19
The next night as they moved the group from the main building to the training building, I stopped to talk to Gus the old newsboy. Gus had once been 3rd-ranked welterweight contender but he never got a look at the champ. He swung from the left side, and, as you know, nobody ever likes to fight a lefty—you’ve got to train your boy all over again. Why bother? Gus took me inside and we had a little nip from his bottle. Then I tried to catch the group.
The Italiano was waiting in the doorway. He saw me coming. He met me halfway in the yard.
“Chinaski?”
“Yeh?”
“You’re late.”
I didn’t say anything. We walked toward the building together.
“I’ve got half a mind to slap your wrist with a warning slip,” he said. “Oh,
“All right,” he said, “I’ll let you go this time.”
“Thank you, sir,” 1 said, and we walked in together.
Want to know something? The son of a bitch had body odor.
20
Our 30 minutes was now devoted to scheme training. They gave us each a deck of cards to learn and stick into pur cases. To pass the scheme you had to throw 100 cards in 8 minutes or less with at least 95 per cent accuracy. You were given 3 chances to pass, and if you failed the 3rd time, they let you go. I mean, you were fired.
“Some of you won’t make it,” the Italiano said. “So maybe you were meant for something else. Maybe you will end up President of General Motors.”
Then we were rid of Italiano and we had our nice little scheme instructor who encouraged us.
“You can do it, fellows, it’s not as hard as it looks.”
Each group had its own scheme instructor and they were graded too, upon the percentage of their group that passed. We had the guy with the lowest percentage. He was worried.
“There’s nothing to it, fellows, just put your minds to it.”
Some of the fellows had thin decks. I had the fattest deck of them all. I just stood there in my fancy new clothes. Stood there with my hands in my pockets.
“Chinaski, what’s the matter?” the instructor asked. “I know
“Yeh. Yeh. I’m thinking right now.”
“What are you thinking about?”
“Nothing.”
And then I walked away.
A week later I was still standing there with my hands in my pockets and a sub walked up to me. “Sir, I think that I am ready to throw my scheme now.”
“Are you sure?” I asked him. “I’ve been throwing 97, 98, 99 and a couple of 100’s in my practice schemes.”
“You must understand that we spend a great deal of money training you. We want you to have this thing down to the ace!”
“Sir, I truly believe that I am ready!”
“All right,” I reached out and shook his hand, “go to it then, my boy, and the best of luck.”
“Thank you, sir!”
He ran off towards the scheme room, a glass-enclosed fishbowl they put you in to see if you could swim their waters. Poor fish. What a comedown from being a small-town villain. I walked into the practice room, took the rubber band off of the cards and looked at them for the first time.
“Oh, shit!” I said.
A couple of the guys laughed. Then the scheme instructor said, “Your 30 minutes are up. You will now return to the workfloor.” Which meant back to the 12 hours. They couldn’t keep enough help to get the mail out, so those who did remain had to do it all. On the schedule board they had us working two weeks straight but then we would get 4 days off. That kept us going. 4 days rest. The last night before our 4 days off, the intercom came on.
“ATTENTION! ALL SUBS IN GROUP 409!…”
I was in group 409.
“…YOUR FOUR OFF DAYS HAVE BEEN CANCELED. YOU ARE SCHEDULED TO REPORT FOR WORK ON THESE 4DAYS!”
21
Joyce found a job with the county, the county Police Department, of all things. I was living with a cop! But at least it was during the day, which gave me a little rest from those fondling hands except—Joyce bought two parakeets, and the damn things didn’t talk, they just made these sounds all day.
Joyce and I met over breakfast and dinner—it was all very brisk—nice that way. Though she still managed to rape me now and then, it beat the other, except—the parakeets.
“Look, baby…”
“Now what is it?”
“All right, I’ve gotten used to the geraniums and the flies and Picasso, but you’ve got to realize that I am working 12 hours a night and studying a scheme on the side, and you molest my remaining energy…”
“Molest?”
“All right. I’m not saying it right. I’m sorry.”
“What do you mean, ‘molest’?”
“I said, forget it! Now look, it’s the parakeets.”
“So now it’s the parakeets! Are they molesting you too?”
“Yes, they are.”
“Who’s on top?”
“Look, don’t get funny. Don’t get dirty. I’m trying to tell you something.”
“Now you’re trying to tell me how to get!”
“All right!
“All right, little baby: yes.”
“All right. Little baby says this: ‘Mama! Mama! Those fucking parakeets are driving me nuts!’ ”
“All right, tell mama how the parakeets are driving you nuts.”
“Well, it’s like this, mama, the things chatter all day, they never stop, and I keep waiting for them to say something but they never say anything and I can’t sleep all day from listening to the idiots!”
“All right, little baby. If they keep you awake, put them out.”
“Put them out, mama?”
“Yes, put them out.”
“All right, mama.”
She gave me a kiss and then wiggled down the stairway on her way to her cop job.
I got into bed and tried to sleep. How they chattered! Every muscle in my body ached. If I lay on this side, if I lay on that side, if I lay on my back, I ached. I found the easiest way was on my stomach, but that grew tiresome.
