“On Wheeler?”
“That’s it. Just past Sixth. I might just happen to be there around seven o’clock.”
“I don’t know,” I said. “I might have to go to the infirmary to see Pa.”
“Oh, I’m sure you’ll want to do that. Especially as he’s coming along so fine and will want someone to joke with and fetch him his cigs. But you won’t be there all night, I reckon.”
So I told him I’d see, and went on up the stairs thinking about it.
4
IT WOULD BE GOOD TO have some dough all right, so I could take care of me and Lulu when we needed something. It wasn’t like being crooked was anything new around there. You had the cadets and the gamblers and the whores and the hopheads. They were all crooked. Then there were the fellas who rolled drunks and the others who went uptown where the swells lived and busted into houses. On top of it there were the gangs: the Irish Rats, the Sicilian mob, the South Street Gang, and others, who did nearly anything, including killing people. They were the worst, but probably everybody around there was a little bit crooked, even the ones with straight jobs, like Charley O’Neill’s pa.
Charley said his pa wouldn’t steal, he wouldn’t lower himself that way. But if there was something lying around a construction site that was just what he needed at home—an old cold chisel that wasn’t much use to anyone else, or a dowel that would make dandy coat pegs—why he’d pick it up. Picking things up wasn’t the same as stealing, Charley said.
But look what happened when I tried to steal that bucket of rice and fried pork. A lot of kids around there, they were raised to it. Their pa, if they had any pa, was a gambler, or a fence, or talked girls into going into the parlor houses. If they didn’t have a pa it was their older brother who showed them, or their uncle or somebody. It came natural to them. The only thing they worried about was getting caught, and they didn’t worry about that too much, for the cops weren’t likely to do much to a kid so long as it wasn’t for something big. It wasn’t just getting caught that scared me; it was the whole thing of doing something wrong.
Still, I was curious about what it would be like to do something really crooked. Would I have the nerve for it? I figured if I did it and got some dough out of it, I’d be pretty proud of myself. It’d make me feel like somebody around there. Of course you couldn’t go around boasting about it—that was too risky. But you could feel it inside and slouch around with your hands in your pockets, like you were on the inside of things.
But why was Circus after me for it? Was it really because Pa had got shot and he felt sorry for me? I wished I had somebody to talk it over with. That was something I never did have. You couldn’t talk anything over with Pa—he was bound to say something hard about whatever it was. Nor could you talk anything over with Ma, for she never wanted to hear about anyone’s problems. “I’ve got enough problems of my own,” she’d say. Sometimes I could talk things over with Charley O’Neill, but he wasn’t usually too helpful, for all he ever did was tell you what his pa would say about it.
That left Lulu. I couldn’t talk with her, because usually she didn’t understand half of what I said. But I could talk at her, which at least got it off my chest. She wasn’t much use for advice, but when I talked to her about something serious it made her feel important and she listened carefully.
I opened the door to the apartment and went in. Nobody was home. I wondered if Ma and Lulu had gone off to the infirmary to see Pa. Lulu was in grammar school and got home a half hour sooner than I did. Maybe that’s where they were. I wondered if I ought to go over to the infirmary and see if they were there. Would they let me in if I came without Ma?
I was feeling hungry and I opened the cupboard. There was still a quarter of a loaf of bread left. Did Ma have any money? Was that piece of bread all we had? I knew I ought to wait until I found out if Ma had any money. I stood there with the cupboard door open, looking at it. I remembered how it would taste slavered over with molasses. I licked my lips. Then I took down the loaf, cut off a thin slice, spread the molasses on, and sat at the enamel table eating. I felt guilty, but it tasted mighty good. When I finished it I looked at the piece that was left. It didn’t amount to more than a couple of slices even if you cut it thin. It wouldn’t make enough supper for one person, much less the three of us. What was the point of saving it?
Eating something made me feel more cheerful although underneath the cheerfulness I felt guilty, too. Around there you were always feeling guilty about something. I sat there at the kitchen table scooping spots of molasses off the table with my finger, licking them off, and thinking. Why should it be wrong to want things? Everybody wanted things.
Even Grandpa, who had a nice apartment, a talking machine, and a piece of fossil tree from the petrified forest, wanted things. He was always saying things like “If I had any money this year you wouldn’t catch me cooped up in a New York apartment in February, I’d be off to sunny Italy.” Or “Edgar Daley says he’s thinking of getting a motor car. I wonder if we ought to consider it.” If everybody else wanted things, why wasn’t I allowed to?
I’d scooped up all the molasses spots from the table. I wondered about pouring some more on the table to scoop up. But that seemed foolish, and I decided not to eat any more molasses.
How could you stop yourself from wanting? I didn’t see how you could. I knew, because I tried often enough. I’d see something in a store window or that some friend of mine at school had—a bike or a fielder’s glove or a bag of glass marbles. I’d know that I couldn’t have it. I never had enough money for a baseball, much less a fielder’s glove, for any money I earned I had to hand over to Ma or Pa—whichever one got to me first. Even so, I’d start wanting it. I’d tell myself to stop wanting, for it didn’t do anything but hurt. I’d put my mind to something else, and the minute I got relaxed and off my guard the fielder’s glove or whatever it was would pop back into my mind. You couldn’t stop yourself from wanting things, that was a fact.
And if you did stop yourself from wanting one thing, you’d only start wanting another. What was the point of feeling guilty about it then?
Finally I got tired of thinking about the whole thing. Ma and Lulu were still not home. I decided that they must be over at the infirmary. So I put on my cap, went out of the apartment, and ran down the stairs. There stood Circus Penrose, leaning on a lamp post, picking at his teeth with that silver toothpick. I stopped dead. “Have you been standing here all this time?”
“Who, me?” he said. “Yes, sure. A gentleman of leisure like me, who ain’t got no business to occupy him, nor any little girlies to attend to, would be bound to find leaning on a lamp post an exciting way to spend an hour. Yes, that’s just the thing a gentleman of leisure would do.”
He had a trick of making you feel foolish so as to get the upper hand. I decided not to fall for it. “Why did you come back?”
“You should be able to guess at that one, Rog, knowing the way I feel about you. Why about ten minutes ago I finished up a little business I was up to, and I says to myself, That young fella, he’s mighty worried about his pa. He’s bound to be heading over to the infirmary along about now to see how the old man is getting on. Bring him his newspaper and his cigs. I says to myself, Circus, that fella is bound to want a comforting word. Why don’t you just trot over to that fella’s place, so’s you can walk along to the infirmary with him?” He cocked his head and looked at me. “You was planning on going around to see your dear old pa, wasn’t you?”
“I was going there right now,” I said, so he’d know I’d thought it up on my own.
“Well, it just happens that I’ve got a few minutes between things. I’ll just walk along with you. I’m sure your dear pa has taken a turn for the better by now. You’ll see.” And off we went, him talking a mile a minute. I had to admit, it was interesting to hear him talk, for he’d seen a lot of curious things. A cow with two heads that tried to eat with both heads at once and choked to death—well, he hadn’t exactly seen t
he cow eating, but they’d stuffed it after it died and it was in a museum in Brockport. A fella who had got a piece of his stomach shot off, and they’d put in a glass window so you could see his lunch digest itself—well, he hadn’t actually seen the man digesting his lunch, but he’d read about it in The Police Gazette, so it must be true. Things like that.
We got to the infirmary—a big old brick building four stories high, but so covered with soot, the bricks looked black instead of red. I wondered if they’d let me in without Ma. I figured that Circus would be able to talk our way in. “Are you coming in to see Pa?”
He shook his head. “I can’t stand sick people. They make me come over all funny. Half of ‘em are fakers, anyway, so as to get out of looking after theirselves.”
“My pa isn’t faking. He got shot in the stomach. He might die.” Once again I started to smile, but I stopped myself.
“Oh, he’s a different case. When you get shot it ain’t faking. I can tell you that, for I got shot once.”
“You did? What did it feel like?”
“Oh, it wasn’t anything. Nothing at all. A mere trifle, like having a red-hot iron run through you.”
“Where’d you get it?”
“Right here in the back of my thigh. I still got a hole there. I’ll show you someday when we’re in a place where I can lower my pants. You can put your finger into it up to the first joint.”
I wasn’t sure I wanted to put my finger into his wound, but maybe it would be interesting. “Were you running away?”
“Oh no, not Penrose. No sirree. Why the very idea! Not Circus. Running? Why, it was more like I was shot out of a cannon. If I was going any faster the bullet couldn’t have caught up to me.”
“What was it about?”
“Well.” He put his hands on his hips and looked around to see who might be listening. “Well. You might say that I was just leaving this fella’s house by a side window which just happened to be convenient, a-carrying a bag containing a few odds and ends—just trifles that a rich fella like that wouldn’t have hardly missed. And blamed if I didn’t catch my pants on a nail and give my leg a good rip. Well, coming sudden like that, naturally I expressed my feelings in the matter. I used a term what you wouldn’t use in polite society. Loud, too. And the next thing I knew I was flying across the lawn with a gun banging away behind me like Sherman’s army was back there. I was mighty lucky I only took that one bullet at that. I managed to crawl off into a woods that was there and bind myself up with my kerchief enough so’s I could make my way to a friend’s place.” He took out his toothpick. “Yes, I can understand that your pa don’t feel much like doing nothing but lay around and get his meals brought to him.”
“I don’t think he much feels like eating,” I said. “Not according to Ma.”
“Oh, I don’t know. Seeing how well he’s coming along, I shouldn’t wonder if he wasn’t sitting up and taking nourishment by now. It stands to reason he would be. Some fellas are fast healers. Get shot in the morning and are back on the job by afternoon. Now you better run on up there and see how he’s doing. I’ll just wait right here until you come down.”
“You don’t need to do that, Circus. I might be up there a long time.”
“Oh, I don’t mind. I don’t mind at all. I just like to be here to share the good news. Wouldn’t miss it for anything. Who knows, we might go off to have a celebratory tipple.”
“All right,” I said. I went on in. I needn’t have worried about them letting me in. Nobody paid any attention to me. There were nurses going along here and there, fellas pushing carts with jars and boxes on them, and a few docs. You could tell the docs, for they walked along frowning and serious, hardly even noticing the nurses and the rest, like everything depended on them and everybody else better realize that. I was lower than any of them and wasn’t worth paying attention to at all. I went on up to the third floor, into the gray room, and down the center aisle to where Pa lay in his bed.
As I came along I could see that Ma and Lulu weren’t there. Where were they? Maybe they were talking to the doc. Or maybe Ma had to take Lulu to the bathroom. I came on up to Pa, feeling nervous, for in the back of my mind I was worried that I might find him lying there dead.
But he wasn’t. He was lying on his back, staring up at the ceiling. He didn’t see me until I was right next to him. I wasn’t sure what to say. I took off my cap. “Hello, Pa.”
He turned his head to look at me. “Roger,” he said. His face was still gray and collapsed, but now it was covered with short whiskers. I wondered who would have to shave him.
“How’re you feeling, Pa?”
“Not too swell, Roger. Not too hot.”
I felt like it was up to me to make conversation. I remembered what Circus said about it feeling like a red-hot iron went through you. “Does it hurt a lot?”
“It sure does.”
I was hoping he’d tell me what happened, but I knew I shouldn’t ask. “Did Ma and Lulu come?”
“They were here a little while ago.”
“They weren’t home when I got back from school. I figured they might be here.” It was making me nervous to have to do all the talking.
“Your ma said she’d be back tonight.”
“Pa, do you want a newspaper or some cigs?” It would be an excuse to get away.
“Lordy, no, Roger.”
“Oh.” I tried to think of some way to get the conversation around to how he got shot. “Did they say when you can come home?”
He shook his head. “Nobody told me a thing. They won’t tell you nothing around here. What use is a doc if he can’t tell you how bad off you are?”
“Well, I guess if you didn’t die up to now, Pa, you’re not going to.”
He looked away from me. “I don’t know, Roger. The minute I felt that thing hit me I figured I was a goner.”
I tried to think of a way to edge him into the subject. “Well, you look pretty good to me, Pa.” The truth was, he looked terrible. I just couldn’t get used to seeing Pa, who was always tough and ornery, looking collapsed and gray.
“I look rotten, Roger.” He reached up and felt his face. “They won’t even give me a shave. Your ma’ll have to do it.”
“Was it an accident, Pa?”
“It was no accident, Roger. That rattlesnake was laying for me.” He winced.
But I was still curious. “Was he sore at you for something?”
He looked at me and then away again. “I never saw the snake before in my life.”
“Wasn’t he from around here?”
“I can’t say that. All I can say is I never saw him before. He was laying for me. It was dark, but I got a look at the dirty snake. I’ll know him when I see him. And—” He winced again. “Ow,” he said.
“Pa, you better rest now. We’ll all come back later. You just rest.”
He closed his eyes. He didn’t say anything but lay there with his eyes closed, looking gray and collapsed. I backed away from the bed, went through that gray room, down the stairs and outside.
Circus was out there, leaning on a lamp post with the toothpick in the corner of his mouth. “Well. He’s taking a turn for the better just like I figured.”
“He says the docs won’t tell him anything.”
“Well, that is exasperating. I mean it must be for you, coming all this way just to see how your dear pa is doing. They must have given him some idea. How’d he look to you?”
I could see that I’d have to tell him something. “He’s pretty sick.”
Circus looked down at the ground, tapping his foot. “Doesn’t seem to have taken a turn for the better?” He looked up at me.
“He might be a little better,” I said. “He talked to me a little. Yesterday he didn’t talk at all.”
“Talked to you. Well that’s a good sign. I reckon probably the first thing that came out of his mouth was how he got shot. That’s the thing that’d be on a fella’s mind at a time like that. I’ll be bound he told you all about
it—how the fella who done it leapt out of the shadows so sudden your poor pa never got a good look at him before he was hit.”
Suddenly I didn’t want to tell him any of that. “He didn’t talk about it at all. He mostly asked me how I was doing, did I pass my history test, did we have enough money for a few days. That’s what he asked about.”
“Well, yes, he would ask about that. A pa is bound to want to know how his family is doing, and if they needed anything while he was laid up. But the second thing on his mind would be who shot him. That just follows. I reckon you would be mighty interested yourself. Any boy whose pa got shot would be curious to know who done it. I reckon you was curious, too, but didn’t want to ask. If you want my opinion, that’s a mistake. A fella who got shot like your pa would want to talk about it. It’s just what he would want to talk about most. He’d want to get it off his chest, but of course he wouldn’t want to worry his family, and wouldn’t bring it up unless they did.”
Why was he all fired up to know who shot Pa? I couldn’t figure it out. But he didn’t go on about it. Instead he said, “Well, you’ll be needing money, that’s for certain, what with your pa being laid up and the docs to pay. I don’t guess you forgot about my little proposition?”
“I don’t know, Circus.”
“Well, it doesn’t matter to me one way or another. There’s lots of boys who’ll jump at the chance. I just figured you was in trouble and needed a helping hand, which is why I come to you first. I said, Circus, the boy needs a friend, why not give him first crack at it? Even though there’s other boys around who have experience and know what’s called for. But it’s no skin off my nose either way.”
“I didn’t say I wouldn’t. I said I wasn’t sure. I got to think about it a little.”
“Well that’s right,” he said. “You think about it. Only don’t take too long for we can’t wait forever.” He started to whistle “Shine On, Harvest Moon” and turned to go. Then he stopped whistling and looked back at me. “Like I said, I expect I’ll be at Stein’s Dance Hall tonight.” He started whistling again and sauntered off with his hands in his hip pockets.
My Crooked Family Page 4
