It's Hard To Be Holy

EP. 27: Chapter VIII (Cont'd)

Coarse, Offensive, and Xenophobic Language. Reader Discretion Advised.

In St. Gregory's, in all six of its streets, not just Curly's, ignorance and bliss went hand in hand. Jungles in the East, dead Catholic presidents, civil rights—none of it mattered. There were more important things to consume the people's lives, and for the youth, for those four boys who went into The Woods, tagged along by scary, pint-sized Vera, there were more enthralling adventures to be had.

Rats were so passé.

They had bigger aspirations!

It all began with the Donahues and Zielinskis. Two warring families from Curly's, who resided in buildings No. 1 and No. 5 respectively. They matched each other in almost every way. Five brothers made up the Donahue clan, and five formed the Zielinskis. From age, to brawn, to determination in a fight, the only significant difference was their ethnicity.

On the surface, heritage was the main problem. The Irish hating the Poles, and the Poles despising the Irish. It was the official excuse, but truthfully, they could have both been Polish, or Irish, or each something entirely different, and it would have made little difference. Sometimes people really like to fight. Sometimes people only need the smallest of excuses to beat the ever loving shit out of someone else. The Donahues and Zielinskis were exactly those types of people, and by George! they were good at it. They had such a flair for violence. They weren't mere hooligans, no! They were artists of sadism, maestros of ferity. And all the children idolized them, while the adults were equally as giving in their praise. The whole parish followed the intemperate rivalry with the same way they followed their sports teams.

'You hear about that new kid on the Bs?'

'Orr?'

'Yeah. Orr! Fuckin' Orr! My God, that Canuck can skate.'

'Forget about Orr. Did you hear about Tommy Donahue and Ziggy Zielinski last night?'

'What happened?'

'Tommy tuned up Ziggy pretty good with his Ma's Ford.'

'No shit?'

'Yeah, but Ziggy—fuckin' Ziggy!—that pyscho, you know what he does?'

'What?'

'Motherfucker doesn't miss a beat. Jumps right up, on two busted legs, mind you—two!—and he goes apeshit. Smashed up Mrs. Donahue's front window and he reaches in and pulls Tommy outta the car by his ear. By his fuckin' ear!'

'You're kiddin'?'

'You think I could make this up. Poor Tommy didn't know what hit him, and there's Ziggy just fuckin' wailin' on him. Kicked all his teeth in—'

'Hang on! He kicked in all his teeth?'

'Yeah!'

'On broken legs?'

'I just said it, man. Ziggy's a fuckin' psycho!'

'Pollacks, man.'

'You're tellin' me.'

'Maybe they should send Ziggy over there to free the homeland, you know?'

'Fuckin' Ziggy could take on the whole Red Army and be home for supper.'

Saturday afternoon was the weekly, culminating fight after a week's worth of aggressions. No one in the parish could afford to see the new Bruins' defenseman, and Fenway was on the other side of the city, so Saturday afternoon rumbles between the Donahues and Zielinskis in Curly's courtyard compensated.