Young Lonigan - James T. Farrell [94]
“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 Battling Bertha, and ask her why is Saturday,” said Paulie.
“How is Bertha?” asked Studs.
“Oh, she’s as big a crab as ever,” said Paulie.
“You ain’t seen her, have you?” asked Weary, ironically.
“Yeh, I was to school two weeks ago,” said Paulie.
They talked. Paulie wondered out loud about when he would return to school, and if he would get back in class. The sisters said they were giving him his last chance when his mother went up in September and begged that he be let in. Studs said that he ought to have George Kahler write him an excuse, because George was a bearcat at forging handwriting. If Paulie got a sample of his old lady’s handwriting, the trick could be turned. Then he wouldn’t get canned. Studs and Paulie talked of how they hated school. Weary stood there, whittling.
Suddenly, Studs said:
“Gee, I wonder where Davey Cohen is by now.”
“He hasn’t written anybody, has he?” said Paulie.
“No, he blew out right after that first time we were at Iris’, went on the bum like a damn fool. You wouldn’t catch me doing that. I know where I get my pork chops,” said Studs.
“He was a kike, and kikes are no good,” said Weary.
“Well, with an old man like his, I don’t blame the guy for taking to the road,” said Paulie.
“He was a kike, and kikes are yellow. If a gee is yellow, I ain’t got no use for him, and I ain’t never seen a hebe that didn’t have yellow all over his back,” said Weary.
“Well, Davey’s gone,” said Paulie.
They wished they had cigarettes.
“And Iris. They didn’t make machines better than she was,” said Paulie.
“And she never snitched on you, did she, Weary?” said Studs.
“She knew better,” said Weary.
“The old lady caught you with her, didn’t she,” said Paulie.
“And she acted like all old ladies. She went up in the air, threw a faint, cried and hollered. She went to sock me, and I told her hands off, and walked out,” said Weary.
“Well, she’s in a boarding school, where she can’t see any guys now,” said Studs.
“And she was good stuff, too, even if she was a little young,” said Paulie.
Studs sat down in the