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By Root 1710 0

doing it, doing what . . . not the turkey trot. But you weren’t supposed to. It made God sorry, and put a thorn in the side of Jesus. But God was in Heaven where it oughtn’t to really bother him. If maybe Adam and Eve hadn’t sinned! Studs had once heard his mother say that they were put out of the Garden of Eden because of it, and that the apple story was only a fairy tale told to kids too young to know any better. But it was supposed to be wrong for a guy to do it. It was right for the sisters to warn you, because temptation always got you. But when you didn’t do it, well, you couldn’t think of anything else, and it made you hot all over, and you couldn’t sleep at night. All you did then was to think you were doing it, and to pretend that every woman you saw didn’t have nothing on . . . and it wasn’t so much, either. It didn’t help guys to understand girls any better, and after it Iris didn’t understand him any better, and it didn’t scarcely last a minute, and it wasn’t as much fun as making a clean, hard-flying tackle in a football game, or going swimming like that day he and Kenny had gone; a double chocolate soda had it skinned all hollow.

He was agitated. If Iris should snitch! If he should die now in a state of mortal sin! If God should get angry with him for sinning, and do something to him! He wasn’t even worthy of Lucy now. He remembered that day in the park.

But what could a guy do? It wasn’t so much, but it got you. It wasn’t so much, and it made you feel dirty, and . . . He was called to supper. He walked into the dining room, acting and feeling like a man.

SECTION FOUR

Chapter Eight

IT WAS a November afternoon. It made Studs happy-sad. He bummed from school and met Weary and Paulie. They went over to Washington Park. The park was bare. The wind rattled through the leaves that were colored with golden decay. The three kids strolled around, crunching leaves as they walked. Almost nobody was in the park, and their echoes traveled far. Just walking around and talking made them feel different.

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: ‘Ope 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.