The Studs Lonigan Trilogy - James T. Farrell [174]
“Go ahead. Make the leap, and it’s swell.”
“I will. I was just watching a minute.”
“That almost pooped me. I got to get better wind than I got,” Studs said.
He patted the fat around his belly.
“This has to come off.”
“There isn’t much there.”
“It’s more than there should be.”
A big splash was made, and water was thrown up against them.
“Why don’t that bastard learn how before he starts diving. He’s like Moses parting the waters,” Studs said.
“You’re a good swimmer,” Les said.
“I used to swim a lot as a kid.”
“So did I, but you’re better than I am,” Les said.
“Well, here goes again. Coming?”
“All right.”
Studs ran off the board, and let go, again doing a neat dive. Les followed, diving more awkwardly, splashing heavily.
“Nice,” Les yelled, coming up, and swimming alongside of Studs.
“Let’s race,” Studs said.
“You can beat me.”
“Oh, come on, anyway.”
They raced, Studs let Les gain, then, with full confidence, he took even powerful strokes to draw alongside, and then ahead of, him. They stood up in the shallow water.
“I’m glad I came.”
“It’s good,” Studs said, shaking his head.
“Race back?” he added.
“What’s the use. You beat me.”
Studs turned, jogged out to the deeper water as he moved, done, swam under water, and came up near the middle of the pool. He turned and saw Les coming towards him. He swam to the deeper edge, followed by Les, and climbed up the ladder. He took another dive, went under water for about six feet, came up and moved swiftly, exulting in a feeling of complete bodily freedom. It was swell. The water was just right, lukewarm, and he took rhythmic strokes, gaining a confidence in his physical powers, feeling removed from the world, clean. It was like losing all the gripes that had been piling up within him. He felt, too, that he still had a good body. After a few months of this, and then the summer, he’d be hard as nails. And whores and whore houses, and booze, all that were like sins of the past. He swam until he was tired and gasping, with his arms again heavy and laden, and his back weary as if it were crushed down with weights. He was spent. He climbed out of the pool, thinking how it had been fun spending himself. He lay down wet on the slippery tile, covering his eyes with his arms.
“Gee, this is swell,” Les said, lying down beside him.
“Uh huh,” Studs said.
Guys talked, dove, swam, ran around the tile flooring. It all seemed far away.
“Yes, hell, it’s much better swimming this way than with suits.”
Studs looked up, as if he were just awakening. He and Les sat up.
“Come on, let’s take another dip before we call it quits.”
They dove in, swam the length of the pool, and then went down to the lockers to dress and go out.
“I had a swell time,” Les said.
“Yeah, and it’s good for you.”
“The guys don’t know what they missed,” Les said.
“They’re all mopes.”
XVI
“Say, Mister, could you help me to get a bit to eat?” Davey Cohen begged, touching the sleeve of a well-dressed bucolic-looking fellow in front of the Circle Monument in Indianapolis.
Davey watched the fellow move away. Hadn’t even batted an eyelid. He was so goddamn hungry that he couldn’t get any hungrier. And it was the cheapest damn town he’d ever struck. He sat down on, the steps of the Monument, and reflected that the old burg was only about a hundred miles away. He could grab a freight, and tomorrow he’d be in Chicago. He hadn’t been back home since 1916. It would be swell seeing the old bunch. Yes, they were a damn fine bunch of guys, Paulie Haggerty, Kenny, Red, Tommy Doyle, Studs, all of them. He’d go back and just pop around Charlie Bathcellar’s poolroom, if it was still there. He guessed it was a fixture in the neighborhood and would be there. They’d be glad to see him, and he’d he glad to see them, and they’d talk about old times, and about what had happened to him, and to them, since he’d gone on the bum. He ought to go back and maybe get a job. If he did that, and watched himself, his health would pick up. Hell, he was digging his own grave, living like this. And Vinc Curley. He wondered if Vinc was as goofy as ever. But he was too hungry to think of that. He went around and around the Circle Monument, mooching until he finally got two bits. He walked off towards a cheap restaurant singing: