The Studs Lonigan Trilogy - James T. Farrell [441]
No more tradition’s chains shall bind us.
Arise, ye slaves, no more in thrall .. .
He just couldn’t make anything out any more. Too many things had been happening to him. He couldn’t piece them together, and he felt that the world had passed him by, and he was no longer able to deal with it.
Oh, why don’t you work like other men do?
Oh, how can I work when there’s no work to do?
Just an unhappy old man, and even these people, anarchistic Reds, communists, niggers, hunkies, foreigners, left-handed turkeys, even they seemed happier than he.
WE WANT BREAD NOT BULLETS
“Daily Worker? Daily Worker? Comrades, buy your paper,” a stolid girl called out, holding up one copy from the bundle of papers under her arm, and Lonigan turned his head aside until she passed.
Hands off Haiti
He turned to speak to Jim Doyle, but Jim had moved away. He saw a singing detachment of young fellows and girls stride forward, keeping step.
You’ll have pie in the sky when you die (It’s a lie).
Decent-looking youngsters. These Reds must be vampires putting evil-eyed spells on young lads, Lonigan decided. He heard a loud noise behind him, and glanced around to see a pimply, thin, unpleasant young fellow in a flashy gray suit.
“Why don’t them damn I-Won’t-Work bastards shut up and get a job, or else go back to Russia?” the pimply fellow said, revealing yellowed teeth.
“Mister, they have no jobs. There are no jobs to be gotten, and there are millions of workers on the streets.”
“They wouldn’t work if they could.”
Down with Imperialist War
“Why don’t you work?”
“Now don’t get personal,” the pimply fellow said, speaking out of the side of his mouth.
“Well, they want work, and the bosses throw them out on the street. The bosses don’t throw their machinery out on the street and say to the Starvation Army, `Here, you take care of these.’ No, the bosses throw the workers out on the street and say to the Starvation Army, `Here, they’re only workers, give them mouldy doughnuts and black coffee, and when I need some more slaves, send them back.’ But the day will come. The day will come and the workingman will own the world.”
“Aw, nuts.”
“The day will come.”
“Bull ... ”
Defend the Soviet Union
“Dirty-neck Reds,” the pimply fellow hissed, ranging himself alongside of Lonigan.
“What I don’t understand is why they are allowed to make trouble and incite to anarchy like this. With times so bad, and people so poor, this stuff is dynamite, especially with them getting the niggers in it. If the police allow these people to carry on like this, there might even be a .revolution,” Lonigan said, his voice intense with protest.
“If I was the cops I’d haul ‘em in,” the pimply fellow smirked, raising his left hand in a gesture of assurance. “Then, bam. Banana stalks.”
NO WORK NO RENT
“I don’t suppose most of them would work if they had the chance, and the instigators of it probably get their palms greased by Moscow gold,” Lonigan said as if he knew a lot.
“Say, got a cigarette?”
“Sorry, but I don’t smoke ‘em,” Lonigan said, uneasy in the pimply fellow’s presence.
Lonigan was attracted by a marcher in a light gray expensive suit. The lad looked refined, like he came from a good home. He looked as refined as his own son-in-law, Carroll Dowson. What was such a boy doing here?
“All right, get back! Get back!” barked a husky cop with a beefsteak face.
Lonigan was slow in obeying the command.
“You’re wise, huh?” the policeman said, shoving out his jaw at Lonigan. “Maybe you’d like to take a little ride and have a talk with the judge, huh?”
“You’d just better figure out who you’re fooling with,” Lonigan said, while people crowded close to gape at them.
HANDS OFF HAITI
“You’re resisting arrest and inciting to riot. I’ve a good mind to run you in.”
“Go ahead. I’ll be right out, and you might find