Studs Lonigan (74 page)

STUDS and his father stood in the parlor and the early morning sunlight glared through the unwashed, curtainless windows. They looked around at the covered furniture. The room had an appearance of disruption.

“Bill, I'd rather let the money I made on this building go to hell, and not be moving,” Lonigan exclaimed, with wistful regret.

“Patrick, are you sure all your things are packed,” Mrs. Lonigan said.

“Yes, mother,” Lonigan said, very gently.

It seemed to Studs that his mother wiped away a tear. She turned and went towards the back of the house to ask the girls if they had all their things packed.

“Hell, there is scarcely a white man left in the neighborhood,” Studs remarked.

“I never thought that once they started coming, they'd come so fast.”

“You know, Bill, your mother and I are gettin' old now, and, well, we sort of got used to this neighborhood. We didn't see many of the old people, except once in a while at Church, but you know, we kind of felt that they were around. You know what I mean, they were all nearby, and they all sort of knew us, and we knew them, and you see, well, this neighborhood was kind of like home. We sort of felt about it the same way I feel about Ireland, where I was born,” said Lonigan.

Studs didn't like the old man to let himself out like that because how could he reply? The old man and old lady were taking it hard.

“Yeah, it used to be a good neighborhood,” said Studs.

“Well, Patrick, we're going to have a new home,” Mrs. Lonigan said, returning to the parlor.

“Yes, Mary, but no home will be like this one has been to us. We made our home here, raised our children, and spent the best years of our lives here.”

“Sunday in church, I watched Father Gilhooley. Patrick, he's getting old. He's heartbroken, poor man. Here he built his beautiful church, and two years after it's built, all his parishioners are gone. He's getting old, Patrick, poor man, and he's heartbroken.”

Studs stood there, looking at nothing, feeling goofy, vague, as if he was all empty inside.

“We're all getting old, Mary; it won't be long before we're under the sod.”

“Patrick, don't talk like that, please.”

“Goddamn those niggers!” Lonigan exploded.

“I guess it was the Jew real-estate dealers who did it,” said Studs, believing that he ought to say something.

“Mary, remember that Sunday, a long time ago, when we came out here in a buggy I rented, and drove around. It was nearly all trees and woods out here then, and there wasn't many people here,” the old man said.

“Yes, Patrick, but now are you positively certain that you're not leaving anything behind?” Mrs. Lonigan said.

“Nothing, mother! And remember when we bought the building over on Wabash. That was before you were born, Bill.”

Studs walked over to the window. He saw two nigger kids twisted together, wrestling in the street. They went down squirmingly. He remembered how, coming home from St. Patrick's every night, they used to wrestle and rough-house like that, and Lucy and the girls, not meaning what they said, would call them roughnecks, and then they would go at it all the harder. Funny to think that was all gone, and here he was twenty-six, actually twenty-six, and next fall, he'd be twenty-seven. He lit a cigarette.

“Out there there'll only be about ten buildings in our block, the rest's all prairie,” Lonigan said.

“It'll be nice, though,” the mother absent-mindedly exclaimed.

“Mary, you know it's not like it used to be. We're not what we used to be, and it'll be lonesome there sometimes.”

“It's a shame. This was such a beautiful neighborhood. And such nice people. A shame,” Mrs. Lonigan said.

“Well, there'll be nice people out there south, too,” said Lonigan.

“I wish they'd hurry up,” Fran said nervously, as she joined them.

“They ought to be here any minute now. The movers said they would be here at seven-thirty. Let's see now, it's seven twenty-five, no seven twenty-six,” Lonigan said.

“Well, I wish they'd come. OOOOh, I can't stand the sight or thought of this place and this neighborhood any more. OOOH, to think of all those greasy, dirty niggers around. Every time I pass them on the street, I shudder,” Fran said.

“Yeah, they look like apes, and, God, you can smell them a mile away,” said Lonigan.

“Dad, they're coming in here, aren't they?” said Studs.

“Yeah, a shine offered the highest price for the building, so I let it go. But he paid, the black skunk.”

“And this is such a beautiful building,” Mrs. Lonigan said.

“Well, they can have it, only I hate to see how this building and the neighborhood will look in about six more months,” said Lonigan.

“Yeah, I guess the damn niggers are dirty,” said Studs.

“I know it. Did you ever look out of the window of the elevated train when you go downtown and see what kind of places they live in. God Almighty, such dirt and filth,” said Lonigan.

“Sometimes, I almost think that niggers haven't got a soul,” said Mrs. Lonigan.

“There's quite a few were in church last Sunday,” Lonigan said.

“Yes, and coming out, did you see how they were trying to talk to Father Gilhooley, and he trying to edge aside from them. Poor man, he's heartbroken, simply heartbroken,” said Mrs. Lonigan.

“Well, well, well! How's the little fairy queen? Is she ready to move too?” Lonigan said. Loretta smiled back at her dad.

“Dad, Phil is going to come over and help us move,” she said.

“Now, that's fine of him. You know he's Jewish, and I always made it a point to never trust a Jew, but I finally am convinced that he's one white Jew, if there ever was one. And accepting the faith, well, I suppose we oughtn't to call him a Jew any more. He's on our side of the fence,” said Lonigan.

Loretta smiled.

“He's a fine boy. He's got manners, and he was willing to be an usher in the church,” said Mrs. Lonigan, looking at Studs.

“Yes, Father Gilhooley, I guess, is proud he's made a convert,” said Lonigan.

“And he is so polite and thoughtful. Every time I come into the parlor when he's here, I notice that he stands up. And before he smokes in my presence, he asks my permission. I think he is a fine boy,” said Mrs. Lonigan.

“Well, it's seven twenty-nine, they ought to be here,” said Lonigan.

“Martin, now you're only a boy. Don't you go trying to lift and carry any of those heavy pieces,” said the mother.

“No danger,” said Studs, smiling at Martin, who was now a tall, skinny, awkward young boy, a trifle loutish in appearance.

“I'm all right,” Martin said in a falsetto voice.

The bell rang. Loretta rushed to the buzzer and pressed it. In a moment, she came back with Rolfe, who was dressed in old clothes. He politely said hello to everyone.

“Well, Phil, we're all set,” said Lonigan.

“Yes, Mr. Lonigan, I see that you are, and it's a fine day for moving too!”

“Phillip, it was awfully nice of you to come and help us,” said Mrs. Lonigan.

“It wasn't any trouble, Mrs. Lonigan, I was glad to help you.”

“Here, I must get you a cup of coffee,” said she.

“Please don't, Mrs. Lonigan, I had my breakfast. I'm not at all hungry.”

“It won't be any trouble, and I can fix it in a jiffy,” she said, rushing out, as Phil graciously protested.

“I suppose you're glad to be moving, Mr. Lonigan.”

“Well, Phillip, as I was saying, we're getting old, Mrs. Lonigan and me, and we kind of felt we'd rather not live with a bunch of damn smokes.”

“Yes, I know how you feel. They ruined the neighborhood,” said Phil.

Mrs. Lonigan called him from the kitchen.

“Yes, I wish they hadn't of gotten in, and they wouldn't have, if all the property owners got together. But I'll tell you this much, they'll never get out where we are going. That's certain. It's nice out there, too.”

“Phil, Mother is calling you for your coffee,” said Fritzie.

“Hi there, Martin. All set?” smiled Phil, turning to go out to the kitchen.

“Say, Bill, he's a good, decent, clean-cut boy,” Lonigan said.

Studs nodded.

“Dad, the movers are here,” Fran called.

“Well, let's go.”

The movers commenced taking things down. Studs took a large rocker, and carried it slowly downstairs. It was tedious work. His arms and back got tired. When he set it down in the alley, he was breathless, and all pooped out. Jesus Christ, and he was only twenty-six. Goddamn it, he felt rotten. In rotten condition. He touched the soft, unnecessary flesh about his abdomen and stomach. Goddamn it!

He walked slowly back, wishing the moving was done. Upstairs, the old man, mother, and two girls were standing in the parlor.

“Well, mother, take a last look around and say good-bye,” the old man said.

“Yes, Patrick.”

“Now, you and the girls go ahead out there.”

“No, Patrick, I'm afraid you'll forget something.”

“Not on your life.”

“I had better wait until everything is moved.”

Studs picked up a lamp. It was lighter. He carried it down towards the back. Loretta and Phil followed him. He paused at the kitchen sink, and got a drink. Turning, he noticed Loretta squeezing Phil's hand, and telling him not to hurt himself lifting anything big.

He walked downstairs with the lamp. Yeah, he was kind of sorry to be moving. So were they all. Well!

IT WAS
a Saturday night. Husk Lonigan had the dough from the first pay he had earned since starting to work for the old man. He, Pete McFarland, Crabby Konetchy, and a couple of other fellows from their old gang at St. Patrick's wanted a woman. But they were leary about going to a can house. They stood around the corner of Sixty-third and Cottage Grove, telling each other how they wished they would pick up some broads. Husk finally got bored and suggested some liquor. They chipped in and bought a quart of moon. They walked down to Jackson Park and sat on a bench drinking it, talking about girls, each trying to pretend to the other that he had already lost his cherry. They followed two girls and couldn't make the grade because of their lout-like approach. The booze gave them more courage and they took a taxi down to Twenty-second Street. They walked around lost, but feeling romantic and adventurous. A pimp picked them up, and took them to a can house. It cost two bucks, and the women wormed two bucks extra out of Husk, who was afraid and unable to talk. It was over quickly, and they were disappointed, because there didn't seem to be hardly anything to it.