant asked. “Who gave you the lead?”
Patrolman Mancuso decided against dragging Ignatius