The Wanderers

by Richard Price

  " 'Scuse me," he mumbled. The black guy turned impassively toward Eugene. The woman was motionless beneath him. The terrible silence. Eugene thought he saw something shiny. Knife. Nigger. Rape. For a terrible second Eugene froze, not knowing whether to leap forward or back. He heard a soft, wavering moan. Knife. Nigger. He wheeled back to the lobby. The backs of his eyes itched with panic. He noticed a ground-floor apartment. He reached out to ring the buzzer, held back, and tore out of the building. The street was deserted. Two blocks down he saw a couple walking his way. He started to run toward them, stopped. Fuck it, they wouldn't do anything. Can't explain. Across the street he saw a phone booth He ran pulling out change dropping nickels dimes quarters in the street. "Operator? Police Hurry' C'mon, hurry." '

  "I'm sorry. Whad you say?"

  Eugene saw the guy walk out of the building. He looked at Eugene in the phone booth and walked briskly toward Burke Avenue. Eugene dropped the phone and ran back into the building. The minute he opened the door he heard Nina crying hysterically. She staggered out from behind the elevator, nude, dragging her dress on one leg. Eugene grabbed her. She was shaking and screaming. Her trembling fingers pulled at his hair. Eugene's legs shook.

  "It's O.K.,'s'O.K.," he mumbled.

  She sobbed and gasped. "Oh God, h-h-h-he was g-g-gonna k-kill me! He w-woulda k-killed me!"

  " 's'O., 's'O.K." He hugged her, mechanically smoothing her hair. "Did he hurt you?"

  "He ... he h-had a ra-razor!" she cried. The terror and tears bubbled in her throat. "He ... he wuh-wuh-woulda k-killed muh-me." She made a high-pitched whine and almost collapsed. Eugene held her tight and helped her to the steps near the elevator. He sat on his haunches in front of her and held on.

  "Nina! Nina! Did he hurt you?"

  "H-he h-had a razor!" She dropped her head on his arm then pulled up straight. "He said he w-woulda k-killed muh-me, h-he h-had a r-razor!"

  "'s'O.K., 's'O.K." Eugene saw the red lines running along the left side of Nina's throat.

  "S-suh-suh-suh-somebody came. Su-somebody came, an', an' then th-they left! Th-they d-didn't s-say n-nothin'."

  Eugene clenched his teeth and trembled. Coward, faggot, coward, pussy, cunt, coward, coward, coward.

  "B-buh-but he got sc-scared and l-left. He-he woulda killed me, Eugene!" She fell against his shoulder. He stroked her hair. Knife. Eugene flashed on looking down and seeing him on top of her. He flashed on the terrible silence. Then that tiny moan. The whimper. That scene and that moan jerked at him like invisible fishhooks snagged into his guts. Nina settled into a weeping half-sleep. Eugene helped her stand up and pulled her dress on. He walked her out into the street. She stumbled forward, one arm limp across his shoulders. Coward. Cunt.

  When Eugene's parents came home at three in the morning, Eugene was sitting on the stoop in front of the house.

  "Whadya you doin' up?" his father asked.

  He shrugged. "Can't sleep."

  His parents stood arm in arm over him.

  "You got a date tonight?"

  Eugene winced. "I'll be in."

  His parents went into the house. Eugene tried to make himself cry. A song popped into his head. The Four Seasons' "Walk Like a Man." He realized that if he ever started crying, he would never stop. He got up, sighed, and headed into the house. His mother was in the kitchen making coffee. He heard his father in the bathroom upstairs.

  "Ma?" She looked at him without saying anything. "I gotta talk to you. Somethin' happened tonight."

  She raised her eyebrows, continued making coffee. "I'm listening."

  "My girl friend got raped."

  "What?" She stopped moving.

  "We were in the house, an' she went down to get cigarettes. She din't come back so I went out to look for her. I walked in on this nigger rapin' her down by the candy store. He dragged her into a building."

  "You were there!"

  "Yeah, an'..."

  "What did you do?"

  "Hooked, an' I..."

  "What did you do?"

  Eugene raised his hands and stuttered, "I-I saw ..."

  "Eugene ... what did you do!" Her lips were white slits, her eyes narrow bands.

  "I saw an' ... he had a razor to her throat."

  "Eugene ... what did you do!" She clenched her teeth. The neck veins stood out like roots along her throat.

  "I called the cops."

  "You ran."

  "I called the cops."

  "You ran," she pronounced sentence. "A nigger ... was raping your girl friend and you ran!"

  "No!" Tears welled and dripped down his face. He couldn't catch his breath. His mother sneered.

  "Where is she?"

  "I-I c-called h-huh f-father." His grief was pulling him down, and he sank into a kitchen chair, gasping for air.

  His mother finished making the coffee. He looked at her as if she would grant him a boon. She nodded with contempt. "Go upstairs and take a bath," she said.

  "Huh?" He hung on her every word.

  "Just do it." She dismissed him with a disgusted wave.

  Eugene dumbly obeyed and staggered up the stairs, passed his father in the hallway without a word, and went into the bathroom.

  He sat numb in a steaming tub. Tears would come and go. His hands lay dead on his thighs. He stared at a bead of water condensed on a pipe underneath the sink. The bathroom door opened. His mother came in wearing a bathrobe. She leaned on the sink, folded her arms across her chest, and stared at Eugene unforgivingly. "Some day, my son, you are going to learn that the two greatest joys of being a man are beating the hell out of someone and getting the hell beaten out of you, good night." She walked out and closed the door.

  Eugene stared at the water drop again. When it finally fell off the pipe, he drew his hand into a fist, and smashed himself full in the face.

  ***

  Eugene lay in bed all night staring at the wall. At six-thirty in the morning he heard his mother get up. He was terrified that she might walk into his bedroom. When he heard her leave the house half an hour later he got up, got dressed, and drove his father's car to Nina's.

  "I hate him," she said through clenched teeth. They sat in the small dinette, the table Uttered with the remains of a tight breakfast. "That motherfucker!" She laughed humorlessly, shaking her head.

  Eugene looked down at the floor. "I shoulda jumped him."

  Nina lightly fingered the cuts on her throat. "Whadya mean?"

  "That was me that walked in when he was on you ... I ran."

  "What?" She didn't seem to understand.

  "I'm a fuckin' coward, and I ran." Nina touched his hand. "I was standin' there just lookin', Nina ... an' I tore ass outta there like a fuckin' coward."

  "Babe." She tried to stare into his eyes, but he wouldn't look up. "If you jumped him like you think you should've, I wouldn't be here right now. I would've been dead in two seconds, and maybe you too."

  Eugene shrugged. "Maybe him instead."

  "Eugene, you don't understand."

  "No! You don't understand!" He stood up and banged his fist against the wall. "You think any of the guys woulda ran?"

  "If they had brains in their heads they would've! Eugene, when he saw you he got scared. If you hung around he would've had to hurt somebody. Maybe me. Maybe you. Maybe both of us. When you split that gave him his out. That gave him his chance to get away. Eugene!" She pointed to the razor marks on her neck. "Just look at this. Just look."

  Eugene glanced at her neck, winced, and looked away. "You don't understand," he repeated.

  "The hell I don't! You don't care about me! All you care about is your goddamn pride. You wouldna cared if he sliced my head off."

  "You don't under..."

  "Don't say that anymore. I goddamn well understand better than you'll ever know!"

  Eugene left the apartment and walked down the stairs.

  "You wouldn't know what a real man is if he came up and bit you on the ass!" Nina shouted from the top of the stairs. She ran ba
ck to the apartment, slammed the door, and cried until the scratches on her throat started to burn.

  Eugene raced down seven flights of stairs. He had just made a decision that he was sure Nina would never understand.

  Dear Richie

  Greetings from Beantown. Me and Perry are here to get semens papers and to ship out. Perry wants to go to Africa but I want to go to Japan so we compromised and are going to Arizona (ha ha). We left after the wedding. I guess Buddy is getting some now (ha ha). We will write from every port and send pictures. Say hello to Buddy and Eugene but not to the Scumbag (Emilio).

  Your friend

  Joey "Main Man Wanderer" Capra

  P.S. We are living in a motel next door to a hore. I swear to God. We are going to get some tonight.

  P.P.S. Don't take any wooden pussy.

  Richie flipped the postcard over to the drawing of a big yellow pot full of brown beans superimposed on a photograph of Boston; a legend curved like a rainbow in the sky: YOU DON'T KNOW "BEANS" TILL YOU COME TO BOSTON!

  Richie cursed. Big Playground was deserted. It was ten o'clock Saturday morning. He read the card again. "Shit!" he cried, punching the wooden bench. Three down. Why the fuck didn't they tell anybody? I woulda gone. Jesus Christ sonovabitchbastard. The day was going to be a hot ball-buster. The Parky swept out the handball courts. Richie watched his slow, mechanical movements. At the far end of the basketball courts, he saw Buddy and Despie enter the playground through the hole in the fence.

  "Hey!"

  "Hey, how you doin'?"

  "Awright. How's married life?"

  They smiled. "Awright." Buddy took a pack of cigarettes from his Banlon shirt. Despie's hair was in curlers and she had on a pound of black makeup. She wore pale blue short-shorts and a red rayon halter. She didn't look pregnant.

  "I'm gonna C's." She waved, then folded her arms across her chest and walked away—her loose flats slapping the pavement. Sighing, Buddy sat down.

  "How's it going?" Gennaro slapped him on the knee.

  "It's good. What's doin' wit' you?"

  "Nothin'. Look." He handed Buddy the postcard.

  Buddy read it and smiled. "Holy shit."

  "Ain't that a bitch?" Richie frowned.

  "It's somethin'."

  What the fuck was this it's somethin' bullshit? Richie thought. He was getting pissed off.

  For the next ten minutes Buddy watched the Parky sweep out the handball courts. Richie silently fumed.

  Despie came back. "I wanna go, Buddy."

  "See you, Richie." Buddy stood up, yawned, and squinted at the sky. Richie watched them leave through the hole in the fence.

  Some little kids came in with a basketball and started playing, throwing the ball straight up into the air and watching it bounce away. Not one of them could hit the backboard let alone the hoop. Richie's brother Randy zoomed into the playground, hunched over a sleek black ten-speed racer. He screeched to a halt in front of his older brother. "Mom wants you to go shopping," he said, digging into his dungarees for a few crumpled bills.

  "Go yourself!" said Richie.

  "She said you."

  "Fuck it. I ain't goin'."

  "I don't care." He tried to hand the bills to Richie but Richie wouldn't take them. Randy had grown four inches in the last few months, and his body was filling out pretty solid. Richie was scared that his brother would soon be bigger than he was. Randy let the dollars fall at Richie's feet. "A white bread, two quarts a milk, and some floor polish," he said, getting back on his bike.

  "Fuck you! I ain't goin'!"

  Randy shrugged. "Don't go." And he was off—hurtling through the playground like a human rocket.

  "Goddamn shit!" Richie cursed as he bent down to pick up the money.

  Some more kids came into the playground and soon the place was filled with kids playing basketball, handball, riding bikes and running around. Richie was about ready to drag ass over to the supermarket when Eugene came in with the shortest haircut Richie had ever seen. "What the fuck you do, man?" Eugene laughed and sat down. He leaned back with his arms draped across the wooden planks of the bench. His haircut was so short the sides of his head looked bald. "You look like a egg."

  "Fuck off."

  "Jesus Christ, Nina'll take one look at you an' run the other way," said Richie.

  Eugene looked away.

  "Where you been this week? I called you six times," Richie said.

  Eugene appeared exhausted. There were dark swaths under his eyes and his face was puffy.

  "Look at this." Richie handed him the postcard. Eugene didn't take it but glanced down.

  "I know."

  "Ain't that a bitch?"

  Eugene shrugged. "I can dig it."

  "Whadya mean you can dig it? I think it's a bitch."

  "Richie, it ain't a bitch. It's cool. I mean we gotta start doin' things. We gotta start movin'. We ain't kids no more."

  "Like Buddy, huh?"

  Eugene shrugged. "To each his own."

  "They'll be back," Richie said bitterly.

  "You gonna sit there and wait for them?"

  "I got things to do," Richie said defensively.

  "So do I." Eugene took out a folded piece of paper from his wallet and handed it over. Richie grunted, thinking about the first thing he had to do, which was go to the Safeway for his mother. As he read, his eyes widened.

  "What the fuck!" be stared at Eugene in disbelief.

  "I go in day after graduation."

  "Why the goddamn marines for Chrissake?" Eugene was silent. "Why the motherfucking marines? You're fuckin' crazy! You wanna get killed, buy yourself a goddamn razor!"

  "Richie, some day you're gonna learn that the two greatest joys of being a man are beating the hell out of someone and getting the hell beaten out of you."

  "You can beat my meat! That's the stupidest thing I ever heard!"

  Eugene got up to leave. Richie watched him walk out of the playground.

  "An' you look like a jerk wit' that haircut!"

  Eugene kept walking, his figure getting smaller and smaller. For a second it seemed to Richie that Big Playground was filled to the fencetops with millions of screaming ten-year-old maniacs. He sat back down on the bench and clapped his hands to his ears.