The Studs Lonigan Trilogy - James T. Farrell [68]
“Any more for anyone?” said the old man.
“Me,” said Martin.
“You got hookworm,” the old man said, taking Martin’s plate.
Finally, the old boy said, smiling expansively:
“Well, I’m filled. I ate my share.”
The others said they had had their fill.
Coffee and ice cream were served, and they talked lazily. The mother changed the stream of conversation, and said: “William, I wish that you wouldn’t be staying out so late.”
“Yeh, Bill, we told you about that once before,” the old man said.
Bill told himself that he was almost fifteen, and that he ought to have some rights. But what the hell could a guy say to an old man like his? He wished he had an old man like Johnny O’Brien did.
“And, William, I know you don’t like me to mention this, but you’re still young yet, and can’t decide. I do wish you would pray to ask God if you have a vocation or not, and next month start in and make the nine first Fridays. Now that is the least you can do for Almighty God who sacrificed His only begotten Son for you on the cross of Calvary.”
“All right,” Studs said, knowing the best thing to do with his parents was to agree with them and let it go at that. His mother harped so much on it that he thought maybe he did have a vocation. But he tried not to think of it, when he could do so, without putting the thought out of his head deliberately, because, well, there was…Lucy.
“Now, Mary, you know the boy hasn’t a vocation. You’re putting things in his head, and maybe you’ll go and make a priest out of him when I’ll be needing him, and then he is not meant for the priesthood, and you know, Mary, it is as bad to send one in that hasn’t a vocation as it is to keep away one who really has the call. You know, Mary, there’s many the unhappy priest who don’t belong in the ranks and is there because his good mother unthinkingly made a priest out of him.”
“Patrick, you know I’m not doing anything of the sort. I’m only trying to put the boy in the right spirit, so he can decide whether or not he has the call.”
“But, Mary…”
It started them off again. This time Loretta interrupted the argument to say that she had seen Studs, she meant William, hitching on a motor truck. The old lady shuddered, blessed herself and called on Jesus, Mary and Joseph. The old man said it was dangerous, and that Bill ought to be careful and try and have his fun doing less dangerous things. It might seem brave to hitch on trucks, but it wouldn’t if Bill came home with a broken leg. Studs glowered at Loretta, and told her she would do well by minding her own business. He was reprimanded for this. Then Loretta said that she had also seen him taking a puff of that terrible Tommy Doyle’s cigarette over in Carter Playground the other day. The old lady cried, and spoke of the proverb: tell me your friends, and I’ll tell you who you are. She said William was too well educated to associate with such toughs. She said that smoking was a sin against God. Studs asked why; he said that men smoked. The old man said that smoking stunted a boy’s growth, ruined his health, disrupted his moral sense, and was against .. nature. He lit a long stogy. Frances said smoking was nasty, and Studs said nobody asked her for her two cents. Mrs. Lonigan said that it might give him TB. Studs kept wishing they would can the sermon. He asked them to cut it out, and he was reminded of the commandment to honor thy father and thy mother. He said he had some rights. The blah went back and forth.
When they arose from the table, grace was forgotten.
The old man went into the parlor, and put Cal Stewart’s account of how Uncle Josh joined the Grangers on the Victrola. He listened to it and laughed heartily. Then he made a decision, and called Studs into the parlor alone.
“Bill, don’t you think you ought to keep going to confession regularly?” he said.
“Yeh.”
“When’s the last time you were there?”
“May,” said Studs.
It was April, but he could get away with telling the old man it was May.
“At St. Patrick’s you had your sodality to remind you and keep you going regular. Now, it’s up to you, and you got to make the effort yourself . Now, Bill, I want you to promise me you