The Studs Lonigan Trilogy - James T. Farrell [257]
“Well, she’s his wife,” he said.
Lacking words, still not sure what she meant and whether she meant anything more than her words, he looked at her, and she still glanced away. He held his eyes on her, hoping that she would turn and see in his eyes all the things that he did not seem able to put into words. And she looked back, and for a quick moment their eyes met, and she seemed to understand him, and she smiled, very sweetly, he thought. For about five more steps they looked at each other that way, her eyes seeming to be misty, and they seemed to want him to understand things, tell him things, they seemed to tell him that he might go ahead and dare to speak. They walked on, looking ahead, and crossing State Street she took his arm and nudged him.
“Well, for once we have the lights with us,” she said.
“Let’s get some candy,” he said, out of sudden impulse to talk, and nodding his head to a chain candy-store window piled with tempting chocolates.
“Now don’t tempt me. I’m dieting.”
“That’s right, and you’ve sworn off candy for Lent, haven’t you?”
“And mister, do you realize that this is going to be my first show in Lent, and the only reason I’m breaking my resolution on shows is because when you telephoned me, you seemed so anxious to see one!”
If a girl like Catherine didn’t like a fellow, she wouldn’t break a Lenten resolution to be with him, he prided himself.
“Of course, we could do something else, if you really don’t want to go,” he casually said, feeling that he should say something like that.
“Booby, of course I want to go. You men!” she said, treating him with an air of gratifying condescension. “And anyway, I’m doing other things, not eating sweets, I go to mass every morning, to services at church three nights a week, and I’m receiving Holy Communion every Sunday during Lent, so that a little celebration for your return won’t hurt a lot... Will it?”
“I guess not, since you’re doing so many other things,” Studs said as if he were seriously answering an important question with a valued answer.
“You don’t talk a lot, do you?” she remarked after they had walked on a few more paces.
“Well... I talk when I’ve got something to say, and when I haven’t,... what’s there to say. I don’t believe in talking just to hear my own voice like some fellows I know,” he said, enjoying a vision of himself as a strong man whose words always meant something, wanting her to catch that same impression of him. In an afterthought, he realized that she often did a lot of chattering, and he regretted his remark, fearing it would make her angry.
“But who, for instance?” she said, smiling.
“What?” he asked, not sure that he understood what she meant.
“What fellows talk to hear the sound of their own voices?”
“Well, lots of fellows. There are fellows like that who could sell you Lake Michigan or the Masonic Temple,” he said.
“For instance?”
“Oh, lots of fellows.”
“I know, but who?”
“Oh, well.” As he thought, Red Kelly’s name popped into his mind, and he did not want to be talking about a friend of his behind his back. “Well, Red Kelly does,” he said against his will.
“How does he do it?”
“Oh, well, he likes to talk a lot,” Studs said in a fidgety manner.
“About what, besides his wife?” she asked, and Studs felt that she was making a dirty dig.
“Oh, well, he likes to let everybody know he’s in politics and expects to be a big shot.”
“I always felt that,” she said, squeezing his arm. “And he isn’t so much as some people I know.”
Studs’ cheeks seemed to be hot, and he was both happy and nervous. He found it hard to look at her, and he was happy for the excuse to enter a cigar store and buy a package of cigarettes. He loitered in the store, finding change in his pocket and lighting a cigarette, and he was happy as he dallied.