The Studs Lonigan Trilogy - James T. Farrell [150]
“Every night when I go home, I don’t know but maybe I’ll find my wife dead. I tell you, kid, married life ain’t all it’s cracked up to be, and don’t let anybody kid you that it is.”
“No danger,” Studs muttered with over-exaggerated confidence. He yawned.
“It’s not that I’m complainin’, because I ain’t. My wife has been the best in the world, but it’s just that life doesn’t turn out the way you want it to.”
Their brushes swished and slapped as they worked. Studs yawned. Ten to three. Would it or wouldn’t it be a good idea to get married? Everybody did, and had kids. He guessed that maybe you couldn’t help yourself about it when the right broad came along. That was what love was. Five to three. Love was B.S. Suppose now he got married to Lucy and the same thing happened to her that had happened to Mort’s wife. But it wouldn’t. Things weren’t going to happen to him that way. He had luck, a lucky star, four aces stacked for him in the cards. Well, he did. He had to have them. He did. Three o’clock. He yawned. He whistled.
“As I was sayin’, I don’t know why the Lord should of visited us with all the misfortunes he did. Sometimes, I fear maybe it’s because I sown my wild oats when I was your age, or else because I drank now and again. Oh, sometimes too it’s maybe, I feel, because of something I done in a previous life. Say, kid, do you believe in reincarnation?”
Studs didn’t hear, and Mort repeated the question. Studs thought it was all crap, but hell, he was too damn tired to argue, so he said he didn’t know.
“Well, I sometimes wonder if that’s why we were punished. But I tell you it isn’t fair. I done the best I could...”
Studs yawned. Seven minutes after three. He was going straight home for supper, and then, maybe, he’d read his newspaper and turn in early.
“But I always come to this conclusion. No matter how bad off you are, there’s always somebody in a worse boat. Now take my brother. He’s lived in poverty all his life, and would you believe it, he still has a place with the can in the backyard.
I always tried to help him out, but charity begins at home. That’s what I always figure, no matter how bad off you are, there’s always somebody who’s worse off. Now take him. About six years ago he was living at a place down on Bishop Street, and one night a rat bites the baby and it dies. Maybe I shouldn’t be complaining. But goddamn it, when any night you come home to supper, and you might find a dead wife, it gets you.”
Three-fourteen.
“That’s why I always say to a young fellow, look before you leap. You never know what’s gonna happen, and when you got a wife and love her and got to sit day after day and see her grow old and lose her looks, yes, sir, look twice before you leap.”
Three-sixteen. Studs went to the can and smoked a cigarette. It knocked off twelve more minutes. He worked slowly. Mort’s voice went on in an unpleasant drone, complaining that it wasn’t enough for his wife to get sick, but that damn it if he didn’t go and get lead-poisoning because he knew he had it.
III
“Well, I hope the old lady is feeling up to snuff,” Mort said, as he, Studs, and Al walked to the street car line.
“Tonight all I’m doing is sleep. I was playing poker till three this morning and I’m all pooped out,” Studs said.
“I know what I’m going to do tonight,” smiled Al.
“You ought to. You’re a newlywed.”
“Wrong again, Mort. You guys noticed these crossword puzzles in the papers. They got a contest, and they give real dough to the winners, thousand bucks first prize. Well, I’m working them and trying to get me them prizes. They’ll fix me up jake with a nice new Ford and something to spare,” Al said.
“They’re goofy,” Studs said.
“Now wait a minute, Lonigan. There’s money in them. And I won’t be losing out. Suppose I don’t get a sou out of it. Look at the self-improvement, the words