Ironweed by William Kennedy Read Free Book Online Page A

sleepin’ inside just now,” Rudy said, “I remembered Sandra wanted to be a nurse. Or used to be a nurse. That right, Sandra?”
              “No,” Sandra said.
              “No, what? Wanted to be a nurse or was a nurse?”
              “Doctor,” Sandra said.
              “She wanted to be a doctor,” Francis said, tipping in more soup.
              “No,” Sandra said, pushing the soup away. Francis put the cup down and slipped her ratty shoe onto her left foot. He lifted her, a feather, carried her to the wall of the mission, and propped her into a sitting position, her back against the building, somewhat out of the wind. With his bare hand he wiped the masking dust from her face. He raised the soup and gave her another swallow.
              “Doctor wanted me to be a nursie,” she said.
              “But you didn’t want it,” Francis said.
              “Did. But he died.”
              “Ah,” said Francis. “Love?”
              “Love,” said Sandra.
              Inside the mission, Francis handed the cup back to Pee Wee, who emptied it into the sink.
              “She all right?” Pee Wee asked.
              “Terrific,” Francis said.
              “The ambulance won’t even pick her up anymore,” Pee Wee said. “Not unless she’s bleedin’ to death.”
              Francis nodded and went to the bathroom, where he washed Sandra’s dust and his own stink off his hands. Then he washed his face and his neck and his ears; and when he was finished he washed them all again. He sloshed water around in his mouth and brushed his teeth with his left index finger. He wet his hair and combed it with nine fingers and dried himself with a damp towel that was tied to the wall. Some men were already leaving by the time he picked up his soup and bread and sat down beside Helen.
              “Where you been hidin’?” he asked her.
              “A fat lot you care where anybody is or isn’t. I could be dead in the street three times over and you wouldn’t know a thing about it.”
              “How the hell could I when you walk off like a crazy woman, yellin’ and stompin’.”
              “Who wouldn’t be crazy around you, spending every penny we get. You go out of your mind, Francis.”
              “I got some money.”
              “How much?”
              “Six bucks.”
              “Where’d you get it?”
              “I worked all the damn day in the cemetery, fillin’ up graves. Worked hard.”
              “Francis, you did?”
              “I mean all day.”
              “That’s wonderful. And you’re sober. And you’re eating.”
              “Ain’t drinkin’ no wine either. I ain’t even smokin’.”
              “Oh that’s so lovely. I’m very proud of my good boy.”
              Francis scarfed up the soup, and Helen smiled and sipped the last of her coffee. More than half the men were gone from table now, Rudy still eating with a partial mind across from Francis. Pee Wee and his plangently compassionate volunteers picked up dishes and carried them to the kitchen. The preacher finished his coffee and strode over to Francis.
              “Glad to see you staying straight,” the preacher said.
              “Okay,” said Francis.
              “And how are you, little lady?” he asked Helen.
              “I’m perfectly delightful,” Helen said.
              “I believe I’ve got a job for you if you want it, Francis,” the preacher said.
              “I worked today up at the cemetery.”
              “Splendid.”
              “Shovelin’ dirt ain’t my idea of that much of a job.”
              “Maybe this one is better. Old