The Hoods (4 page)

“You asked?”

“Yes, Ma, I asked is supper ready?

“Yes, yes, it's ready, but wait till Poppa and your brother come home from schul and I light the Shabbes candles.”

“I'm hungry, Ma. Why do I have to wait for the Shabbes candles, and Poppa?”

“Because if you was like Poppa and your brother, you wouldn't be in trouble all the time, and maybe you wouldn't be so hungry all the time, and think of schul once in awhile, maybe.”

Momma gave a deep sigh.

“I think of food, and making money, a lot of money, Ma, a million dollars.”

“A million dollars? You're so foolish, sonny, believe me. For the millionairies is the million dollars; for the poor people is the schul. Now don't bother me, please, I have to finish the wash so we can all take baths in the washtub before we make Shabbes. And don't forget to remind me: I got to rinse your head with kerosene.”

“Did Poppa borrow any money for the rent, Ma?”

I could hear Momma sighing deeply from the kitchen.

“No, sonny.”

I picked up a copy of
Robin Hood
that Maxie had loaned me and began reading it over again. I was a voracious reader. I would read anything I could get my hands on.

I could still hear Momma vigorously rubbing clothes at the washtub. Gradually the light grew dim. It was difficult to read by it. I struck a match and climbed on a chair. I tried to turn the gas on, but no gas came out of the fixture. I called out, “Ma, there's no gas.”

She sighed heavily. “I used it all up for the baking and the hot water for the wash.”

“So give me a quarter for the meter, Ma.”

“I'm sorry, son.”

“Why, Ma?”

“We'll have candles tonight.”

“But I can't read by candles.”

“I'm sorry, sonny, the quarter I can't spare. I'll put it in tomorrow night. That way it will last for next week maybe.”

I slammed the door and went out to the hall toilet used by all six of the families living on the same floor. It took me a full minute to get used to the stink. In a hidden niche above the watercloset, I had a box of cigarette butts I had collected from the gutters. I smoked three butts to kill my appetite. I noticed there were no orange tissue wrappers hanging on the nail.

“No crap paper,” I muttered.

I made a mental note to gather some up on Attorney Street, where the fruit peddlers discarded them when they unwrapped their oranges, or, as second choice, to clip a telephone book out of Gelly's candy store.

I heard footsteps coming my way. I waited hopefully. The toilet door opened. Yes, it was Fanny, who lived down the hall. She was my age.

“Oh, it's you,” was her pleased and startled exclamation. “Why don't you lock the door like you're supposed to?”

She smiled coquettishly.

I bowed mockingly. “Come in, come in, said the spider to the fly.”

She stood in the doorway smiling. “What for, you fresh thing, so you can feel me all over with your fresh hands?”

She giggled. She put her hands on her wide hips and swayed back and forth. She smiled provocatively. Her tight short dress revealed her plump round breasts and her fat, full little figure. It got me all excited. I reached down through the top of her dress. I fondled her warm, smooth young breasts. Gently I squeezed her nipples. She swayed with her eyes closed, breathing quickly.

“Don't it make your titties feel good, Fanny?” I whispered.

She opened her eyes. She smiled. “Titties are for babies, to give milk, not for boys to play with.”

“Come in,” I whispered in anxious excitement, “so I can lock the door and play around good with you.”

I took her by the hand.

She held back. “Go down to Gelly's, and buy me a charlotte russe first.”

“Where did you learn that? From Peggy?” I grumbled.

She giggled. “Well, will you buy me one? If you buy me two, I'll let you play between my legs.”

“Yeh, yeh,” I panted, “I will buy you a whole box full of charlotte russes.”

She giggled at the desperation in my voice. I grabbed her around her soft, large buttocks and pulled her in with me. I was about to lock the door. A deep bellow, like a cow calling its calf, resounded from the other end of the hall.

“Fanny, Fanny, hurry up with the terlit.”

Fanny whispered, “That's my Momma. We're going to my Tanta Rifke's for supper. Better leave me go. I'll let you play with me some other time.”

I was reluctant to let her go. I was too excited.

“Please let me go, I got to make a pea,” she said. “If you don't, I'll pea in my bloomers.”

I let go of her. She picked her dress up, pulled her bloomers down and sat down on the bowl. I walked out in disgust. I thought she was vulgar.

I went downstairs, hoping to meet Peggy. I went down the cellar. I looked in every toilet on every floor. I looked on the roof. She was nowhere around. Disappointedly I stood on the stoop watching the girls, making obscene remarks as they passed by.

Big Maxie came hurriedly along. He waved to me. “Come on, Noodles.”

I ran down the stoop, falling into step beside him.

“What's up, Max?” I asked.

“Come on, we grab a ride with my uncle in the Pierce Arrow.”

“The uncle picking up a stiff with the hearse?” I asked delightedly.

“Yep; up in Harlem. Madison Avenue. We give him a hand. He's got an unexpected job.”

We reached the parlors all out of breath, just in time to give his uncle, the undertaker, a hand carrying the long wicker basket out to the hearse. Proudly we sat on the large front seat. Driving on upper Fifth Avenue along the park, Maxie's uncle pointed out the palatial homes.

Sarcastically, he commented, “Just like down the East Side. I'll bet they've barely got enough to eat in those houses.”

The remark reminded me of my chronic hunger. I whispered to Max, “Maybe we can promote your uncle for some hot dogs or something.”

Maxie nodded and winked. He nudged me. “Some day we'll be able to buy plenty of hot dogs.”

“It can't be too quick for me,” I said.

“You kids like a couple of hot dogs?” Maxie's uncle grinned. “O.K., I can take a hint, after we pick the stiff up.”

Riding back to the East Side after we had picked up the stiff, Maxie's uncle stopped at a hot dog wagon and bought us each two frankfurters. We leaned against the hearse, eating our hot dogs. Back in the hearse, as a joke he handed us cigars. To his surprise, we took them, lit up and puffed away. He chuckled in admiration.

“You kids are okay.” We helped him into the funeral parlor with the body.

“Thanks, boys.” Then he chuckled and corrected himself, “Thanks, men.” He tossed us each a quarter.

Maxie said, “Glad to have been a help to you, uncle. Any time you need us, let me know.”

He looked fondly at Max. “You're growing up to be a big boy.” He patted him affectionately.

“Thanks for the ride and everything,” I said.

“Not at all,” he said. “So long, men.” He smiled after us.

We walked into Gelly's candy store smoking the cigars, feeling like men of the world. Patsy, Dominick and Cockeye were already there, waiting for us. Patsy called out, “Hey, big shots, where you been?”

Maxie tossed his quarter on the counter and said, “Malteds and charlotte russes for everybody.”

Gelly's son, Fat Moe, was behind the counter, with a dirty apron around his large middle. He picked up and examined the quarter.

Patsy snarled angrily, “Whatcha looking at, Fat?”

Fat Moe murmured apologetically, “Nothing, Pat, nothing.”

“Okay then, get busy on them malteds.”

We sat on the stools loudly sucking the whipped cream off our charlotte russe cakes. We watched the electric malted machines whirl; they were the newest sensation on the East Side.

Jake the Goniff, Goo-Goo and Pipy, our new found friends from Broome Street, sauntered in. We exchanged hellos.

Jake said, “How would you guys like to hear a nice poem?”

“A poem?” Maxie asked dubiously. “About what? What are you— a poet?”

“Jake's always got poems and riddles,” Pipy volunteered. “He makes them up himself.”

“Yeh, dirty ones,” Goo-Goo added. “Good, too.”

“Yeh, they're the only ones that are,” I agreed.

“Okay, let's hear one.” Max appeared bored.

We swung around on our stools, facing Jake. He took a stance before us. With a grin on his dirty face he recited:

“Said the good little girl to the bad little girl

Gee, it's hard to be good.

Said the bad little girl to the good little girl

It's got to be hard to be good.”

He stopped. He looked at us for approval. “That's all?” Maxie asked.

“Yeh, how did you like it?” Jake asked hopefully.

“It stinks,” Maxie said. Jake appeared crestfallen.

Pipy suggested, “Try a riddle on them, Jake.”

Jake turned, a hopeful smile on his face. “Why is the East River like a girl's legs?”

None of us knew the answer.

“Because the higher up you get, the nicer it is.”

He smiled at us, trying to read approval in our expressionless faces.

We gave them a sip each from our malteds. Pipy spied the box of charlotte russes on the counter. The three hurried over to them.

Fat Moe yelled over, “Hey, you guys, lay off. You guys got dough?”

Pipy produced a dollar bill. Jake the Goniff took it out of his hands and waved it in the air.

He called out to us, “You guys want some charlotte russes?”

We took two apiece.

Max asked, “Where did you guys get the buck?”

“Pipy rolled a lush on the Bowery,” Jake proudly put his arm around Pipy's shoulders.

“Aw, he was a pushover,” little Pipy said modestly. “I took this off him, too.” Pipy produced a large knife.

I remembered O'Brien's knife of specialized knowledge for success. This was some sort of omen. This knife was for me. I had to have it. It would give me a magic power, I thought. “Let's see it, Pip?” I asked.

He handed it to me. It was a spring, push-button knife of German make. It made a fascinating click and a large shiny blade swished out. There was no question about it. I was going to keep it. I kept opening and closing it in front of Pipy's nose. Alarmed, he kept backing up.

Maxie was eyeing me. He said: “You like it, Noodles? You going to keep it?”

I said, “Yeh, it's a beaut.”

“So keep it, it's yours. Ain't it, Pip?”

Maxie turned his saccharine smile from Pip to Jake to Goo-Goo. They understood that that smile of Maxie's and my attitude meant bad business. Patsy bent his face down close to Pipy and snarled, “Yeh, you're giving Noodles a present, ain't you, Pip?”

Dominick and Cockeye walked behind them, ready for action. I kept staring at Pipy and clicking the knife open and shut at his throat. The atmosphere was tense and very quiet in Gelly's candy store for a moment. Jake finally broke the tension with his good-natured laugh.

“Yeh, you can have it, Noodles, it's too big and dangerous for a little guy like Pipy anyhow,” Jake said.

I walked over to the shelves of paper-bound books, fondling and examining the blade. It was beautiful. It was sharp on both, sides and came to a strong needle point on the end. The blade itself was at least six inches long. A push of the button, the blade clicked into the six-inch handle. It made a formidable weapon. It fitted just right in my pants pocket. My eyes wandered to the tempting display of dime paper-bound books. To me it was a hypnotic display of Nick Carters, Diamond Dicks, all sorts of Westerns. I thumbed through Horatio Alger's
From Rags to Riches,
debating with myself whether to buy a book, or use the quarter that Maxie's uncle had given me for the gas meter at home. I thought, if I bought it, I wouldn't have any light to read by tonight in bed.

Fat Moe came over to me and whispered, “Go ahead, Noodles, stick one in your pocket before my old man gets here. Don't bend it too much, but bring it back tomorrow, all right?”

I stuck
From Rags to Riches
in my pocket, feeling happy and grateful, saying: “I'll take care of it. Thanks, Moe, I'll bring it back in the morning.”

I felt as if life was complete. I had a quarter for the gas meter, a new knife and a book to read tonight.

“All right, fellas,” Maxie was taking his tie and jacket off, “let's get going. You guys want to come along?” He turned to Jake, Pip, and Goo-Goo.

“What are you going to do?” Jake asked.

“We're going to do a little long distance running,” Max answered.

“Nah, not for us,” Jake said. “Well see you some more.”

They walked out.

We followed Maxie's example, putting our clothes on a chair. We jogged downtown into the night, starting on our daily long-distance run. Maxie, in the lead, set the pace. He was a Spartan when it came to exercise.