“It says something about all the poor people coming here to find a better life. Well maybe it’s true,” Bernardo continued, “but the Jets don’t believe it. So we got to beat it into their thick heads. And little Statues of Liberty seem just the right way to do it.”
Maria stood to confront her brother. Eyes wide, her heart beating so hard it was frightening, she shook her head slowly as she fixed the knot of Bernardo’s tie which had slipped to one side of his collar. Her brother was so good looking, but his mouth was too thin, and his eyes were like those of an animal she had once seen in a trap; they were fearful, but defiant in their hatred. His enmity was often unspoken, but more to be feared than noisy rage.
“Why must it be this way?” she said. “These people,” she moved her arm to encompass the city, “I don’t hate them.”
“But they don’t love you,” Bernardo replied. “Look,” he was impatient, “I don’t want you on the roof alone.”
Maria wiped at her eyes. “Not even with Chino?”
“Not even with Chino,” her brother replied.
“But he likes me,” she said. “Is it true really, that he spoke to mamma and pappa—about marrying me?”
“It’s true,” Bernardo embraced his sister and crushed her to him. “After you’re a bride, you can be alone with Chino.”
“Don’t go anyplace by yourself,” Bernardo warned again. “The lousy Americans think they’re entitled to more than we are, and if they see a girl like you…” He paused, stepped back, cocked his head and looked at his sister. “Man, you are one sweet chick. Chino’s a lucky fellow. By the way, Maria, you know that he loaned mamma and pappa the money for your fare? Even paid the fare for one of the kids? You know that?”
Maria bowed her head. “I know that. So I must work hard at my job to earn enough money to pay it back.”
“But you like him?”
“Yes,” Maria said.
Bernardo crushed the butt under his foot and removed a fresh cigarette from the pack. “How about loving him?”
“I don’t know,” Maria said. “But he’s a nice boy.”
“Let’s get off the roof.” Bernardo took his sister’s hand. “The company’s gone and you can go to sleep. By the way, I forgot to ask you. How do you like your new job?”
“I love it!” Maria clapped her hands. “Imagine, working in a bridal shop! The dresses, the veils, everything is so beautiful.”
“You’ll be the prettiest bride,” Bernardo said to his sister. “The most beautiful of them all. When Chino sees you coming down the aisle it’ll just knock him out. Maybe he’s not like the other Sharks, because he’s got a job and goes to work. But I wouldn’t want any of the other Sharks for you.” He opened the roof door for his sister and bowed gracefully. “Si, he’ll make you a good husband, Maria. So you ought to try to fall in love with him.”
“I’ll try, Bernardo,” she promised. “I’ll try with all my heart. Are you going to sleep now too?”
“Later,” Bernardo said. “I’ve got to see some of the boys.”
“About what?” Maria asked. “To go fighting?”
Bernardo kissed his sister’s cheek. “Just to talk things over.” He was evasive.
“God go with you,” she said.
“Sure,” Bernardo replied. “I don’t care if He comes along.”
CHAPTER TWO
For more than three weeks now the Jets had been ambushing Sharks and the Sharks had not chickened out. Riff had fought his way to the street from his own tenement hallway, and a paving black had missed Bernardo by inches.
Night after night the tempo was stepped up, until Schrank and Krupke were on the block every nightfall, searching for Riff and Bernardo and their boys. But the boys knew the neighborhood warren better than the police, and doubled up in a cramped dumb-waiter, on a cellar shelf inside a trunk, deep in a dark bin or under the steps of a tenement, the Jets and Sharks waited for the neighborhood to clear of cops. When this happened—it could be two, three, four in the morning—sniping began again, and each morning brought more casualties, more tension to the block.
The last four nights running, the Sharks had got the better of the Jets, had shown more ingenuity in their ambushes, but the Jets fought back. Mouthpiece had thrown another stink bomb into the grocery in the hope this would bring Bernardo and the Sharks out in full force, but Bernardo had refused. In retaliation, he had Pepe and Nibbles waylay Baby-John in an afternoon movie.
The point of an icepick had been pressed into Baby-John’s back and he was warned not to cry out. Once they had him in the men’s room, Nibbles crammed Baby-John’s mouth full of toilet paper before they pushed him into a booth and clobbered him around. After they had half-drowned him in the toilet bowl, Pepe had nicked Baby-John’s ear with the icepick and told him to take his brand back to the Jets with a message… the Sharks were willing to fight the Jets, but not willing to take it out on old people. If the chicken-livered Jets didn’t cut it out, they were going to be gutted but good.
“That does it,” Riff told the Jets. They were meeting in his flat because his mother and father were working overtime. “Nobody gets away with busting around Baby-John.”
“I’m a casualty,” Baby-John was proud.
“You’re branded,” A-Rab said. “Which sort of makes you PR property, I guess.”
Riff pounded the table with the heavy end of his spring knife. “Cut the chatter. You know the Shark that did it?” he asked Baby-John.
“One of them was Nibbles,” Baby-John said. “But you know those dirty bastards all look alike. They said they gave me this for stink-bombing the store.” Baby-John gingerly touched the lobe of his ear. “Are you guys going to let them get away with it?”
“We’ve had it,” Riff was emphatic. “Now we really go to work. Answer the door, Diesel,” he said because they had heard a knock.
Riff hoped that Tony would be at the door. For days he had been leaving messages for Tony in the letter-box, telling him how bad things were, how much he was needed. But it was Anybodys in the doorway, and she was able to slip into the kitchen under Diesel’s arm.
“How come you didn’t tell me about this meeting?” she challenged Riff.
“For chrissake, are you still around?” Action demanded. He rose from his chair which had been tilted against the wall and popped his lips in disgust; Anybodys gave him the creeps. “Want me to throw her out the window?” he asked Riff.
“Nobody’s throwing anybody out,” she said, and to prove it, she menaced them with a beer mug which she had broken so that the handle was retained and the rest was jagged glass. “Now who’ve I gotta mess up to prove I gotta right to be a Jet? Riff,” she appealed, “how about me getting into the gang official?”
A-Rab held his nose as he hooted and pointed at Anybodys. “How about the gang gettin’ in… ahhh, who’d wanna?”
“You dirty rat!” Anybodys lunged at A-Rab. “I’m gonna carve you!”
Moving quickly, Riff clamped a mugging hold on Anybodys, disarmed her, and tossed the weapon toward the garbage can which stood near the sink. “The road, little lady, the road.” Riff pushed her through the door which Tiger had opened. With the door locked and the chain in place, Riff turned again to his boys. “Are you guys in condition?”
“We’re in condition,” Action led the chorus.
“Good.” Riff returned to the table and looked around him with pride because there wasn’t a chicken in the outfit. “Now the way I see it,” Riff began, “we hadda do a lot of fighting for this turf, and I’m not gonna stand by and see some greaseballs take it away from us. They’re satisfied to hit and run, but that kinda fighting bugs me. Furthermore, I wanna get this over with. So we come to the conclusion. We take them on and clean them out in one all-out battle.”
“All of us against all of them?” Action bounced to his feet and began to throw hard looping punches into the stomach of an imaginary opponent. “This is what I’ve been waiting for.”
“Now you’ve got
it,” Riff was sharp. “But maybe them jokers don’t want to do it with fists. Maybe they go for bottles or knives, or even to cool us with heaters.”
Baby-John’s eyes became very wide. “You mean guns? Not that I’m afraid,” he added quickly, “but guns? Where’re we gonna get guns for everybody?”
“I’m just saying they might,” Riff explained. “I’m just saying that if that’s what they want, are we prepared to give it to them? I’m ready to finalize it anyway they want it. But I want to know your mood.”
Diesel and Action were on their feet, shouting that they were ready to go, go, go. Mouthpiece and Gee-Tar made carving gestures at each other’s faces. Big Deal stabbed at Snowboy to the heart, as Snowboy aimed a forefinger at A-Rab. They were playing at death, but ready for it; and as Action began to shout that he hadn’t carved anyone in a long time but hadn’t lost the knack, Baby-John’s lips began to tremble. He touched his ear and the feel of dried blood no longer made him brave.
“I say let’s fight them with fists, even with rocks,” Baby-John said, “but no knives or guns. We don’t have to fight the way greaseballs do.” He wondered if his fear were evident. “If we don’t fight them dirty and challenge them to fight us clean, that’ll prove they’re chicken if they don’t fight as clean. Won’t it?”
Diesel covered Baby-John’s face with the palm of his right hand and pushed the kid aside. “What do you say, Riff?”
“This street’s all we’ve got,” Riff said. “It ain’t much. You’d think nobody’d want it. But them PR’s got other ideas. Nobody, but nobody’s taking what’s mine.”
“You’re speaking for all of us,” Mouthpiece said.
By punching his right fist into his left palm, Riff acknowledged the backing of the Jets. “I want to hold our turf like we always did.” Again he smacked his right fist hard, and was pleased that some of the others imitated him. “But if they say switch blades, I’m ready to use mine. And if carving our name all over them is the only way they’ll get the message, this man is ready to deliver it.”
Big Deal’s laugh was loose and silly as he continued to make carving motions with both hands. Tiger disemboweled Snowboy, who clutched at his stomach as his knees melted under him. Action snapped his fingers so hard that it sounded like the rapid fire of a gun. Riff was pleased. The boys were behind him all the way. And as he cranked his right arm to imitate a whirling propeller. Baby-John began to run in circles and make bullet noises with his mouth.
“Okay,” Riff gestured for the Jets to simmer down. “Since we’re white and don’t believe in taking unfair advantage of the enemy, and seeing that no other way comes to mind. I’m gonna have us call on the Sharks to send their war council to meet our war council and decide on weapons. But I’m taking the challenge to Bernardo personally.”
No one disagreed with Riff, because as leader of the Jets this was one of his major responsibilities—probably the most important.
“But you gotta take a lieutenant,” Snowboy suggested.
Action pushed Gee-Tar and Mouthpiece aside. “That’s me, Riff.”
“That’s Tony,” Riff contradicted Action. If Action hadn’t said anything, Riff would have chosen him to go along. But Action had to be shown he wasn’t the boss. “I’ll go talk to him right now.”
“Just a sec,” Action blocked Riff. “Who needs Tony? I’m not for brown-nosing anybody. He walked out on us, so let’s not turn him around.”
Riff was deliberately patient, another characteristic of leadership. “We need every man we can get against the Sharks.”
“Didn’t you hear me, Riff?” Action continued to shake his head. “Or wasn’t Tony speaking loud enough when he said goodbye?”
“Cut it, Action-boy,” Riff said. “Don’t tell me you’ve forgot that Tony and me, we started the Jets.”
There was no disputing this fact and Action saw that he lacked active support. True, some of the boys felt as he did about Tony—goddamn hunkie—who just took off without any reason other than something about his old lady. But Riff was leader and fact was fact; Tony had started the Jets.
“Well, he acts like he’s too good for us,” Action continued to argue. “And if that’s the way he feels, I wouldn’t ask him if it meant saving my life.”
“The Jets count more than any of us,” Riff said. “That’s one thing Tony will see.”
“You’re right,” Baby-John said after he had made certain that he was far enough away from anyone so that getting pushed in the kisser wouldn’t be his answer. “Tony’s like the rest of us. He’s proud of being a Jet.”
Action spit at Baby-John. “Tony hasn’t been around for more’n three-four months.”
“What about the day we clobbered the Emeralds?” Snowboy asked.
“Yeah,” A-Rab nodded. “We couldn’t have done that without the Polish Panther.”
Baby-John rubbed the back of his neck. “He saved this for me, all right.”
“It’s settled,” Riff said to end the debate. “Tony goes with me to see Bernardo. He never walked out on any of us,” he challenged Action, “and he feels about this turf like we do. I can guarantee that. Now, Action, any more questions?”
“Yeah,” Action said. “When’re you gonna get rollin’? I don’t believe in letting PR’s grow old peacefully.”
“Which brings up a real question,” A-Rab spoke loudly to get the attention of everyone. “Where’re you gonna find Bernardo?” He stood on tiptoe, with his hand over his brow and searched for the leader of the Sharks. “I’ve got a report. I don’t see him or,” he sniffed, “smell’m.”
“Simple,” Riff sing-songed as he did a simple time step. “There’s a dance at the center tonight. Right?”
“Right,” the Jets chorused. “So we bite…”
“… the Sharks,” Riff picked up the patter. “Bernardo thinks he’s quite a stepper, so he’ll be there. And we’ll be there with all our…”
“Might.” Big Deal shut one eye as if in thought. “Seems to me I heard somewhere that the center’s neutral territory and Schrank, Krupke, and company are there a lot. Unless you’re thinking of changing that, Riff.”
“We’ll keep it that way for a while,” Riff said. “But if Bernardo’s there, I’m gonna challenge him. Now, it’s gotta look like we’re at the center for dancing and sociable sociability. So everybody get dressed up, and pull your zippers high.”
Mouthpiece made shaving motions. “What time do we get there?”
“Between eight-thirty and ten,” Riff said after a moment’s deliberation. He looked at Action for his suggestion, and Action nodded. “Let’s not all get there in one bunch,” he added. “It’s gotta look as if you’re going to a dance, nothing more.”
“That means we’ve got to bring dates?” Baby-John mourned.
“Sure,” Action said. “You can take Anybodys.”
* * *
As he darted through a tenement hallway, flipped over a fence to the next street and walked down its middle, Riff really felt that he was moving tall. Alone now, it was best to stay in the middle of the street where the danger from automobiles was less than the danger from the Sharks who could dart out of a hallway, clobber him one-two-three, and leave him on the sidewalk with his stomach stomped flat.
It was important that he get to the center ready to swing like a king and to show the other gangs at the dance that Riff Lorton was as good as Tony Wyzek, and that the gang hadn’t fallen apart just because Tony had stepped away. Walking rapidly, snapping his fingers, Riff felt himself growing taller than the buildings, taller than anything, so tall that he could have punched his fist through a cloud and used it to wipe his shoes.
Time was going to drag now—yeah—until he got to the dance and put the challenge to Bernardo. He wondered if the PR would chicken out and leave them the turf without a battle. He hoped not. If this was what Bernardo planned, the only thing to do was stink-bomb his apartment. Hey, how about that? That would be one way of putting the challenge to the enemy—an ide
a Tony had once had—a thing that every gang on the West Side and everywhere in the city would have to admit was the coolest method of drawing the line they’d ever heard of. Man, that would really be bopping the enemy!
Tempted to return and see what the Jets thought of it, Riff realized that it was too late to round them up now for such a reckless gig. What they had already planned was dangerous enough; what he wanted to do could only mean a running, fighting attack, and retreat down the dark stairs of a tenement where they might be battling not only the Sharks but everyone else in the house.
The challenge at the center would do just as well; then, if Bernardo chickened, they could try the other. What a bunch—Riff glowed at the thought of the boys—everyone knew who they were and everyone stepped aside when they passed, which was the way it should be.
Soon, soon, the street would be theirs again, and every block that touched their street would belong to them, and every block that touched every block that touched their street would be—Riff broke into a run as he moved his right arm before him—theirs too. Property of the Jets, that’s the way it would be. And Tony didn’t know it yet, but he’d been chosen by Riff as the man who was going to help enlarge their world. What an honor he was giving the guy!
A block from Doc’s pharmacy, Riff paused to draw breath and light a cigarette. Puffing slowly, he felt his heart action return to normal and judged his reflection in a store window. Satisfied that he didn’t look excited, and certainly not worried, because this was the last thing he wanted Tony to see—that he was worried—Riff began to whistle.
A couple of minutes ago, he had been thinking as if on a jag; now he knew how things would shape up if Bernardo were at the center. Bernardo would accept the challenge, and Bernardo might go for switch blades, even guns. A week or so before Riff had run into a couple of the Musclers—a dinge gang that operated in Harlem—and seen how one of them had been cut from forehead to chin by a Shark.
If this rumble came off, it was going to be their big all-out effort. Whether Action or Diesel or anyone else knew this was unimportant, because he did, and Tony was going to be put wise to the knowledge.
West Side Story Page 3