Free Slap Your Sides by M. E. Kerr Page B

it off in front of the building that housed the soup kitchen. There were more inside who smelled of booze, weren’t shaved, looked like they’d worn the clothes they had on for a year.
    I could tell Tommy was as uneasy as I was. Neither of us had ever seen anything like it. In Sweet Creek we had one town drunk who slept outside the railroad station. People left old coats and gloves for him.
    â€œThere’re even some women here,” Tommy said. He was all dressed up in his best glen plaid double-breasted suit, shoes shined, clean white shirt, black knit tie.
    Bud was coming toward us in shirtsleeves, all grins. “Where are you two going, to a dance?”
    I wasn’t that dressed up, but I did have on a suit and tie.
    â€œFollow me,” said Bud, leading us down a staircase to the basement.
    There were long tables in rows. There was a low roar of voices, and the sounds of chairs being pushed on the bare floors. I’d never seen or smelled people like that.
    â€œLet’s grab some plates,” Bud said.
    â€œWe’re eating here?” I said.
    â€œWe’re in luck, because it’s a chili day.”
    We followed him down to the food line while he told us he was sorry we couldn’t meet Dorothy Day, the Catholic pacifist who’d founded the shelter. She was off at a CPS camp.
    â€œShe helps the guys’ morale with her visits,” he said. “Even priests and ministers stay away from us. But Dorothy gives us a pep talk. She says things like How can people be against abortion and birth control, then send boys off to war when they reach eighteen?”
    â€œNot everybody is against birth control, though,” Tommy said.
    â€œCatholics are. What if war was forbidden to all Catholics?”
    â€œIt’d be hard to have a war then,” I said.
    â€œIt’d be hard to have a war if the government told the truth, too. What if they said, Look, this has to be done. We’re going to do it. Some of you will come back blind, some without your legs, or with an arm missing, some deaf, some will come back crazy…that is if you come back at all.”
    â€œI didn’t know we were going to have lunch here,” Tommy said.
    â€œDid you think I could afford to take you out?” Bud laughed.
    â€œ I could buy us lunch,” I said. “Aunt Lizzie gave me twenty-five dollars for my birthday last month.”
    â€œGood!” Tommy started to put his tray back in the stack. “Lunch on Jubal!”
    Bud retrieved the tray and handed it to Tommy. “Let’s eat here,” he said. “I’m on duty.”
    â€œI’d love to treat us!” I said. I didn’t know how I’d eat in that place without getting sick from the smell. I wished I had some Vicks Vapo Rub with me. Before I’d become used to mucking out the stables, I’d put a dab in my nostrils to get past the odor.
    â€œBe sure to take a napkin and silver,” Bud said. “Jubal, there’s cocoa. You don’t have to drink coffee.”
    â€œI drink coffee now,” I said proudly.
    Before I knew it, we were carrying trays of bread, chili, cookies, and coffee back to a table in the huge dining room. It was a shabby place with stained walls, the paint peeling, and radiators hissing and clanking. On one wall was a large, gold-framed painting of Jesus with his arms around a white man and a Negro, who were shaking hands.
    â€œWhy does everybody keep their coats on?” Tommy asked. “It’s not cold in here.”
    â€œThey don’t want them stolen, so watch yours,” said Bud. “How’s Quinn doing?”
    I told him Quinn was his old self. If he was out in the paddock and he saw Daria coming, he’d sometimes stamp his front foot, then run around, dancing sideways.
    â€œFrom what Tommy’s written about Daria, she sounds swell!”
    â€œMr. Hart’s crazy about her,” Tommy said. “So’s little