The Studs Lonigan Trilogy - James T. Farrell [106]
He was moody, trying to recall something sad that he’d been dreaming about. He couldn’t remember it, and started thinking again of picking a chicken up, and making her. The fact that later on he’d have to go home for supper dropped in his thoughts like a soggy towel. The old man would probably be on the warpath again. He didn’t mind work, he guessed. It was the looking for it, having to learn things about it and seeming like a goof while he was learning. He mightn’t even mind working for the old man, but it was only the idea of it, the old man still trying to be his boss. The old man seemed to understand less and less every day and he couldn’t be natural with the old fathead. Treated him just like a kid in short pants. If things got too hot at home, he had that gat he’d gotten from Young Hennessey. He’d take it and blow. Weary wouldn’t be afraid to. He could do anything that skunk could. But robbing was dangerous. Jail, getting pot-shotted by cops! It was more fun thinking of pulling off a stick-up.
He pillowed his head in locked hands, and looked driftingly through the stirring leaves at the almost cloudless sky. The wind waved branches, the sun glinted on the leaves, and the sky was big and round and far away. He was lonesome, wanting things, a girl, Lucy, wanting that and something more and he didn’t even know what it was. Always these days, no matter what he was doing, he wanted to be doing something else, and he couldn’t think of much else for long, but girls, Lucy, and girls too, and he was always wishing, looking at girls on the streets as if they were the thing he was always wanting, thinking every morning he might meet Lucy again, or some girl who would be what he wanted and might help him find out the thing that was always bothering him without even knowing what it was. Must be going bugs! Doyle, Red and the guys didn’t seem to have troubles like that. He looked through the leaves, with wind creeping in them, waving branches in groups. Looking and shuttering aside his thoughts, he felt pleasant and sleepy. And a girl could make him so much happier!
“Hello!”
It was a big guy, maybe thirty or even older, who had sat down by Studs without his knowing it. The fellow looked like a bag of mush, with soft skin, almost like a woman’s, and a squeaky, weak voice. He made Studs uneasy.
“It’s a ripping afternoon!”
“Yeah!” Studs said coldly, thinking that the guy was goofy all right.
“You come over to the park to find the girlies. There’s plenty of them here, nice buxom nursemaids, you know, who would like a strong young boy like you.”
What the hell was he driving at? Something fluky about him all right!
The fellow stretched out, and his thigh, very casually, seemed to touch Studs’ knee. This slight contact made Studs want to vomit, just as the sight of oysters did.
“You like the girlies?”
“Oh, yeah,” said Studs, feeling more and more uncomfortable, wondering if he ought to blow, or take a chance and sock the guy, even if he was heavier, or what?
“Boys your age generally do. If you don’t there must be something wrong with you. How old are you?”
“Seventeen,” Studs answered, not knowing why he even answered the guy.
“You’re old enough to play...You know?” the guy said with a wink as he gave Studs a soft but knowing little poke. Studs knew he must be blushing.
“You shouldn’t be ashamed of it. It’s only natural to do that.”
“Say, what’s the idea?” Studs tensely asked.
“Oh, nothing! You needn’t worry. I just like to try to be friendly with young boys, talk over their problems with them, give them advice.”
Studs glanced aside. The fellow’s leg kept rubbing against him. It made him feel like he might if he’d drunk something like toilet water.
“Playing, you know, is safer than fooling around with the girlies, because you can pick up diseases from them. Most of them have diseases.