III
Tony had always been of a rather easygoing nature and took things as they came. His emotions, it is true, were very unstable; with him anger was almost immediately followed by a grin, and depression lasted only long enough for him to recognize that he had felt such an emotion. No, he had never before experienced the loneliness which is the result of continued despair. Now he felt it and it was too much for him. He looked back on the past as a sort of fabulous period when he had had peace of mind.
He could enjoy nothing. The fear of arrest and hanging dogged him even at the movies, formerly his chief pleasure; and in the company of Midge, his woman, he was so preoccupied that she thought he had a new woman and treated him accordingly.
Then he began to have attacks of acute indigestion, and it got so bad that the very sight of food was repugnant to him. He lost weight rapidly.
There was nothing he could do. He could not find one avenue of escape. But little by little the thought of Father McConagha took possession of him. Tony was too unintelligent to know that what he needed most of all was someone he could unburden himself to. But he blundered toward that solution.
Blackie’s solicitude helped some. Blackie came to see him every night; and once, when Tony’s indigestion had been worse than usual, he had even gone for the doctor.
Tony’s mother put her hand on his shoulder.
“Antonio,” she said, “I think I’ll go across the street and see Mrs. Mangia. She is having a new baby. Only think! That will be twelve.”
Tony tried to smile.
“Twelve!” said Tony’s mother, shaking her head slowly from side to side, “and one is too much.”
“A bad egg like me is.”
“You ain’t a bad egg, Antonio,” said his mother, “you are only lazy.”
Tony said nothing.
“Listen, Antonio, I left some spaghetti on the stove. If you feel better eat some. You don’t want to get all run down.”
“All right,” said Tony.
Tony’s mother went out. As soon as the door was shut, Tony wished that she hadn’t gone. He was afraid. At the sound of footsteps in the corridor, he felt his hair rise and beads of sweat stood out on his forehead.
Blackie put his head in the door.
“How do you feel, Tony?” he asked.
“Hello, Blackie,” said Tony, “come on in and have a smoke.” Blackie took a cigarette from the proffered pack and sat down. While he smoked he kept glancing at Tony.
“Whatsa mat, Tony?” said Blackie. “You ain’t look so good.” Tony stared at Blackie for a moment, then he began to shake all over.
“Jesus, Blackie,” he cried, “I can’t stand it. They’ll get us sure. Have you seen tonight’s paper?”
Blackie shrugged.
“I can no read.”
“It’s all up with us,” said Tony. “My God, I don’t see how Rico stands it.”
“Rico no scared.”
“Well, he ought to be. He’s the one that done it.”
Blackie shrugged.
“No can help. What-you-say, Cortenni pull a gat. No can help.”
Tony suddenly became very pale. He heard an automobile stop in the street below. He ran to the window and looked down, then he turned and came back.
“I thought it was the cops,” he said.
“Look,” said Blackie, “you no better be sick. Listen, you no got your guts, Tony. Rico say, be a man. That is good. Be a man, Rico say. You no better be sick.”
“The hell with Rico,” said Tony.
Blackie shrugged.
Tony stood in the middle of the room for a minute or two looking at the floor, then, suddenly making up his mind, he went over to the hatrack and got his hat.
“Where you go?” asked Blackie.
Tony hesitated.
“I go too,” said Blackie.
“No, you go home,” said Tony, then looking steadily at Blackie he said: “Me, I’m going down to St. Dominick’s and see Father McConagha.”
“What,” cried Blackie, leaping up in alarm. “Tony, my God, you no tell him nothing.”
“I got to,” cried Tony vehemently.
Blackie took hold of Tony’s arm.
“Tony, my boy, don’t go. Listen. Tony, you no sick. Be a man. Hear what I tell you. You no live, see, you no live. Be a man.”
Tony pushed him away.
“You go home, Blackie.”
Tony went out. Blackie heard him walking slowly down the corridor. When he could no longer hear his footsteps, he leapt to his feet, opened a back window, went down the fire-escape, and took a shortcut through the alleys. He knocked at the back door of the Palermo and Carillo let him in.