From Here to Eternity_ The Restored Edit - Jones, James [77]
“I aint got any,” Prew said.
“Yeah? What’s that in your pocket? Come on, give us a butt.”
Prew raised his face impassively. “An empty pack,” he lied, staring in Bloom’s eyes without embarrassment. “I just killed it.”
“Yeah?” Bloom laughed sarcastically. “All believes that stand on their head. Give us the butt on that one then.”
“Sure, friend.” Prew flipped the butt of his cigaret contemptuously. It lit on the floor near Bloom, under a commode.
“Hey!” Bloom protested. “You think I’ll smoke that? after its rolled in all that piss? Thats a hell of a way for a guy to act, for Christ’s sake.”
“I smoked one just a while ago,” Maggio said. “Tasted good to me.”
“Yeah?” Bloom said. “Well maybe I aint sunk that low yet. When I do, I’ll pick me up some horseturds and roll my own.”
“Suit yourself,” Maggio said. He crawled over and picked up the butt in question and smoked it himself. “Just watch out,” he said, crawling back, “you dont pick the wrong one up and smoke yourself.”
Sal Clark had been collecting the cards for the new hand, keeping his face averted embarrassedly from all the antagonism that had come in with Bloom, as if he did not want to see it. “Shall I deal him in?” he asked Prew gently.
“I guess so,” Prew said.
“What’re you?” Bloom sneered. “His man Friday? Do you ask him when its time to crap?”
Sal hung his head and did not answer, blushing.
“Sure he’s my man Friday,” Prew shot back, seeing Sal’s face. “You dont like it?”
Bloom shrugged indifferently. “Its no skin off my ass.”
Sal looked at Prewitt gratefully as he began to deal. But Bloom did not even see it.
With Bloom’s entrance the centrality of the game disintegrated and the close comradeship was gone. Everybody played silently. There were no more wisecracks. It might have been the big game in O’Hayer’s shed. Maggio won several more hands and every time Bloom cursed loudly.
“For Christ’s sake, shut up!” Julius Sussman said finally. “You make me wish I’m not a Jew.”
“Yeah?” Bloom snarled elaborately. “What’re you? ashamed of being Jewish? Maybe you aint a Jew; maybe you’re a stinking greaser.”
“Maybe I am.”
“Sure, maybe he is,” Maggio said. “He aint no frigging kike, thats sure. Deal me out,” he said. “I got enough of this. I’m going over to O’Hayer’s shed and run this pocketful of change into some real dough.”
“Hey, wait a minute,” Bloom said, jumping to his feet. “You aint quittin winners, are you?”
“Sure I’m quittin winners,” Maggio said. “You think I’m gonna quit losers? Where’d you learn to gamble? your mother’s sewing circle?”
“You cant quit winners,” Bloom said. “And take the money over to the sheds out of the game.”
“Yeah?” Maggio said. “You watch me.”
Bloom turned to the seated circle. “You guys gonna let him get by with that? He’s got your dough too.”
“What do you think we started this game for?” Prew said. “You think we’re playin for recreation? and gonna give everybody’s money back as soon as we quit? Who the hell wants this chickenfeed except to win some real dough in the sheds? For Christ’s sake, act your age.”
“Yeah?” Bloom said, accusingly. “What’re you doing? workin partners with the Wop? I lost two bucks in this goddam game. A right guy dont quit winners on his friends. I thought you was a straight joe, Prewitt; even when all the boys told me you wouldnt go out for fightin. I told em no, you was a straight joe when they all said you was yellow. Looks like I was wrong.”
Prew put the few dimes and nickels he had left in his pocket and stood up, his hands hanging loosely in readiness at his sides, his lips tightened into bloodlessness, his eyes flat as eyes painted on a board.
“Listen, you son of a bitch,” he said, feeling an icy calm that was a flaming rapture of abandon. “Keep your big yap away from me, or I’ll sew it shut for you. And I wont get in any ring to do it. And I wont need no chair.”
“Yeah?” Bloom said, stepping back. “I’m right here. Any time you say.” He began to unbutton his shirt and pull it out of his pants.
“When I do,” Prew grinned tautly, “you wont have no time to take your shirt off.”
“Talk is big,” Bl