“Then Bernardo would have killed the boy I love.”
Anita covered her ears. “I don’t want to listen to you. Whore! I don’t want to look at you!”
Maria walked slowly to the window to lean her forehead against the glass. The surface was cooler than the air in the room, and she wondered where Tony was now. Would he be able to evade the police and Bernardo’s friends?
She wanted to tell Anita how she had felt; how, after Chino had told her of the murder, she had hated Tony, and how he had wanted to die.
“Chino has a gun,” Anita said. “He’s sending the boys out to find Tony.”
“If he hurts Tony, touches him, I swear—”
“You’ll do what Tony did to Bernardo?”
“I love Tony,” she said simply.
Anita shook her head; nothing that had happened tonight could be comprehended. She had worn the Black Orchid, waited impatiently, looked at the first star and made a big wish. Now she would have to get a black dress for the funeral. “I know,” she said to Maria. “I loved Bernardo.”
Maria felt the color drain from her cheeks. “You must stay here until my mother and father come home. Someone must be here to tell them.”
“And you can’t?” Anita’s laugh was scornful, acid with mockery. “Why not? It happens every day. Just tell them your brother is dead, murdered, and you’re running away with the boy who killed their son.”
“Try to understand,” Maria pleaded.
“I can’t!” Anita screamed. “I can’t understand and I don’t want to because then I might understand…”
“You do,” Maria said. “That is why you are screaming. We are going away, Anita. I will meet him at Doc’s and if anyone tries to stop us they will have to kill me too. You will tell that to Chino?”
The outside doorbell rang, then the door was thrust open and the girls saw Schrank come in the kitchen. Moving quickly, eyes taking in everything, he opened the bathroom door, looked into the little room, then looked into the other bedroom before he closed the kitchen door and stood against it. “I guess you know the news?” he said to Maria. “You’re his sister?”
“Yes. If you will tell me where to go to my brother…”
“He can wait.” Schrank smiled at his wit. “There’re a couple of questions—”
“Later, please.” Maria scooped her dress from the bed and pulled it over her head. “I must go to him. So please tell me.”
“It’ll only take a minute,” Schrank said.
“Her brother’s dead,” Anita shrilled. “Couldn’t you wait until—”
“No!” His voice warned Anita to remain silent. “You were at the center dance last night?”
“Yes.” Maria nodded and gestured for Anita to pull up the zipper in the back of her dress.
“Your brother got in a heavy argument because you danced with someone he didn’t like.” Schrank watched the girls closely. It was going to be very tough on him if he didn’t break this quickly. “You want to see Bernardo? Fine, I’ll take you and on the way you can start telling me what you know.”
“Excuse me, Anita, my headache is worse,” Maria said. “Will you go to the drugstore, for—how do you call it?”
“Aspirin,” Anita replied, but made no sign that she would go. Schrank indicated the bathroom and kitchen cabinets. “Don’t you keep aspirin around here?”
“The bottle is empty,” Maria replied. “Will you go for me, Anita? Please? Otherwise they might close the store.”
“We’ve got aspirin where we’re going,” Schrank took Maria’s arm.
“Will I be long?”
Schrank shrugged as he looked at his wristwatch. “As long as it takes.”
“I won’t be long,” Maria said and turned from Schrank so that he could not see how her eyes pleaded with Anita. “You could wait for me at the drugstore? I won’t be long.”
“I’ll wait. And maybe Doc will stay open for you,” Anita replied. She turned to Schrank. “Don’t you do anything rough with this girl. She has suffered enough tonight. And I am ’Nardo’s girl.” She was defiant.
“Were,” Schrank corrected her.
“Please, you wanted to ask me questions,” Maria said to distract Schrank.
“Not ask.” Schrank followed her down the tenement stairs and crinkled his nose at the foreign odors. “I’m telling you. There was an argument over a boy.”
“Another from my country,” she said without hesitation.
“What’s his name?”
She looked up at Schrank. “Jose.”
* * *
A block from the drugstore Anita combed her hair and wiped her face with a damp handkerchief, which she threw away. Without using a mirror she renewed her lipstick, then smoothed the skirt of her dress, for she was in America where the Americans mourned quietly, as if ashamed of showing sorrow, and she was as capable as any of them.
Only after she entered the drugstore did she hesitate, for the doors of both phone booths folded back and A-Rab and Diesel stared at her in tight-lipped silence.
“I’d like to see Doc,” she said slowly.
A-Rab looked at Diesel before shaking his head. “He ain’t here.”
“Where is he?” she asked as her eyes darted toward the door behind the prescription counter.
“He’s gone to the bank.” A-Rab picked at his teeth. “There was an error in his favor.”
“Very funny,” she said. “Especially since banks are closed at night. Now where is he?”
“At the bank,” Diesel said. “You know how skinny Doc is. He slipped in through the night deposit slot.”
“And got stuck in halfways assways,” A-Rab agreed, as he left the phone booth. “Which indicates there’s no telling when he’ll get back.”
He opened the front door, bowed, and pointed to the street. “Buenas noches, señorita. Maybe you can earn a coupla bucks on the way home.” He slammed the door and ran after Anita and grabbed her just as she reached the counter. “Where you think you’re goin’?”
“Back there.” She struggled to free herself. “I want to see Doc.”
“If you’re knocked up come back tomorrow,” Diesel said as he moved behind the counter to block the door. “You deaf?” he asked. “We told you he ain’t here.”
“I hear as well as you,” she insisted and felt the heat of color darken her cheeks. These boys were dangerous, and she didn’t like the way their eyes concentrated on her breasts, which she now wished were smaller and restrained by an ordinary brassiere. “I want to see for myself.”
“Say please.” Diesel’s suggestion was a warning.
“Please. Now will you let me pass, please?”
A-Rab stood on his toes, the better to look down her dress. “You’re too dark to pass. Hey, that’s some bra you’re not wearing.”
“You’re dirty,” she said.
“You’re stacked like—what do they build them out of in Puerto Rico?” A-Rab laughed.
Anita trembled and gripped her purse to use it as a weapon. “Don’t,” she warned them, her voice low.
“Please don’t,” Diesel corrected her and winked at A-Rab to continue his harassment, because A-Rab could be awfully funny once he got started. “Please don’t.”
“Por favor,” A-Rab mocked her. “You non comprende, spic?” He laughed and stood on his toes again. “Spic, you no spick English? Too bad. So first I’ll teach you all the dirty words.”
“Listen you, I’ve got to give a friend of yours a message. I’ve got to tell Tony…”
“… who isn’t here.” Diesel was sharp and gestured for A-Rab to lay off for a moment. “Now blow.”
“I know he is. Never mind who the message is from,” she appealed to Diesel. “Let me give it to Tony.”
“Why not give it to me?” A-Rab asked as he pinned her against a row of shelves and began to grind away at her. “How’s this for a mambo-Ai! movement?”
“Get away from me.” She tried to hit him. “Pig!” A-Rab tore the purse from he
r hand and threw it aside. “I want to stop Chino! Stop doing that, you pig!”
“You’re the pig,” A-Rab grunted. “You’re Bernardo’s tramp, you goddamn garlic mouth, gold tooth, pierced ear lyin’ pig. If you think you’re gonna set up Tony for Chino you’ve got other work cut out for you.”
Suddenly A-Rab pinned Anita’s arm and tripped her. She fell behind the counter and he felt how her leg muscles tightened as he began to rotate his belly against her as his free hands tore at her dress.
“Get her, A-Rab!” Diesel whooped. “Show her how an American rides! Let her tell that to Chino!”
“Relax, baby.” A-Rab slapped at Anita. “You’re gonna be raped so why don’t you relax and enjoy…”
A-Rab felt two hands tugging at his shirt and heard Diesel tell him to let up. “It’s Doc, he just come upstairs.”
Reluctantly, breathing heavily, A-Rab stood and permitted Anita to stand. She saw Doc staring at her, mouth agape, then heard him turn to shout at the boys that they were lice, worse than lice, and they were going to pay for what they had done.
“Are you all right?” Doc asked.
She bit at her lips and held together the torn front of her dress. “Bernardo was right.” She fought to hold back the tears as she looked at A-Rab, who was picking at his teeth. “If one of you was bleeding in the street I’d walk by and spit on you.”
“Go home.” Doc’s advice was gentle.
“Don’t let her go! She’ll tell Chino that Tony…” A-Rab pushed by Doc and started for the door. “She’s not getting outa here!”
She struck out at Diesel and A-Rab. “I’ll give you the message for your American buddy! Tell the murderer that Maria’s never going to meet him!” Her laughter was full, triumphant, as she saw Diesel and A-Rab stand aside. “Tell him Chino found out about them—and shot her!”
The door slammed behind Anita and Doc collapsed against the counter. “God help me, I must tell him. Get out of here!” he shouted at Diesel and A-Rab. “Get out and see if you can find a church someplace that doesn’t lock its doors against you!”
Diesel nudged A-Rab. “I’m clearing out.”
“Where to?”
“You name it,” Diesel said at the door. “As long as it’s north, south, or west of here.”
CHAPTER TEN
He ran from the pharmacy in anguish, without direction or hope. She was gone, and she would never return. His guilt had bred other guilt and the job wasn’t finished; Chino still had work to do.
He didn’t know what Chino had planned, but he knew what he planned for Chino. He would find Chino and Chino would have to kill him.
It was the only way to end this, and he was impatient for the end because he no longer wanted to live.
There were people on the streets and as he strode rapidly along the sidewalks, he heard the people on the stoops, the sidewalks, and as they leaned against automobiles, heard them talking about everything and nothing.
The black and white design of a police prowl car made him dart into a hallway and when the car passed him, he hurried toward the Coffee Pot but Chino wasn’t there. Then he realized that he could never find Chino on the streets, that he would have to take to the backyards, the cellars or the roofs. He would have to let Chino know that he was hunting instead of being hunted.
“Chino?” He stood in the yard between two tenements in PR territory and called loud enough to be heard. Then he took a deep breath and bellowed. “Come and get me, Chino! I’m waiting!”
He heard a movement, whirled toward it, and spread his arms wide to make himself a full target. But the voice that called his name was not Chino’s, and in the dim light he saw Anybodys running toward him. “You’re crazy!” she challenged him. “This is PR territory.”
“Get out of here.” He brushed Anybodys aside, before he cupped his hands to shout again. “Chino—come get me! Damn you—I’m waiting!”
Anybodys clung to his arm and tried to pull him toward the cellar. “The gang—”
“Beat it! I’m warning you.” He swung his right hand in a full arc and his open palm caught Anybodys across the face. Above him the lights went on in several windows, and Tony ran toward the end of the yard. “Chino!” he shouted. “Where the hell are you, Chino? I’m waiting for you. Hurry up and—”
The bullet struck him full in the chest and whirled him around in a confusion of pain and sound, and as the blood rose to his mouth, he thought he saw a white figure running toward him and calling his name.
Maria flung herself on the body that lay face upward, and her tears spilled over to wet the lifeless cheeks of Tony Wyzek, who had died with the roar of the city in his ears, had died too young to have it really said that he had ever lived. She raised herself from the body, but covered Tony’s eyes with her hand, and as she saw Anybodys walking toward her, very slowly, she ordered the girl to stop.
“Stay back,” she warned Chino too. “No, come over here and give me the gun.”
She felt the hard, cruel metal in her hand, realized how easily and well it fitted the grip. “How do you fire this?” she asked Chino. “Just by pulling this little trigger?”
She saw Chino shrink as she raised the gun, to point its muzzle at him. “How many bullets are left, Chino? Enough for you? And you?” She pointed the gun at Anybodys, who stood against the side of the building. “We all killed him. My brother and Riff and I killed him. Not Chino!”
She held him with the gun. “Can I kill you, Chino? And will there be a bullet left for me?”
She felt a hand on her shoulder, a gentle voice in her ear, recognized the face of Doc. He told her that together they would go to Tony’s mother, for she had to be told, and she would need the comfort of another woman, especially one who had loved her son.
If ten streets and ten thousand people, even twenty, thirty thousand, knew of the tragedy, the other millions of people and the tens of thousands of streets in New York did not. Some, not many of the papers, carried a headline about the murders under the highway, but the details were scanty and incomplete.
But most of the people in the city slept or had a good time, because it was Saturday night, the one night in the week when a man just had to let go. There were people who loved, who ate, who lusted and promoted. There were people who died in peace, in pain and in violence.
And there were people who looked up at the sky and ached with loneliness, as they appealed in silence to the stars and the moon. They hoped that someplace, somewhere, someone heard them, that their own little dreams would come true, that very soon they would meet someone they could trust, could love and be happy with.
Some of the wishes came true, but it made no difference to the city because it had been built to endure beyond the lifetime of all the people that inhabited it.
That is the way things were. And if things did not change, the way it would always be.
ABOUT THE AUTHOR
IRVING SHULMAN (1913–1995) was a novelist and screenwriter, known for his depictions of urban life. He is the author of ten books, including the novels The Amboy Dukes, Cry Tough, and The Square Trap, which were all adapted into movies. Shulman also wrote the original treatment for Rebel Without a Cause, the film that catapulted James Dean to stardom.
FOR MORE ON THIS AUTHOR:
SimonandSchuster.com/Authors/Irving-Shulman
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This book is a work of fiction. Any references to historical events, real people, or real places are used fictitiously. Other names, characters, places, and events are products of the author’s imagination, and any resemblance to actual events or places or persons, living or dead, is entirely coincidental.
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ISBN 978-1-9821-9163-4
West Side Story Page 12
