A Confederacy of Dunces (26 page)

Ain't that a shame."

Santa sighed at the unfairness of it all and slammed the picture down on the mantelpiece among the bowl of wax fruit and the bouquet of paper zinnias and the statue of the Virgin Mary and the figurine of the Infant of Prague. Then she went back to the kitchen to get some ice cubes and one of the kitchen chairs.

After she had returned with the chair and a little picnic cooler of ice cubes, she arranged her best jelly glasses on the mantelpiece before her mother's picture. The proximity of the picture made her grab it and kiss it again, the ice cube in her mouth cracking against the glass.

"I say a prayer for you every day, babe," Santa told the snapshot incoherently, balancing the ice cube on her tongue.

"You better believe they's a candle burning for you over in St.

Odo's."

Someone knocked at the front shutters. In putting the picture down hurriedly, Santa tipped it over on its face.

"Irene!" Santa screamed when she opened the door and saw the hesitant Mrs. Reilly on the front steps and her nephew, Patrolman Mancuso, standing down on the banquette. "Come on in, sweetheart darling. You sure looking cute."

"Thanks, honey," Mrs. Reilly said. "Whoo! I forgot how long it takes to drive down here. Me and Angelo been in that car almost a hour."

"Id's the traffig is whad id is," Patrolman Mancuso offered.

"Listen to that cold," Santa said. "Aw, Angelo. You better tell them men at the precinct to take you out that toilet. Where's Rita?"

"She diddit feel like cubbig. She's got her a headache."

"Well, no wonder, locked up in that house with them kids all day long," Santa said. "Aw, she oughta get out, Angelo.

What's wrong with that girl?"

"Nerbs," Angelo answered sadly. "She's got nerbous trouble."

"Nerves is terrible," Mrs. Reilly said. "You know what happened, Santa? Angelo lost the book Ignatius give him.

Ain't that a shame? I don't mind about the book, but don't never tell Ignatius about it. We'll really have us a fight on our hands."

Mrs. Reilly put her finger to her lips to indicate that the book must forever be a secret.

"Well, gimme your coat, girl," Santa said eagerly, almost tearing Mrs. Reilly's old purple woolen topper off. She was determined that the ghost of Ignatius J. Reilly would not haunt her party as it had haunted so many evenings of bowling.

"You got you a nice place here, Santa," Mrs. Reilly said respectfully. "It's clean."

"Yeah, but I want to get me some new linoleum for the parlor.

You ever used them paper curtains, honey? They don't look too bad. I seen some nice ones up by Maison Blanche."

"I bought some nice paper curtains for Ignatius's room once, but he tore them off the window and crumpled them up. He says they an abortion. Ain't that awful?"

"Everybody to his own taste," Santa observed quickly.

"Ignatius don't know I come here tonight. I told him I was going to a novena."

"Angelo, fix Irene here a nice drink. Take a little whiskey yourself, help out that cold. I got some cokes in the kitchen."

"Ignatius don't like novenas neither. I don't know what that boy likes. Personally, I'm getting kinda fed up on Ignatius, even if he is my own child."

"I fixed us a good potatis salad, girl. That old man tells me he likes a good potatis salad."

"You oughta see them big uniforms he's giving me to launder.

And all the directions I get on how to wash them. He sounds like he's selling soap powder on the TV. Ignatius acts like he's really made good pushing that wagon around downtown."

"Look at Angelo, babe. He's fixing us a nice drink."

"You got any aspirins, honey?"

"Aw, Irene! What kinda party pooper I got on my hands? Take a drink. Wait till the old man comes. We gonna have us a nice time. Look, you and the old man can dance right in front the phonograph."

"Dance? I don't feel like dancing with no old man. Besides, my feet swole up this afternoon while I was ironing them uniforms."

"Irene, you can't disappoint him, girl. You shoulda seen his face when I invited him out in front the church. Poor old man.

I bet nobody ast him out."

"He wanted to come, huh?"

"Wanted to come? He ast me should he wear a suit."

"And what you told him, honey?"

"Well, I said, 'Wear whatever you want, mister.' "

"Well, that's nice." Mrs. Reilly looked down at her green taffeta cocktail dress. "Ignatius ast me why I was wearing a cocktail dress to go to a novena. He's sitting in his room right now writing some foolishness. I says, 'What's that you writing now, boy?' And he say, 'I'm writing about being a weenie vendor.' Ain't that terrible? Who want to read a story like that?

You know how much he brought home from that weenie place today? Four dollars. How I'm gonna pay off that man?"

"Look. Angelo fixed us a nice hi-ball."

Mrs. Reilly took a jelly glass from Angelo and drank half of it in two gulps.

"Where you got that nice high-fly from, darling?"

"What you mean?" Santa asked.

"That gramaphone you got in the middle of the floor."

"That's my little niece's. She's precious. Just graduated outta St. Odo High and she's awready got her a good saleslady job."

"You see that?" Mrs. Reilly said excitedly. "I bet she's making better than Ignatius."

"Lord, Angelo," Santa said. "Stop that coughing. Go lay down in the back and rest up till the old man comes."

"Poor Angelo," Mrs. Reilly said after the patrolman had left the room. "He sure a sweet boy. You two sure been good friends to me. And to think we all met when he tried to arrest Ignatius."

"I wonder how come that old man ain't showed up yet."

"Maybe he's not coming, Santa." Mrs. Reilly finished her drink. "I'm gonna make me another one, if you don't mind, sugar. I got problems."

"Go ahead, babe. I'm gonna take your coat back in the kitchen and see how Angelo's making out. I sure got two happy people at my party so far. I hope that old man don't fall down and break his leg on the way over."

After Santa had left, Mrs. Reilly filled her glass with bourbon and added a jigger of Seven-Up. She picked up the spoon, tasted the potato salad, and, cleaning the spoon with her lips, put it back on the paper napkin. The family in the other half of Santa's double house was beginning to stage what sounded like a riot. Sipping her drink, Mrs. Reilly put her ear to the wall and tried to filter some meaning out of the loud shouting.

"Angelo's taking some cough medicine," Santa said as she returned to the parlor.

"You sure got you good walls in this building, babe," Mrs.

Reilly said, unable to comprehend the gist of the argument on the other side of the wall. "I wish me and Ignatius lived here.

Miss Annie wouldn't have nothing to complain about."

"Where's that old man?" Santa asked the front shutters.

"Maybe he ain't gonna come."

"Maybe he forgot."

"That's the way it is with old folks, honey."

"He ain't that old, Irene."

"How old is he?"

"Someplace in his late sixties, I guess."

"Well, that ain't too old. My poor old Tante Marguerite, the one I told you them kids beat up on to get fifty cents out her coin purse, she going on eighty." Mrs. Reilly finished her drink. "Maybe he went to see a nice picture show or something. Santa, you mind if I make me another drink."

"Irene! You gonna be on the floor, girl. I ain't gonna introduce no drunk to this nice old man."

"I'll make me a small one. I got nerves tonight."

Mrs. Reilly slopped a great deal of whiskey into her glass and sat down again, crushing one of the bags of potato chips.

"Oh, Lord, what I done now?"

"You just smashed them potato chips," Santa said a little angrily.

"Aw, they all crumbs now," Mrs. Reilly said, pulling the bag from beneath her. She studied the flattened cellophane.

"Listen, Santa, what time you got? Ignatius says he's sure the burgulars is striking tonight and for me to get in early."

"Oh, take it easy, Irene. You just got here."

"To tell you the truth, Santa, I don't think I want to meet this old man."

"Well, it's too late now."

"Yeah, but what me and this old man gonna do?" Mrs. Reilly asked apprehensively.

"Aw, relax, Irene. You making me nervous. I'm sorry I axt you over." Santa pulled Mrs. Reillyrs drink down from her lips for a moment. "Now listen to me. You had arthritus very bad. The bowling's helping that out. Right? You was stuck home with that crazy boy every night until Santa come along. Right? Now listen to Santa, precious. You don't wanna end up all alone with that Ignatius on your hands. This old man looks like he's got him a little money. He dresses neat. He knows you from somewhere. He likes you." Santa looked Mrs. Reilly in the eye. "This old man can pay off your debt!"

"Yeah?" Mrs. Reilly hadn't thought of this before. The old man suddenly became a little more attractive. "He's clean?"

"Sure he's clean," Santa said angrily. "You think I'm trying fix my friend up with a bum?"

Someone knocked lightly at the shutters on the front door.

"Oh, I bet that's him," Santa said eagerly.

"Tell him I hadda go, honey."

"Go? Where you goint to, Irene? The man's right by the front door."

"He is, huh?"

"Lemme go take a look."

Santa opened the door and pushed the shutters outward.

"Hey, Mr. Robichaux," she said into the night to someone whom Mrs. Reilly couldn't see. "We been waiting for you. My friend Miss Reilly here's been wondering where you was.

Come on in out the cold."

"Yeah, Miss Battaglia, I'm sorry I'm a little late, but I had to take my little granchirren around the neighborhood. They raffling some rosaries for the sisters."

"I know," Santa said. "I bought a chance from a little kid just the other day. They beautiful rosaries. A lady I know won the outboard motor the sisters was raffling last year."

Mrs. Reilly sat frozen on the sofa staring into her drink as if she had just discovered a roach floating in it.

"Irene!" Santa cried. "What you doing, girl? Say 'hello' to Mr.

Robichaux."

Mrs. Reilly looked up and recognized the old man whom Patrolman Mancuso had arrested in front of D. H. Holmes.

"Glad to meet you," Mrs. Reilly said to her drink.

"Maybe Miss Reilly don't remember," Mr. Robichaux told Santa, who was beaming happily, "but we met before."

"To think you two are old friends," Santa said happily. "It's sure a small world."

"Ay-yi-yi," Mrs. Reilly said, her voice choked with misery.

"Eh, la la."

"You remember," Mr. Robichaux said to her. "It was downtown by Holmes. That policeman tried to take in your boy and he took me in instead."

Santa's eyes opened wide.

"Oh, yeah," Mrs. Reilly said. "I think I remember now. A little."

"It wasn't your fault though, Miss Reilly. It's them police.

They all a bunch of communiss."

"Not so loud," Mrs. Reilly cautioned. "They got thin walls in this building." She moved her elbow and knocked her empty glass off the arm of the sofa. "Oh, Lord. Santa, maybe you oughta go tell Angelo to run along. I can get me a taxi. Tell him he can run out the back way. It's easier for him. You know?"

"I see whatcha mean, honey." Santa turned to Mr. Robichaux.

"Listen, when you seen my friend and me down by the bowling alley, you didn't see no man with us, huh?"

"You ladies was all alone."

"Wasn't that the night A. got himself arrested?" Mrs. Reilly whispered to Santa.

"Oh, yeah, Irene. You come by for me in that car of yours.

You remember the fender came loose entirely right in front the bowling alley."

"I know. I got it in the backseat. Ignatius is the one made me wreck that car, he got me so nervous from the backseat."

"Aw, no," Mr. Robichaux said. "The one thing I can't stand is a poor loser or a bad sport."

"If somebody does me dirt," Santa continued, "I try to turn the other cheek. You know what I mean? That's the Christian way.

Ain't that right, Irene?"

"That's right, darling," Mrs. Reilly agreed halfheartedly.

"Santa, sweet, you got some nice aspirins?"

"Irene!" Santa said angrily. "You know, Mr. Robichaux, now suppose you saw that cop that took you in."

"I hope I never see him again," Mr. Robichaux said with emotion. "He's a dirty communiss. Them people want to set up a police state."

"Yeah, but just supposing. Wouldn't you forgive and forget?"

"Santa," Mrs. Reilly interrupted, "I think I'm gonna run in the kitchen and see if you got some nice aspirins."

"It was the disgrace," Mr. Robichaux said to Santa. "My whole family heard about it. The police called up my daughter."

"Aw, that ain't nothing," Santa said. "Everybody gets took in some time in they life. You see her?"

Santa picked up the photograph lying face down on the mantelpiece and showed it to her two guests. "My poor dear momma. The police took her out the Lautenschlaeger Market four times for disturbing the peace." Santa paused to give the snapshot a moist kiss. "You think she cared? Not her."

"That's your momma?" Mrs. Reilly asked interestedly. "She had it hard, huh? Mothers got a hard road to travel, believe me."

"So, as I was saying," Santa continued, "I wouldn't feel bad about getting arrested. Policeman got them a hard line of work. Sometimes they make a mistake. They only human, after all."

"I always been a decent citizen," Mrs. Reilly said. "I wanna go wrench out my glass in the zink."

"Oh, go sit down, Irene. Lemme talk to Mr. Robichaux."

Mrs. Reilly went over to the old console radio and poured herself a glass of Early Times.

"I'll never forget that Patrolman Mancuso," Mr. Robichaux was saying.

"Mancuso?" Santa asked with great surprise. "I got plenty relatives with that very same name. As a matter of fact, one of them's on the force. As a matter of fact, he's here now."

"I think I hear Ignatius calling me. I better go."

"Calling you?" Santa asked. "Whadda you mean, Irene?