The Naked and the Dead - Norman Mailer [311]
Dry up, Casimir.
He hitches his suspenders. Why the hell don' ya get married an' give Ma a break?
'Cause all the men are like you, out for the same thing.
She wants to become a nun, his mother says.
A nun, holy cow. He stares at her appraisingly. A nun!
Stevie thinks maybe she ought to.
He looks objectively at her narrow sallow face, the yellowing skin under the eyes. Yeah, maybe she ought to at that. Again he is stirred with contempt, and beneath it a vague compassion. Ya know, Momma, I'm a lucky guy.
You're a crook, Mary says.
Keep still, the mother says. All right, Son, if you're lucky, it's good.
Aaah. (He's annoyed at himself. It's a bad idea to say you're lucky.) Gaw ahead, become a nun. . . How's Steve?
He works so hard. His Mikey, the little one, was sick.
I'll see him one of these days.
You children should stick together. (Two of them are dead, the others married except for Mary and Casimir.)
Yah. He has given her money for the apartment: the scattered lace doilies, the new upholstered chair, the candlesticks on the bureau are his contribution. But the place is unutterably drab. Aaaah, it's dis-gustin'.
What, Casimir?
Nothin', Momma, I gotta go now.
You just came.
Yah, I know. Here, here's some money. Will ya get your teet' fixed for Crisake?
Good-bye, Casimir. (It's Mary.)
Yah. good-bye, kiddo. He looks at her again. A nun, huh? Okay. Good luck to ya, kiddo.
Thank you, Casimir.
Sure, here's a little something for you too. G'wan take it. He presses it into her hand, skips out the door and down the stairs. Some kids are trying to jimmy the hub plate off his car and he scatters them. Thirty bucks left. It's not much to last for three days, and he's been losing lately in the poker games at Lefty's.
Polack shrugs. Win, lose, it's all in the cards.
He bounces the little brunette off his knee, saunters over to Lefty and the hood from Kabriskie's outfit. The four-piece band hired for the party is playing softly, and some drinks have been spilled already on the end tables.
What can I do for ya, Lefty?
I want ya to meet Wally Boletti. They nod, talk for a little while.
You're a good man, Polack, Lefty says.
One of the best.
Kabriskie's lookin' for somebody to run the girls over in the south end of his section.
That's it, huh?
Yeah.
He mulls it for a moment. (It's more money of course, a lot more, and he can use it, but. . .) It's a touchy setup, he mutters. (A little switch in the political end, a double-cross by some outfit, and he'll be the target.)
How old are ya, Polack?
Twenty-four, he lies.
Damn young, Wally says.
I want to t'ink the damn thing over, Polack says. It is the first time he has been unable to make a decision in his life.
No hurry, but no sayin' it's gonna be open next week.
I'll take the chance.
Only, the next day while he is still debating a letter comes from his draft board. He swears dully. There's a guy over on Madison Street who pricks eardrums, and he gives him a ring.
But on the way over, Polack changes his mind.
Aaaah, t' hell wit' it, the percentages are runnin' out. He turns around and drives back calmly. Beneath his mind a wonder is working.
It's a big thing, he mumbles.
Only, that's not it. Polack has never heard of a deus ex machina, and it's a new idea to him.
You figger all the angles and then somethin' new comes up. He grins to himself. There ain't anyplace I ain't gonna get along.
His wonder is smothered. Even when the new angles come, there's always a gimmick if ya go looking hard enough for it.
BEEEEEEEEEEEP. He bangs down his horn, whips past a truck.
9
A few hours later at noontime, miles away, the litter-bearers were struggling with Wilson. They had carried him all morning under the burnished metallic heat of a tropical sun, their strength and their will coursing out of their bodies with their perspiration. Already they moved stupidly, the sweat blinding their eyes, their tongues clapped against their dry and enraged palates, their legs quivering constantly. The heat rose from