Ironweed - William Kennedy [16]
“Albert Einstein went to Vassar,” Rudy said.
“You goofy bastard,” said Francis.
“Went there to make a speech. I read it in the papers.”
“He could have,” Helen said. “Everybody speaks at Vassar. It just happens to be one of the three best schools in the world.”
“We oughta go over and see old Oscar,” Francis said.
“Not me,” said Pee Wee.
“No,” said Helen.
“What no?” Francis said. “You afraid we’d all get drunked up if we stopped in to say hello?”
“I’m not afraid of that.”
“Then let’s go see him. He’s all right, Oscar.”
“Think he’ll remember you?” Pee Wee said.
“Maybe. I remember him.”
“So do I.”
“Then let’s go.”
“I wouldn’t drink anything,” Pee Wee said. “I ain’t been in a bar in two years.”
“They got ginger ale. You allowed to drink ginger ale?”
“I hope it’s not expensive,” Helen said.
“Just what you drink,” Pee Wee said. “About usual.”
“Is it snooty?”
“It’s a joint, old-timey, but it pulls in the slummers. That’s half the trade.”
Reverend Chester stepped lively across the room and thrust at Francis a pair of gray woolen socks, his mouth a crescent of pleasure and his great chest heaving with beneficence.
“Try these for size,” he said.
“I thank ya for ‘em,” said Francis.
“They’re good and warm.”
“Just what I need. Nothin’ left of mine.”
“It’s fine that you’re off the drink. You’ve got a strong look about you today.”
“Just a false face for Halloween.”
“Don’t run yourself down. Have faith.”
The door to the mission opened and a slim young man in bifocals and a blue topcoat two sizes small for him, his carroty hair a field of cowlicks, stood in its frame. He held the doorknob with one hand and stood directly under the inside ceiling light, casting no shadow.
“Shut the door,” Pee Wee yelled, and the young man stepped in and shut it. He stood looking at all in the mission, his face a cracked plate, his eyes panicked and rabbity.
“That’s it for him,” Pee Wee said.
The preacher strode to the door and stood inches from the young man, studying him, sniffing him.
“You’re drunk,” the preacher said.
“I only had a couple.”
“Oh no. You’re in the beyond.”
“Honest,” said the young man. “Two bottles of beer.”
“Where did you get the money for beer?”
“A fella paid me what he owed me.”
“You panhandled it.”
“No.”
“You’re a bum.”
“I just had a drink, Reverend.”
“Get your things together. I told you I wouldn’t put up with this a third time. Arthur, get his bags.”
Pee Wee stood up from the table and climbed the stairs to the rooms where the resident handful lived while they sorted out their lives. The preacher had invited Francis to stay if he could get the hooch out of his system. He would then have a clean bed, clean clothes, three squares, and a warm room with Jesus in it for as long as it took him to answer the question: What next? Pee Wee held the house record: eight months in the joint, and managing it after three, such was his zeal for abstention. No booze, no smoking upstairs (for drunks are fire hazards), carry your share of the work load, and then rise you must, rise you will, into the brilliant embrace of the just God. The kitchen volunteers stopped their work and came forward with solemnized pity to watch the eviction of one of their promising young men. Pee Wee came down with a suitcase and set it by the door.
“Give us a cigarette, Pee,” the young man said.
“Don’t have any.”
“Well roll one.”
“I said I don’t have any tobacco.”
“Oh.”
“You’ll have to leave now, Little Red,” the preacher said.
Helen stood up and came over to Little Red and put a cigarette in his hand. He took it and said nothing. Helen struck a match and lit it for him, then sat back down.
“I don’t have anyplace to go,” Little Red said, blowing smoke past the preacher.
“You should have thought of that before you started drinking. You are a contumacious young man.”
“I got noplace to put that bag. And I got a pencil and paper upstairs.”
“Leave it here. Come and get your pencil and paper when you get that poison out of your system and you can talk sense about yourself.”
“My pants are in there.”
“They’ll be all right. Nobody here will touch your pants.