The Studs Lonigan Trilogy - James T. Farrell [112]
“Come on!” challenged Paulie, putting up his fists; tears splattered down his face.
Paulie swung wildly, belaboring the air, while Kenny laughed and shadow-boxed out of his reach.
“Please fight me,” sobbed Paulie, dropping his hands to his sides.
“No, but I’ll play you a little casino.”
“Well, come on then, you bastard!”
They sat down on the sidewalk, and Kenny started dividing rocks between them. Paulie said these were stones, not cards, Kenny seriously said they were cards. Paulie said he’d fight over it. Kenny leaped up, and ran ahead. He watched and kidded while Slug held Studs, who was vomiting over the curb.
“I love my wife,” Paulie shouted, as he staggered in the rear, his coat slung over his shoulder, his hat askew, his hair plastered down his forehead.
He caught up with the other guys, and sobbed that he was worried because he thought that he still might have that dose of his, and he was afraid that if he had any kids, it would make them blind, or even nuttier than Kilarney. “Blah!” mouthed Kenny.
“Say, for Christ sake, will somebody drag that puppy home to his she-bitch,” Barney complained.
Paulie mumbled it was no fooling. He was worried because it might even mean that he’d have kids like Kenny Kilarney. He fell down. They had to carry him, and he wouldn’t shut up.
III
“I’m drunk!” Paulie said emphatically, as he floundered beside Studs.
“I’m weak,” Studs said.
“I’m drunk, Studs.”
“Didn’t it give you a headache,” Studs said, feeling his head, glad he had vomited it up.
“Christ, Studs, I’m drunk!”
Studs belched.
Paulie complained, too, because of that dose and having kids like Kilarney. He said he loved his wife. Studs wanted to mention Lucy, but he didn’t get a chance. Paulie talked a leg off him. He left Paulie, and walked slowly home, his head pounding. He felt proud of having been drunk, and sorry, and rotten. He worried lest he would wake up the family. He started walking on a crack in the sidewalk, back and forth, to prove to himself that he could walk straight. And if anybody was up, they might smell his breath.
Getting in, he fumbled with his key, and it seemed like he was as noisy as an earthquake.
“That you, son?”
He stood still, like an apprehended burglar. His mother said she’d worried because it was late. He said he was all right, and had only been talking with some of the fellows. Luck! He quickly tumbled into bed, into its soft whiteness, protection from his headache, and thoughts, and everything.
V
Studs Lonigan, Tommy Doyle, Red Kelly, Benny Taite, and Kenny Kilarney acted slightly aloof, while a gang of blood-thirsty kids swirled and milled about them reiterating the cry of “Let’s go!” Clubs and sticks were brandished. Three Star Hennessey gritted his teeth, and slashed the air with a straight razor. Weary Reilley casually and publicly examined a twenty-two revolver. Kenny Kilarney put on a pair of brass knuckles, and permitted the punks to examine them. Studs Lonigan gripped a baseball bat, and swung as if stepping into a pitch. He said that when he cracked a dinge in the head, the goddamn eight ball would think it had been Ty Cobb slamming out a homer off Walter Johnson. Red Kelly unsheathed a hunting-knife, and vowed that he was ready. Andy Le Gare tried to tell everyone that in close fighting they should kick the niggers in the shins. Tommy Doyle said the niggers were never going to forget the month of July, 1919. Studs said that they ought to hang every nigger in the city to the telephone poles, and let them swing there in the breeze. Benny Taite said that for every white man killed in the riots, ten black apes ought to be massacred. Red said that the niggers had caught Clackey Merton, from Sixty-first Street, down in the black belt, and slashed his throat from ear to ear, and plenty of niggers had to be slashed to pay for the death of Clackey. They lamented that Clackey was a victim of the riots. Fat Malloy started telling how the Regan Colts were marching into the black belt and knocking off the niggers. Andy said well the Fifty-eighth Street guys were going to do the same thing.