The Studs Lonigan Trilogy - James T. Farrell [306]
“I wonder what it’s going to be like?”
“Well, the degree they put us through this morning, it was nothin’, I came expecting to take a lot, just like college boys do when they get initiated into one of their fraternities, but this mornin’ degree, it was nothin’.”
“That’s why I feel so edgy. They probably saved this afternoon to give us the works.”
“Hell, they can’t do no more than kill you, and they won’t do that.”
“Whatever they’re going to do, I wish they’d get started on it and not keep us here until the Fourth of July.”
Them’s my sentiments, Studs silently told himself, feeling a dryness in his throat. He thought of the morning’s event. The mass with a church crowded tight with candidates and members of the Order of Christopher. What Father Gilhooley would have called an edifying sight. So many Catholic men from all walks of life, rich and poor, young and old, marching to the altar rail in a body, receiving Communion, like true Knights of the Church. Seeing that, being one of those in it, he had been proud of his Church, proud to be entering an order of men so closely connected with the Church. Remembering his catechism from grammar school, he told himself that the Church was One, Holy, Catholic, and Apostolic, built upon the rock of Peter, and that it would last until Judgment Day. Yes, he was glad, damn glad, that he had been born on the right side of the fence.
“Me, I’m in the laundry business. Sure, I drive a laundry truck for the Vincent Laundry. I pick up much less laundry these days than I did a year ago, and my commissions have been going down,” a red-faced lad near Studs said.
“I’m in the insurance business. I’m getting as many policies as I ever did, but the collections are not as steady, and it’s like pulling teeth getting money out of policy holders. That reminds me, here’s my card in case you ever want any insurance. Since we’re both going to be Christys, we might as well help each other whenever we can.”
“And any time you want any laundry done, well, give us a shot at it...”
“Say, they don’t seem any too keen on wanting us, from the time they’re taking,” a dark, frowning man said.
“Maybe they got to figure it all out. When I was in high school, we had a frat, and before each initiation we had to figure out what we’d do.”
“This is different. The Christys aren’t high-school kids, and joining the Christys is not like joining a bunch of high-school kids.”
“Well, I didn’t say it was. I was only saying maybe that’s the explanation, and then again, maybe it isn’t.”
Yes, it had been a kind of a thrill this morning, Studs told himself. Walking to the altar he had felt how great the Church was, and he had seen that he was a part of it. And if the rest of the initiation was no worse than what they’d gotten at the degree they’d taken in the morning, it wouldn’t be so bad. But when they’d been marched into the dark hall with the fellow in a red robe standing in candle light, he had gotten a creepy feeling that seemed to tickle and shiver up his spine. And that fellow in the red robe, whoever he was, he had sure talked like a hard-boiled baby. The minute he’d opened his trap, Studs had felt sure that the whole gang of them were in for some rough going. The snotty way he had called out names. And then when the candidates whose names had been called out would answer, the way the fellow in the red robe had asked a question from the catechism. He wondered, would the rest of the