Charles Bukowski - Short Stories Collection Part 13

Four hours later I managed to sleep.

There.

Best man at a Zen wedding, and I'd bet they, the bride and groom, hadn't even f.u.c.ked that night. But somebody had been.

**AN EVIL TOWN**

Frank walked down the steps. He didn't like elevators. He didn't like many things. He disliked steps less than he disliked elevators.

The desk clerk called to him: "Mr. Evans! Would you step over here, please?"

The desk clerk's face looked like cornmeal mush. It was all Frank could do to keep from hitting him. The desk clerk looked about the lobby, then leaned very close.

"Mr. Evans, we've been watching you."

The desk clerk again looked about the lobby, saw that there wasn't anybody near, then leaned forward again.

"Mr. Evans, we've been watching you and we believe that you're losing your mind."

The desk clerk leaned back then and looked right at Frank.

"I feel like going to a movie," said Frank. "You know of any good movies in town?

"Let's stick to the subject, Mr. Evans."

"O.k., I'm losing my mind. Anything else?"

The clerk reached under the counter and came up with something wrapped in cellophane.

"Here it is, Mr. Evans."

Frank dropped it in his coat pocket and walked outside. It was a cool autumn night and he walked down the street, west. He stopped at the first alley, stepped in. He reached into his coat and got the wrapped-up thing, peeled the cellophane off. It looked like cheese. It smelled like cheese. He took a bite. It tasted like cheese. He ate it all, then stepped out of the alley and walked down the street again.

He turned into the first movie house he saw, bought his ticket and walked into the darkness. He took a seat in the back. There weren't many people in there. The whole place smelled like urine. The women on the screen dressed as they did in the *20's and the men wore vaseline on their hair, combed it back hard and straight. Their noses seemed very long and the men also seemed to have mascara under their eyes. It wasn't even a talkie. Words showed under the film: BLANCHE WAS NEW IN THE BIG CITY. A guy with straight greasy hair was making Blanche drink from a bottle of gin. Blanche appeared to be getting drunk. BLANCHE GREW DIZZY. SUDDENLY HE KISSED HER.

Frank looked around. Everywhere heads seemed to be bobbing. There weren't any women in the place. The guys seemed to be sucking each other off. They went at it and at it. They never seemed to get tired. The men sitting alone seemed to be jackingoff. The cheese had been good. He wished the clerk had given him more cheese.

HE BEGAN TO DISROBE BLANCHE.

And every time he looked around this guy was getting nearer to him. Then when Frank looked back at the movie the guy would move 2 or 3 seats nearer to him.

HE MADE LOVE TO BLANCHE WHILE SHE WAS HELPLESSLY INTOXICATED.

He looked again. The guy was 3 seats away. Breathing heavily. Then the guy was in the seat next to him.

"Oh s.h.i.+t," the guy said, "O, mys s.h.i.+t, ooo,ooo,oooo. ah, ah! eeeyew! oh!"

WHEN BLANCHE AWAKENED THE NEXT MORNING SHE REALIZED THAT SHE HAD BEEN RAVISHED.

The guy smelled as if he had never wiped his a.s.s. The guy was leaning toward him, bits of spit drooling from the sides of his mouth.

Frank hit the b.u.t.ton of the switchblade: "Careful!" he told the guy. "You get any closer you might hurt yourself on this!"

"Oh, my G.o.d!" said the guy. He got up and ran down the row of seats to the aisle, then walked quickly down the aisle to the front row. Two guys were at it. One guy was jackingoff the other guy as the guy went down on him. The guy who had been bothering Frank sat there and watched them.

SOON AFTER, BLANCHE WAS IN A HOUSE OF PROSt.i.tUTION.

Then Frank had to urinate. He got up and walked toward the sign: MEN. He went in. It really stank in there. He gagged, opened the toilet door, went in. He took out his p.e.n.i.s and started to p.i.s.s. Then he heard some sounds.

"Ooooh ooooh, you filthy f.u.c.k!" said the guy. "ooh you beasly fiendish piece of s.h.i.+t!"

He heard the guy ripping off toilet paper and wiping his face. Then the guy began to cry. Frank stepped out of the toilet, washed his hands. He didn't want to see any more of the movie. Then he was out on the street, walking back toward his hotel. Then he was in the lobby. The desk clerk nodded him over.

"Yeah?" asked Frank.

"Look, Mr. Evans, I'm sorry. I was just kidding you."

"About what?"

"You know."

"No, I don't know."

"Well, about losing your mind. I've been drinking, you know. Don't tell anybody or I'll lose my job. But I've been drinking. I know that you're not losing your mind. I was just joking."

"But I am losing my mind," said Frank, "and thanks for the cheese."

Then he turned and walked up the stairway. When he got to his room he sat down at the writing desk. He took out the switchblade, hit the b.u.t.ton, looked at the knifeblade. It was well sharp-ened down one entire side. It could stab or slice. He hit the b.u.t.ton and put the knife back in his pocket. Then Frank found pen and paper and began to write: "Dear Mother: This is an evil town. The Devil is in control. s.e.x is everywhere and it is not being used as an instrument of Beauty as G.o.d meant it to be, but as an instrument of Evil. Yes, it has most certainly fallen into the devil's hands, into Evil hands. Young girls are forced to drink gin, then they are deflowered by these beasts and forced into houses of prost.i.tution. It is terrible. It is unbelievable. My heart is torn.

I walked along the sh.o.r.e yesterday. Not along the sh.o.r.e, real-ly, but up along on top of cliffs and then I stopped and sat there while breathing in the Beauty. The sea, the sky, the sand. Life be-came the Eternal Bliss. Then a most miraculous thing happened. 3 small squirrels saw me from way down below and they began to climb the cliffs. I saw their little faces peeking at me from behind rocks and crevices in the cliffs as they climbed toward me. Finally they were at my feet. Their eyes looked at me. Never, Mother, have I seen more beautiful eyes - undiluted by Sin: the whole sky, the whole sea, Eternity was in those eyes. Finally I moved and they-"

There was a knock on the door. Frank got up, walked over, opened it. It was the desk clerk.

"Mr. Evans, please, I must speak to you."

"All right, come in."

The desk clerk closed the door and stood in front of Frank. The desk clerk smelled like wine.

"Mr. Evans, please don't tell management about our misunder-standing."

"I don't know what you're talking about."

"You're a great guy, Mr. Evans. You know, I've been drinking."

"You are forgiven. Now go."

"Mr. Evans, there's something I've got to tell you."

"Very well. What is it?"

"I'm in love with you, Mr. Evans."

"Oh, you mean my spirit, eh, my boy?"

"No, your body, Mr. Evans."

"What?"

"Your body, Mr. Evans. Please don't be offended, but I want you to ream me!"

"REAM ME, Mr. Evans! I've been reamed by half the United States Navy! Those boys know what's good, Mr. Evans. There's nothing like a bit of clean round-eye!"

"You will leave my room immediately!"

The desk clerk threw his arms about Frank's neck, then his mouth was on Frank's mouth. The desk clerk's mouth was very wet and cold, it stank. Frank pushed him away.

"You rotten b.a.s.t.a.r.d! YOU KISSED ME!"

"I love you, Mr. Evans!"

"You filthy swine!"

Frank had the knife, hit the b.u.t.ton, the blade jumped out and he stuck it into the desk clerk's stomach. Then pulled it out.

"Mr. Evans-my G.o.d-"

The clerk fell to the floor. He was holding both hands over the wound trying to stop the blood.

"You b.a.s.t.a.r.d! YOU KISSED ME!"

Frank reached down and unzipped the desk clerk's fly. Then he got the clerk's p.e.n.i.s, pulled it straight up toward him and sliced it off three-quarters of the way down.

"Oh, my G.o.d my G.o.d my G.o.d my G.o.d-" said the clerk.

Frank walked to the bathroom, took the thing and threw it into the toilet. Then he flushed the toilet. Then he washed his hands very well with soap and water. He came out, sat down to the disk again. He picked up the pen.

"-ran away but I had seen Eternity.

Mother, I must move from this city, from this hotel - the Devil is in control of almost all the bodies. I will write you again from the next city - perhaps San Francisco, Portland or Seattle. I feel like moving north. I think of you continually and hope that you are happy and in good health, and may the Lord be with you always.

love, your son, Frank"

He wrote the address on the envelope, sealed it, added stamp and then walked over and put it in the inside pocket of his coat which was hanging in the closet. Then he took a suitcase from the closet, put it on the bed, opened it and began to pack.

TWELVE FLYING MONKEYS WHO WON'T COPULATE PROPERLY The bell rings and I open the side window by the door. It is night. "Who is it?" I ask.

Somebody walks up to the window but I can't see the face. I have two lights over the typewriter. I slam the window but there is talking out there. I sit down to the typewriter but there is still talking out there. I get up and rip open the door and scream: "I TOLD YOU c.o.c.kSUCKERS NOT TO BOTHER ME!"

I look around and there is one guy standing on the bottom of the steps and another guy standing on the porch, p.i.s.sing; He is p.i.s.sing into a bush to the left of the porch, standing on the edge of the porch, his p.i.s.s arching in a heavy swath, upward and then down into the bush.

"Hey, this guy is p.i.s.sing into my bush," I say.

the guy laughs and keeps p.i.s.sing. I grab him by the pants, pick him up and throw him, still p.i.s.sing, over the top of the bush and into the night. He doesn't return. The other guy says, "What did you do that for?"

"I felt like it."

"Drunk?" I ask.

He walks around the corner and is gone. I close the door and sit down to the typer again. All right, I have this mad scientist, he's taught monkeys to fly, he's got eleven monkey's with these wings.

The monkeys are very good. The scientist has even taught them to race. Race around these pylons, yes. Now let's see. Gotta make it good. To get rid of a story you gotta have f.u.c.king, lots of it, if possible. Better make it twelve monkeys, six male and six of the other kind. All right now. Here they go. There they go around the first pylon. How am I going to get them to f.u.c.king? I haven't sold a story in two months. I should have stayed in the G.o.dd.a.m.ned post office. All right. There they go. Around the first pylon. Maybe they just fly off. Suddenly. How about that? They fly to Was.h.i.+ngton, D.C. and hang around the Capitol dropping t.u.r.ds on the public, p.i.s.sing on them, smearing their t.u.r.ds across the White House. Can I have one drop a t.u.r.d on the President? No, that's asking too much. Okay, make it a t.u.r.d on the Secretary of State.

Orders are given to shoot them out of the sky. That's tragic, isn't it?

But what about the f.u.c.king? All right. All right. Work it in. Let's see. Okay, ten of them are shot out of the sky, poor little things.

There are only two others. A male and one other kind. They can't seem to be found. Then a cop is walking through the park one night, and there they are, the last two of them, wings strapped on, f.u.c.king like the devil. The cop walks up. The male hears, turns his head, looks up, gives a silly little monkey-grin, never missing a stroke, then turns his head and goes back to banging. The cop blows his head off.

The monkey's head, that is. The female flips the male off in disgust and stands up. For a monkey, she is a pretty little thing. For a moment the cop thinks of, thinks of - But no, it would be too tight, maybe, and she might bite, maybe. While he's thinking this, the bullet, she falls. He runs up. She is wounded but not dead. The cop looks around, lifts her up, takes it out, tries to work it in. No good.

Just room for the head. s.h.i.+t. He drops her to the ground, puts his gun to her brain and B A M! it's over.

The bell rings again.

I open the door.

Three guys walk in. Always these guys. A woman never p.i.s.ses on my porch, a woman hardly ever comes by. How am I going to get any s.e.x ideas? I have almost forgotten how to do it. But they say it's like riding a bicycle, you never forget. It's better than riding a bicycle.

It's Crazy Jack and two guys I don't know.

"Look, Jack," I say, "I thought I was rid of you."

Jack just sits down. The other two guys sit down. Jack has promised me never to come by again but he is on the wine most of the time, so promises don't mean much. He lives with his mother and pretends to be a painter. I know four or five guys living with or supported by their mother, and the guys pretend to genius. And all the mothers are alike: "Oh, Nelson has a painting hanging at the Warner-Finch Galleries this week. His genius is being recognized at last! He's asking $4,000 for the work. Do you think that's too much?" Nelson, Jack, Biddy, Norman, Jimmy and Ketya, f.u.c.k.

Jack has on blue jeans, is barefooted, no s.h.i.+rt, unders.h.i.+rt, just a brown shawl thrown over him. One guy has a beard and grins and blushes continually. The other guy is just fat. Some kind of leech.

"Have you seen Borst lately?" Jack asks.

"No."

"Let me have one of your beers."

"No. You guys come around, drink all my s.h.i.+t, split and leave me on a dry sh.o.r.e."