West Side Story

by Irving Shulman

  Riff flicked his eyes toward the startled counterman who had turned toward them sharply. “You’re a comedian, Ice. The coffees,” he prodded the counterman. “What the hell takes you so long?”

  “It’s comin’,” the counterman said. “I can only pour one cup at a time.”

  “Superman could fill all the cups so fast you couldn’t even see them.” Baby-John spoke like the authority he was. “You know somethin’ else about Superman? He doesn’t use knives. He doesn’t even have to use an atomic ray gun. He leaves that for his enemies. All he uses is this.” He showed a hard fist.

  “You don’t say?” A-Rab was interested. “He knocks down walls and everything?”

  “I do so say,” Baby-John replied. “He’s got it all over Batman.” He pointed at the door, “Hey, lock it before Mrs. Haunted House gets in.”

  “I heard you, stinker,” Anybodys said as she slammed the door behind her. “I got as much right here as you. And I’m willin’ to prove it.”

  “Go back there and sit down,” Riff ordered. He was too busy tonight to run her ass out on the sidewalk. “Give her some coffee,” he told the counterman.

  “Sure, sure,” the counterman said, and looked nervously toward the street. Damn the cops, they were never around at the right time. “I’m closin’ up soon.”

  Gee-Tar shook his head. “It’s against the law to throw out cash customers. What’s the matter, bud, you don’t like our manners? Now finish serving those coffees and get back to your sink until we call you.”

  “I’m not lookin’ for trouble,” the counterman pleaded, “so why pick on me?”

  “We’re not pickin’ on anybody,” Riff said as he looked at the clock again. He had been unable to find Tony, and Action had said nothing, just looked, which was worse. “Meetin’ here was Bernardo’s idea. You know Bernardo?”

  “Sort of,” the counterman said.

  “He doesn’t care who he knows,” Anybodys called out.

  Riff gestured for her to remain quiet. “Give her a doughnut or somethin’,” he said to the counterman. “How come you look so starved? Don’t you ever go home?”

  “The answer to that is no,” she said.

  Baby-John looked up from his comic book, annoyed that Anybodys had been reading the balloon dialogue aloud. “Then you should be out walkin’ the streets like your sister.”

  Anybodys’ knuckles cracked Baby-John across the side of the head. “Go ahead,” she challenged, “tell Superman I clobbered you one and I’ll do the same to him.”

  The counterman had served the last mug of coffee, placed a doughnut on a paper napkin, and pushed it toward Anybodys. “I need another sixty cents,” he said. “And I’m forgettin’ about the tax.”

  “Keep the change, my good man,” Mouthpiece said, as he crumpled a dollar bill and threw it at the counterman.

  “I haven’t seen Bernardo all night,” the counterman said. “If you ask me, he’s not goin’ to show. As a matter of fact, he hardly ever comes in here, seein’ as he owes the boss five bucks.”

  “He’ll be here,” Riff said, as he blew across the rim of the mug. “He chose this neutral territory for our board meeting. We’re gonna debate with the PR’s about their place in society. Want to join us?”

  “Sorry, I’ve got previous plans to get drunk, get picked up, and get sent to the work house for thirty days,” the counterman replied. “So, no insult intended, but I’m gonna have to turn down your invitation. But why don’t you take some advice? Go home and forget it.”

  “We can’t hear you,” Diesel said as he cupped his ears with both hands. “What kind of weapons do you think he’s gonna choose?”

  “Ask Bernardo,” Riff said, as he left his stool to open the door, “because here he comes.”

  Baby-John put away the comic book and Anybodys whirled her stool around, so that she could rest her dirty elbows on the counter behind her. With exaggerated courtesy, Riff opened the door wide and gestured for Bernardo and the Sharks to enter.

  Bernardo looked around, was convinced that no ambush was possible, and the movement of his shoulder told the Sharks to follow him into the small restaurant.

  “Hope we didn’t keep you waiting,” Bernardo broke the silence.

  “We enjoyed it,” Riff replied. “How about some coffee?”

  “Let’s get down to business.”

  Riff looked at the clock, then at Action. “Bernardo hasn’t learned the procedures of gracious livin’.”

  “Bullshit,” Bernardo said, “I don’t like you either.” He turned to the counterman. “Cut some of these lights and get busy in the back room.”

  “Now I don’t want no trouble in here,” the counterman protested.

  In exasperation, and to prove that he was as tough as Bernardo, Riff moved around the counter to flick the light switch before he pushed the counterman toward the back. “You’ve been workin’ too hard. Relax. We’re not gonna break up the joint. But we don’t want you giving us no trouble. And stay away from that phone!”

  “The pay phone’s out front,” the counterman said. “Do me a favor. Keep your word about no trouble in here.”

  Riff refused to be bothered with an answer as he returned to double-lock the front door and look again out into the street. Tony wasn’t around. Suppose Bernardo wanted to get rolling tonight? He would have to go along.

  “Bernardo, we’re challenging you. All out, and once and for all.”

  “We accept,” Bernardo said, and waited until the chorus of assent was still. “On what terms?”

  “Whatever terms you’re callin’ for.” Riff spread his hands. “We’ve decided to let you call it.”

  “You started it,” Pepe said.

  “Because of you, we’re finishing it,” Riff said to Pepe and Nibbles. “You’re a couple of pretty low-down punks to jump a kid in the movies. And we’re not forgettin’ what you did to him—toilet and all.”

  Bernardo had to smile. “A bath—any kind—could only do him some good. Anyway who jumped me the first day I moved here?”

  “Who asked you to move here?”

  “My mother and father,” Bernardo replied. “Can you say the same?”

  “You dirty spic bastard, I’m gonna teach you some manners,” Action said as he rose from the counter.

  Bernardo spread his feet in a fighting stance. “I’m waiting, you mick sonofabitch. But I don’t think you’re much of a teacher.”

  “Hold it.” Riff got between them. “Do you or don’t you accept?”

  “We accept,” Bernardo said. “Name the time.”

  “You name it,” Riff said.

  Bernardo thought for a moment. “Tomorrow night?”

  “Fine!” Riff was delighted; now he could find Tony. To seal the commitment and show the Jets how a real leader behaved, he offered Bernardo his hand. “Where’s it gonna be? The park or the river?”

  “How about under the highway?” Bernardo suggested as he shook Riff’s hand.

  Riff nodded that the battlefield was acceptable to him. “What about the weapons?”

  “Suit yourself.”

  About to elaborate to prove that the Sharks were ready for anything the Jets could heave, swing, or throw at them, Bernardo saw someone outside the door of the luncheonette and recognized the lousy Polack who had been dancing with his sister. He moved to open the luncheonette door and admit Tony. “Your big man is here,” he challenged Riff and knew that he had scored. “Maybe you want us to repeat everything?”

  Tony looked through the luncheonette window at the blinking traffic signal a block away. It was red now, as if to warn him of danger and that he must react slowly. At the end of the block the broken letters of a neon sign sputtered fitfully, and the silence of the street was broken by a sharp burst of laughter from a passing car.

  “You don’t have to repeat nothing,” Tony said. “All I’m interested in is what’s this gonna be with?”

  “Maybe knives and guns,” Riff said, because he wanted to impress Ton
y with his guts.

  “I thought so,” Tony replied. “Just what I’d expect from a coop full of chickens.”

  “Who’re you callin’ chicken?” Action pushed forward to line up his chin with Tony’s. “I’m listening.”

  “Every dog knows his own,” Bernardo stood up to the Polack. “So I guess you weren’t talking to us.”

  Earlier that night Tony had hidden from the Jets. Now, for reasons which he knew they could not understand, he had sought them out. But he had done so as much for Bernardo as for his sister. If it was at all possible, he had to prove to Bernardo that he had a right to see Maria, that he had left the Jets because he no longer cared to war on the Sharks, that he was grown up, a man who understood what being in love meant.

  “I’m calling all of you chicken,” he said at last. “How come you have to use bricks, or knives or guns? What’s the matter, afraid to get in close and slug it out?” He showed them his white, hard knuckles. “Afraid to use plain skin?”

  “What kind of rumble is plain skin?” Baby-John demanded. “At least you gotta use garbage.”

  “We gave them the choice of weapons,” Riff explained to Tony. “We’re gonna use our fists anyway, so it’s up to them.”

  “Both of you are ducking,” Tony continued. He had to talk quickly while he held the psychological advantage. “A fair fight can settle anything. That’s if you’ve got the guts to risk it. And if each side’s got a good man willing to slug it out.”

  “I’d enjoy that,” Bernardo said quickly, his eyes indicating that he hoped Tony would represent the Jets. “Let it be a fair fight.”

  “ ’Nardo,” Pepe called in dismay, “you mean the rest of us just get to look?”

  “I’m not standing around for anyone!” Action said, as he smashed his empty coffee mug on the counter. “Not this man!”

  “The commanders say yes or no,” Riff told Action, then turned to Bernardo. “Okay, fair fight it is. We shake on it?”

  “We don’t have to shake again,” Bernardo said. “You’ve got my word for it, and why wait until tomorrow night when we can go right now?” He paused to look at Tony. “I’ll be waiting for you under the highway.”

  “Correction,” Riff said, as he beckoned for Diesel to step forward. “This is our best fist man. And tomorrow night suits us fine.”

  Unable to hide his disappointment, Bernardo pointed at Tony. “But I thought…”

  “Who’re you choosin’?” Riff asked.

  “Me,” Bernardo said as he looked at Tony and decided that Maria would have to be married to Chino sooner than they had planned. “I’m representing the Sharks.”

  Diesel clasped both hands above his head. “The honor overwhelms me.”

  “I offered to shake on it,” Riff said to Bernardo. “Because you didn’t shake, does that mean you’re backing out?”

  Action thrust himself forward to gain the attention of the Sharks. “Look, Bernardo,” he began, “if you wanna change your mind, this is one man who is willin’ to listen.”

  “Shut up, Action,” Riff said quickly. “We’ve got a gentleman caller. Get the door open.”

  Detective Schrank eased himself into the luncheonette as the counterman returned from the back room and looked unhappily from the boys to the detective. “Good evening, Detective Schrank. I was closin’ up as soon as the boys got finished.”

  Schrank leaned across the counter to take an almost full pack of cigarettes from the counterman’s shirt pocket. “Mind?”

  “Why should I?” the counterman said. “It’s been that way all my life.”

  Schrank slowly lit the cigarette, took several hard puffs, and flicked the burned-out match into the nearest mug of coffee, which was Tiger’s. “I always make it a rule to smoke in the can,” he began slowly. “But what else is a room with half-breeds in it, eh, Riff?”

  He paused and saw that Bernardo’s move toward him had been checked by Riff, and this gesture proved what Glad Hand had told him—the boys were going to rumble and this was a war council.

  “Clear out, spics,” he said pleasantly to Bernardo. “Sure, it’s a free country and I ain’t got the right to order you out of here. But I’ve got a badge and until you take it to court, you do like I say.” He pointed at the door with his cigarette. “Beat it. And that means off the street.”

  Schrank watched the Sharks file out in cold silence and gather around Bernardo. Before Krupke could get out of the prowl car the Sharks split up and scattered in all directions. It was impossible to follow them and Schrank gestured to Krupke to remain in the driver’s seat.

  “Well, Riff, where’s the rumble gonna be?” He paused for a reply, nodded at several of the boys and saw how they turned away. When he took a step toward Baby-John and Anybodys, both became busy with an adventure in the comic book. “Ah, look, I know regular Americans don’t get together with the gold teeth unless they’re gonna rumble. The river? The park?”

  When he continued his voice was tighter, with more bite in it. “I’m for you,” he said. “I want this beat cleaned up. So do you. So why don’t we help each other? Where’re ya gonna rumble? The playground? Sweeney’s lot?”

  He mentioned another battlefield, and waited for some response. “Dirty little hoodlums,” he exploded in rage, “I oughta drag ya down to the station house and have your skulls mashed to pulp! You and the tin-horn immigrant scum you come from! How’s your old man’s d.t.’s, A-Rab? How’s the action on your mother’s mattress, Action?”

  Schrank moved lightly on the balls of his feet, as his right hand went for the blackjack. Ready now, he waited for Action to leap toward him, but Riff and Gee-Tar had moved to pin the raging boy between them.

  “Let’m go, buddy-boy, just let’m go,” Schrank suggested. “Because one of these days, there won’t be nobody to hold him.” Keeping his eyes on the boys, his hand on the blackjack, Schrank retreated toward the door. “I’ll find out where you’re gonna rumble,” he promised them. “But be sure to finish each other off before I get there. Because if you don’t, I will.”

  The Jets waited until the prowl car drove off before they left the luncheonette. At the door, Riff waited for Tony but his friend sat at the dirty counter and brooded over his taut, clasped hands.

  “Comin’ along, Tony?” Riff asked.

  Tony sat for a moment, then swung slowly around on the stool. “Why didn’t you match me against Bernardo?”

  “Because Diesel don’t mind fightin’ dirty. And you, Tony, I don’t know about you anymore. Another thing…”

  “Yes?”

  “If it’s man-to-man, Diesel’s expendable. And you’n me know Bernardo. That joker is someone I don’t trust.” Riff paused to grimace at his right hand before he wiped the palm along his trouser leg. “Can you imagine me shaking hands with one of them, especially him?”

  “I can imagine it.”

  Riff controlled his temper. “Another thing, Tony, you’re my friend and the last guy I wanna see hurt. But if Diesel gets beat, we can still call on you. How about that?”

  “Drop dead.”

  “Anything for a friend. Say”—Riff cocked his head—“how’s that sister of Bernardo’s? Think you’re gonna make out? Boy, wouldn’t that be giving it to Bernardo?” He made an obscene gesture with his right arm.

  “Know what I’ve got to say to you?” Tony asked. “Bernardo and you—both together? Hell’s too good for you.”

  “What’s eatin’ you, Mac?” Riff blustered. “Does that mean you’re writing us off?”

  Tony rose from the stool. “It means anything you want it to mean.” His voice trembled. “Now get the hell outa here before I do Schrank a favor and work you over.”

  CHAPTER SIX

  “Are you all right, Anton?” Mrs. Wyzek called from her chair at the kitchen window.

  Leaning into the kitchen from the bathroom where he was shaving, traces of soap still on his chin and around both ears, Tony winked at his mother. “Sure I’m all right, Ma,” he said. “Except
you shouldn’t yell that way when I’m shaving.” He held up the safety razor. “This thing’s sharp.”

  “I’m sorry,” his mother said as she moved her feet in the pan of cold water. “It’s so hot and you had to work all day.”

  “I didn’t mind,” Tony said. “And it keeps me from getting fat.”

  Mrs. Wyzek looked at her son and smiled. For so long and sorry a time he had been a stranger and now he was her son again. How and why the change had taken place she dared not ask; but tomorrow, as every Sunday for the last five, almost six months, she would recite prayers of thanksgiving for the change in Anton.

  If only his father had been alive to see the change. But he had died very young, at Tarawa, when Anton had been no more than an infant, and had not shared her bewilderment, terror and confusion at not understanding why he and all the other boys in this awful neighborhood had to become bums and gangsters.

  Then the change had come and Anton had become the son she had hoped for after her marriage, the son she had known as a little boy, the son she had prayed for as she had stained her pillow with bitter tears, because he had become a dangerous stranger for whom she maintained a home he returned to only when he tired of the streets. Whatever it was—her prayers or something else that had happened to Anton—she was thankful, grateful, every moment of the day and night.

  Mrs. Wyzek looked at the little fan that Anton had placed on the gas range and nodded her approval of the hum of its motor and the cool little breeze it blew across half the kitchen. Between the fan and her feet in a pan of cold water, she was very comfortable and happy. “You’ll have a cold drink with me before you go out tonight?” she asked.

  “Sure, Ma. Soon as I get dressed. What time is it?”

  “Almost eight-thirty,” She raised her right hand to hold it in the cool gust of air blown by the fan. “I’m so comfortable.”

  “Good,” Tony winked. “Now you mind if I finish shaving?”

  “No, Anton,” his mother said. “Be careful. Don’t cut yourself.”

  The mirror had become fogged with the heat of the room and Tony wiped the glass clean with the side of a hand before he leaned forward and screwed up the corner of his mouth to get at a difficult place which he often missed. As he ran the lukewarm water over the blade, he frowned at himself in the mirror, leaned both hands on the edge of the little bathroom sink, and wondered—just exactly how were things going to go tonight? So far, the question stumped him, and he thought again of his meeting with Maria.