Ironweed (1984 Pulitzer Prize) - William Kennedy [33]
“You got some goddamn eyes, you know?” He was screaming. “I’ll black ‘em for you. You’re a horse’s ass! You know what I’ll do? I’ll rip that fuckin’ coat off and put you in rags.”
She did not move her body or her eyes.
“I’m gonna eat this sandwich. Whole hunk of cheese.”
“I don’t want it.”
“By god I do. I’ll be hungry tomorrow. It won’t choke me. I’m thankful for everything.”
“You’re a perfect saint.”
“Listen. Straighten up or I’m gonna kill you.”
“I won’t eat it. It’s rat food.”
“I’m gonna kill you!” Francis screamed. “Goddamn it, you hear what I said? Don’t drive me insane. Be a goddamn woman and go the fuck to bed somewhere.”
They walked, not quite together, toward Madison Avenue, south again on South Pearl, retracing their steps. Francis brushed Helen’s arm and she moved away from him.
“You gonna stay at the mission with Pee Wee?”
“No.”
“Then you gonna stay with me?”
“I’m going to call my brother.”
“Good. Call him. Call him a couple of times.”
“I’ll have him meet me someplace.”
“Where you gonna get the nickel to make the call?”
“That’s my business. God, Francis, you were all right till you started on the wine. Wine, wine, wine.”
“I’ll get some cardboard. We’ll go to that old building.”
“The police keep raiding that place. I don’t want to go to jail. I don’t know why you didn’t stay with Jack and Clara since you were so welcome.”
“You’re a woman for abuse.”
They walked east on Madison, past the mission. Helen did not look in. When they reached Green Street she stopped.
“I’m going down below.” she said.
“Who you kiddin’?” Francis said. “You got no place to go. You’ll be knocked on the head.”
“That wouldn’t he the worst ever happened to me.”
“We got to find something. Can’t leave a dog out like this.”
“Shows you what kind of people they are up there.”
“Stay with me.’’
“No, Francis. You’re crazy.”
He grabbed the hair at the back of her head, then held her whole head in both hands.
“You’re gonna hit me,” she said.
“I wont hit ya, babe. I love ya some. Are ya awful cold?”
“I don’t think I’ve been warm once in two days.’’
Francis let go of her and took off his suitcoat and put it around her shoulders.
“No, it’s too cold for you to do that,” she said. “I’ve got this coat. You can’t be in just a shirt.’’
“What the hell’s the difference. Coat ain’t no protection.”
She handed him back the coat. “I’m going.” she said.
“Don’t walk away from me.” Francis said. “You’ll be lost in the world.”
But she walked away. And Francis leaned against the light pole on the corner, lit the cigarette Jack had given him, fingered the dollar bill Jack had slipped him in the kitchen, ate what was left of the cheese sandwich, and then threw his old undershorts down the sewer.
o o o
Helen walked down Green Street to a vacant lot, where she saw a fire in an oil drum. From across the street she could see five coloreds around the fire, men and women. On an old sofa in the weeds just beyond the drum, she saw a white woman lying underneath a colored man. She walked back to where Francis waited.
“I couldn’t stay outside tonight,” she said. “I’d die.”
Francis nodded and they walked to Finny’s car, a 1930 black Oldsmobile, dead and wheelless in an alley off John Street. Two men were asleep in it, Finny in the front passenger seat.
“I don’t know that man in back,” Helen said.
“Yeah you do,” said Francis. “That’s Little Red from the mission. He won’t bother you. If he does I’ll pull out his tongue.”
“I don’t want to get in there, Francis.”
“It’s warm, anyhow. Cold in them weeds, honey, awful cold. You walk the streets alone, they’ll pinch you quicker’n hell.”
“You get in the back.”
“No. No room in there for the likes of me. Legs’re too long.”
“Where will you go?”
“I’ll find me some of them tall weeds, get outa the wind.”
“Are you coming back?”
“Sure, I’ll be back. You get a good sleep and I’ll see you here or up at the mission in the ayem.”
“I don’t want to stay here.”
“You got to, babe. It’s what there is.”
Francis opened the passenger door and shook Finny.
“Hey bum. Move over. You got