Studs Lonigan (31 page)

“Aw, come on, Studs, what did I ever do to you?”

“I'll give you just about five seconds to remove yourself from sight,” said Red.

“This place is free. I don't have to, if I want to stay here.”

“No?”

“No!” whined Hennessey.

“For the last time. . . . Blow!”

Hennessey stood there gritting his teeth. Red kicked him in the tail. He bawled.

“Need another invitation?” asked Studs.

“You don't own this sidewalk,” Hennessey sniveled, snot running from his nose.

Red slapped his face. Studs booted him one.

“If you don't blow now, I'll kill you, you little. . . .”

Hennessey ran, yelling back wait till he got his gat.

Kenny rode up whooping, with a basket full of bananas. They congratulated him again. He imitated the way the dago peddler had shagged him. But there had been no one on the street so it had been a cinch. They went to Kenny's basement.

“Here goes,” said Red, peeling his first banana, as they sat on boxes.

“Well, Kenny, how'll you like it in the trenches?” asked Studs.

“Me, I'll be a general by that time.”

“General Kilarney,” said Studs; they laughed.

“This ain't so bad,” said Studs, starting on his second banana.

“Nope,” said Kenny, swigging water from a milk bottle.

“Wait till we get over there. You'll be so funny, the Germans will have to laugh at you. Christ, when we get to Berlin I'll bet you'll steal the Kaiser's mustache,” Red said.

“I'll be a soldier of America,” Kenny said melodramatically.

“I'd like an iron cross to bring back,” said Studs, his face stuffed with banana.

“I can just picture Kenny. When he goosesteps, it'll be better than Charlie Chaplin,” said Red.

Kenny mimicked the goosestep.

“How do you feel?” asked Red, after Kenny had finished the comedy.

“All right,” Studs valorously said.

“I'm O. K. too,” said Red, slowly reaching for another banana.

“I never felt better. These things agree with me,” Kenny said, biting off almost a half.

“Me too,” said Studs, not to be outdone, as he jammed half of a banana in his mouth.

“Wait till tonight when we go around the poolroom and say: ‘Well, boys, wish us luck!'” Red said.

“Christ, will they be surprised,” said Studs.

“They won't believe us,” said Red.

“Here, have another, Red,” said Kenny, tossing him one.

Studs took the milk bottle and filled it slowly at the faucet. He looked at the bananas stacked in the basket.

“Jesus, you certainly got enough,” he said.

“Need'em, I'm only a bantamweight,” Kenny replied.

Red took a gulp of water. He set the bottle down and cursed.

“What's the matter, son? Gettin' you already? That's no way to be a soldier,” said Kenny.

“I just drank too fast,” Red said, biting a hunk.

“Say, Kenny, your janitor will like us, dumping these skins all over,” said Studs.

“He's only a Hunky,” said Kenny.

“You won't win a war on that stomach, Kelly,” kidded Kilarney after Red had belched.

“I'm all right. It's only that I drank that water too damn fast. How about you, Studs?”

Studs nodded, reaching towards the basket.

“Kenny, show us how you're going to bayonet the Clown Quince,” said Studs.

“This is serious,” said Kenny.

He told a dirty joke. It was a scream. In the midst of laughing, Studs hiccoughed.

“Take a drink, Studs,” said Red, fighting his hiccoughs.

“I'll be all right,” said Studs, not liking the tone of Red's voice.

“Well, here goes for another,” said Red, reaching for the basket, and looking at Studs, so that Studs would notice him. Studs grimly took another also.

“Maybe you better let up for a while, Studs,” said Red as Studs nibbled.

“No, I just think we've all been eating too fast,” Studs answered.

“Jesus Christ. Say, why the hell do we have to eat bananas to go to war?” Kenny suddenly said.

“You got to. You won't make the weight,” said Red, nibbling.

“You don't get me, fellow! I just always think of Kilarney's comfort,” Kenny said.

“You know what General Sherman said. . . . War is Hell,” said Red.

“That was General Sheridan,” snapped Kenny.

They had an argument over which general it had been.

“Say, is there a can here?” asked Studs.

Kenny pointed.

“I'll bet Studs fell in,” Kenny said, after Studs had remained absent for about five minutes.

“It's got him,” Red said.

Studs came out in about fifteen minutes, his face white.

“Sick?” asked Red.

“I'm all right,” said Studs, taking a banana.

Red went to the can. He took a long time too. Then Kenny.

Studs looked at the basket, over half full. They ate more and more slowly.

“I won't eat any more of those goddamn things,” Kenny suddenly said.

“Come on. You want to get in. Well, you gotta have the weight.”

“I'll stay home if it means eatin' all that crap,” Kenny said.

“Come on, Kenny. We can't go on without you,” Red pleaded.

“Jesus, Kenny, won't you do that much for your country?” said Studs.

“My country can have me, but I don't see why it makes me eat bananas till I bloat like a balloon,” said Kenny.

“Well, I told you. You have to be a certain weight, or you can't be accepted. Listen, after it's all over you'll be glad. Think of it, going to France. Say, we'll have a hell of a time. And you'll come back a hero,” said Red.

“Come on, Kenny. We need you with us. And we ain't beefing,” persuaded Studs.

Red handed Kenny a banana. Kenny took it with a pout. They nibbled their bananas, and sipped water, almost by drops.

“Say, it's gettin' late. We better be going,” said Studs.

“I was thinkin' that too. Only there's more bananas. And we don't want to get rejected,” said Red.

“I'm going,” said Kenny.

“Come on, just a few more. We want to make sure,” said Red.

“But listen, Red, if we don't get in, we can come back and try it again,” said Studs.

“Not this boy,” said Kenny.

They sat there, each taking another, gazing at it long. They finally agreed to go. They left the basket, still about half full, and the basement floor was a litter of banana peels.

“How you feel?” asked Red.

“Ask me another, wise guy,” said Kenny; they laughed.

“It wasn't so bad,” said Studs.

He saw that Red was white. Red noticed that Kenny was pale. Kenny observed that Studs didn't look so hot. They walked very slowly. It was a job, climbing up the back stairs of the elevated station, to gyp the elevated company. On the train, they did more hiccoughing than talking. People noticed them and suppressed smiles. Suddenly, Kenny lit for the rear platform. Studs and Red followed. They stood by themselves, looking at the tracks as if sightless, while the train sped downtown. They got off at State and Congress and found a marine recruiting station, with a picture of Uncle Sam pleading, and pointing to a Hun in the background. Over it were the words: “He Needs You.”

“I guess Uncle Sam needs us all right,” Red said.

Studs nodded.

“Kilarney only needs some Pluto Water,” Kenny said.

Their smiles were sickly.

“Well, here goes,” Red said.

He stepped up to a beefy-faced, hard-boiled sergeant. Studs and Kilarney stood by him.

“We came to join up.”

The tow-headed sergeant took one look at them, and laughed. They hiccoughed, almost trembled.

“Sure, we're keepin' a little date with the Kaiser,” Kenny said.

The sergeant let fly a gob of tobacco juice.

“G'wan home, children, and get your diapers pinned on!”

They trooped off.

“The bastard,” said Red.

“We should have socked him,” Studs said, and Red nodded.

“If we did, all he would have had to do was touch my belly. I'd have blown up like a balloon,” Kenny said.

“We could have mobbed him, and cleaned him too, only for the bananas,” Studs said.

“That's what I thought. As soon as we feel better, I say we come down and lay for him. We'll get him,” Red said.

“How about the navy?” asked Studs.

“That's an idea,” Red said, without interest.

They started out for a naval recruiting station. On the way they passed a burlesque show with advertisements flaunting pictures of seminude girls. Studs had money. They went to the show.

Aloof and alone, his stomach like a lump of lead, Studs stood on the sidewalk by the vacant lot near Fifty-eighth and Indiana.

In the prairie, the Indiana punks were in two trenches facing each other, and exuberantly warring with sand-filled tin cans. The nearer trench was a wide hole, partly covered with a piece of tar paper, and protected by earthworks of sand, heavy stones, and grocery boxes. The farther trench was long and narrow, and connected by a communication trench with a shallow reserve trench. In front of it was a deep hole, dug as an observation post.

Studs wondered where they could have collected so many cans. He sneered. Only for that goddamn recruiting sergeant, he wouldn't have to watch punks in short pants have an imitation war. He couldn't forget that lousy, tow-headed marine. They ought to go back and jump the bastard.

“G'wan home, children, and get your diapers pinned on!”

He belched. And last night had been just like a nightmare. They ought to go back, all right, and jump him.

Andy Le Gare and Danny O'Neill rose from the farther trench, holding, between them, a five-gallon oil can that was heavy with sand. They maneuvered into position to heave it. Dick Buckford rose from a nearer trench, and whacked Andy in the arm with a can. Andy let out a yell, dropped the can on his foot, and dove back into his trench amidst a tin-can shower. O'Neill retrieved the trench mortar, and scrambled to safety. Studs laughed. He wished he'd been in the trench and had such a chance to plop goofy Le Gare.

He felt like joining in the battle. But, hell, it was only playing at war, and he wasn't a kid in short pants any more. And they wouldn't take him in the army. A lot of nerve that goddamn sergeant had had.

And then when he'd gotten home, with an awful bellyache, he had all that trouble. They never made any least effort to try and understand him. His old lady still nagging him to study for the priesthood. And Fran, a great big pain she was. And the old man! Let him yell. He'd told them he didn't want to go to school. Now they knew. Father Mahin from Loyola had called up to ask what had happened that he hadn't been to school for so long, and the old man had also learned about his having blown in the tuition money. All the damn yelling they'd done over it. And just when he had that bellyache.

He felt like blowing, going on the bum. He could just hop a freight and enlist in some other town. Then when he went to war, and they'd learned that he'd died a hero's death, how'd they like that? The old man would be plenty sorry, and it would serve him right. And Father Gilhooley would say a solemn high mass for him at St. Patrick's, and they'd all be there in tears, and maybe his old man would even cry. And then, maybe Lucy Scanlan would be proud she'd known him, and maybe she'd cry too.

But he didn't want to die. Well, maybe he wouldn't. Maybe he'd enlist and become a hero, and not get killed but would return as Lieutenant, or Major or Colonel Lonigan with medals all over his chest. And his picture would be in the paper, and when he came back they'd be pretty goddamn proud to see him.

Led by Ralph Borax, the enemy in the farther trench spread out in No-Man's-Land in front of their earthworks, and kept up a steady tin-can barrage, permitting Le Gare and O'Neill to get into position and heave their trench mortar. It smashed sand and wood down in upon the punks in the nearer trench. Andy jumped up and down, yelling with idiotic glee that he was smashing the German line. Dick Buckford plopped him on the ear with a can.

Studs laughed, but he couldn't keep his mind off that trouble at home. Anyway, the cat was out now. That was a relief. The worst that could come would be better than having that dark cloud of fear always hanging over him. The old man would probably cool off. He'd said plenty already about it being dishonorable. And the old lady had cried and babbled that they were disgraced, and that she'd never again be able to hold her head up, and that they'd have to move out of the neighborhood, because she could never again face the neighbors and parishioners. And Fran sticking her nose in too, as if it was her business. If she wasn't his sister, he'd kick her teeth in for her. And when he'd said he never wanted to go to school, and that he'd told them so that night he'd graduated, that hadn't meant anything. It was always the same. They all acted as if they were always right.

The punks argued shrilly. He laughed, forgetting his own troubles. Fat Malloy jumped up from his trench and yelled in his bullying loud-mouthed way:

“All right, you birds! Play square. We said the side that lost the toss-up had to be the Germans. And who lost? Tell me that! Who lost? . . . If we lost we'd have been the Germans. Play square.”

“You guys ain't got any sportsmanship,” Young Horn Buckford said, wiping his nose with his sleeve.