Ironweed (1984 Pulitzer Prize) Page 8

  o o o

  Francis dried his face with the towel, buttoned up his shirt, and put on his coat and trousers. He nodded an apology to Rowdy Dick for having taken his life and included in the nod the hope that Dick would understand it hadn’t been intentional. Rowdy Dick smiled and doffed his cap, creating an eruption of brilliance around his dome. Francis could see the line of Dick’s cranial fracture running through his hair like a gleaming river, and Francis understood that Rowdy Dick was in heaven, or so close to it that he was taking on the properties of an angel of the Lord. Dick put his cap on again and even the cap exuded a glow, like the sun striving to break through a pale, gray cloud. “Yes,” said Francis, “I’m sorry I broke your head so bad, but I hope you remember I had my reasons,” and he held up to Rowdy Dick his truncated finger. “You know, you can’t be a priest when you got a finger missin’. Can’t say mass with a hand like this. Can’t throw a baseball either.” He rubbed the bump in his nose with the stump of a finger. “Kind of a bump there, but what the hell. Doe put a big bandage on it, and it got itchy, so I ripped it off. Went back when it got infected, and the doe says, You shouldn’ta took off that bandage, because now I got to scrape it out and you’ll have an even bigger bump there. I’da had a bump anyway. What the hell, little bump like that don’t look too bad, does it? I ain’t complainin’. I don’t hold no grudges more’n five years.”

  “You all right in there, Francis?” Helen called. “Who are you talking to?”

  Francis waved to Rowdy Dick, understanding that some debts of violence had been settled, but he remained full of the awareness of rampant martyrdom surrounding him: martyrs to wrath, to booze, to failure, to loss, to hostile weather. Aldo Campione gestured at Francis, suggesting that while there may be some inconsistency about it, prayers were occasionally answerable, a revelation that did very little to improve Francis’s state of mind, for there had never been a time since childhood when he knew what to pray for.

  “Hey bum,” he said to Jack when he stepped out of the bathroom, “how about a bum gettin’ a drink?”

  “He ain’t no bum,” Clara said.

  “Goddamn it, I know he ain’t,” Francis said. “He’s a hell of a man. A workin’ man.”

  “How come you shaved?” Helen asked.

  “Gettin’ itchy. Four days and them whiskers grow back inside again.”

  “It sure improves how you look,” Clara said.

  “That’s the truth,” said Jack.

  “I knew Francis was handsome,” Clara said, “but this is the first time I ever saw you clean shaved.”

  “I was thinkin’ about how many old bums I know died in the weeds. Wake up covered with snow and some of ‘em layin’ there dead as hell, froze stiff. Some get up and walk away from it. I did myself. But them others are gone for good. You ever know a guy named Rowdy Dick Doolan in your travels?”

  “Never did,” Jack said.

  “There was another guy, Pocono Pete, he died in Denver, froze like a brick. And Poocher Felton, he bought it in Detroit, pissed his pants and froze tight to the sidewalk. And a crazy bird they called Ward Six, no other name. They found him with a red icicle growin’ out of his nose. All them old guys, never had nothin’, never knew nothin’, stupid, thievin’, crazy. Foxy Phil Tooker, a skinny little runt, he froze all scrunched up, knees under his chin. ‘Stead of straightenin’ him out, they buried him in half a coffin. Lorda mercy, them geezers. I bet they all of ‘em, dyin’ like that, I bet they all wind up in heaven, if they ever got such a place.”

  “I believe when you’re dead you go in the ground and that’s the end of it,” Jack said. “Heaven never made no sensicality to me whatsoever.”

  “You wouldn’t get in anyhow,” Helen said. “They’ve got your reservations someplace else.”

  “Then I’m with him,” Clara said. “Who’d want to be in heaven with all them nuns? God what a bore.”

  Francis knew Clara less than three weeks, but he could see the curve of her life: sexy kid likes the rewards, goes pro, gets restless, marries and makes kids, chucks that, pro again, sickens, but really sick, gettin’ old, gettin’ ugly, locks onto Jack, turns monster. But she’s got most of her teeth, not bad; and that hair: you get her to a beauty shop and give her a marcel, it’d be all right; put her in new duds, high heels and silk stockin’s; and hey, look at them titties, and that leg: the skin’s clear on it.

  Clara saw Francis studying her and gave him a wink. “I knew a fella once, looked a lot like you. I had the hots for him.”

  “I’ll bet you did,” Helen said.

  “He loved what I gave him.”

  “Clara never lacked for boyfriends,” Jack said. “I’m a lucky man. But she’s pretty sick. That’s why you can’t stay. She eats a lot of toast.”

  “Oh I could make some toast,” Helen said, standing up from her chair. “Would you like that?”

  “If I feel like eatin’ I’ll make my own toast,” Clara said. “And I’m gettin’ ready to go to bed. Make sure you lock the door when you go out.”

  Jack grabbed Francis by the arm and pulled him toward the kitchen, but not before Francis readjusted his vision of Clara sitting in the middle of her shit machine, sending up a silent reek from her ruined guts and their sewerage.

  o o o

  When Jack and Francis came back into the living room Francis was smoking one of Jack’s cigarettes. He dropped it as he reached for the wine, and Helen groaned.

  “Everything fallin’ on the floor,” Francis said. “I don’t blame you for throwin’ these bums out if they can’t behave respectable.”

  “It’s gettin’ late for me,” Jack said. “I used to get by on two, three hours’ sleep, but no more.”

  “I ain’t stayed here in how long now?” Francis asked. “Two weeks, ain’t it?”

  “Oh come on, Francis,” Clara said. “You were here not four days ago. And Helen last night. And last Sunday you were here.”

  “Sunday we left,” Helen said.

  “I flopped here two nights, wasn’t it?” Francis said.

  “Six,” Jack said. “Like a week.”

  “I beg to differ with you,” Helen said.

  “It was over a week,” Jack said.

  “I know different,” said Helen.

  “From Monday to Sunday.”

  “Oh no.”

  “It’s a little mixed up,” Francis said.

  “He’s got a lot of things mixed up,” Helen said. “I hope you don’t get your food mixed up like that down at the diner.”

  “No,” Jack said.

  “You know, you’re very insultin’,” Francis said to Helen.

  “It was a week,” Jack said.

  “You’re a liar,” Helen said.

  “Don’t call me a liar because I know so.”

  “Haven’t you got any brains at all?” Francis said. “You supposed to be a college woman, you supposed to be this and that.”

  “I am a college woman.”

  “You know what I thought,” Jack said, “was for you to stay here, Franny, till you get work, till you pick up a little bankroll. You don’t have to give me nothin’.”

  “Shake hands on it,” Helen said.

  “I don’t know about the proposition now,” Jack said.

  “Because I’m a bum,” Francis said.

  “No, I wouldn’t put it that way.” Jack poured more wine for Francis.

  “I knew he didn’t mean it,” Helen said.

  “I’m gonna tell you,” Francis said. “I always thought a lot of Clara.”

  “You’re drunk, Francis,” Helen screamed, standing up again. “Stay drunk for the rest of your life. I’m leaving you, Francis. You’re crazy. All you want is to guzzle wine. You’re insane!”

  “What’d I say?” Francis asked. “I said I liked Clara.”

  “Nothin’ wrong about that,” Jack said.

  “I don’t mind about that,” Helen said, sitting down.

  “I don’t know what to do with that woman,” Fr
ancis said.

  “Do you even know if you’re staying here tonight?” Helen asked.

  “No, he’s not,” Jack said. “Take him with you when you go.”

  “We’re going,” Helen said.

  “Clara’s too sick, Francis,” said Jack.

  Francis sipped his wine, put it on the table, and struck a tap dancer’s pose.

  “How you like these new duds of mine, Clara? You didn’t tell me how swell I look, all dressed up.”

  “You look sharp,” Clara said.

  “You can’t keep up with Francis.”

  “Don’t waste your time, Francis,” Helen said.

  “You’re getting very hostile, you know that? Listen, you want to sleep with me in the weeds tonight?”

  “I never slept in the weeds,” Helen said.

  “Never?” asked Clara.

  “No, never,” said Helen.

  “Oh yes,” Francis said. “She slept in the coaches with me, and the fields.”

  “Never. You made that up, Francis.”

  “We been through the valley together,” Francis said.

  “Maybe you have,” said Helen. “I’ve never gone that far down and I don’t intend to go that far down.”

  “It ain’t far to go. She slept in Finny’s car night before last.”

  “That’s the last time. If it came to that, I’d get in touch with my people.”

  “You really ought to get in touch with them, dearie,” said Clara.

  “My people are very high class. My brother is a very well-to-do lawyer but I don’t like to ask him for anything.”

  “Sometimes you have to,” Jack said. “You oughta move in with him.”

  “Then Francis’d be out. No, I’ve got Francis. We’d get married tomorrow if only he could get a divorce, wouldn’t we, Fran.”

  “That’s right, honey.”

  “We battle sometimes, but only when he drinks. Then he goes haywire.”

  “You oughta get straight, Franny.” Jack said. “You could have twenty bucks in your pocket at all times. They need men like you. You could have everything you want. A new Victrola like that one right there. That’s a honey.”

  “I had all that shit,” Francis said.

  “It’s late,” Clara said.

  “Yeah, people,” said Jack. “Gotta hit the hay.”

  “Fix me a sandwich, will ya?” Francis asked. “To take out.”

  “No,” Clara said.

  Helen rose, screaming, and started for Clara. “You forget when you were hungry.”

  “Sit down and shut up,” Francis said.

  “I won’t shut up. I remember when she came to my place years ago, begging for food. I know her a long time. I’m honest in what I know.”

  “I never begged,” said Clara.

  “He only asked for a sandwich,” said Helen.

  “I’m gonna give him a sandwich,” Jack said.

  “Jack don’t want you to come back again,” Francis said to Helen.

  “I don’t want to ever come back again,” Helen said.

  “He asked for a sandwich,” Jack said, “I’ll give him a sandwich.”

  “I knew you would,” Francis told him.

  “Damn right I’ll give you a sandwich.”

  “Damn right,” Francis said, “and I knew it.”

  “I don’t want to be bothered,” Clara said.

  “Sharp cheese. You like sharp cheese?”

  “My favorite,” Francis said.

  Jack went to the kitchen and came back into a silent room with a sandwich wrapped in waxed paper. Francis took it and put it in his coat. Helen stood in the doorway.

  “Good night, pal,” Francis said to Jack.

  “Best of luck,” Jack said.

  “See you around,” Francis said to Clara.

  “Toodle-oo,” said Clara.

  o o o

  On the street, Francis felt the urge to run. Ten Broeck Street, in the direction they were walking, inclined downward toward Clinton Avenue, and he felt the gravitational fall driving him into a trot that would leave her behind to solve her own needs. The night seemed colder than before, and clearer too, the moon higher in its sterile solitude. North Pearl Street was deserted, no cars, no people at this hour, one-forty-five by the great clock on the First Church. They had walked three blocks without speaking and now they were heading back toward where they had begun, toward the South End, the mission, the weeds.

  “Where the hell you gonna sleep now?” Francis asked.

  “I can’t be sure, but I wouldn’t stay there if they gave me silk sheets and mink pillows. I remember her when she was whoring and always broke. Now she’s so high and mighty. I had to speak my piece.”

  “You didn’t accomplish anything.”

  “Did Jack really say that they don’t want me anymore?”

  “Right. But they asked me to stay. Clara thinks you’re a temptation to Jack. The way I figure, if I give her some attention she won’t worry about you, but you’re so goddamn boisterous. Here. Have a piece of sandwich.”

  “It’d choke me.”

  “It won’t choke you. You’ll be glad for it.”

  “I’m not a phony.”

  “I’m not a phony either.”

  “You’re not, eh?”

  “You know what I’ll do?” He grabbed her collar and her throat and screamed into her eyes. “I’ll knock you right across that goddamn street! You don’t bullshit me one time. Be a goddamn woman! That’s the reason you can’t flop with nobody. I can go up there right now and sleep. Jack said I could stay.”

  “He did not.”

  “He certainly did. But they don’t want you. I asked for a sandwich. Did I get it?”

  “You’re really stupendous and colossal.”

  “Listen”—-and he still held her by the collar—”you squint your eyes at me and I’ll knock you over that goddamn automobile. You been a pain in the ass to me for nine years. They don’t want you because you’re a pain in the ass.”

  Headlights moved north on Pearl Street, coming toward them, and Francis let go of her; she did not move, but stared at him.

  “You got some goddamn eyes, you know?” He was screaming. “I’ll black ‘em for you. You’re a horse’s ass! You know what I’ll do? I’ll rip that fuckin’ coat off and put you in rags.”

  She did not move her body or her eyes.

  “I’m gonna eat this sandwich. Whole hunk of cheese.”

  “I don’t want it.”

  “By god I do. I’ll be hungry tomorrow. It won’t choke me. I’m thankful for everything.”

  “You’re a perfect saint.”

  “Listen. Straighten up or I’m gonna kill you.”

  “I won’t eat it. It’s rat food.”

  “I’m gonna kill you!” Francis screamed. “Goddamn it, you hear what I said? Don’t drive me insane. Be a goddamn woman and go the fuck to bed somewhere.”

  They walked, not quite together, toward Madison Avenue, south again on South Pearl, retracing their steps. Francis brushed Helen’s arm and she moved away from him.

  “You gonna stay at the mission with Pee Wee?”

  “No.”

  “Then you gonna stay with me?”

  “I’m going to call my brother.”

  “Good. Call him. Call him a couple of times.”

  “I’ll have him meet me someplace.”

  “Where you gonna get the nickel to make the call?”

  “That’s my business. God, Francis, you were all right till you started on the wine. Wine, wine, wine.”

  “I’ll get some cardboard. We’ll go to that old building.”

  “The police keep raiding that place. I don’t want to go to jail. I don’t know why you didn’t stay with Jack and Clara since you were so welcome.”

  “You’re a woman for abuse.”

  They walked east on Madison, past the mission. Helen did not look in. When they reached Green Street she stopped.

  “I’m going down below.” she said.
>
  “Who you kiddin’?” Francis said. “You got no place to go. You’ll be knocked on the head.”

  “That wouldn’t he the worst ever happened to me.”

  “We got to find something. Can’t leave a dog out like this.”

  “Shows you what kind of people they are up there.”

  “Stay with me.’’

  “No, Francis. You’re crazy.”

  He grabbed the hair at the back of her head, then held her whole head in both hands.

  “You’re gonna hit me,” she said.

  “I wont hit ya, babe. I love ya some. Are ya awful cold?”

  “I don’t think I’ve been warm once in two days.’’

  Francis let go of her and took off his suitcoat and put it around her shoulders.

  “No, it’s too cold for you to do that,” she said. “I’ve got this coat. You can’t be in just a shirt.’’

  “What the hell’s the difference. Coat ain’t no protection.”

  She handed him back the coat. “I’m going.” she said.

  “Don’t walk away from me.” Francis said. “You’ll be lost in the world.”

  But she walked away. And Francis leaned against the light pole on the corner, lit the cigarette Jack had given him, fingered the dollar bill Jack had slipped him in the kitchen, ate what was left of the cheese sandwich, and then threw his old undershorts down the sewer.

  o o o

  Helen walked down Green Street to a vacant lot, where she saw a fire in an oil drum. From across the street she could see five coloreds around the fire, men and women. On an old sofa in the weeds just beyond the drum, she saw a white woman lying underneath a colored man. She walked back to where Francis waited.

  “I couldn’t stay outside tonight,” she said. “I’d die.”

  Francis nodded and they walked to Finny’s car, a 1930 black Oldsmobile, dead and wheelless in an alley off John Street. Two men were asleep in it, Finny in the front passenger seat.

  “I don’t know that man in back,” Helen said.

  “Yeah you do,” said Francis. “That’s Little Red from the mission. He won’t bother you. If he does I’ll pull out his tongue.”

  “I don’t want to get in there, Francis.”

  “It’s warm, anyhow. Cold in them weeds, honey, awful cold. You walk the streets alone, they’ll pinch you quicker’n hell.”