The Studs Lonigan Trilogy - James T. Farrell [84]
They moved, lazily, over toward the wooded island with its trees gaunt and ugly. They talked a little.
As they walked along, Studs started to laugh to himself. They asked him what he was laughing about. He said:
“I was just thinking about the guy in the drug store out near school. Every time a gang of us guys come in, he laughs, and says to his clerk: ‘Cope lookat! Hey, Charlie, here comes the higher Catholic education! Lock up the candy cases.’ “
“That’s a good one. Here comes the higher Catholic education. Lock up the candy cases,” said Paulie.
They stood gazing at the chilled-looking lagoon that was tremulous with low waves. Leaves drifted, feebly and willy-nilly, on its wrinkled surface, and there was no sun. They wandered on along the shore line, and Weary broke off a branch from the shrubbery. He whittled a point on it and stopped to poke some ooze out of a dead fish.
“Ugh!” muttered Paulie.
“Dead as a door nail,” said Studs.
“Death’s a funny thing,” said Paulie.
“I ain’t afraid of it,” said Weary.
“Well, it’s a funny thing,” said Paulie.
“It’s different with a fish. A fish don’t count anyway. It ain’t got any soul,” Studs said.
“Nothing counts enough to make me afraid of it,” Weary said.
“How about you, Studs?” asked Paulie.
“Well, I ain’t gonna die for a while,” Studs said, his voice a little strained.
“None of us know when we’re gonna kick the bucket,” said Paulie.
“Come on, crepe hanger,” said Weary.
“Yeah, Paulie, you sound like your old man was in the undertaking business,” Studs said.
Nothing in particular happened, and the day seemed so different from other days. Nothing happened, and it wasn’t dull. The three kids felt something in common, a communion of spirit, given to them by the swooning, cloudy, Indian summer day that was rich and good and belonged only to them.
They stopped at the squat stone bridge and looked down into the water, watching the movement of the current, noticing the leaves and branches swimming on its surface.
“How’s it going today, Paulie?” asked Studs.
“Oh, the athlete is still running,” Paulie said.
“Still running?” said Studs.
“Yeh, he’s a good track man,” said Paulie.
“If I was you, I’d get the jane that did it to you, and paste the living hell out of her,” said Weary.
“So would I, if I could find her. She was a pickup,” said Paulie.
“What did she look like?” asked Weary.
“I don’t know much. It was at night. I know she was young; she couldn’t have been more than sixteen. I guess she had dark hair. She had a voice that was kinda shrill and sharp. I might remember it, but it would be hard to pick her out of a crowd in full daylight,” said Paulie.
“Janes like that are no good, and they ought to be smacked,” said Weary.
“You better go to a doctor,” said Studs.
“I ain’t got the jack,” said Paulie.
“How about telling your old man?” asked Studs.
“Hell, I can’t. He’d get too sore. He’s sore enough about school, and keeps yelping about me only being in seventh grade now when I shoulda been graduated,” said Paulie.
“Ain’t you doin’ nothin’ for it?” said Studs.
“I got some stuff at the drug store, but they ain’t done no good,” said Paulie.
“I’d look for that jane and bust her,” said Weary.
“Well, you ought to do something for it,” said Studs.
Studs wanted to ask Paulie questions about it, but he could see that Paulie didn’t want to talk further.
They walked on and stopped at the denuded oak tree where Studs and Lucy had sat. It stirred memories in him that were sharp with poignancy and a sense of loss. Seeing the tree, all stripped like it was dying, made him doubly sad. And Lucy didn’t even speak to him any more when she saw him on the street, and she had sat in the tree with him, swinging her legs… He leaned against the trunk and said:
“Well, tomorrow is Saturday!”
“Yeh, and you guys won’t have to take the trouble to bum from school,” laughed Weary.
“That’s a tough break for us,” said Studs.
“Yeh, we ought to kick. Studs’ll write a letter of complaint to old Father Mahin, ain’t that his name, at Loyola and I’ll up and see