New York - The Novel

Mary.
    “I love my brother, but I really came here to have a holiday with you.”
    “We’re having a good time,” Mary answered sleepily.
    Gretchen didn’t say anything for a little while, but she gently stroked Mary’s hair.
    “Have you ever been with a man, Mary?” she asked.
    “What do you mean?”
    “You know what I mean.”
    “I’m a respectable girl,” Mary murmured. She didn’t want to talk to Gretchen about that, so she closed her eyes and pretended she was falling asleep. Gretchen continued stroking her hair, and Mary heard her give a little sigh.
    “I don’t want you getting hurt,” she said quietly. Mary knew that her friend was trying to warn her, but she went on pretending to fall asleep. And as she did so, she thought to herself that she was twenty-nine years old now and she’d never been with a man, and if it were to be anyone, excepting Hans of course, then better Theodore than any other. At least he’d know how to treat her right. He wouldn’t be like Nolan. If it were to happen, she’d have to be careful, because of the risk, and she was a respectable girl.
    But why was she respectable? She knew why she was respectable inGramercy Park, because she wanted to be like the Masters. And she knew why she’d wanted to be respectable when she was a girl, so as not to be like the people in Five Points. But she was neither one thing nor the other, really, if she came to think of it. Somehow, out here, with nothing but the ocean and the soft sound of the surf breaking on the beach, she hardly knew what she might be any more. And Gretchen was still gently stroking her hair when she fell asleep.

    Sean awoke early on Monday morning, and went straight down to the bar. Opening the outer door, he took a quick look out into the street. All quiet. He closed the door, bolted it again and started to check the bar. He’d only been working a few minutes when his wife appeared. She gave him a mug of tea.
    “You were restless last night,” she remarked.
    “Sorry.”
    “Still worried?”
    “I was remembering ’57.”
    If the history of Five Points was a long disgrace, six years ago the place had surpassed itself. It had been just this time of the year as well. Two of its Catholic gangs, the Dead Rabbits and the Plug Uglies, had started a big fight with their traditional rivals, the Protestant Bowery Boys. Who knew what had set them off in such a rage, or why? Who cared? But this time the battle had got completely out of hand and raged over so many streets that Sean had thought it might even reach his bar. Mayor Wood’s police could do nothing. Finally, the militia had to be called in, and by then, some of the streets had been reduced to ruins. God knows how many died—the gangs buried their own dead. Sean knew where many of the bodies were hidden, in the dark recesses of Five Points.
    “You think it could happen again?”
    “Why not? The gangs are all there.” He sighed. “I s’pose I was just as stupid, years ago.”
    “No.” His wife smiled. “You’d kill someone, but not in anger.”
    Sean drank his tea. “You know who came in the bar yesterday?” he said. “Chuck White.” There were plenty of the White family around. They’d had a bit of money sixty years ago, but two or three generations of large families, and they were mostly back where they’d started. Chuck Whitedrove a cab. But he was also a volunteer fireman. “He ain’t too pleased about the draft. Says they’re supposed to exempt the firemen, but they didn’t.” He shook his head. “Bad idea, annoying the firemen.” He took another gulp of tea. “They like fires. That’s why they’re firemen.”
    “They’ll refuse to put them out?”
    “No. They’ll start ’em.”
    At six thirty Hudson appeared and silently began to clean up. Sean gave him a nod, but said nothing.
    At a little after seven, there was a knock at the street door. Sean went to it, and looked out cautiously. It was a tobacconist from nearby. Sean opened the door.
    “There’s a bunch of men over on the West Side. Big crowd and growing. Thought you’d want to know.”
    “Where are they headed?”
    “Nowhere yet. But they’re going to head uptown, to Central Park. And then across to the Draft Office, I reckon. It’s only three hours and some till the damn lottery starts again.”
    Sean thanked him, then turned to Hudson.
    “We’ll close the shutters and bar them now,” he announced.
    “You think they’ll come down here