The Studs Lonigan Trilogy - James T. Farrell [49]
As they walked over to the wooded island, Studs felt, knew, that it was going to be a great afternoon, different from every other afternoon in his whole life. They walked on, not talking, but the way she held his hand made him feel good, and he repeated to himself that it was one of his days. They crossed the log bridge over onto the island… a spread of irregularly wooded and slightly hilly ground with the sheep pen at one end of it. They walked on until they came to a full-leaved large oak that stood near the bank. It looked nice and they decided to climb it, and sit on one of the large branches. Studs helped her, and saw her clean wash bloomers. He was tempted, and wondered if he ought to try feeling her up. He remembered Marion Shires, and the other little kids, and wondered if he ought to, and how he might ask Lucy to have a show party with him. He got excited. But when they were up in the tree, and Lucy was laughing about her dirtied dress and the little scratch on her hands, he forgot all about these temptations. They sat, not having much to say, and he held her hand.
Below them, a man and wife moved, watching their baby stumble and giggle ahead of them. Lucy watched the kid, a piggish-faced child, and told Studs that it was awfully cute. She suddenly lowered her head, muttered shyly that she would probably never get married and have children. Studs was a little surprised, because girls like Lucy weren’t supposed to think about such things. He told himself that if she was like that Iris from Carter School it would be different, and he could understand it. But Lucy! He wondered if he ought to try feeling her up, and he tried to think up an answer for her; but his mouth was dry, and all he could think of was the lump in his throat. Three times he asked himself what he ought to say. He watched the group below disappear. He finally said that it had been a cute kid. Lucy said yes. Lucy said that she was never going to marry and become a mother, because she was going to join a convent and be a nun. She talked as if she was mad about something. Studs wondered what was the matter. He looked at her, and her face seemed to melt in a misty sort of asking expression. He asked her if she thought she had the call to be a nun, and she said yes, she was going to become a nun. Studs said that she ought to think it over first; he told himself that he loved her, and wanted her not to become a nun, and knew that she wouldn’t if he could only tell her the way he loved her, but he didn’t know what he wanted to say, because it wasn’t words but a feeling he had for her, a feeling that seemed to flow through him like nice, warm water. She told him yes, she had definitely made up her mind. Her voice sounded angry, and he wondered what was the matter.
The breeze playing upon them through the tree-leaves was fine. Studs just sat there and let it play upon him, let it sift through his hair. He said that it was nice and cool; he said that it was cooler in the trees than it was on the ground. Lucy said yes it was, and she didn’t seem interested, and it made him still wonder what was the matter. The wind seemed to Studs like the fingers of a girl, of Lucy, and when it moved through the leaves it was like a girl, like Lucy, running her hand over very expensive silk, like the silk movie actresses wore in the pictures. The wind was Lucy’s hand caressing his hair. It was a funny thought to have, and Studs felt goofy and fruity about having it, and felt that he hadn’t better let anyone know he had thoughts like that; he wouldn’t tell her. But he did; he told her the wind was like the hand of a pretty girl, and when it touched the leaves, it was like that pretty girl stroking very fine silk. She laughed, and said that it was a very funny and a very silly