Free The Children by Howard Fast Page B

a good deal bigger than Ollie or Ishky.
    Kipleg lived across the street from Ishky. A peculiar thing about Kipleg—he never went up the stairs to his apartment. He had his own way of going home.
    Now Ollie and Ishky watched him. They wanted to call him, to tell him all about the gang, but not for anything would they have attracted his attention until he had gotten into his house. They watched him eagerly.
    He came down the block, hitching up his pants. When he saw Ollie, he whistled to him; but he didn’t stop. His quick walk lengthened into a run, and then a monkeylike bound placed him on top of his stoop. Whistling, he crouched there.
    â€œWatchim,” Ollie whispered.
    â€œYeah.”
    Kipleg leaped for the low ladder that hung from the fire escape, and the moment he caught it, swinging from it by his hands, his mother put her head out of the window. Kipleg’s mother was a large woman, with red hair, and most of the time she was drunk. He had no father; nobody knew anything about his father, whether he had died, or whether he had gone off somewhere. But his mother drank, maybe to forget his father. When she wasn’t drunk, she took men into the house. Now she screamed at Kipleg.
    â€œGit offana dere, yuh liddle bum!”
    â€œG’wan,” yelled Kipleg.
    â€œGit off, I say!”
    Kipleg swung up his feet, caught them in the ladder, and then hung swaying. Slowly, he raised his body.
    â€œYuh liddle tramp,” his mother screamed, “cantcha come intuh duh house like a gennleman? Yer duh disgrace of my life.”
    â€œAw, screw,” Kipleg said. He began to climb up the ladder, sticking out his chest, and hanging back by his hands. When he had crossed the fire escape, come to the window, his mother smacked him soundly. He tried to smack her back, but she caught him by the pants, and drew him through the window, screaming curses at him all the time.
    Ollie and Ishky stared fascinated, their mouths wide open. And everyone else on the block stared too, some laughing and delighted. Through the open window came the sounds of the battle between Kipleg and his mother.
    â€œScum! Oh, dat I shoulda had duh pains of labor fer a liddle tramp like you!”
    â€œAw, screw, I tol’ yuh!”
    â€œTalkin’ to yer mudder like dat. Take it!”
    â€œOhhh, yuh louse!”
    â€œCall me a louse!”
    â€œLemme go!”
    â€œDere—dere—dere!”
    â€œWhore!”
    â€œI’ll kill ya.”
    â€œLemme go, d’ya hear! Lemmego, yuh lousy ol’ basted! Who d’ya tink yer smackin’?”
    Kipleg came out of the window again, this time backwards. He ran across the fire escape to the ladder, and then turned to look at his mother, who was in the window again.
    â€œScum!” she cried.
    But now Kipleg was free, and he hung upon the ladder, screaming at her, and making faces, like a monkey.
    â€œHey, Kipleg!” Ollie yelled.
    Seeing Ollie, he dropped quickly down the ladder, hung a moment, and then dropped to the stoop. Putting his hands in his pockets, ignoring his mother who still screamed from the window, he swaggered across the street.
    â€œHey, Ollie,” he said.
    â€œGeesus, yuh got duh ol’ lady goin’ den,” Ollie said admiringly.
    â€œYeah.”
    â€œGeesus,” Ishky said, because he had to say something.
    â€œYeah.”
    Kipleg sat down on the stoop, glanced at Ishky, and then spat. “I don’ like sheeneys,” he said.
    â€œHe’s awright,” Ollie explained.
    â€œHe’s yella.”
    â€œNoeeain’.”
    Fearfully, Ishky watched, wondering what would be the outcome of this, but Kipleg was in a good mood. Out of his pocket he fished a package of cigarettes, and he offered them first to Ollie and then to Ishky. They all lit up, and they sat upon the edge of the stoop, puffing. It was the first time Ishky had ever tried a cigarette, and he puffed hesitantly. But Ollie