Young Lonigan - James T. Farrell [380]
And there was lots ahead of him now that wasn’t just grief, and he would never get another girl who cared for him like Catherine. And still there was that holding back which made him feel like a traitor. And wasn’t he just getting too goddamn mushy for words?
And she laughed free and gay.
“What’s the joke?” he asked, surprised by her change of mood.
“I’m just happy and you’re a darling,” she said, her eyes seeming to flash. “You look and act so much like a boy, so gruff.” She made a face. “So gruff when you don’t mean it, and you have such nice beautiful blue eyes, just like a little boy’s. I bet you must have been pretty when you were a boy.”
“I suppose I ought to get a kiddy car,” he said, but he liked it.
“Darling, I’d love to see you riding a kiddy car,” she laughed.
“You get me with that chatter, Kid,” he said, maintaining his air of gruffness.
“It’s not chatter,” she said in mock indignation.
“Say, it’s one o‘clock.”
“Gosh, I got to get back.”
They arose quickly and left the restaurant, and the string trio commenced Love Me and the World is Mine.
Chapter Thirteen
I
“LET’s take a walk in the park,” he said, taking her arm possessively.
“I don’t know,” Catherine said, and catching her expression from the corner of his eye, he sensed that she had guessed what was on his mind.
Ahead of them at the Stony Island corner were passing people, automobiles and street cars with a brightly illuminated Nation Oil Company filling station in the background. Passing an open window, they heard a baby-voiced female radio songbird.
I’ve a pair of arms to hug and hold,
But nobody’s using them now . . .
Once he had walked toward Sheridan Road with Lucy, and she had sung and. . . . But this was different now and, oh, hell with dragging up memories!
“Nice night out,” he said.
“Uh huh,” Catherine muttered thoughtfully.
“Too nice a night to waste,” he said, lighting a cigarette and puffing on it vigorously. “That’s why I thought we might take a walk over to the park. It might be nice there.”
“You like nature,” she said reprovingly.
“Well, it would be nice there because it is a nice night out.”
“And isn’t that all so awfully just too nice for words that it’s nice,” she mimicked.
“Well, don’t you think. . . . Oh, can it,” he said in growing confusion.
“I think you’re perfectly right,” she laughed.
“How do you feel?” he asked as they neared Stony Island.
“Oh, I feel all right.”
They turned and walked aimlessly north along Stony Island Avenue, past stores and buildings and filling stations, with the sound of automobile tires swishing persistently.
“Well?”
“You men,” she smiled.
“Why . . . what do you mean?”
“You want to go to Jackson Park and enjoy nature.”
“Well, isn’t it natural?” he said aggressively, and she blushed.
He shot his cigarette butt into the street and looked at a couple drifting along in front of him.
“Now, aren’t you sorry you were so vulgar?”
“I wasn’t vulgar,” he said with embarrassment.
“Oh, no,” she said, linking his arm. “Sometimes you’re so like a boy.”
“Well . . .” he stopped talking.
“Yes, well, it’s a nice night, isn’t it?”
“Well, it is.”
“Beautiful night.”
“And you’re just trying to razz me.”
“Did you just make that discovery, you sweet old . . . pumpkin.”
“Anyway, Kid, what’ll we do?”
“I know what we shan’t do.”
“What?”
“Go to the park and catch cold on the damp grass finding out that nature is grand. . . . Go on, you’re making me blush.”
“I never even mentioned that,” Studs self-righteously protested.
“I know. But I’m not going to take any chances with you. I love you too much to be trusting you on a dark night in the park.”
“You’re putting thoughts into my head.”
“Well, take them out, Mr. Tarzan,” she said, shamming irritation.
“What did you put them in for?”
“You’re so innocent.”
“Yes. . . . I mean no.”
“William Lonigan, aren’t you ashamed of yourself?”
“There’s no reason for a guy to be ashamed of liking a girl like you.”
“You’re so sweet,” she said, squeezing his elbow.
“Well, I know how you can make yourself even more sweet.”
“But, darling,