William Kennedy - Ironweed

“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 noplace to go. you’ll he 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 hack 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 he in just a shirt.’’

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

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

“Don’t walk away from me.” Francis said. “You’ll he 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.”