Young Lonigan - James T. Farrell [96]
“Your woraciousness, fellow critters, I don’t blame ye so much for; dat is natur, and can’t be helped. . . . No use goin’ on; de willians will keep a scrougin’ and slappin’ each oder, Massa Studd; dey don’t hear one word; no use a-preaching to such dam g’uttons as you call ’em, till dere bellies is full, and dere bellies is bottomless; and when dey do get ’em full, dey won’t hear you den; for den dey sink in de sea, go fast to sleep on de coral, and can’t hear not’ing at all, no more, for eber and eber.”
MOBY DICK BY HERMAN MELVILLE.
SECTION ONE
1917—1918—1919
I
THE baby bawled. Lee heard a final sob from his wife. He slammed the door. Cursing in disgust, he walked along Calumet Avenue. He joined the lads in the barber shop, front of Charlie Bathcellar’s poolroom, and smiled with a lightened mood.
“Congratulate me, boys!”
“What, did you get a divorce?” asked fat, middle-aged, dour-faced Barney Keefe.
“You sound like you lost your job, Lee,” Jew Percentage smiled.
“Nope! I got a one-way ticket to Berlin. Leaving tomorrow,” Lee said.
“Say, I see where some guy in Kansas City put a Colt in his mouth, and fired, committing suicide. That’s four suicides in the paper tonight,” Slew Weber said, looking up from his newspaper; he was slouched in one of the barber chairs.
“Hey, Swede, drop that morbidity!” said Barney.
“Lee, what did the missus say?” asked Percentage.
“What she says ain’t nothin’ out of my poke. Her old man has enough to take care of her and her goddamn brat. And I don’t care if I never see her again,” Lee answered spiritedly.
“She must have thrown the rolling pin at you,” said Fitz, the poolroom pest.
“She acted like a goddamn bitch. She jerked on the tears. Then, she came petting around. Just like a goddamn bitch, trying to get me hot. She pulled every trick that a bitch pulls on a guy,” Lee said in disgust.
“She loves you. She just doesn’t want to see her man shot into sixteen pieces,” Pat Coady said.
“I ain’t afraid of death, and before they get me, I’ll chop down a few goddamn sausage-eatin’ Dutchmen. I’m glad to go and take my chances. I’ve been a shipping clerk for a whole goddamn year, and I’m fed up with it and that goddamn bitch of a wife I got and that squalling brat. I’m fed up, and want to see the fun. . . . And listen, lads, don’t think that Lee Cole ain’t going to sample some nice French chicken,” he said, winking.
“Well, Lee, give our regards to Kaiser Bill,” said Pat.
“And tell him the boys from Fifty-eighth Street want to throw a party in his honor, if he’ll drop around,” Slew said.
“Sure thing! And say, boys, since it’s my last night, how about having a blowout?”
“You said it. We’ll send you off to Berlin in the right way,” said Barlowe.
Chapter One
I
STUDS LONIGAN walked north along Indiana Avenue. His cap was on crooked, a cigarette hung from the corner of his mouth, and his hands were jammed into the pockets of his long jeans.
Warm sun sifted dozily through an April wind, making him feel good. He liked spring and summer. There were things in winter that were all right—ice skating, plopping derbies with snowballs—but spring and summer, that was his ticket. Soon now, there would be long afternoons ahead, at the beach and over in Washington Park, where they would all drowse in the shade, gassing, telling jokes, goofing the punks, flirting with the chickens and nursemaids, fooling around and having swell times. Like last summer, only this one was going to be even better. He was a year older now, bigger, and he knew what it was all about. After June, he wouldn’t have that worry about school. It sure was a black cloud over his head. Gee, he didn’t know what night he would go home to supper and learn that his old man had found out. How would he face it? If only he hadn’t done it!
But he’d lied, and had had to go on telling more lies until now he was so damn mixed up in lies about it, that he didn’t know what to do. He hadn’t wanted to go to high school anyway. Well, it was the old man’s fault. And if the old man did find out, all