The Studs Lonigan Trilogy - James T. Farrell [76]
Two hooknoses, about Studs’ size, did come along. Andy and Johnny O’Brien, the two youngest in the gang, stopped the shonickers.
“Sock one of ‘em, Andy,” Studs said.
“Sa-ay, Christ Killer!” Johnny said to his man.
“We ain’t done nothin’,” the guy pleaded.
“Where you from?” asked Red Kelly.
“Fifty-first and Prairie.”
“That’s a Jew neighborhood,” said Red.
“No!”
Red called him a liar, and said that all Jew neighborhoods were a disgrace, and that was enough.
Andy and Johnny each shoved one of the Jews.
They started to mosey on.
“No you don’t, big-nose!” said Red, catching Johnny’s man. Weary grabbed the other.
“You’re the guy that got tough with me, ain’t you?” said Andy.
“I ain’t never seen you before.”
“Don’t let ‘im get out of it, Andy. Take ‘im back in the alley,” said Davey.
The two Jews were dragged back in the alley.
“Now, if you two sons of Abraham ain’t yellow like the rest of your race, fight,” said Red Kelly.
They said they didn’t want to fight.
Red said they had to.
“Go ahead. These kids are smaller than you and you’ll get a fair fight as long as you don’t do no dirty work.”
They begged to be let off.
“Oh, you don’t want to fight. You’re yellow. Well, you dirty yellow... There, take that,” said Andy.
They heard the smack. It was a beaut.
“And this for you, Jewboy,” said Johnny.
Johnny’s man fell to his knees.
Benny Taite was behind him.
“Take that for killin’ Christ,” said Benny.
Johnny dragged him to his feet.
“That a boy. One eye’s closed, Johnny kid,” Davey said, encouraging Johnny.
Johnny’s victim was down and wouldn’t get up. Kenny got a few yards off, made noises, whistled, and sang:
Fire, fire, false alarm
Baby da-dumped
In papa’s arm .. .
Fire, fire, false alarm.
He came up whizzing, snorting, yelling that he was the hose cart.
“House on fire! House on fire! House on fire!”
They laughed.
“Now it’s out!” he said.
They laughed.
Johnny’s victim tried to wipe his face with his handkerchief. Davey booted him. He rolled back, got up, and ran. Red tore after him, and aimed a good swift kick, but missed and fell on his ear. He cursed the Jew.
Andy’s victim had been fighting back all the while. It was a good fight, even, with them trading sock for sock. Then the fellow’s weight began to tell. Andy was breathing heavy, and his punches were lumbering ones. Studs laughed, and gave the guy a kick in the pants. The fellow turned, and as he did, Andy got him smack in the eye.
“Jesus, Andy, you got his eye swellin’ like a balloon,” Benny Taite yelled.
“Hit ‘im again, he’s only a shonicker,” said Davey.
They gave the guy the clouts, and left him moaning in the alley. Kenny ran back, frisked the guy, and took a pearl-handled pocket knife.
They walked on over to the park, and Andy and Johnny gloried in congratulations. Red said they would make Andy their mascot and let him start fights with hebes, because he was small, and then they all could pitch in and finish the job.
“Now it will be a perfect day, if we can only catch a couple of shines,” said Weary.
They all wished that.
They passed the duck-pond at Fifty-third, but didn’t try any rough stuff there because two cops watched them. Over in the ball field they parked under a massive oak. They played pull-the-peg, and told dirty jokes while the knife passed from left to right.
The park spread away from them in a wide field of grass, shrunken and slowly withering through August, with many spots where the grass was worn down and dirt showed. The baseball diamonds started cater-corner from them and rimmed the park, around to the field house that was off toward their left. A scabby line of bushes extended almost completely around the park, and behind the shrubbery the dazzling, shimmering sky fell. Fellows and kids were scattered about playing, some so far away that they seemed like white-shirted dots, and their voices like muffled echoes. About a block to their left, and near the field house, a gang of older fellows