The Studs Lonigan Trilogy - James T. Farrell [356]
“It’s goofy.”
“Yes, it’s so silly.”
A round-faced man paced back and forth in front of a restaurant with cardboard signs tied around his chest and back.
JOHNSTOWN’S RESTAURANT
IS UNFAIR
TO ORGANIZED
LABOR
“These poor men have been walking back and forth here for three weeks. Yesterday in the pouring rain they didn’t even stop.”
“Who’s in the right in the strike?”
“I don’t know but I think the men were foolish to strike in times like these. And what the restaurant did was to hire girls.”
“Yeh, I guess anyone who has a job these days better hang onto it,” he said, and he felt a pressure on his elbow. “You know what, Bill?”
“What?”
“I’m glad to see you.”
“How do you feel?”
“I had pains,” she said, looking quizzically at him.
He turned a frightened glance at her, wondering had he really injured her. The least he could have done was that he could have been more careful. Like any decent girl, she had a right to be disgusted with him. He was grateful for the smile she gave him, though. Still, it seemed like a suffering sort of smile.
“I had pains here,” she said, pointing to her abdomen.
“Gee... I don’t think it can be serious. Maybe it’s just natural. The first time, you know,” he said haltingly, trying, as he spoke, to make her feel that he actually knew what he was talking about.
“I cried last night after you left,” she said as they turned the corner of Dearborn onto Randolph Street.
A shifty-eyed man wearing a khaki shirt and dusty, unpressed, frayed suit forlornly held an apple out to him. Studs brushed by him.
“How is the Charlus Restaurant for lunch?” he asked, remembering the night he had proposed to her in that place.
“I think it would be nice. It’s quiet, and I’d like to eat in a quiet place.”
“Yes, it is quiet,” he said with undue seriousness, realizing that she was different, a humbled Catherine, and he dreaded having to look into her eyes across a table, and yet he felt a pride of victory.
“Sure this will be all right?” he asked in front of the Charlus Restaurant.
She nodded affirmatively. They entered as a string trio played The Evening Star, and a tall, dark girl in a tailored black dress led them past tables where people talked in restrained voices to a small corner table. She almost made their seating a ceremony, smiled, pointed at the menus laid before them. Studs diligently searched his pockets for cigarettes.
“I always forget which pocket I put them in,” he said self-consciously.
She smiled at him meekly. A fleshy, attractive blond waitress, neat in a white apron, laid water glasses before them.
“What’ll you have, Catherine?” he asked, diligently reading the menu card.
“I wonder,” she thoughtfully replied, her face also lost behind the menu card.
“I think I’ll take roast beef,” he said.
“Me, too.”
They laid their menu cards aside simultaneously, and Studs watched the waitress hobbling away from their table. “Nice place,” he said, embarrassed by their lack of talk.
“Yes, and that’s a beautiful piece they’re playing.”
“It is nice to have the music, too.”
“Darling, darling.. What’s the matter?” she said in a fright, seeing him become suddenly pale and throw his hand over his heart.
“I had a sudden pain. But it’s nothing. It’s passing now,” he said while she leaned anxiously across the table.
“Bill, dear, I worry so about you with your heart. Are you sure you’re taking the best care of yourself? And, honey, you’re still smoking. I wish you wouldn’t.”
“I guess you’re right,” he said, squashing his butt.
The waitress set their order before them. He tried to shutter the sense of fear out of his mind, but it lingered after the lapsing of that sharp, sudden thrust of pain. His heart beat with labored and disturbing rapidity. He felt weak, and a sweat had broken upon his brow. He wiped his forehead perfunctorily with a fresh handkerchief.
“Bill, you must be careful. Promise me that you’ll be very careful. If you die now... Gee, I don