Ironweed - William Kennedy [23]
“The dogs got her.”
He looked across the street and saw a red-eyed mongrel waiting in the half-lit corner of an alley and he charged after it, picking up a stone as he went. The cur fled down the alley as Francis turned his ankle on a raised sidewalk brick and sprawled on the pavement. He picked himself up, he now bloodied too by the cur, and sucked the dirt out of the cuts.
As he crossed the street, goblins came up from Broadway, ragged and masked, and danced around Helen. Pee Wee, bending over Sandra, straightened up as the goblin dance gained in ferocity.
“Jam and jelly, big fat belly,” the goblins yelled at Helen. And when she drew herself inward they only intensified the chant.
“Hey you kids,” Francis yelled. “Let her alone.”
But they danced on and a skull goblin poked Helen in the stomach with a stick. As she swung at the skull with her hand, another goblin grabbed her purse and then all scattered.
“Little bastards, devils,” Helen cried, running after them. And Francis and Pee Wee too joined the chase, pounding through the night, no longer sure which one wore the skull mask. The goblins ran down alleys, around corners, and fled beyond capture.
Francis turned back to Helen, who was far behind him. She was weeping, gasping, doubled over in a spasm of loss.
“Sonsabitches,” Francis said.
“Oh the money,” Helen said, “the money.”
“They hurt you with that stick?”
“I don’t think so.”
“That money ain’t nothin’. Get more tomorrow.”
“It was.”
“Was what?”
“There was fifteen dollars in there besides the other.”
“Fifteen? Where’d you get fifteen dollars?”
“Your son Billy gave it to me. The night he found us at Spanish George’s. You were passed out and he gave us forty-five dollars, all the cash he had. I gave you thirty and kept the fifteen.”
“I went through that pocketbook. I didn’t see it.”
“I pinned it inside the lining so you wouldn’t drink it up. I wanted our suitcase back. I wanted our room for a week so I could rest.”
“Goddamn it, woman, now we ain’t got a penny. You and your sneaky goddamn ways.”
Pee Wee came back from the chase empty-handed.
“Some tough kids around here,” he said. “You okay, Helen?”
“Fine, just fine.”
“You’re not hurt?”
“Not anyplace you could see.”
“Sandra,” Pee Wee said. “She’s dead.”
“She’s more than that,” Francis said. “She’s partly chewed away.”
“We’ll take her inside so they don’t eat no more of her,” Pee Wee said. “I’ll call the police.”
“You think it’s all right to bring her inside?” Francis asked. “She’s still got all that poison in her system.”
Pee Wee said nothing and opened the mission door. Francis picked Sandra up from the dust and carried her inside. He put her down on an old church bench against the wall and covered her face with the scratchy blanket that had become her final gift from the world.
“If I had my rosary I’d say it for her,” Helen said, sitting on a chair beside the bench and looking at Sandra’s corpse. “But it was in my purse. I’ve carried that rosary for twenty years.”
“I’ll check the vacant lots and the garbage cans in the mornin’,” Francis said. “It’ll turn up.”
“I’ll bet Sandra prayed to die,” Helen said.
“Hey,” said Francis.
“I would if I was her. Her life wasn’t human anymore.”
Helen looked at the clock: twelve-ten. Pee Wee was calling the police.
“Today’s a holy day of obligation,” she said. “It’s All Saints’ Day.”
“Yup,” said Francis.
“I want to go to church in the morning.”
“All right, go to church.”
“I will. I want to hear mass.”
“Hear it. That’s tomorrow. What are we gonna do tonight? Where the hell am I gonna put you?”
“You could stay here,” Pee Wee said. “All the beds are full but you can sleep down here on a bench.”
“No,” Helen said. “I’d rather not do that. We can go up to Jack’s. He told me I could come back if I wanted.”
“Jack said that?” Francis asked.
“Those were his words.”
“Then let’s shag ass. Jack’s all right. Clara’s a crazy bitch but I like Jack. Always did. You sure he said that?”
“‘Come back anytime,’ he said as I was going out the door.”
“All right. Then we’ll move along, old buddy,” Francis said to Pee Wee.