by Grey, Harry
When he reached his doorway he whispered: “You boys bring me some bundles in the morning?”
Maxie nodded and said, “Yep, don't we always supply you with morning papers?” He patted Maxie on the head.
“Pick me up a bundle of Tageblatts tomorrow, yeh?”
Maxie said, “Yep.” He nudged me. “We get up early tomorrow, Noodles.”
I nodded. “What time?”
“About four-thirty, I'll meet you on the corner.”
“I'll be there.”
We stood there, finding it difficult to make conversation.
We blocked the doorway. A customer made for the door. We stood aside with deference for the well-dressed, mustachioed “Professor.” We tingled with pride and pleasure when he greeted us with a pleasant smile.
“How are you boys?”
“Okay, Professor,” Max said.
“Fine, Professor,” I echoed.
“You boys wait for me, I'll be right out.”
Max said, “Sure, Professor.” We saw him enter the telephone booth.
“He's smart; he's got plenty of brains, that guy.” Max was overflowing with admiration. “He's only out of jail a week, and I'll bet he's back handling 'junk.' He's a smart Wop. I wonder where he gets the stuff,” Maxie mused.
“He's got connections. He imports it, I guess. It don't grow in this country,” I said importantly; in my know-it-all manner.
“From where do you think, Noodles—Italy?”
“Could be, maybe China. Chinks smoke it mostly, I read somewhere.”
“Why do people smoke opium?”
“It gives them nice dreams.”
“Wet dreams, about girls?” Max grinned.
We both laughed. I said, “I would like to smoke a pipe of that stuff sometimes.”
Max said, “Me, too. That's what they call kicking the gong around, hey, Noodles?”
I nodded and smiled affectedly.
The Professor came out, puffing on a big cigar.
“I have a job for you boys; follow me down to my place,” he whispered.
We walked behind him. He rounded the corner, and went down a dark store cellar. He held the door open for us, and bolted it after us. We followed him in the dark into a rear room. He struck a match and lit the gaslight. The Professor had a complete workshop with assorted carpenter tools, hand drills and a small mechanical punch press in the coiner. I spied a small honing stone. I stuck it in my pocket when his back was turned. On a bench there was a large wooden box with the lid open. Inside, I could see some gears and wheels. It had slots cut into the front and back, with handles on the sides. Max and I walked up close to the box. It was highly polished and looked out of place in that dirty cellar. The Professor stood there looking at us, twirling his mustache.
Maxie gestured with his head, “What's that?”
“That?” The Professor was amused. He closed the lid and said, “Let me demonstrate my new invention, something every home should have.”
He turned a handle, we heard the gears inside revolve, and before our amazed eyes, a crisp ten-dollar bill came out of the slot. He walked away and said, “All right, let's forget all about this machine for awhile. I want you lads for—”
He stopped. He stood looking at us, twirling his flowing mustache. “You boys want to make some money, right?”
I said, “Sure, Professor, that's what we're here for.”
He looked gravely at us, “I know you lads are smart, and I can trust you to keep your mouths shut, right?”
We both echoed, “Right.”
He smiled, showing his large white teeth. “Fine, fine, you're good lads, just the type I can trust. I wouldn't ask anybody else, because most young boys talk too much. Now, here's what I want you to do for me: you know where Mott Street is?”
“Yep, Professor,” Maxie answered proudly. “Noodles knows this city like a book.”
“Mott Street is in Chinatown,” I said.
“That's right.”
He took a small round ball, resembling putty, out of a drawer. “Keep this in your pocket. Deliver it to the store at this address. Just leave it on the table, and walk out. That's all you do. All right?”
He made us repeat the number of the store over and over again until we had memorized it.
“Be careful with it. It's valuable, and don't play with it.”
Maxie nodded. “Yep, Professor, we know what's inside.”
The Professor raised his eyebrows questioningly.
“Junk,” I said.
The Professor chuckled. He patted me on the back.
“Smart boy, I'll wait here for you, and I'll have a dollar apiece for you when you get back.”
When we reached Chinatown, we found the store easily. As we opened the door, a cop swinging his club passed us without giving us a second glance. The bell hanging over the door gave a faint, creepy tinkle as we walked in. In the murky light, we were barely able to distinguish a large, fat Chinese seated at a table. He was staring bale-fully at us. I was glad I had the knife in my pocket. It gave me a feeling of supreme confidence. I gave him back stare for stare. I toyed with the release button on the knife. In my imagination I dug it into his fat throat again and again; then I slashed him across the face.
A funny thing happened: I actually saw his eyes bulge with fright. I swear he knew what I was thinking. I was sure of it. He knew that all I had to do was to take one step. With my magic push-button knife I would cut his face into chop suey. He turned his white flabby face away in terror. I laughed and spit on the floor. Max put the ball on the table. We walked out.
“What was you laughing at, Noodles?” Max asked.
“At the Chinaman.”
“Them Chinks don't like to be laughed at, Noodles.”
“That Chink I could handle, or anybody else,” I boasted.
Maxie looked curiously at me. “He was a big Chink.”
I shrugged. “So what? I'd cut him down to my size.”
Maxie laughed and patted me on the back. “Yep, I forgot, you got Pipy's knife.”
“My knife.”
“Yep, your knife. It makes you feel good to have something like that handy, hey, Noodles?”
I nodded. “Yeh, it makes you feel like you're somebody.”
“I'm going to get something to carry around myself,” Maxie said. He picked up a cigar butt from the sidewalk. He put it in the corner of his mouth. “Someday I'm going to get me a revolver. I'll ask the Professor.”
He handed me the butt. I smoked it awhile, then passed it back to him.
The Professor held the door open for us as we walked downstairs into his place. “Everything all right? You boys delivered it?” he asked anxiously.
“Yep, everything's all right, we delivered it.” Maxie spit on the floor. He puffed on his cigar stub. I looked coldly at the Professor.
He laughed and gave us a dollar apiece. “You kids will go a long way; you got the goods all right.”
“Yeh, Professor, we're looking to make money. We need it,” I said.
“You boys will make plenty, and I'll show you how.”
“You're the Professor,” Maxie wisecracked.
He chuckled, and rubbed his hands. “Yes, yes, I can teach you lads plenty of tricks, maybe, for our mutual benefit.”
“Hey, Professor,” Maxie was shuffling awkwardly with his feet.
“Yes, Max?”
“Can you get me and Noodles a couple of rods?”
“Rods?” The Professor was surprised.
“Yep, a couple of rods, you know, revolvers.”
“Yes, Max, I know what you mean.”
He was twisting his mustache. He looked at us intently.
“What do you need them for?”
“Well, we thought it would come in handy some time.”
“For instance, when, and what for?”
“You know, to make a heist.”
“Who are you going to heist, Max?”
Max hesitated for a moment. Then he said, “Well, of cours
e, we still got to case the joint.”
“Well, let's hear about it. Maybe I can give you lads a few pointers on how to go about it. Who you going to heist, Gelly's candy store?”
“Nah, we're going to heist the Federal Reserve Bank,” Max said impressively.
The Professor turned his back and put a handkerchief to his mouth. At first it sounded as if he was laughing. But we were mistaken. He really was coughing violently. When he caught his breath, he apologized. He wiped his wet eyes.
“I have a bad cough, this damp cellar you know. Now, about this Federal Reserve heist. You lads are a little too young yet. Wait a few years. After a little experience on small stuff, like candy stores, drug stores, then gradually you work your way up to the Federal Reserve. All right, lads?” He was smiling broadly. “You can always come to me for help.”
“Can you get us revolvers?” Max was insistent.
“Yes, yes. I can get anything. Leave it to me, Max. When I think you boys are ready for them, you will have them. Is that satisfactory? One thing you have to learn, not to be too impetuous, my lad.”
He patted Max on the back.
“What's the name of the book you have in your back pocket?” he said to me.
I took it out and showed it to him. He looked at it distastefully. He grunted, “From Rags to Riches. Isn't it juvenile for a boy your age?”
I shrugged.
“You like books?” he asked, smiling.
“Yeh, I like to read.”
“Why don't you get good books, join the Public Library?”
“The library is for sissies.”
He laughed. “Well, I'll tell you what, I'll let you belong to my library. Go on, help yourself, in there.”
He gestured toward the toilet.
“You got books in there?”
“Yes, go on help yourself, that's the best place for the library. That's where one can really concentrate on what one is reading.”
I walked into the toilet. Both walls from the floor to the ceiling were covered with shelves of books. They all had unfamiliar titles. The Education of Henry Adams, a book by a guy named Yeats, and others I never heard of.
“Well, have you found something you would like?” the Professor called to me.
I spied a title that made a little sense to me. Boswell's Life of Johnson. Yeh, I thought, this must be pretty good. All about Jack Johnson, the champ. I walked out with it.
The Professor said, “What did you pick out?”
I showed it to him. He looked doubtfully at me. “Do you think you will like it and understand it?”
“Who you kiddin'?” I snorted.
“It's kind of deep stuff for a kid,” he said.
“You don't know Noodles, Professor, he's a smart guy. The smartest guy on Delancey Street.”
“All right, Noodles,” he said, “after you finish it I'd like to know what you think of it.”
“Yeh, I'll let you know,” I promised.
CHAPTER 2
“I'll keep in touch with you,” he whispered after us as we walked upstairs. We walked back to Gelly's.
Maxie asked, “What was that he said, I have to learn not to be... that word, imp... something, you remember, Noodles?”
“Impetuous?”
“Yep, that's it, impetuous. What did he mean?”
“Not to rush into things, you know, without figuring.”
“That's a good tip. The Professor is a smart one. Yep, you got to plan things out; that's one thing I'm gonna remember.”
Patsy, Cockeye and Dominick were standing in the doorway, waiting for us. “Where were you guys?” Patsy asked.
“Noodles and I made a buck apiece.” Maxie walked into the store. We followed him in.
“Give me your buck, Noodles,” Maxie said.
“Give you my buck?” I was unwilling. “What for?”
“We all share,” Max said decisively.
Reluctantly I handed it to him. He walked over to old man Gelly.
“Give us some change.” He threw the bills on the counter.
Maxie split the two dollars five ways. I took my forty cents with a feeling of disappointment. He smiled reassuringly.
“Don't worry, Noodles, there's more where that came from.”
Maxie bought a pack of Sweet Caporals. We went outside. We smoked, whistled, and made nasty remarks to the girls passing by.
Dominick's father came by. He slapped the cigarette out of Dominick's mouth and chased him home. We jeered after them.
I was looking up at Dolores, who was gazing out of her window across the street. Maxie waved to her; she shut the window in a huff. I stood there daydreaming about her. My first love. I imagined her in all sorts of trouble, being pursued and molested by strange ruffians. In my daydreams I cast myself in the heroic role of her protector—me and my knife. Then my thoughts wandered off to Peggy. A new strange inner excitement overwhelmed me. I wondered if she would be on the stoop. Maybe I'll grab a hold of fat little Fanny.
I said, “I'm gonna hit the hay, fellas,” and walked down the street towards my house.
“What's the hurry all of a sudden?” Maxie called after me. “Don't forget, early tomorrow, Noodles, four-thirty.”
I answered over my shoulder, “I'll be there, don't worry.”
Peggy wasn't on the stoop. Like a tomcat I slunk through the halls, up and down the stairs looking for her or for Fanny. I felt foolishly dissatisfied as I walked up the five flights into our dark apartment. It was quiet. The family was asleep.
The Sabbath candles were sputtering on the table. Alongside them was a plate of gefuellte fish and chaleh bread which my mother had thoughtfully left for me. Hungrily I wolfed the food and gulped down a glass of cold water from the kitchen sink.
I put a quarter in the gas meter and went into my windowless bedroom. I lit the gaslight, undressed, pushed my snoring kid brother over to his side of the narrow iron bed and opened the book, Boswell's Life of Johnson. I turned to the first page. It was an introduction, about the guy who wrote the book. I skipped it. Who the hell was interested in the author? I wanted to know all about the champ, his fights and if it was true he ran around with plenty of women and was married to a white woman. I started to read. What the hell is this crap, I said to myself. It's about a guy named Samuel Johnson, a doctor.
I put it down in disgust and reached for Alger's From Rags to Riches.” Then I remembered how the professor had practically laughed at me when he saw the book I had chosen. I wouldn't understand it, he said. Me, Noodles, wouldn't understand what any lousy book is about? It was a challenge. I began to read it.
I had to go to the kitchen shelf to get my dictionary. Boy, was it a load of dry crap. All this guy Johnson did was bullshit about this and that; no action. I forced myself to read. I fell asleep with the gaslight on.
CHAPTER 3
I woke up with a start; the gaslight was still on. I wondered what time it was. My kid brother was lying on his back, snoring. I pushed him over on his side.
“You lousy son-of-a-bitch, put the light out,” he mumbled.
I put the light out. I felt my way in the dark to the kitchen where I lit the gaslight. It was still early. The battered old alarm clock showed 3:30. As usual, I felt hungry. I opened the window and looked into the tin box fastened to the window sill which served as an ice box.
There were small pieces of gefuellte fish and kishkeh on separate plates, intended evidently for Saturday's and Sunday's dinner. I sliced off a thin piece of the kishkeh with my knife. I cut a piece of bread, brushed the roaches off the table, and ate. I wondered what my old man was going to do about the rent, what he was going to do about getting himself a job before we were thrown out in the street. I was wondering how many months we were behind, two or three? I thought of our lousy landlord, how he comes around all dressed up and yelling for his rent. I was thinking, the bastard's always got a white flower in his lapel, he must be a pansy or something.
My dopey old man, why can't he get a job and
make some dough? Yeh, the old cluck, I guess because he don't feel so good; maybe he's always sick. Why the hell does he go to schul so much? Two hours every morning, and two hours at night, too. Saturday he stinks in that joint all day long, all them old clucks with their beards and shawls, shaking back and forth in their prayers, back and forth, mumbling all kinds of crap in their beards. What the hell is it all about? I'll bet the dopey rabbi don't know either. My old man would be better off looking for work instead of wasting his time with that crap. None of that for me! I'm smart. When I grow up, all I'm going out for is plenty of do-re-mi. Jesus, what the hell am I sittin' and mopin' for? It's getting late.
I washed the two dishes I had used, brushed the crumbs and roaches from the table onto the floor, and drank a glass of water. I took the forty cents out of my pocket and put it on the table. I laughed, thinking, Momma and the old man will cover the dough with a piece of paper and leave it there until sun-down. Some clucks! I laughed to myself—Orthodox Jews don't touch money on the Sabbath—some clucks!
Not this Jew-boy. Show me where there's money, and I'll handle it all right, any day in the week, beginning Friday and all the way through the Sabbath. Boy oh boy, even a million bucks! I looked at the clock; it was twenty after four. I turned off the gaslight. I closed the door and crept quietly down the dark stairs. On the first floor I stopped. I heard a noise underneath the staircase. I put my hand in my pocket; the knife reassured me. I fingered the button and listened. I heard a rhythmic shuffling noise and labored breathing for a few minutes. Then a sharp male gasp.
“Oh Jesus, this is good.” Then a female giggle, and a man's laugh joined the giggle. I recognized the giggle. It was Peggy the Bumehke's. I walked down the remaining flight of stairs, whistling loudly. There was a sudden silence under the staircase. I went out to the street. Maxie was already there, waiting for me.
I said, “I heard Peggy and some guy screwing under the staircase.”
“No kiddin'.”
Max had an interested leer on his face. “Come on back and let's watch them in action.”
Max and I tiptoed into the hall. We stood there; we heard whispering under the staircase for awhile. When the rhythmic shuffling noise and the loud, heavy breathing started, Max and I tiptoed noiselessly closer and closer until we were right on top of the tightly interlocked swaying couple.
