Ironweed (1984 Pulitzer Prize) - William Kennedy [77]
“Sure,” said Moose.
“If I give ‘em to you, then I ain’t got no pants,” Francis said.
“I’ll give you mine,” Moose said.
“Why you tradin’ your new pants?” Rudy asked.
“That’s right,” said Francis, standing up and looking at his own legs. “Why am I? No, you ain’t gonna get these. Fuck you, I need these pants. Don’t tell me what I need. Go get your own pants.”
“I’ll buy ‘em,” Moose said. “How much you want? I got another week’s work sandin’ floors.”
“Well shine ‘em,” Francis said. “They ain’t for sale.”
“Sandin’, not shinin’. I sand ‘em. I don’t shine ‘em.”
“Don’t holler at me,” Francis said. “I’ll crack your goddamn head and step on your brains. You’re a tough man, is that it?”
“No,” said Moose. “I ain’t tough.”
“Well I’m tough,” Francis said. “Screw around with me, you’ll die younger’n I will.”
“Oh I’ll die all right. I’m just as busted as that ceiling. I got TB.”
“Oh God bless you,” Francis said, sitting down. “I’m sorry.”
“It’s in the knee.”
“I didn’t know you had it. I’m sorry. I’m sorry anybody’s got TB.”
“It’s in the knee.”
“Well cut your leg off.”
“That’s what they wanted to do.”
“So cut it off.”
“No, I wouldn’t let them do that.”
“I got a stomach cancer,” Rudy said.
“Yeah,” said Moose. “Everybody’s got one of them.”
“Anybody gonna come to my funeral?” Rudy asked.
“Probably ain’t nothin’ wrong with you work won’t cure,” Moose said.
“That’s right,” Francis said to Rudy. “Why don’t you go get a job?” He pointed out the window at the street. “Look at ‘em out there. Everybody out there’s workin’.”
“You’re crazier than he is,” Moose said. “Ain’t no jobs anyplace. Where you been?”
“There’s taxis. There goes a taxi.”
“Yeah, there’s taxis,” Moose said. “So what?”
“Can you drive?” Francis asked Rudy.
“I drove my ex-wife crazy,” Rudy said.
“Good. What you’re supposed to do. Drive ‘em nuts is right.”
In the corner of the room Francis saw three long-skirted women who became four who became three and then four again. Their faces were familiar but he could call none of them by name. Their ages changed when their number changed: now twenty, now sixty, now thirty, now fifty, never childish, never aged. At the house Annie would now be trying to sleep, but probably no more prepared for it than Francis was, no more capable of closing the day than Francis was. Helen would be out of it, whipped all to hell by fatigue and worry. Damn worrywart is what she is. But not Annie. Annie, she don’t worry. Annie knows how to live. Peg, she’ll be awake too, why not? Why should she sleep when nobody else can? They’ll all be up, you bet. Francis give ‘em a show they ain’t gonna forget in a hurry.
He showed ‘em what a man can do.
A man ain’t afraid of goin’ back.
Goddamn spooks, they follow you everywheres but they don’t matter. You stand up to ‘em is all. And you do what you gotta do.
Sandra joined the women of three, the women of four, in the far corner. Francis gave me soup, she told them. He carried me out of the wind and put my shoe on me. They became the women of five.
“Where the wind don’t blow,” Rudy sang. “I wanna go where the wind don’t blow, where there ain’t no snow.”
Francis saw Katrina’s face among the five that became four that became three.
o o o
Finny and Little Red came into the flop, and just behind them a third figure Francis did not recognize immediately. Then he saw it was Old Shoes.
“Hey, we got company, Moose,” Francis said.
“Is that Finny?” Moose asked. “Looks like him.”
“That’s the man,” Francis said. Finny stood by the foot of Francis’s cot, very drunk and wobbling, trying to see who was talking about him.
“You son of a bitch,” Moose said, leaning on one elbow.
“Which son of a bitch you talkin’ to?” Francis asked.
“Finny. He used to work for Spanish George. Liked to use the blackjack on drunks when they got noisy.”
“Is that true, Finny?” Francis asked. “You liked to sap the boys?”
“Arrrggghhh,” said Finny, and he lurched off toward a cot down the row from Francis.
“He was one mean bastard,” Moose said. “He hit me once.”
“Hurt you?”
“Hurt like hell. I had a headache