The Naked and the Dead - Norman Mailer [308]
Once or twice they have real good luck.
Hey, Polack, there's a drunk asleep in the alley behind Salvatore's house.
He heeled?
How do I know? the other kid curses.
Aaah, c'mon.
They tiptoe up the alley, debouch into a deserted lot behind the tenements. The drunk is snoring.
Gaw ahead, Polack.
Whadeya mean gaw ahead, how we gonna split?
You can split it.
He creeps up to the drunk, feels about his body slowly for a wallet. The drunk interrupts his snoring, clutches Polack's wrist.
Leggo a me, ya goddam. . . Fumbling, his free hand finds a stone on the ground, picks it up and cracks it against the drunk's head. The hand tightens on his arm and he smashes down again.
Where is it, where is it, c'mon hurry up.
Polack fumbles through the pockets, pulls out some change. Okay, let's go.
The two boys sneak out of the alley, divide the money in front of a street light.
Sixty cents for me, a quarter for you.
Whadeya mean? I found him.
Whadeya mean? I took all the chances, Polack says, whadeya I t'ink dat don't count for nuttin'.
Aaah.
Go crap in your hat. Whistling, he walks away, begins to laugh shakily as he thinks of how he struck the drunk. But in the morning the man is gone, and Polack feels relieved. Aaah, ya can't hurt a rummy, he thinks to himself, a bit of knowledge from the older boys.
His father dies when he is ten, and after the funeral his mother tries to send him to work in the stockyards. But after a month the truant officer is around, and Polack is sent to an orphanage when his mother can think of nothing else.
There are all the new lessons not really unfamiliar to be learned. It is even more important never to get caught now; it hurts too much when you are.
Hold out your hand, Casimir.
Why, Sister? Wha'd I do?
Hold it out. The clapper comes down with surprising force on his palm, and he jumps. Holy Jeez.
For swearing, Casimir, you have to be punished again. And once more the black-clad arm rises, strikes his palm.
The kids are laughing at him as he walks back to his seat. Through his tears of pain he manages a dubious grin. Nuttin' to it, he whispers, but his fingers are swelling, and he nurses his hand through the morning.
Pfeiffer, the gym teacher, is the guy you gotta watch out for most of all. When they march in to eat, everybody has to be quiet for three minutes while prayers are said. Pfeiffer snoops around behind the benches, watching you to see if you whisper.
Polack darts his eyes to either side; nobody seems around. What da hell we eat tonight?
Thrump! His head stings through the layers of concussion which revolve dizzily in his skull.
All right, Polack, when I say quiet I mean it.
He stares numbly at his plate waiting for the pain to subside; it's very hard to keep himself from rubbing his head.
Afterward: Jesus, dat guy Pfeiffer's got eyes in back of his head.
And there are angles. Lefty Rizzo, the big kid, fourteen, runs the joint when Pfeiffer or one of the Sisters or Fathers ain't around. You gotta pal up wit' him, or you don't get anywhere.
What can I do for ya, Lefty? (Polack at the age of ten.)
Lefty is talkin' to his lieutenants. Beat it, Polack.
Aaah, what for? Wha'd I do to you?
Beat it.
He walks through the dormitory, scanning the fifty beds, the half-opened lockers.
In one of them is an apple, four pennies, and a little crucifix. He cops the cross, saunters back to Lefty's bunk.
Hey, Lefty, I got somethin' for ya.
What the hell I want with that?
Give it to Sister Catherine, a present.
Lefty considers this. Yeah. . . yeah. Where'd you get it?
I hooked it from Callahan's bunk. He ain't gonna yell though, y' just tell him to shat up.
I coulda hooked it myself.
I saved ya da trouble.
Lefty laughs, and Polack is made.
There are obligations, however. Lefty likes to smoke, and he can get away with a half-pack after lights out without getting caught. Every other night, the cigarette detail goes out for Lefty.
The four kids sneak out to the wall of the orphanage in the evening, and two of them are hoisted over. They drop