Studs Lonigan (51 page)

“Siddown!” the bouncer said.

The guy crawled away. A fellow who had been sleeping suddenly lifted himself from the hips, and heaved; he fell back in his own vomit. Two guys in a corner tried to drown out the room by singing She's My Lulu.

“Jesus, let's go. That odor will kill me,” said Studs.

A blond boy of about eighteen let out an insane shriek, and dashed towards them, stepping on the face of an unconscious drunk. He fell on his knees before them, and loudly begged that he be saved from the snakes. It was funny. He arose, clapped his hands to his ears, and yelled. He fell before the bouncer, and repeated his entreaties to be saved from the snakes; pointing dramatically in back of them. He crawled to the wall, still shrieking. The bouncer jerked out a blackjack and neatly put him to sleep. His face was pale and sickly in the artificial illumination.

A husky fellow rolled over to them, and yelled he'd been rolled.

“Fade!” the bouncer commanded.

“Give me my money back, you sonofabitches or I'll. . . .

The bouncer cracked him in the jaw; he fell on top of a sleeping Polack.

“Mother! Mama! Your little boy needs you. He's sick. Mama in heaven, Mama,” a fat fellow moaned on his knees in a corner.

“Jesus, they're blind,” Slug said with a laugh.

“We got to do something with them,” the bouncer said, turning off the light, and shutting the door. Two bouncers, with padded shoulders, passed, carting a drunk along the hallway.

“Boys will be boys!” Red said.

“Makes you want to puke,” Studs said.

“Say, Studs, why do they do that?” Curley asked, innocently.

“Shut up!”

“Say, Red. . . .”

“Curley, you talk too goddamn much,” Red interrupted.

The bouncer explained, in answer to Red's question, that they dumped them out in the morning.

“Say, most of the guys who work here look like they bought their faces at a second hand auction,” Studs said.

They returned to their tables. The girls were there. Slug whispered to a big, angular-faced, high-cheeked, blond Polack in pink teddies.

“Gimme the dough now,” she said, pronouncing her words as Slug did.

He whispered to Studs, Doyle, and Red. They handed him some change. He slipped two bills to the Polack broad.

“Hello, Vincent,” she cooed, draping herself on his lap.

“Say, how did you know my name?” he asked, as drinks were set down on the table.

“Vincent, a little love-bird whispered it in my ear.”

Vinc turned from the girl and called to Shrimp. Haggerty was busy telling the girl on his lap that he got tired of his wife, and needed a change. Vinc yelled to him. He turned.

“Do you want to go to the Michigan with me tomorrow afternoon, and see the picture?”

They roared. Studs told his girl that the goof had water on the brain; born that way, and no hope.

The jazz blared. Arnold, Studs, and Shrimp belly-danced with their girls. The Polack led Vine onto the dance floor. He protested that he couldn't dance. She said she'd teach him. She rubbed against him. His face looked as if it were on the verge of being consumed by flames.

When he came back, he was kidded. He couldn't understand them. He suddenly called Mush Joss to say the other day Mush had said he had lived in the neighborhood a long time. Vine said well he would bet ten cents he had lived in the neighborhood longer than Mush.

“You wouldn't bull me,” said Mush.

“Come on, big boy, kiss me!” the Polack said.

“And kiss your maidenhead good-bye, you, you goddamn fathead,” Studs said.

“But, Studs. . . .”

“Daddy, don't you like to love?” the girl asked him.

“Don't do that,” Vine protested, feebly, as she placed his hand on one of her wobbly breasts.

“Dearie, you don't know what loving I'll give you,” she said.

“Take your hand away. Why, I wouldn't even let my mother touch me there,” Vinc said, convulsing them.

She made a little moan. He threw her off him; she landed on her can. Two bouncers grabbed Curley and they carted him to the door by the seat of the pants and the collar. He got a clout in the jaw, and landed outside.

“For Christ sake, what the hell kind of a fluke is he? Does he want me to beg him,” the Polack said.

“That's all right, girlie, come on over here,” Slug said.

“I never had one as goofy as that. All kinds of crazy people come to me, and want all kinds of things done to them, but I never had any guy as goofy as that.”

“You know, I got four sisters, and they're all the most decent girls in the world. You know, my four sisters are as pure as a lily,” Arnold Sheehan bragged drunkenly, and the girl on his lap curled her lips.

“Sing 'em, Sheehan!” Slug said.

“They're as pure as a lily. I shouldn't even walk on the same side of the street with them, after I come here. And anybody that says my four sisters ain't as pure as a lily has gotta fight me,” Arnold said, pounding the table.

“My two sisters are as pure as yours,” Studs said.

“Say, are all these guys queer?” the Polack asked Slug.

“Polluted. The boys is out for a good time,” Slug laughed.

“Well, why don't they shut up talking and prove themselves upstairs. A man only proves himself in a bed. No girls are pure and those that pretend they are are just yellow. They all want it, and they get it too, and they pretend like hypocrites,” the girl on Arnold's lap said.

“Sally!” the girl with Shrimp remonstrated.

“I don't care. I'm sick of these guys coming here and telling me I'm a whore and not as good as their goddamn wives, and sisters, and sweethearts.”

“Sally had a fight because she wasn't getting enough towels. She's cranky tonight,” the girl on Shrimp's lap said.

“Hey, cut it. The show is starting,” Slug said.

DEAR DAN:

I thought I drope you a few lines to let you know how we all are, and what a very fine Xmas we had an I hope yours was just as marry as my. Well Danny you know we are all settle out here now and it seem different from are last when my father was living. But you know when he lose his job because he was a union man and they give the double
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it break his heart and he was a man of sixty year and you know how that just kill him of broken heart. And we miss him but we had a marry Xmas like we know he would want us to and we had sun shines only we all miss my dad lots and it was very hot it was 81 not so bad is it for Dece. I gest its kinda cold in old Chi today but I gest you enjoy it anyways. It looks grate to see all the flower in bloob in Dece and the trees and grass as green as ever. We had lots of rain a cupple of weeks ago and it sure did come down hard when it rain here it is in Nove or Dece. And Dan. but after that seson is over we don't see any rain all summer untill the nex rainny seson. Well Dan in one of your letters you send me you told

“Now, Mary, compose yourself! No news is often good news,” Lonigan said feebly to his wife who sat with her bowed head lowered in tears.

“He's not worth crying over, getting drunk and acting like a pig!”

“Frances, after all, Bill is your brother, and this is Christmas day,” Lonigan said in a conciliatory manner.

He stared out the window at the snow flurrying lightly through the sunless Christmas day. There was a catch in his throat; the whole family had received communion at five o'clock mass, except Bill.

“A curse must have been put on him,” the mother exclaimed between wails.

“Mother!” Lonigan muttered, unable to say any more. He arose and patted her head. She sobbed that he was her boy and she had suffered a mother's agony bringing him into this world.

“Oh!”

“Don't worry, nothing has happened to him except that he's probably drunk as a pig!” Fran said; she strode nervously back and forth across the parlor.

Mrs. Lonigan drew some rosary beads out of her apron pocket, kissed the crucifix attached to them, blessed herself with it and commenced whispering her rosary.

“Well, maybe I had better notify the police, at that,” Lonigan said, continuing to remain slumped in his rocker.

“Dad, he has his name and address in his wallet. I'm sure that if anything serious happened to him, we'd have heard about it,” Loretta said.

Lonigan looked gratefully at his youngest daughter.

“I warned you all along to make him go to Loyola and get in with the right kind of fellows instead of with drunken poolroom bums,” Fran said; her father winced.

“God, what can we do? If people we know saw him, I'll never again be able to set foot in St. Patrick's church with my head up,” the mother mourned.

“And what will I do? Shamed and disgraced before Michael so that I couldn't look him in the face last night. My whole evening was ruined. I was so disgraced that I could have wept,” Fran complained.

“Fran, please!” Loretta exclaimed.

They were thrown into silence as the key clicked in the front door.

“Now, folks, let me handle this!” the father said, showing a sudden sense of confidence and control.

The mother rushed to the hall as Studs was heard walking to the bathroom. She flung herself on him, and sobbed:

“My son! My son! My precious first-born baby son!”

“Mother!” Fran indignantly called from the parlor.

He heeded their summons and walked into the parlor, limping, with his clothes filthy, his face bloated, his eyes bloodshot.

“Well!” he exclaimed, with a slight shrug of the shoulder.

“Bill, isn't this a fine how-do-you-do on Christmas morning?” the father said accusingly.

“Yes, William, Merry Christmas!” Fran said sarcastically.

“Jesus, Mary and Joseph, what did Satan do to my son!” the mother cried, throwing her arms dramatically over her head, looking vaguely at the ceiling with haggard, red eyes.

“Please, mother!” Loretta pleaded, showing presence of mind.

Lonigan looked from son to mother, pain in his face. Fran's lip turned with contempt. Martin quietly entered the parlor; he was ordered out, and stood listening in the hallway.

“Mary, most holy Mother of God, what did I do to earn this misfortune?” the mother yelled.

Loretta looked hopelessly from one to the other, striving to calm them with her glances; she smiled weakly but with sympathy at Studs.

“Never as long as I live will I feel towards him again as a sister, or recognize that he is my brother!” Fran said with appropriate melodrama.

“After all I've done for my children, and suffered!” the mother exclaimed.

Fran went to her bedroom, and returned with Studs' Christmas present of six pair of silk stockings.

“Till my dying day I'll hate you . . . you . . . you brute!” she said, returning the present.

Studs accepted them without a word. He was tired and pooped. His head ached. He could taste vomit all the way up from his guts. He could hardly keep his eyes open.

They looked at Fran, shocked, hurt. In a wearied voice, the father asked her please not to do a thing like that. She retorted that her ears still burned from the vile, unmentionable things he had called her and Michael last night. The mother pulled a faint. Fran blamed Studs for it. Loretta ran for water. Studs stood helpless in the center of the parlor. The father excitedly told everyone not to get excited. He patted the mother's pale cheeks.

“Close your trap!” Studs finally barked, tired of Fran's accusation that he was murdering his mother.

“Jesus, Mary and Joseph!” the mother cried, coming to and sitting up, her words drowning Fran's querulous voice.

“Are you all right, mother?” Loretta solicitously asked.

“Don't worry about me. I'm only a mother!”

The father asserted that he would take charge of things, and asked Bill to wash up and have a talk with him. He drank a cup of coffee, and sat in the dining-room trying to read his crumpled copy of the morning newspaper, while Studs washed up and changed his clothes. He drifted into thinking of what he would tell Studs, and was quickly precipitated into nostalgic memories of how he had gone on benders in his own day; and how, once, right after he had popped the question and Mary had said yes, he had gotten blind as a bat and almost kicked over the apple cart trying to start a scrap with a whole room full of her relatives. He had made his mistakes, plenty of them. Ah, some of those Saturday nights. But that was no excuse for Bill. He had had no chance in life. His father had been poor and a heavy drinker, and he and his mother, Lord have mercy on their souls, had always quarreled and bickered. Bill had a good home, a good example set for him, a place made for him in life, all that a young man could ask for. His own mistakes should serve as a beacon light to guide the boy, Bill, along the right way. That solid old maxim: Do not as I do, but do as I say, it was sound sense. And he hadn't drunk stuff like young fellows drank nowadays. It was rat poison, that killed people like flies. If the young fellows kept up drinking stuff like that, they'd all be dead by the time they were twenty-five or thirty. And then too, except for a few times, he'd always known how to keep his liquor under his belt. Ash, yes, he must point out to Bill the vanities and pitfalls that beset a young man, make it serve as a lesson to him. He had to guide Bill so he wouldn't make the same sorry mistakes that all the young fellows in this jazz and Prohibition age were making.