The Studs Lonigan Trilogy - James T. Farrell [124]
He looked at the rambling, tan-and-gray school building that stood in the center of the grounds facing south. The sky over it was red. It all made him lonesome. The sky red, the empty buildings, the playground he had known so well as a kid, with nobody now in it. He looked at the batter’s box on the diamond. Paulie had stood there batting right-handed in a piggy game, cursing Young Coady for twirling the ball on the day he’d cleaned Red Kelly. He could almost hear Paulie’s voice:
“Come on, you goddamn punk, or I’ll fling the bat at you!”
And right inside the fence from where he stood was the spot where they’d had the fight. Paulie had placed the stick on his shoulder and Red had knocked it off, and they’d tangled. And the fists of Studs Lonigan had won him respect.
Suddenly, he was lonesome, lonesome to be a boy again.
He looked at his clenched fist. It was pretty big, considering his size. He was only about five six, but he was broad, and he was still tough, and able to spot a lot of guys on weight and take them.
But still he couldn’t get himself to believe that Paulie was dead. He had stood right inside the playground, and Studs could almost see him, mushy-faced, a bit fat, big fanny, wearing a red-trimmed, gray baseball shirt. The first to go, and all shot to pieces with clap, and drink, and dissipation.
Poor Paulie.
Studs lit a cigarette. He wondered why the good guys like Paulie went, and the louses like Weary Reilley didn’t. He shrugged his shoulders and told himself he ought to snap out of it. But when he looked at the playground, with the sky red over it, and remembered so many things, and thought that Paulie was dead, out in Calvary Cemetery, he was lone-some, lonesome to be a kid again. He walked on towards the corner, along a sidewalk he’d walked with Paulie many times. Even though he was sad about Paulie, he couldn’t help being a bit proud, because he was twenty-one and strong, and yes, tomorrow in the football game, he’d show his strength. He’d done his drinking and jazzing too, and still, he was strong and tough. He was the real stuff.
He’d never realized that he was growing up and changing. There had been signs on his body, but they, too, had come gradually. Each day he had grown stronger, bigger more hair on him. He had changed, though, slowly day by day and gotten to hanging around the poolroom, worked with his old man, and then, well, he wasn’t doing the things he’d done as a kid. Now he was a man. Well, he was! He felt a little goofy, remembering how, before coming out, he’d looked at himself in the mirror, and assured himself that he was a man. But he was. And there were many years ahead of him, drinking, jazzing, poker-games, plenty of things. And he had dough. With the birthday present from his old man, he now had four hundred bucks in his own name in the bank. He was pretty goddamn well off.
A girl came toward him. He liked her looks. He had confidence in his walk. He was well dressed too: gray Stetson, conservative gray topcoat, well-fitting sixty-five-dollar Oxford gray suit, good cut, the trousers wide enough so that he didn’t look like a hick, but not ringing bell bottoms. The girl passed him. He passed her, and turned over Fifty-eighth Street.
But the evening was all wasted, because he had made his decision and would stick to it.
He walked towards the poolroom thinking about a lot of things. He saw young Cooley, and motioned him over, calling him a dope.
“Droopy, when you gonna let it alone?” he asked, not knowing why he did it, and laughing to see the hurt, shocked look on the kid’s face.
He walked along. He had let himself get into the wrong attitude. Well, he didn’t have to go tonight. But he did. He didn’t like to admit it to himself, but he was afraid. Well, it wasn’t yellow. It was a different kind of fear. It was fear for his soul if something did happen to him.
He just felt all off kilter. Maybe afterwards, he would feel different.
II
Studs had what Father Gilhooley always called a feeling of gratification. Red, Tommy, and the guys had kept trying to talk him into going with them, and he had resisted all temptation.