Young Lonigan - James T. Farrell [40]
He goofed around for a while in the vacant lot just off the corner of Fifty-eighth and Indiana. He batted stones. He walked around kicking a tin can, imagining it was something very important, some sort of thing like an election or a sporting contest that got on the front page. Then he thought about Indiana Avenue. It was a better street than Wabash. It was a good block, too, between Fifty-seventh and Fifty-eighth. Maybe when his old man sold the building, he’d buy one in this block. It was nearer the stores, and there were more Catholics on the street, and in the evening the old man could sit on the front porch talking with Old Man O’Brien, and his old lady could gossip with Mrs. O’Brien and Dan’s mother, and Mrs. Scanlan. The house next to Scanlans’ would be a nice one to live in. Some people named Welsh owned it, but they were pretty old and they’d be kicking the bucket soon. There were more trees on Indiana, too, and no shines, and only a few kikes. The building on the right of the lot was the one where yellowbelly Red O’Connell lived, the big redhead. Studs wondered if he could fight him. He’d love to paste O’Connell’s mush, but Red was big. Maybe the old man would buy the building and kick the O’Connells out. Down two doors was the wooden frame house where the O’Callaghans lived. Old Man O’Callaghan had been one of the first guys to live in the neighborhood, and he was supposed to be lousy with dough. And then the apartment buildings where the Donoghues lived. And then the series of two-story bricks, where Lucy, Helen Shires and the O’Briens lived. And then the home where those Jews, the Glasses, lived, and then the apartment buildings on the corner, where punk Danny O’Neill, and Helen Borax, and goofy Andy lived, and they had that bastard of a janitor, George, who was always shagging kids. Some Hallowe’en they were going to get him, good. If Studs lived on Indiana, he’d see more of Lucy. He walked down Indiana, thinking he might call for some of the bunch; but then, he was an independent guy, the best scrapper of the gang; let ‘em call for him. He stopped at Johnny O’Brien’s gangway and checked himself when he was on the verge of shouting up for Johnny. He came out on the sidewalk, and looked back toward Fifty-eighth. He walked backward.
“Hello, there,” sighed Leon.
“Hello!” said Studs, turning sharply, a little surprised.
Studs looked at Leon; he almost looked a hole through him.
Leon was middle-aged and fat. He had a meaty rump that always made the guys laugh, and a pair of breastworks like a woman. His skin was smooth and oily, his eyes dark and cowy, his lips thick and sensuous, his nose Jewish. Leon was a music teacher, and Studs always felt that he was goofy enough to be . . . just a music teacher.
“I say! Why do boys look backward? I always wanted to know,” he said in a half-lisp.
“I was just lookin’ to see if any of the guys were down the street.”
“Well, you know, it’s the funniest thing. It really is. Because I see so many boys looking backward, and I’m always asking myself why they do it. Never for the life of me have I been able to understand,” said Leon.
Studs shrugged his shoulders.
Leon placed his hand on Studs’ shoulder, and patted his head with the other hand. It made Studs feel a little queer; he felt as if Leon’s hands were dirty, or his stomach was going to turn, or something like