West Side Story

by Irving Shulman

It was a gratuitous insult and outraged the Sharks the more because a Jet had thought of it first. Trembling with rage at this public humiliation, Bernardo snapped his fingers for Anita, the gangs broke apart, the girls following them.

  Murray signaled for another record to be played immediately, and sighed with relief when the music of a hot, wild mambo filled the room. This was the kind of music to calm them, which was strange, until he began to think in anthropological terms. Music did occasionally intoxicate savages, and that’s what was needed now. Something to get them drunk on music, so they couldn’t think of hating. Later, when the dance ended, the Jets and Sharks would leave and then it would no longer be his responsibility.

  Murray Benowitz shuddered. He wondered if Krupke would mind driving him to the subway station and seeing him safely on a train for home? What a way to earn a living!

  * * *

  From the moment he had arrived at the dance, Tony had felt out of place. He hadn’t brought a date and everyone there was paired off. And when he saw Bernardo and the Sharks, Riff and the Jets, they all seemed like foreigners. If he moved toward the door, no one would notice and he could get away. If Riff were stupid enough to challenge Bernardo, that was his business.

  Then he saw the girl in the white dress standing against the wall. And as he saw her, she saw him, and any thought he had of leaving was gone. As if he were being led, Tony Wyzek approached Maria Nunez, looked into her dark eyes, stretched out his hands, and was led by her into another land.

  The mambo had ended and a lighter, slower record had been placed on the turntable. As Tony drifted onto the dance floor, he gently clasped her fingers and looked down at her heart-shaped face, her liquid brown eyes, her lovely mouth just touched with lipstick. He nodded to approve of her dress which was white, beautiful, so different from anything worn by the other girls.

  His fingers barely touched her back. Her touch on his shoulder was light, fragile; when he moved her through a turn and his hand pressed more firmly, she shuddered and moved as if to leave him, so Tony tightened his fingers only for a moment, then relaxed them.

  There was nothing to fear, he told the girl. Never having been in this land before, he knew it well. It was a gentle land of green fields, warm winds, brilliant birds and perfumed flowers; no matter that they walked on clouds, they would not fall. Although he heard the music, it was as if from a distance.

  Maria felt that her heart might burst. Were the lights above them dimmed so that she could not see this Anglo boy with whom she danced? And why wasn’t she frightened of him? Why didn’t he look, act, speak, as Bernardo said the Anglos did?

  The night was hot, she felt perspiration trickle down the small of her back, but the fingers of this boy were so cool, and he danced so easily, without pressing against her, without trying to “sock it in,” which was how Bernardo described Anglo dancing. But she had seen how Bernardo danced with Anita, how all the Sharks danced with their girls, so they were no different from the Jets.

  “You’re not thinking I’m someone else?” she heard him ask. It was a good voice, very shy.

  Maria shook her head. “I know you’re not.”

  “Or that we’ve met before?” Tony asked instead of shouting with joy that the girl wasn’t going to leave him. He was certain of that now. This was as it had to be in this land: people who entered together remained there together, forever.

  “I know we have not,” Maria replied. “I… I’m glad I came to this dance.”

  “So am I. You know, I was just leaving. Then I saw you, and I got the message.”

  She was puzzled. “What message, please?”

  Thinking was one thing, expressing it another. He wet his lips, then began slowly. “I don’t know. Last couple of months I’ve been sort of going around asking myself who I am? What I was doing? Where was I going? Was something big ever going to happen to me? Sometimes I get so low my… excuse me,” he stammered. “I mean, I’d feel so blue, wondering if I wasn’t kidding myself about the thing that was gonna happen. Do you understand what I’m getting at?”

  “I think so.” Maria was grave. What wonderful eyes this boy had. She had never heard it explained better by anyone. “Of course I understand,” she added, hesitated, and decided to continue. “I felt that way on the airplane.”

  “I’ve never been in a plane,” he said. “It must be wonderful.”

  Conscious that the music had ended, Tony was glad that they had danced toward a corner where there was a bench. “You know,” he began, after they were seated, “you seem to know what I’m gonna say even before I say it.” Her fingers rested on the edge of the bench, and he covered them with his hand. “They’re cold,” he said.

  “Yours too.” Gently she raised her free hand to touch his cheek, as she had done earlier that evening to Chino. The skin was rougher, no warmer, but her fingertips felt as if they had touched a live electric wire. “Your cheek is warm.”

  Tony dared to touch her chin. “You’re warm too.”

  “But of course,” Maria smiled. “They are the same. And it is warm. It is—”

  “Humid?” he supplied the word and was pleased that she nodded.

  “Yes,” she thanked him. “But still it is not the warm of weather.”

  “You know what I just saw when you said that? Fireworks,” he continued, after she nodded. “Great big pinwheels and rockets. But no sound, only lights. There”—his forefinger traced a trajectory—“see them?”

  “Yes,” she said. “They are beautiful.”

  “You’re not kidding? Not saying it to make me feel foolish? You really see them?”

  Maria traced a cross above her heart. “I have not yet learned how to joke that way, and now…”

  “… yes?”

  “I think I never will.”

  The rockets were rising, joining together to explode in hearts and stars before they descended in a waterfall of light. Impulsively, because her hand was almost at his mouth, Tony moved his lips to kiss her palm. And as he did, he felt her tremble.

  He leaned forward to smell the lovely sachet of her hair and the fragrance of light perfume, and to kiss her lips, so gently the boundaries of the magic land were not violated. Then he felt a rough hand on his shoulder that almost flung him from the bench.

  Years of street fighting, of instant feline reflexes to sudden assault helped Tony bounce to his feet. His hands, formed into hard fists to throw at his target, were never launched, for he saw that Bernardo had turned away from him to look down at the girl on the bench.

  He saw the destruction of their magic land. Of course, he had seen the girl come in with Bernardo. The girl in the white dress, whose name he did not even know, was Bernardo’s sister. Tony was overwhelmed and terrified that he might lose the most wonderful thing he had ever found.

  “Go home, American,” Bernardo spat at him.

  “Slow down, Bernardo,” Tony said, and moved his right hand to assure the girl that everything was all right, that she could depend upon him not to fight.

  Bernardo’s lips twitched. “Stay away from my sister!” He turned to Maria. “Couldn’t you see he was one of them?”

  “No,” she replied. “I saw only him, and he’s done nothing wrong.”

  Snapping his fingers to gather the Sharks around him, Bernardo saw Chino moving rapidly across the dance floor. “I told you,” he accused Maria, “there’s only one thing they want from a Puerto Rican girl!”

  “You’re lying in your throat,” Tony said.

  “Cool, boy,” Riff approved, as he got to Tony’s side. “You tell him.”

  Chino tapped Bernardo’s shoulder and moved past him to confront Tony. Very pale, but quiet, so that he did not look frightened, Chino measured the tall American. “Get away,” he said. “Leave her alone.”

  “Keep out of this, Chino,” Tony advised him, then turned away abruptly, fearful that Maria was going to leave.

  Bernardo clamped his fingers around Maria’s wrist to pull her behind him. “Now let me t
ell you…”

  “… tell me!” Riff pushed forward. “If you characters want to settle this right here outside…”

  Murray Benowitz knew that he was shouting, but he had to get their attention. “Fellows, please! Everything was going so well. Do you fellows get pleasure out of making trouble? Come on now, it won’t hurt you to have a good time.” With upward gestures of his right hand, he signaled frantically for the music to start again. “Everybody dance,” he suggested. “Do it for me.”

  Still holding his sister’s wrist, Bernardo dragged her to the side of the floor which had been taken over by the Sharks. He had to jam his free hand into a pocket to keep from striking his sister.

  Never before had he felt so betrayed. It was as if a knife had been planted firmly in his back by someone he trusted and loved, and for whom had she done this thing? For some goddamn Polack who had beaten up as many of her own as any American on the West Side.

  “We never should have sent for you,” he raged at her, still holding on to her wrist. “I warned you to stay away from them. What’s the matter, you don’t understand Spanish any more?”

  Chino offered Maria his handkerchief which she used to dab at her eyes. “Do not yell at her, ’Nardo.”

  “You have to yell at babies.”

  “And that’s what frightens them,” Anita said, as she put an arm around Maria’s shoulder.

  “Shut up,” Bernardo warned everyone. “Chino, take her home. No stopping for a soda, right home!”

  Maria lowered the handkerchief. “ ’Nardo, please, it’s my first dance. He said nothing…”

  “Lucky for you that you’re my sister,” Bernardo said angrily. “Now take her home, Chino.”

  There was nothing more to be said, Bernardo felt, and turned away to stride rapidly across the floor to the punch bowl, where he dipped a cup into the cold liquid and drank thirstily. He knew that things were going to come to a head and was anxious to get it over with. Sure he was upsetting his sister, but she deserved to be punished.

  Nostrils flaring, Bernardo glared at the Jets and spit to show them what they were. Dirt—less than dirt. Dirt that made dirt of everything they touched, especially girls. By all the saints, they weren’t going to touch a Puerto Rican girl. Not while he lived, could fight, could stab, could kill.

  He could see the Jets in a tight group, and the Sharks were also ready. At the door, Chino turned to wave at him, and Bernardo nodded his head, to signal that Chino was to take Maria right home. He dipped his cup again to drink more easily, realized that his heart wasn’t thumping as hard, and felt cool, man, and ready.

  In a way he was glad that they were going to have the showdown tonight. Come Monday morning every Puerto Rican in the neighborhood would be able to walk with assurance. Over the rim of the cup, he saw Diesel speaking to Riff and both of them were gesturing happily as they pointed at Tony. But Bernardo wondered why the big Polack kept looking at his sister. It wasn’t a dirty or disrespectful look. Too bad that Maria was going to have to learn about them, but it couldn’t be helped.

  He and the Sharks hadn’t insulted the Americans; he and the Sharks had been willing to go along with that stupid Glad Hand and dance with the American girls. So it wasn’t his fault or the fault of any of the Sharks. They wanted a showdown? Great! He wasn’t the man to disappoint them.

  He had got the word that the Jets were ready to challenge and that’s why he had ordered the Sharks to come to the dance in full force. The Jets had shown up, which was what he wanted, and the only mistake he had made was permitting Maria to come to this dance. But it was the Americans, the Anglos, who had spoiled her good time.

  Jacket closed to the third button, hands thrust into his pockets, Bernardo crossed the floor and stopped about ten feet from Riff. He knew that Pepe, Indio, and Toro were right behind him, watching carefully.

  “I think you’ve been looking for me.”

  Riff nodded slowly as he looked Bernardo over from the tip of his pointed, highly polished shoes, to the tight knot in Bernardo’s tie. “You heard right,” Riff said. “Because we Jets want to talk to your war council—if you have one.”

  “The pleasure is mine,” Bernardo said, and bowed stiffly from the waist. Even in discussing war, he was going to teach the Americans how gentlemen went about it.

  “Let’s step outside,” Riff suggested.

  Before Bernardo favored Riff with a cynical smile, he moved his right hand to indicate Anita, Stella, Margarita and the other girls. “My boys and I will not leave our ladies alone. Where could we meet you in—say an hour?”

  “In front of the candy store in the middle of the block?” Riff suggested.

  “Why not the candy store next to where I live?” Bernardo said, after a short laugh. “We will meet in front of the Coffee Pot, that’s neutral territory. You know where that is? Or do you want us to drop a stink bomb so you’ll find it? The American who owns it wouldn’t mind.”

  “The Coffee Pot,” Riff nodded. “And no jazz before then.”

  Bernardo flicked a thumb to include all the Sharks. “We know the rules—Native Boy,” he spat the epithet.

  “It’s good to hear you know something,” Riff said before he turned to Diesel. “Spread the word,” he ordered.

  Diesel made a circle with his thumb and forefinger. “Right, Daddy-o”—he winked at Bernardo—“I’m looking forward to introducin’ my knuckles to your mouth.”

  “Stop jawin’,” Riff ordered Diesel. “We’ve got to get the chicks home.” He looked around and was relieved to see Tony still staring at the door. “Tony!” he called and snapped his fingers. “Over here.”

  Riff never knew if Tony had heard him, because the guy he considered his best friend had started to walk toward the door as if he were in a fog. There was something wrong with him, Riff concluded. He was definitely sick, mainly in the head.

  But this was another secret he wasn’t going to share with anyone, and to forestall any questions, he turned to speak to Action and Diesel. They were to get down to the arsenal and start moving things up, because they didn’t know what Bernardo’s pleasure was going to be. But whatever it was, he’d be sorry for his choice.

  * * *

  First things first, Tony thought, when he realized that he was on the sidewalk in front of the center. The thing was to get away, so that Riff and the boys couldn’t tie him up for the rest of the night.

  Her name was Maria, a really beautiful name, one that made him think of all the most wonderful sounds possible—church bells that weren’t too loud, the sweet song of a bird, the low voices of lovers, the way his mother spoke since he had gone to work. Why, even the stars in the summer sky seemed brighter.

  It had happened, the thing he had been searching for, the thing that had eluded him.

  All right, she was Bernardo’s sister. So what? Plenty. It was bad, mighty bad, probably he could not remember anything worse. But in the movies he had seen, no matter how the family felt, the girl always felt different. And he could tell that Maria felt that way too.

  He had to see her again, to make certain that she did. She was Bernardo’s sister, so he knew where she lived, and then and there he would have given ten years of his life to have been able to walk up to the front door of Bernardo’s flat, ring the bell and ask to see Maria Nunez.

  Standing in the dark doorway of a tenement, Tony saw Riff, the Jets, and their girls pass. He heard Snowboy say they could have coffee at the Pot while they waited for Bernardo and his spics, and heard Graziella ask Riff if there was anything they could do to help.

  “Plenty,” Gee-Tar said. “But it’ll keep until after.”

  “You think you’ll have the strength?” Pauline scoffed.

  “Enough to make you yell ‘enough,’ ” Gee-Tar said as he copped a quick feel.

  It was an effort for Tony to wait until they were around the corner. Only then did he leave the shadows and walk rapidly along the curb until he came to the tenement where Bernardo lived. He even knew the
exact apartment, because six or seven months ago the Jets and he had actually considered raiding Bernardo’s and working him over in the heart of his own territory.

  It had been planned for him to go over the rooftops and come down the fire escape at the back of the house and kick his way through a window while Riff, Diesel, and the others shot the lock off the front door.

  All the houses in the area were built pretty much alike, so the window off the fire escape was probably a bedroom, which posed a problem. Suppose her mother and father were sleeping in that bedroom?

  It was a chance he would have to take, Tony thought as he ducked into the passageway that led to the backyard, and paused for a moment to orient himself.

  As his eyes adjusted to the darkness, the clotheslines and occasional pieces of wash hung in random patterns became visible. Breathing heavily, he moved a garbage can under the fire escape ladder which was beyond his reach. Climbing carefully on to the lid, he flexed his knees and leaped upward. The can tipped over but no one in the silent flats heard it. It was a sound they had grown accustomed to; dogs and cats foraged in the neighborhood and cans were always being overturned.

  Rung by rung he pulled himself up the ladder until a knee touched the first crossbar, then he ascended rapidly until he reached the third story, where he began to climb slowly.

  He paused at the steeply angled iron flight that led to the Nunez fire escape. He only dared go halfway up. Or should he ascend a half flight above the window? Then, if the worst happened, he would be closer to the roof. But no, he might be trapped on the roof. It would be easier to escape into the darkness below.

  A telephone rang suddenly in the night. Across the yard a toilet flushed with a throaty gargle and rumbling of old pipes, a cat mewed on a back fence, a tug barge hooted mournfully from the river, a baby wailed and would not be pacified.

  Tony withdrew some small coins from his pocket, prayed quickly, and threw a coin at the window. He heard the musical ping of metal against glass, then strained to hear if anyone stirred within the darkness of the room.