The Studs Lonigan Trilogy - James T. Farrell [36]
Weary Reilley ambled around, and Helen grumbled a greeting to him. He asked if they’d seen Helen Borax, and they said no. Weary fooled around with the soccer ball, and they barbered about nothing in particular. Then they dribbled, one taking the ball, and the other two standing in a line to block the dribble. Weary had never played basketball, so he was awkward and clumsy and couldn’t do the trick right. He went at it rough-and-tumble. He got sore because Helen could make such a monkey out of him. He finally lost his bean and dribbled head on into her, bucking her breasts with his football shoulders. It hurt her. She cried; she knew he had done it meanly and on purpose. She told him so, and he called her a liar. She slammed him in the mush with the ball, and his eyes watered.
“Listen,” he said, preparing to rush her and let her have one.
Studs gripped Weary from the rear and held him in a firm clasp.
“Let me go, you sonofabitch,” Weary yelled.
Studs flung Weary around and then faced him.
“Who’s one?” asked Studs.
“Both of you, and she’s a whore,” said Weary.
“Why, Goddamn you,” said Helen.
“Take that back,” said Studs.
“From you!” sneered Weary.
Weary socked Studs in the jaw; Studs’ jaw flushed, Studs was confused; his breath came fast; maybe he was afraid; he had to fight; he forgot about everything but Weary in front of him. He hauled off and caught Weary on the knob with a wild right haymaker. They rushed into each other and swung. They broke their clinch and circled around. Weary rushed, and a wild uppercut that Studs had started from the ground a trifle before Weary had come in, caught Reilley on the button, Reilley was jogged back; he shook his head, and then walloped Studs with a left and right. But neither of them felt a lot. They fought, absorbed in punching each other. Every time they landed, a feeling of pleasure ran through them, pleasure at having done something physically successful. They fought, slugging, socking away, rushing, swinging with haymakers and wild swishing roundhouses.
Johnny O’Brien, thirteen and fattish, came around and watched. He didn’t yell who he was for, and asked Helen how the scrap had started.
“Oh, Weary got snotty and called me an’ Studs dirty names. If Studs can’t bust hell out of him, I’M GONNA... Come on, Studs! Bam him! Attaboy, Studs!”
Helen attaboyed Studs because he had just given Weary a good bust in the nose. Weary rushed back and made Studs’ left ear red from a wallop. Studs missed Weary with a wild haymaker, and almost fell over. Weary jolted him when he was off balance. Studs came back with a rush and caught Weary in the mouth. Weary busted Studs. Studs busted Weary.
A crowd had formed a circle around them, watching, blocking the sidewalks. Women, mothers, yelled unheeded from nearby windows for them to stop. Screwy McGlynn, the fat guy who drove a laundry wagon, and who bragged that he had put the blocks to nearly every K. M. in the neighborhood, climbed down from his wagon and watched the fight with a professional eye. He stood next to Johnny O’Brien, similarly professional, and said the little guy had guts. He rooted for the little guy. Danny O’Neill, twelve, small, curly-haired, four-eyed, joined the mob and yelled for Studs to bust hell out of the bully. Dick Buckford, from Danny’s gang, ciidit around and rooted for both of them to win. The mob around had a swell time, shifting, shouting, yelling; it was the fight they had been waiting for. Mrs. Dennis P. Gorman tripped along. She paused and made a vain attempt to tell someone that it was a nasty spectacle which should be stopped. She heard Helen yelling for Studs to slam the cur; she picked up her skirts, crossed the street and tripped on.
Screwy McGlynn chewed on his cigar, grew more professional, and said: “That little guy is sure game... Well, he’s one of them guys that believes in the old adage... the bigger they are, the harder they fall . And I always say that a good game little man can lick a good big man.”
“Yeah, they’re both good boys,” said Johnny O’Brien.
Studs fought a boring-in