The Studs Lonigan Trilogy - James T. Farrell [148]
and suddenly ..
the boy Studs Lonigan sat nervously in the eighth-grade room of St. Patrick’s school, wishing that school would let out, because he had just touched something that was the secret of love and happiness and he couldn’t remember what it was, or where it was, and he had to go out and find it again before it was too late.
“William Bastard Lonigan, you were late for school this morning,” Sister Battling Bertha said, wrinkling the toothless face of a crone.
“I wasn’t. The bell rang before I got here,” the boy Studs Lonigan replied, and a six-foot-four pupil in short britches named Slug Mason guffawed.
“Sister, he played poker last night and lost eight dollars and when I asked him for a penny because I was starving, he wouldn’t give it to me,” TB McCarthy said, turning a sickly yellow face upon the schoolboy, Studs Lonigan.
“All I did last night was go to bed with Lucy, only we didn’t sleep much. Ha! Ha!” the schoolboy Studs Lonigan said. William Bastard Lonigan, by your gambling and immoral thoughts, words, deeds, acts and wishes, you have spilled the consecrated blood of the Sacred Heart of the Crucified Jesus, and you have put gray hairs upon the heads of your father, mother, God the Father, Son and Holy Ghost, and all the communion of saints in Heaven and on earth. You will go to the gallows for your sacrileges, and God will send you special delivery to Hell to burn forevermore in a lake of brimstone!
She descended on him like a cyclone, and vigorously shook his head.
“Oh, how I hate to get up in the morning,” he sang.
“Get up!” she commanded, slapping his face, while the entire class laughed at Clown Lonigan.. .
and….
Studs
Lonigan opened eyes that were heavy with sleep to find his mother gently shaking him. He sat up in bed, yawned, rubbed his eyes with the sleeve of his pajamas.
“Goodness, didn’t you hear the alarm, son?”
“Gee, Mother, it was the funniest darn thing. I dreamt I got up with that clock, and was riding to work,” he said boyishly.
She suddenly flung her arms around him, pulled him to her thin bosom, and kissed him, declaring that he would always be her baby. He was embarrassed.
“You must hurry now, son. Breakfast is all ready.”
He sat on the edge of the bed half asleep, tiredly stretching. He opened his eyes; he’d fallen asleep sitting there. He looked over and saw that Martin was up, and in the bathroom washing. It got him sore. Martin returned to the bedroom.
“Say, what the hell’s the idea? You know I have to be out of here earlier than you. You’re just too damn wise a punk, ain’t you?” Studs said, arising, and raising his hand as if to slam his kid brother.
“I’m going to Communion this morning. It’s first Friday,” Martin whined, drawing back.
“You could have waited until I was washed. I got farther to go than you. Why didn’t you wake me?”
“Yes, wake you! The last time I did, I got a clout in the ear.”
“One of these days, I’m going to slap some of that wiseness out of you, punk!”
“You do, and I’ll ... kill you,” Martin shrieked, almost in tears.
Studs advanced a step.
“Don’t touch me, you big bully!” Martin hollered.
The mother rushed into the bedroom, and enfolded Martin in maternal arms.
“Is he hurting my darling little child?”
Martin fought to break free. He blushed. Studs busted out laughing.
“If I wasn’t going to communion, and it wasn’t a sin to lose my temper, I’d tell you what I think of you, you big bum! You just wait until tonight, and I’ll tell you.”
The mother pressed a wet determined kiss on Martin’s cheek.
“Can’t there ever be any peace in this home?” Lonigan futilely protested, as he stood in the doorway with his suspenders hanging from his trousers, and his belly falling out.
Studs felt more awakened after he had doused his face in cold water. Shaving, he wished the day was over. He knew how pooped out he would feel in the afternoon, and how he’d only be able to get