The girl turned the corner from the avenue and entered the street like a circus train. She was wearing a bright-red jacket, a bright-yellow silk shirt, purple spiked-heel shoes with ankle straps. Her hair was a mass of thick black, sticking out from her head in near-burlesque of a Bushman. She was carrying a bright-blue carpetbag, and she walked with a suggestive swagger, the yellow skirt tightening over plump, jiggling buttocks, huge breasts jutting from the V-necked opening of the red jacket. She seemed to be wearing nothing under her outer clothing, and she didn't give a damn who realized it Her buttocks begged to be pinched, her breasts beneath the white rayon blouse and the red jacket pointed sharp nipples like compass needles indicating north. Her walk did nothing to hide the pulchritude. This was what she owned, and if she preferred to exhibit her possessions, that was her business.
But despite the suggestive swagger, despite the bobbing breasts and the fluid grinding motion of buttock against buttock, despite an apparent attitude of indifference, the girl seemed frightened and somehow hesitant. She stared up at the buildings, ogling the city, overwhelmed by the size, somewhat confused and a little lost.
The whistles that came from Zip and Cooch did not help her at all. She suddenly clutched at the small red jacket in an attempt to close it over her thrusting breasts. The boys whistled again, and Jeff turned to watch the girl, fascinated by the tautness of the yellow skirt and the bobble of her backside. The girl began walking faster, just as lost, just as confused, and the whistles followed her up the street until she was out of sight.
Zip began laughing.
And then his laughter stopped when he realized the sailor was laughing too.
"What was
"Argh, a Marine Tiger," Luis said.
"A what?"
"Marine Tiger. Fresh from the island, her first day here probably. Marine Tiger. That was the name of one of the first boats to take Puerto Rican immigrants to the mainland."
"Boy, that was really something," Jeff said.
"Did you see that hair?" Luis waved his hands around his head in demonstration. "And now she'll ride the subway, and everyone will think all Puerto Ricans are like her." He shook his head. "I need more soup out here," he said vaguely and went into the back of the shop.
"I wouldn't have minded dumping her on her back, huh, sailor?" Zip said.
"Well, she's not exactly my type," Jeff said. He turned back to the counter. He did not like talking to this boy, and he did not wish to encourage a friendship which, now that he was sober and now that he had met China, seemed hardly necessary.
"Not your type, huh?" Zip said. "What's the matter? You don't like Spanish girls?"
"I didn't say that."
Zip lighted a cigarette and blew out a stream of smoke. He considered his next words carefully. He did not know why, but the sailor was beginning to annoy him immensely. At one and the same time, he wanted the sailor to desire a Spanish girl, and yet wanted him to have nothing to do with a Spanish girl. The conflict disturbed him. He frowned as he began speaking.
"I've got a few minutes to kill. You still interested in a girl, I can fix you up with something real nice."
"I'm not interested," Jeff said.
"No?" The frown got deeper. "Why not? You got something against Puerto Rican girls?"
"No. I'm just not interested any more."
"What'd you come up here for? A girl, right?"
"That's right," Jeff said.
His answer angered Zip. "So why won't you let me get you one?"
"I told you. I'm not interested any more."
"Then why are you hanging around here?"
"That's my business," Jeff said curtly.
"If you ain't interested any more, why don't you get out of the neighborhood?"
"You ask a lot of questions," Jeff said.
"Yeah, that's right. What about it?"
"Suppose you answer one," Jeff said.
"I don't have to an-"
"Why'd you pass out those guns?"
Zip's eyes opened wide. "What?"
"You handed an arsenal to those two kids. Who do you plan on shooting?"
They sat side by side on adjacents stools, Jeffs fists bunched on the counter, Zip's eyes narrowing as the sailor's words penetrated. The other boys, with the exception of Sixto, had moved away from the jukebox, and advanced towards their leader.
"You got big eyes, Grandma," Zip said, as he suddenly struck Jeff full in the face with his closed fist. Jeff, surprised by the blow, tried to maintain his balance on the stool, realized intuitively that it would be a mistake to fall, a mistake to be on the ground. He clutched for the counter top, but the imbalance was complete and his hand slid over the Formica top as he went over and back, his foot hooked into the stool's rung, the asphalt tile floor coming up to meet his back. He caught the force of the fall with his shoulder blades, snapping his head so that it wouldn't collide with the floor. He was struggling to get his foot free of the rung when the first kick exploded against the side of his head.
