Chapter 17 Part 1 Chapter 1 Brooklyn (9)

An older boy suddenly had an idea. "Don't touch any Christian girls. Understand?" They walked on, letting the boy stare at them from behind. "Baby!" he whispered, rolling his big brown Jewish eyes a few times.He was flattered that these Gentiles thought he was mature enough to think about women (Jewish or Gentile).He continued to walk forward, saying over and over again: "Good boy!" Those boys continued to walk forward slowly, looking badly at the big boy who just mentioned the girl, eager to hear him say something nasty.But before he could speak, Francie heard her brother say:

"I know that kid. He's a white Jew." Neeley had heard his father say that about a Jewish bartender he liked. "Where's any white Jew!" said the big boy. "Well, if there's ever going to be a white Jew," said Neeley, with a tone of conformity yet insistence that made him seem very easygoing, "then he is." "There can't be anything Jewish and white," said the big boy. "It's no use assuming." "Our Lord is the Jew," Neeley paraphrased his mother. "All the other Jews betrayed him and killed him." The big boy said it firmly.

Before continuing to delve into theological issues, they saw another little boy coming out of Humboldt Street and turning into Ainsley Street.He carried a basket covered with a tattered but clean cloth.A stick protruded from one end of the basket, on which hung six pretzels, hanging as silently as a flag.The older boy in Neeley's gang gave an order, and all together they rushed over to the burrito seller.The child was unmoved, but opened his mouth and yelled: "Mom!" A window on the second floor was flung open, and a woman leaned out with a turbulent chest.She covered the wrinkled-paper bodice with her hands, and cried:

"You stinky bastards, don't touch him, get off this street!" Francie put her hands over her ears so that when she confessed she didn't have to tell the priest that she had heard foul language. "We didn't do anything, ma'am," said Neeley, with that flattering smile on his face.This kind of smile often fooled his mother. "It's best not to cause trouble for me. Unless I'm not here!" Then, she shouted to her son in the same tone, "Come upstairs, you! I'll see if you will cause trouble for my mother when I take a nap!" The burrito kid went upstairs.The other kids then slowly swayed forward.

"This woman is really fierce." The big boy tilted his head to the window behind him. "Yes." The others responded. "My old man is also fierce." A child said. "Who cares?" said the big boy casually. "I'm just talking." The little boy said in an apologetic tone. "My old man isn't mean," said Neeley.The other kids all laughed. They walked on slowly, pausing now and then to take a deep breath of the scent from Newton Creek.Along Grand Street, Newton Creek flows in a narrow, twisting riverbed for several blocks. "My God, it stinks," the older child commented.

"Yes!" Neeley sounded very satisfied. "Dare I say it's the worst smell in the world," another kid boasted. "yes." Francie also said softly, "Yes."She is proud of the smell.This lets her know there is a river nearby.Don't look at it as dirty, but it also flows to the sea.To her, this pungent smell was a sign of distant ships and distant expeditions, so she liked the smell very much. When the children went to the empty field, they could see the uneven diamond-shaped field stepped on by their feet.A yellow butterfly flies across the grass.Men probably have a chasing instinct for all moving things, no matter if the thing is running on the ground, flying in the sky, swimming in the water or crawling around, so they started chasing. Instead, he threw it away first.Neeley caught the butterfly.The boys glanced at it for a moment, then quickly lost interest and started playing a game of foursome of their own invention.

They played very hard, swearing, sweating, and hitting each other.If a gangster passes by and stays here, their actions are particularly exaggerated and show off.Rumor has it that a hundred scouts from the Brooklyn Dodgers roam the streets of Brooklyn on Saturday afternoons, watching games in these empty arenas, looking for potential players.The kids in Brooklyn wouldn't trade the presidency of the United States for the Dodgers. After a while, Francie got tired of looking.She knew they would keep playing and showing off until dinnertime.It's two o'clock now.The librarian should be back from lunch.With joy and anticipation, she walked back towards the library.