Гарри Грей – Once Upon a Time in America (The Hoods) / Однажды в Америке (Бандиты) (страница 2)

“Nah, he’s all right, he ain’t such a bad guy, this O’Brien.” “Yep, for a principal he ain’t too bad,” Max agreed.

He walked outside. I waited until he was out of sight. I did not want him to see me take my cap off. I knocked on the door. A pleasant bass voice said, “Come in, please.”

I stood politely at the open doorway. “Did you want to see me, Mr. O’Brien?” I said.

“Yes, yes, come in.”

His large red face smiled a welcome. “Come in and shut the door. Have a chair, young man. I was looking through some of your test papers; they are very good.”

He looked at me. He frowned. “But your application for work papers[28] is a disappointment to me.”

I sat opposite him, feeling uncomfortabe. He pushed his chair away from his desk and tilted his chair, rocking back and forth with his hands behind his head.

He took his time about talking.[29] He just looked at me. Then suddenly he stopped rocking and leaned across his desk.

“According to your school reports, you are an exceptionally intelligent boy. I thought I would talk to you —”

He stood up and began pacing the floor. “Now don’t take this as another lecture. You haven’t many more months of school here, so your behavior one way or another isn’t too important to us – but,” he raised a finger dramatically, “your conduct from here on is very important to you and to you alone. This moment may be a turning point[30] in your life. I repeat, if you weren’t an intelligent boy, I wouldn’t try to make you understand the road you and your companions are following – the road that leads to no good. Believe me.” He said it earnestly.

I sat thinking, let the old man talk himself out. What does he know about boys, an old guy like him? Yeh, he’s at least forty-five with one foot in the grave. He’s a good Irishman, though. And for a principal he’s the best we ever had.

The principal continued, “Your environment is partly to blame. Do you understand what I mean by environment?”

For a moment I forgot myself. “Do I know what environment means?” I sneered. He laughed. “I forgot, you’re the one they call Noodles; you know everything.” Quickly, I changed my manner. I mumbled, “Environment. You mean the East Side?”

“Well, yes and no. Very many successful and good people have been born and brought up in this neighborhood.” He stopped and looked at me for a moment. “The last scrap[31] you and your friends were in – what was the real reason for it? Why did you boys do it?”

I shrugged.

“Do you know what I’m referring to?”

I shook my head. I was lying. My face was burning. How did he know about it? “You know what I’m referring to.” His voice sharpened.

“I’m talking about Schwartz’ candy store, the one you and your friends broke into a few days ago.”

I wanted to sink through the floor[32]. So he knew. So the hell with him[33].

“Don’t you realize that if it wasn’t for your rabbi and the priest of your Catholic friends, and a little help from me, you boys would have been sent to an institution of correction[34]?”

I shrugged. That’s what he thinks, the cluck. He don’t know who squared the rap[35] for us. I wonder if I should tell him it was Big Maxie’s uncle, the undertaker, who squared it? He went to Monk, the gangster, and Monk went to the Tammany district leader, and he’s the guy who gave the judge his orders, before the rabbi, the priest, or O’Brien ever spoke to him. Dumb clucks, all of them. Monk and the district leader – there’s two guys to keep in with. They’re everybody’s boss – police, judges, everybody.

“I’m talking to you, young man. Why don’t you answer?”

I shrugged my shoulders. I couldn’t look him in the face. He continued pacing up and down. “I ask you, why did you do it? For the mischief? The money? Tell me, boy, do you get any spending money from your parents?” “Sometimes, when my father works,” I muttered.

“Is he working now?” I shook my head.

“How many times have I told you it is impolite to shake your head or shrug your shoulders. Speak up.”

I shrugged my shoulders.

He threw up his hands in despair. “Oh well – there’s another thing I’d like to know.” He hesitated for a moment. “All term I have been curious why it is you and your companions do not eat the hot free lunches provided for in the school? Instead, I have noticed you boys play basketball in the yard every day at lunchtime. You’re pretty slim, and I imagine you could do with[36] hot soup at midday.” His tone was kindly and hesitant. “Tell me, is it because it isn’t what you call kosher?”

I shook my head. “Nah, it don’t mean a thing to me, kosher.” “Why then? I’m interested to know. What’s wrong with the lunch?” “Soup,” I said derisively.

“Soup?”

“Yeh, charity soup,” I muttered.

“Hmmmm… yes, unfortunately, it does seem that soup and bread is the main dish to be supplied free of charge[37].”

“Soup schools,” I said contemptuously.

He smiled sadly. “Yes, yes, I’ve heard that before. Soup schools. Well, let’s forget soup for the moment, shall we?”

I nodded.

“All right, all right, where were we?” he asked, smiling. “Oh yes, your father is one of the unfortunate unemployed?”

I nodded. He shook his head sadly and sighed deeply. “That’s why you put in your application for working papers? And why you aren’t going to finish public school? You want to go to work and make money to help your family?”

“Yeh.”

“It’s very good, but wouldn’t you rather continue school?” I shrugged my shoulders.

“Well, yes or no?” I shrugged again.

“Look. I want to help you. I can help you if you change your ways. Keep away from your companions, continue going to school. Only by learning —” I cut him off. “I can’t finish school. I gotta go to work. My father ain’t working.”

“How long has your father been out of work?”

“How long? About three months.”

“Hmmmm.” O’Brien rubbed his chin. “Well, I have an idea and I’ll do it in your case. You’re intelligent and fundamentally all right.”

He hesitated. Then he added, “I think, you can still develop into a good and successful citizen. I’ll have a social agency look into your case and help your family, so that you can continue your schooling. Keep away from bad companions.” A confident smile broke over his face. He thought he’d solved the problem. “Well? Isn’t that a good thing? They will help you to help yourself. You will continue your studies, and by behaving yourself you can succeed. I see you’re pretty good in mathematics. Why not continue and try to be a bookkeeper, possibly an accountant? Specialized knowledge is like a sharp knife. It will help you cut your way through the problems of life to your goal. To success. You understand what I mean?”

Yeh, I knew what he meant, but I played dumb[38]. “Yeh, I’ll get myself a big knife,” I said.

He got angry for the first time.

“Damn your stupidity,” he exploded. “I thought you knew what I was talking about.”

I shrugged. I was getting annoyed.

“Well?” his voice was agitated.

“What?” I made out I didn’t understand.

He stared at me. I lowered my eyes. Then he knew that I understood what he meant.

Yeh, I knew what he meant. He wanted me to continue school, break away from Max and miss out on the million bucks we’re gonna make on heists and everything. I’m gonna get help from a social agency? Huh! Everybody will look down on us. Charity, feh. What good is education? I had enough for what I wanted to do. I can write. I know arithmetic. I can read. I’m smart. I use my noodle. Yeh, that’s why people call me Noodles. Yeh, and I’ll get me a real sharp knife. That’ll be my knife of specialized knowledge.

O’Brien stood in front of me, a stern expression on his face.

I stood up. I felt heroic. “I don’t want or need your charity. I’m quitting school.”

He was a pretty good guy. I felt sorry for him. He seemed so sad for me, for all of us kids.

“All right, all right, that’s all, son.” He patted me on the back. I walked towards the door.

I turned and said, “Well, will I get my working papers?”

He didn’t answer. He just looked at me and sighed hopelessly. I was insistent. “I want them, Mr. O’Brien,” I said.

He nodded sadly. “You will have them.” My friends were waiting downstairs.

“What did the old cluck want?” Maxie asked.

“Nothing much. He was talking to himself mostly. He wanted me to continue school.”

We walked down the street. Suddenly, we stopped and stared: there was the biggest man in the world. He was bigger in our eyes than George Washington was to most school kids. He was looking right at us.

“Hello, kids,” he said.

We stopped in awe[39]. Maxie answered, “Hello, Monk.” It was Monk, the toughest man on the East Side, and, as far as we were concerned[40], in the world.

“I want you kids to do me a favor[41],” Monk said.