The Wine of Youth by John Fante Page A

a wise guy.
    After school, Bill said to me and Allie Saler: “Hey, I bet she made up that story about the bishop.”
    Allie said: “I bet she did not.”
    Bill said: “Hey, what you want to bet I can do it without getting my handkerchief all bloody?”
    I said: “I bet you a million dollars.”
    Bill said: “Shake!”
    We shook. I did not mean a real million dollars. I only have two dollars in my bank.
    The next morning after Mass, Bill ran after me and Allie.
    We were going home to breakfast. We go to Communion every morning in May.
    He said: “Hey, you guys, come on! I want to show you.”
    We went to the washroom in the basement. There were some fourth-grade punks standing around.
    Bill said: “Hey, you little kids, beat it.”
    We went into a washroom and locked the door. Bill took out his handkerchief. There was a Sacred Host in it. It was wrinkled and melty. You could see he took it out of his mouth.
    I said: “Oh, my God!”
    Allie made the sign of the cross. I thought it was a good thing to do, so I did too. Bill, he just laughed.
    He said: “Hey, where is the blood?”
    There was not a drop on it.
    Allie said: “Come on, Jim. I have to go.”
    Bill said: “Hey, where is the blood?”
    I said: “Bill, God will sure get even with you for this.”
    Bill said: “Hey, if you guys ever snitch, I sure will get even with you.”
    We said we would not snitch.
    When we got outside the washroom, we heard the water running. I bet Bill threw the Host in. That is a sacrilege, and a big one, I bet. Bill will get his. Our Lord will punish him. He sure thinks he is tough. He sure thinks he is smart.
    V
    My favorite saint is Saint James. He is the one I was named after. Saint Joseph used to be my favorite, but since writing letters to him never has done much good, I have changed back to SaintJames, and Saint Joseph is not like he used to be. It is a funny thing to think, but every time I pray to Saint Joseph I think about Joe Kraut. I mean every time I pray to him and I am not in front of his statue, which is supposed to look like him, I think about Joe Kraut, and Joe Kraut is not so swell to think about. Joe is only eleven, and he has three or four whiskers on his chin already, and he has a squashy chin, and he is fat. I guess maybe that is why Saint Joseph is so hard to pray to, on account of I think of Joe Kraut, and that is not such a keen thought. But I like Joe Kraut. He always has a nickel or so, so we go to the bakery after school and buy day-old pies.
    In a way, I think Saint Joseph played me kind of dirty, after all the letters I sent to him. We write to him every year on his feast day. I mean all the guys and girls have to write down on a little note what they want most, and they also write how many prayers they will say to get it, and then Sister Agnes gets all the notes together in a bunch and she burns them, with the stove-lid off, so Saint Joseph will read them in the smoke. Anyhow, that is what Sister says, but I do not think much of it any more, or maybe Saint Joseph never read my notes, or if he did, he does not like me very much.
    His feast day comes once every year, and on that day for three straight times I asked for a bicycle. I asked for one of those swell Ranger bikes, brown frame, nickel-plated spokes, and vacuum-cup tires. I never did get what I wanted.
    After I did not get my bike the first two times, I went to Sister Agnes and asked her how come. She said, well, seeing as how a saint only knows what is good for us, maybe he felt like a bike would do me hurt. I might get run over and get killed. And that is the reason he did not send any. She also said maybe I asked for too much, but a saint is a saint, and a bike is not too much for him to get for me, and, besides, I would not get run over, because I can ride a bike better than anybody. After he reads your note, Saint Joseph goes to God and tells Him what is what, and