The Studs Lonigan Trilogy - James T. Farrell [167]
Mass would soon be over. He wanted it to be, and he didn’t want it to be over, because maybe if he didn’t work fast now, he would never see, or never get a chance with the girl who was next to him. And he was tired. The church seemed to get more and more stuffy, and he was almost falling asleep. He kept side-glancing at her, and he wanted her more and more with every glimpse. He faced the altar, all his confidence shattered, and wondering whether or not she was thinking of him, or even secretly laughing at him. He tried to regain his confidence by assuring himself he was Studs Lonigan, and that Studs Lonigan had done things, was real stuff, and tough, too.
He arose for the last gospel and people commenced leaving the church. He heard her whispering pardon me, the voice striking him will-less. She had to repeat it. He turned. She smiled, and he didn’t know what to make of her smile, whether it was friendly or sarcastic or what. She passed him, and was gone. It was like a toppling of thrones, a toppling of something inside of him. Maybe she was gone out of his life, just like Lucy. He tried to remember her voice, with its quiet but confident tones. He tried to remember her face. He tried to feel he would see her again, and that with her everything would be different, and there would be no more jazzing around, drinking, can houses. Maybe next Saturday night when he went to confession, she would be there and remember him, and he’d be reformed by her, and .. He yawned. Felt rotten, goddamn it. He had been a complete, undiluted, unadulterated, all-around chump. And he was sorry, very sorry.
Deo gratias...
He walked out of the church, while the choir sang:
Oh, come, let us adore Him!
Oh, come, let us adore Him.
Christ, our king...
He shoved forwards, passing people, but when he got outside, he couldn’t find her in the crowd. People wished him a Merry Christmas and he hardly heard them. But he would, he would, by Christ, he would see her again, and she would know him, the real Studs Lonigan that nobody had ever known.
He met Tommy Doyle, and they looked at the people pass until Tommy got tired. Studs dragged along with Tommy, still wanting to wait as a last hope that she might be outside, that she might even be waiting for him. Tommy told Studs how they had all been thrown in the can, and asked how he had gotten away. Studs told him. Tommy marvelled. He said Red’s old man had gotten them out. Studs felt lousy, but hurried Tommy along, despite his sprained ankle, because he was hoping they would pass her on the street. They stopped for a coke at Fifty-eighth and Indiana Avenue, and then went over to the poolroom, because Studs wanted the fellows to know how he had escaped during the raid. But he didn’t think that he had ever felt so low in his whole life.
SECTION THREE
1924
XIII
It was dreary February weather. The children were all out, and Mrs. Lonigan had the dinner dishes finished. She rear-ranged a few chairs. She emptied an ash-tray. She straightened her son’s dresser. She pottered about until there was absolutely nothing to do. Then she picked up the New World and read the news. Lonigan laughed over the funnies. Cigar ashes dropped onto his shirt, and some fell on the floor. Mrs. Lonigan cautioned him, and hustled in with the carpet sweeper. He said she should not worry because ashes kept moths away and were good for a rug. She said ashes did nothing any good. She put away the carpet .sweeper, returned, and looked through the society section of the Chicago Daily Tribune. He glanced at his watch. She asked the time, and he answered that it was a quarter to four. She remonstrated aloud with herself that it was too late to 4o to Benediction. She suggested that they take a little walk and get a nip of air. He yawned and said he was too