So I took the shortest way of finding out. I offered to lick him. Halfway through our fight—we weren’t getting anywhere, we were too evenly matched—I put down my hands and said to him: “The hell with it!—I like you.”
He never knew why I did that—maybe he thought I was a little cracked—but in that nice, friendly manner of his he offered me his hand and said: “I’m glad. I like you too.”
And we became fast friends. That was the year before. We had chummed together all through the school year just passed, and now he wanted me to meet his old man so’s he could get me to go to the country with him. I had never told him why I didn’t like his father, or, as a matter of fact, that I didn’t like his father. I kind of hoped Jerry would forget about his suggestion, but no dice; right after the last Mass he showed up.
“Ready, Frankie?” he asked with a smile. “Yeah,” I grunted.
“O.K., then, what are we waiting for? Let’s go!”
A butler let us into his house. “Hello, Master Jerry,” he said. “Robert, where’s Dad?” he asked.
“In the library. He’s expecting you,” replied the butler.
I followed Jerry into the library. His mother and father were there. His father still had the same ready smile and crinkly eyes. I was struck by the way Jerry looked like him when he smiled. But Jerry had the quiet, sensitive mouth of his mother, and her gentleness.
“So there you are, son!” his father exclaimed. “We have been waiting luncheon for you.”
“Thanks, Dad,” Jerry said, and indicating me, “This is my friend Frankie, I have been telling you about.”
His father and mother turned and looked at me. Suddenly I was very conscious of the patched shirt and trousers I was wearing.
“Glad to know you, boy,” said his father, coming over and shaking hands with me.
I don’t remember what I said, but the butler came in and announced luncheon and we all went into the dining-room.
The table was a big, square thing and in the centre of it was a big bowl of flowers. If you wanted to say anything, you would have to look up over it, around the side of it, or under it. There were more knives, forks, and spoons than I knew what to do with, but I watched Jerry and got along all right. We had ice-cream for dessert. Then we went back to the library.
“Jerry told me he wants you to come to the country with him,” Mr. Cowan said to me. “Yes, sir,” I replied. “I’m very thankful to you but I can’t go.”
“You can’t?” asked Mr. Cowan. “Is it against the rules of the uh—orphanage?” “Oh, no, sir, but I’ve got a job for the summer and I can’t leave it.”
“But the country’s much better for you than working in the hot city all summer,” said Mrs. Cowan.
“Yes, ma’am, I know, ma’am.” I didn’t want to hurt her feelings. I liked her. “But I need things. And I’m going to high school in September and some dough—I mean— money would come in handy. You know what I mean, I want to be … a little like the others—not taking charity all the time. I’m sorry, ma’am. I don’t mean to be rude.”
She came over to me and took my hand. “I don’t think you’re rude, Frankie; I think you’re a very fine boy.”
I didn’t know what to say to her. A few minutes later Mr. and Mrs. Cowan left. They had an appointment somewhere, and we went up to Jerry’s room.
We idled around a little while. Then Jerry said: “How about coming up to the attic. It’s all fixed up as a playroom. We can have some fun.”
The first thing I knew when we got into the room I saw a big electric-train set. It was terrific: bridges and tunnels and switches and three locomotives. “Oh, boy!” I said, “that’s somethin’!”
“Yes,” said Jerry, “Dad bought it for me three years ago before we went to Florida.
Want to play with it?”
I looked at it quietly for a minute, feasting my eyes on it. Almost instinctively I moved towards it. Suddenly something stopped me. A thought flashed through my mind. At least he didn’t forget his own son’s present.
“No,” I said aloud, my voice trembling foolishly. “It’s too hot here. Let’s go swimming.”
I
WAS
going to start high school the next term. Jerry was going up to George Washington High on the Heights, and I decided to go there too. Marty also planned to go there. I didn’t think very much about what I wanted to take up, because I regarded school as a necessary evil. I would leave as soon as I was seventeen and legally permitted. My only ambition was to be a gambler and a bookie—and rich.
Graduation at St. Thérèse was a simple, quiet affair. We were all assembled in a great hall with parents and friends and teachers, and were given three speeches and a diploma.
My name was called. I went up to the platform and took my diploma from the Monsignor who had come especially for the presentation. Then I went back and sat down with the rest of my class. After the ceremony I stood around watching the kids and their parents, laughing and proud.
I guess I felt kind of funny at being left so alone. I saw Jerry and his folks. There was a crowd around them, and Jerry couldn’t see past them or he would have called me over. After a while I started to ease towards the doorway. It looked as if no one was coming to see me anyway, and I’d feel better outside. Someone tapped me on the shoulder. I turned around. It was Brother Bernhard. Father Quinn was with him, and both were smiling.
“Congratulations!” boomed the good brother. Father Quinn, still smiling, echoed him.
I smiled suddenly, just beginning to feel the salt stinging my eyelids. I couldn’t speak for a moment.
Brother Bernhard looked at me shrewdly; there were times when I thought he could read my mind. “Thought we weren’t coming, eh?”
He didn’t give me time to answer before he continued: “We wouldn’t be after missing the graduation of one of our boys, would we, Father?”
“That we wouldn’t,” answered Father Quinn. “We’re very proud of you, Francis.”
I found my voice at last—not the same voice I usually used, but a voice. “Thank you,” I said, “thank you.”
Brother Bernhard put his hand on my shoulder as we walked towards the door. I began to feel pretty good again. Once we were outside, Father Quinn shook hands with me and wished me luck again and walked off towards the church while Brother Bernhard and I walked towards the orphanage.
We entered the courtyard silently. Suddenly he stopped me. “Francis,” he blurted gruffly, “I’ve a present for ye.” He held out his hand.
I was so surprised that for a moment I stared stupidly at the package in his hand. “It’s for ye,” he said, thrusting it at me. “Take it.”
I took the package and opened it. It was a wrist-watch. I gulped and held it up. The sun shone on it, and it was beautiful. I strapped it on my wrist with trembling fingers.
“D’ye like it?” he asked.
“Like it!” I said, my voice suddenly light and gay. “I like it better’n anything in my whole life.”
He smiled and took my hand, and together we walked into the big grey building.
T
HAT
summer was the first I had ever spent so much time with people. I learned how to get along with them—how to joke and laugh, how not to get sore at every insult. I learned lots of things that summer, and Julie taught me most of them.
The day after I graduated, Marty had invited me to his house for supper again. His parents were out that evening.
I got there early. He met me at the door and greeted me. “How about a little boxing now,” he said, “and after supper we’ll loaf around?”
“O.K.,” I replied.
We had been boxing almost an hour when Julie stuck her head in the door. “Supper’s ready,” she said.
We took off our gloves. I washed my hands. Marty wanted to take a shower so I went into the kitchen to wait for him.
“Where’s Marty?” Julie asked.
“He’s taking a shower,” I replied. “He’ll be right out.”
She was wearing a smock tied at the side. It was tightly fit and she looked almost like a kid except for the way she would walk. “How are the boxing lessons coming along?” she asked, coming over and taking my hands.
“All right. He’s O.K.,” I said.
“How about your other lessons?” she asked with a slow smile. “What other lessons?” I asked stupidly.
“These,” she said, pulling my arms around her.
I held her close. She was warm and she felt good close to me. It seemed that her warmth reached out towards me. I kissed her on the lips. She closed her eyes. When she opened them they were soft and swimmy.
She tilted her head to one side. “Kiss me here.” She indicated her throat. “Why?” I asked.
“Because I like it, silly,” she said. “You’ll like it too. Don’t you love me?” “That’s kid stuff,” I said awkwardly.
“Kid stuff?” She looked at me in pretended amazement. “And how old do you think you are, Mr. Rip Van Winkle?”
“I’m almost sixteen.”
“Well, I’m almost four years older than you are, and I don’t think it’s kid stuff. Kiss me.” I kissed her on the throat. At first it seemed funny but then it felt good. She guided one hand of mine towards her breast. It felt soft and warm. She whispered in my ear. It was almost as if she were talking to herself. “There’s something about you, Frankie. I can’t understand it. Kids don’t usually make me feel that way. But you—you’re different. You’re like a man, hard and selfish and calculating, and like a kid, soft at the tiny corners of your mouth. You’re strong, and when you hold me you’re as gentle as a baby. Say you love me.”
I shook my head, still kissing her throat. I held her tight. “Say it!” she commanded. “Say ‘Julie, I love you’.”
I moved my lips up to hers and didn’t say anything. We heard Marty whistling as he came out of the bathroom. We fell apart. I looked at her. She was beautiful. Her eyes were sparkling and her mouth was still puckered a little with my kiss.
“I’ll make you say it—later,” she whispered fiercely before Marty came into the room. I laughed happily. Just then Marty came in. “What’s funny?” he asked.
“Nothing,” I said, feeling like a dope.
We sat down to eat. About ten minutes later Ruth came in. “I’m sorry I’m late for dinner, Julie, I was stuck at the club. We’re electing a new president, you know.” She sat down at the table and looked at me. “You here?” she said.
“Yes,” I said, feeling that nothing could bother me now. “Do ya mind?”
Julie brought over Ruth’s plate and sat down at the table. She looked at Ruth and me as if she could see the antagonism flowing between us.
I looked at Julie and it seemed to me that she was laughing down deep in her eyes where I couldn’t get to see it.
After supper we went into the parlour for a while. At 8.30 I said good night. Ruth again walked me to the door. “I see you didn’t take my advice,” she said.
“Why don’t you mind your own goddam business?” I replied nastily. I think the language shocked her a little because I heard her gasp. At the door when I turned and looked at her, I saw there were tears in her eyes. Instinctively I reached for her hand. “I’m sorry,” I said.
She shook my hand loose. “Don’t touch me!” she said coldly. “I hate everything about you. You’re not like other boys of your age. There’s something old and mean and hard about you; something basically vicious; something that makes me think you’ll spoil everything you touch—even my brother.”
I tried to speak but I couldn’t. I stepped outside and closed the door behind me.
Julie was waiting at the other door. “What took you so long? I thought you would never come out.”
“Nothing,” I said, following her into her room. I turned her around and kissed her—first on her lips and then on her throat where she had wanted me to kiss her before. I untied her smock and put my hands inside; her skin was cool and smooth. I pushed her towards the bed.
She stopped me. “Say ‘I love you’ first.”
I held her tight. Her knees seemed to sag and all her weight was against me. She stiffened her body against me. “No,” she said. “Say ‘I love you’ first.”
I held her. She felt straight and hard. I looked at her mouth; it was not soft but firm, determined.
“I love you, Julie,” I said hoarsely, pulling her closer to me.
“I
T’S
easy,” Jimmy Keough was saying to me. “You’ve got the whole territory from here to Sixty-fourth Street. I told the boys you’d be around. All you’ve got to do is take their bets, write them down, and bring ’em here to me before the races are run. If you can’t get here on time call me and tell me what you have. We’ll run your book on a split. As long as you’re ahead we’ll split fifty-fifty on the take. When you’re in the hole you have to make up your deficit before we split again.”
I nodded my head. We had gone over this many times before. I was anxious to get started. I had a pad and a couple of pencils and two racing forms in my pockets. I started for the door.
Jimmy called after me. “Now remember, don’t take any markers except those I okay.
And don’t forget to call if you can’t get back on time.”
“All right, Jimmy,” I said, and stepped out the door. The street was bright and hot. It was nearly eleven o’clock and it was going to be a scorcher. I looked at the address book Jimmy had given me. The first stop was a garage on Tenth Avenue and Sixty-third Street. I walked there. I was supposed to ask for a guy named Christy.
I walked in past a couple of cars and it was cool in there. A big black man was washing a car. “Where’s Christy?” I asked him.
“Ah’m Christy,” he answered. “Whadda yuh want?” “I’m from Jimmy Keough,” I said.
He put down the hose. “Got the dope sheet?” he asked. “Sure,” I replied and gave it to him.
He took it and called: “Hey, Joe, the book is here.”
I felt good; he called me the book. At last I was getting somewhere. From out of the darkness somewhere in the back of the garage another black man appeared. He looked at me curiously for a moment then went over to Christy. Together they studied the sheet. I leaned against a car while they made up their minds. Finally, Christy called me over. I walked over, sat down on the running board of the car, and took out the pencil and paper.