The Studs Lonigan Trilogy - James T. Farrell [170]
“Kenny was always cockeyed, and didn’t have sense about serious things,” Tommy said.
“Leave it to Kenny to find a guy like that for a wake where tragedy has occurred,” Kelly said.
“Same old Kilarney,” Studs said.
They talked. More came, and some went out. Finally, Studs and Red left, re-expressing their condolences before departing. “Studs, let’s get a drink.”
“I’m on the wagon, Red,” Studs said.
“How come?”
“I’m taking care of myself these days.”
“Come on, one drink won’t make any difference.”
“Nope, not tonight, Red.”
They walked silently towards Fifty-eighth Street. Across the street, the park seemed gloomy with its deserted tennis courts, and the bare, black trees and shrubbery behind them.
“Say, Studs, I think it was goddamn funny they didn’t ask any of us to be pall-bearers,” Red said.
“I suppose his old man is sore. Thinks we were always responsible for his drinking. Notice the old man didn’t say much to us?”
“Yeah, and the first time I met Arnold just after his family moved in the neighborhood, he was looking for a bottle,” Red said.
“It’s fluky, all right.”
“I feel sorry and I understand how his folks might be feeling, and I offered them my condolences. But Jesus Christ, we were Arnold’s best friends, and we’ll miss him too. I tell you, Studs, it’s an insult to all of us!” Red protested.
Studs wasn’t listening. He couldn’t get the memory of Arnold out of his head, and it gave him a feeling of awe and fear. He had just seen death, death with something terrible, final, about it. It made him suddenly leery of even living. He deter-mined all over again that he was going to take care of himself.
“I suppose old man Sheehan must feel bad. You know, he sees us living, and his son dead, and it must have hit him. But we didn’t kill Arnold. He shouldn’t act that way towards us. But then I suspect it might be Horace. Come to think of it, he hardly ever comes around the poolroom, and when he does, he doesn’t have a lot to say.”
“Yes,” Studs said, not feeling so badly that he hadn’t been asked to be a pall-bearer.
“Arnold was a prince, though. That’s why I’m going to the funeral, even if his family did act that way, and not ask even one of his best friends to stand by him in his last journey,” Red said.
“I’ll miss him. He was white, all right,” Studs said.
“Say, Studs, sure you won’t change your mind and have a drink?”
“No, Red, I’m really starting to put myself into decent shape.”
“What the hell, you’re in good shape, aren’t you?”
“But what I mean is get hard, and get this little bit of belly I got off, and then next season we can get the old team together and play football again.”
“That’s not a bad idea. Remember that fight with the Monitors?”
“Say, that reminds me, remember that kike they had who was so fast and who nearly got killed? I forget his name, but you remember him?”
“I think it was Schwartz.”
“Well, I’ll be goddamned if I wasn’t out to a game in the park last fall and he was playing, and just as fast as ever.”
“But we stopped him,” Red said.
“Yeah, we did,” Studs said, hoping Red would mention one or two of those tackles.
“But come on, Studs,” Red said; Studs shook his head no.
“I was thinking I’d join the Y, and go swimming there and fool around the gym a couple of nights a week. What do you think of it?”
“I might too.”
“I’m going over this week, want to come along?”
“Maybe. Pick me up at the poolroom.”
They had coffee an’ in the Greek restaurant. Studs went home, and turned in early. Lying in bed he felt as if he had again conquered himself, and was already started on the road to making himself as healthy as the guys whose pictures he saw in the physical culture ads in magazines. He thought that every day in every way he was going to get harder and healthier. But he couldn’t get Arnold from his mind, and the words of a song the guys sang kept running through his head.
Did you ever think, when a hearse goes by,
That some day you and I will go rolling by.. .
XV
I hate to see the evening sun go down...
Mickey Flannagan