The Studs Lonigan Trilogy - James T. Farrell [61]
Kenny Kilarney appeared, and Studs smiled to see him. Kenny was thin, taller than Studs, Irish, blue-eyed, dizzy-faced, untidy, darkish, quick, and he had a nervous, original walk.
“Hi!” said Studs.
“Hi!” said Kenny, raising his palms, hands outward.
“Hi!” said Studs.
“Hi!” said Kenny; he salaamed in oriental fashion.
“Hi!” laughed Studs.
“Hi!” said Kenny.
“Hi!” said Studs.
“Jesus Christ!” said Studs.
“Hi, Low, Jack, and the Game,” said goofy Kenny.
They laughed and stuffed chews in their faces. Studs marveled at Kenny’s skill in chewing. Juice rolled down his own chin, and he had to spit the tobacco out again.
Kenny gave a rambling talk. Studs didn’t listen, and only heard the end, when Kenny said:
“And I said I’m from Tirty-turd and de tracks, see, an’ I lives on de top floor ob de las’ house on de left-hand side of de street, and deres a skull an’ crossbones on de chimney, and blood on de door, and my back yard’s de graveyard for my dead.”
Studs laughed, because you had to laugh when Kenny pulled his gags. Kenny was a funny guy. He ought to be in vaudeville, even if he was still young.
“Well, Lonigan, you old so-and-so, what’s happening?”
“It’s dead as a doornail, you old sonofabitch,” Studs said.
Kenny looked at Studs; he told him not to say that; he cried: “Take that back!”
“What’s eatin’ you?”
“Nothin’. But I don’t care if you’re kiddin’ or not. I love my mother, and she’s the only friend I got, and if I was hung tomorrow, she’d still be my mother, and be at my side forgivin’ me, and I can’t stand and let anybody call her names, even if it’s kiddin’; and I don’t care if you are Studs Lonigan and can fight, you can’t say anything about my mother,” Kenny said. He drew back a step, wiped the tears from his face with his shirt sleeve, and picked up a wooden slab that lay on the sidewalk.
Studs looked questioningly at Kenny, who stood there nervously clenching and unclenching his free fist, determined, his face ready to break into tears at any moment.
“Hell, Kenny! I was only kiddin’. I take it all back,” said Studs.
They faced each other, and in a minute or two the incident was forgotten. Kenny became his old self.
“It’s too hot, or we could go raidin’ ice boxes. But I don’t feel like much effort today,” Kenny said.
“Let’s go swimmin’,” suggested Studs.
“O.K.,” said Kenny.
“All right. I’ll get my suit and meet you here in twenty minutes,” said Studs.
“But I’ll have to get a suit. I ain’t got none,” said Kenny.
“Whose will you borrow?” asked Studs.
Kenny winked.
“What beach’ll we go to?” asked Studs.
“Fifty-first Street,” said Kenny.
“Ain’t there a lot of Jews there?” asked Studs.
“Where ain’t there kikes? They’re all over. You watch. First it’s the hebes, and then it’s the niggers that’s gonna overrun the south side,” Kenny said.
“And then where ull a white man go to?” asked Studs.
“He’ll have to go to Africa or... Jew-rusalem,” said Kenny.
Kenny sang Solomon Levi with all the sheeny motions, and it was funny, because Kenny was funny, all right, and could always make a guy laugh.
Afterwards Studs said:
“If we go to Jackson Park, it might be better.”
“There’s Polacks there,” said Kilarney.
“Well, how about Seventy-fifth Street beach?” asked Studs.
“It’s O.K. But listen, sometimes Iris is at Fifty-first.”
“That’s a different story. I got to meet this here Iris,” said Studs.
“Yeh,” said Kenny.
“I hope she’s there.”
“She’s sweet. Boy, she’s just UMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMM,” said Kenny.
“Is she really good?” asked Studs.
“Best I ever had,” said Kenny like he was an older guy with much experience.
“Well, I’m going to be a disappointed guy if