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and Tito, drunk and sick for nights and days, all of us, the cheap radio
playing, tubes all worn-out sitting there on that worn-down rug, ah my, the
MIRROR, and I'd be watching, and I'd say:
"Tito, it's in your ass. feel it?"
"oh yes, oh my yes - SHOVE! hey! where ya GOING?"
"now, Baby, you got it in front here, umm? feel it? big purple head,
like a snake singing arias! feel me love?"
"oooh, dahling, I think I'm gonna c-..HEY! where ya GOING?"
"Tito, I am back in your rumble seat. I am parting you in two. you
don't have a chance!"
"oooh god ooooh, HEY where ya GOING? get back in there!"
"I dunno."
"I dunno who I want to catch it. what can I do? I want you both, I
can't HAVE you both! And while trying to make up my mind I am in a terror of
demise and agony trying to hold it! doesn't anybody understand my
suffering?"
"no, just give it to me!"
"no, me, me!"
THEN THE BIG FIST OF THE LAW.
"bang! BanG! BANG!
"hey, what's going on in there?"
"nuttin'."
"nothing? what's all that moaning and hollering and screaming? it's
3:30 a.m. you've got four floors of people wide awake and wonderin-"
"please go away. my mother has a bad heart. you are terrorizing her.
and she's down to her last pawn."
"and YOU are too, buddy! In case you don't know, this happens to be the
Los Angeles Police Department-"
"christ, I'd have never guessed-"
"now you've guessed. o.k. open up or we'll kick it down!"
Tito and Baby ran into the far corner of the dining room, crouched and
shivering, holding, hugging their aging wrinkled and wino and insane bodies.
they were stupidly lovely.
"open up here, buddy, we been up here four times in the past week and a
half on the same call. you think we like to go around just throwing people
in jail just because it makes us feel good?"
"yeah."
"Captain Bradley says he doesn't care whether you are black or white."
"you tell Captain Bradley that I feel the same way."
I kept quiet. the two whores shivering and clutching their wrinkled
bodies by the corner lampshade. the bland and smothering silence of willow
leaves in a chickenshit and unkind winter.
they had gotten the key from the manager and the door was open 4 inches
but it was being held by the chain which I had on there. one of the cops
talked to me while the other pushed with a screwdriver, trying to work the
chain out of the slot-holder. I'd let the cop get it almost out, then I'd
push the end of the chain all the way back in. while standing there naked
with this hard-on.
"you are violating my rights. you need a search warrant to enter here.
you can't force entry just on your own behest. What the hell's wrong with
you guys."
"which one of those is supposed to be our mother."
"the one with the biggest ass."
the other cop almost had the chain off again. I pushed it back with my
finger.
"come on, let us in, we'll just talk."
"what about? the wonders of Disneyland?"
"no, no, you sound like an interesting man. we just want to come in and
talk."
"you must think I'm subnormal. if I ever get queer enough for bracelets
I'll buy them at Thrifty's. I'm not guilty of a damn thing but a hard-on and
a loud radio and you haven't asked me to shut either of them off."
"just let us in. all we want to do is talk."
"listen, you are attempting to break and enter without a permit. now,
I've got the best lawyer in town-"
"a lawyer? whatta you got a lawyer for?"
"I've used him for years - draft dodging, indecent exposure, rape,
drunk driving, disturbing the peace, assault and battery, arson ---all bad
raps."
"he won all those cases?"
"he's the best. now look, I'm giving you three minutes. either you stop
trying to force the door and leave me in peace of I'm getting him on the
phone. he won't like to be awakened at this time of the morning. he'll have
your badges."
the cops stepped back, a little way down the hall. I listened.
"you think he knows what he's talking about?"
"yes, I think he does."
They came back.
"your mother sure has a big ass."
"too bad you can't have it, eh?"
"all right, we're leaving, but you keep it quiet in there. we want that
radio off and all that moaning and hollering stopped."
"all right, we'll turn off the radio."
they left. what a pleasure to hear them leave. what a pleasure it was
to have a good lawyer. what a pleasure it was to stay out of jail.
I closed the door.
"all right, girls, they're gone. 2 nice young boys on the wrong path.
And now look!"
I looked down. "it's gone, all gone away."
"yes, it's all gone." said Baby. "where does it go? it's so sad."
"shit," said Tito, "it looks like a dad little vienna sausage."
I walked over and sat in a chair, poured a wine. Baby rolled us 3
cigarettes.
"how's the wine?" I asked.
"down to 4 bottles."
"fifths or gallons?"
"fifths."
"jesus, we gotta get lucky."
I picked up a 4 day old newspaper. read the funnies. then went to the
sports section. while I was reading, Tito came on over, dropped down to the
rug. I felt her working. she had a mouth like one of those toilet plungers
that unstopped toilets. I drank my wine and puffed at my cigarette.
they'd suck your brains out if you let them. I think they did it to
each other when I wasn't around.
I got to the horse page. "look here," I told Tito, "this horse cut
fractions of 22 and one fifth for the quarter, he's 44 and 4/5ths for the
half, then one o nine for 6 furlongs, he must have thought it was a 6
furlong race---"
vurp virp slooom
vissaaa ooop
vop bop vop bop vop
"---it's a mile and a quarter, he's trying to sprint away from these
routers, he's got 6 lengths turning the last curve and backing up, the horse
is dying, he wants to be back in the stable---"
sllllurrrp
sllurrrr vip vop vop
vip vop vop
"now check the jock --- if it's Blum he'll win by a nose; if it's
Volske he'll win by 3/4's of a length. it's Volske. he wins by 3/4's a bet
down from 12 to 8. all stable money, the public hates Volske. they hate
Volske and Harmatz. so the stables use these guys 2 or 3 times a meet on the
goodies to keep the public off. if it weren't for these two great riders, at
the right time, I'd be down on East 5th Street ---"
"oooh, you bastard!" Tito lifted her head and screamed, knocked the
newspaper out of my hand. then went back to work. I didn't know what to do.
she was really angry. then Baby walked over. Baby had very good legs and I
lifted her purple skirt and looked at the nylons. Baby leaned over and
kissed me, gave me the tongue down the throat. I got my palm on her haunch.
I was trapped. I didn't know what to do. I needed a drink. 3 idiots locked
together. o moaning and the flight of the last bluebird into the eye of the
sun, it was a child's game, a stupid game.
first quarter, 22 and 1/4, the half in 44 and 1/5, she smoked it out,
victory by a head, Calif. Rain of my body. figs broken lovely open like
great red guts in the sun and sucked loose while your mother hated you and
your father wanted to kill you and the backyard fence was green and belonged
to the Bank of America. Tito smoked it out while I fingered Baby.
then we seperated, each waiting the bathroom's turn to wipe the snot
from our sexual noses. I was always last. I came out and took one of the
winebottles and went over to the window and looked out.
"Baby, roll me another smoke."
we were on the top floor, the 4th. Floor, high up on a hill. but you
can look out on Los Angeles and get nothing, nothing at all. all those
people down there sleeping, waiting to get up and go to work. it was stupid.
Stupid, stupid and horrible. we had it right: eye, say, blue on green
staring deeply through shreds of beanfields, into each other, come.
Baby brought me the cigarette. I inhaled and watched the sleeping city.
we sat and waited on the sun and whatever there was to be. I did not like
the world, but at cautious and easy times you could almost understand it.
I don't know where Tito and Baby are now, if they are dead or what, but
those nights were good, pinching those high-heeled legs, kissing nylon
knees. all that color of dresses and panties, and making the L.A. Police
Force earn the green.
Spring or flowers or Summer will never be like that again.
-charles bukowski -
from the books: The Most Beautiful Woman in Town and Erections,
Ejaculations, Exhibitions and General Tales of Ordinary Madness
===
A CAT IN THE ASS
"Dear Mr. Bukowski:
Why don't you ever write about politics or world affairs?"
M.K.
"Dear M.K.:
What for? Like, what's new? --- everybody knows the bacon is
burning."
our raving takes place quite quietly while we are staring down at the
hairs of a rug --- wondering what the shit went wrong when they blew up the
trolley full of jellybeans with the poster of Popeye the Sailor stuck on the
side.
that's all that matters: the good dream gone, and when that's gone it's
all gone. the rest is horseshit games for the Generals and money-makers,
speaking of which --- I see where another U.S. bomber full of H-bombs fell
out of the sky again --- THIS time into the sea while SUPPOSEDLY protecting
my life. the State Dept. says the H-bombs were "unarmed," whatever that
means. then we continue to read where one of the H-bombs (lost) had split
open and was spreading radioactive shit everywhere while supposedly
protecting me WHILE I hadn't even asked for protection. the difference
between a Democracy and a Dictatorship is that you don't have to waste your
time voting.
getting back to the H-bomb dropout --- a little while back the same
thing happened off the coast of SPAIN. (we are everywhere, protecting me.)
again the bombs get lost --- careless little toys. it took them 3 months ---
if I remember properly --- to find and lift that last bomb out of there. it
may have been 3 weeks but to the people in that coast town it must have
seemed 3 years. that last bomb --- the god damned thing had gotten itself
wedged on the edge of a sandhill far down in the sea. and everytime they
tried to hook the thing, so tenderly, it would shake loose and roll a little
further down the hill. meanwhile, all the poor people in that coast town
were tossing in their beds at night wondering if they'd be blown to hell,
courtesy of the Stars and Stripes. of course, the U.S. State Dept. issued a
state ment saying the H-bomb had no detonation fuse, but meanwhile the rich
had left for other parts and the American sailors and townspeople looked
very nervous. (after all, it the things couldn't blow up what were they
flying them around for? might as well carry 2-ton salamis. fuse means
"spark" or "trigger," and "spark" can come from any where, and "trigger"
means "jolt" or any similar action that will set off the firing mechanism.
NOW the terminology is "unarmed," which sounds safer but is the same thing.)
anyhow, they hooked at the bomb but as the saying goes, the thing seemed to
have a mind of its own. then a few undersea storms came about and our lovely
little bomb rolled further and further down its hill. the sea is very deep,
much deeper than our leadership.
finally, special equipment was designed just to haul bomb-ass and the
thing was pulled from the sea. Palomares. yes, that's where it happened:
Palomares. and you know what they did next? ---
the American Navy had a BAND CONCERT in the town park in celebration of
finding the bomb - if the thing wasn't dangerous they were really cutting
loose. yes, and the sailors played the music together, one big sexual and
spiritual release. whatever happened to the bomb they pulled out of the sea,
I don't know, nobody (except the few) knows, and the band played on. while
1,000 tons of radio- active Spanish topsoil was shipped to Aiken, S.C. in
sealed containers. I'll be the rent is cheap in Aiken, S.C.
so now our bombs are swimming and sinking, chilled and "un- armed"
about Iceland.
so what do you do when you've got the people's minds on something not
so good? easy, you get their minds on something else. they can only think
about one thing at a time. like, all right, head line of Jan. 23, 1968: B-52
CRASHES OFF GREENLAND WITH H-BOMBS; DANES IRKED. Danes irked? oh, mother!
anyhow, suddenly, Jan. 24, headline: NORTH KOREANS SEIZE U.S. NAVY
SHIP.
oh boy, patriotism is back! why, those dirty bastards! I thought THAT
war was over! ah ha, I see --- the REDS! Korean puppets!
it says under the A.P. wirephoto, something like this --- the U.S.
intelligence shop Pueblo --- formerly an army cargo ship, now converted into
one of the Navy's secret spy ships equipped with electric monitoring gear
and oceanographic equipment was forced into Wonsan Harbor off the coast of
North Korea.
those dirty Red bastards, always fucking around!
but I DID notice that the lost H-bomb story got shoved into a small
space: "Radiation Detected at B-52 Crash Site; Split Bomb hinted."
we are told that the president was awakened between 2 a.m. and 2:30
a.m. and told of the capture of the Pueblo.
I presume he went back to sleep.
the U.S. says the Pueblo was in international waters; the Koreans say
the shop was in territorial waters. one country is lying, one is not.
then one wonders, what good is a spy ship in international waters? it's
like wearing a raincoat on a sunny day.
the closer you can get on in, the better your instruments pick up.
headline: Jan. 26, 1968: U.S. CALLS UP 14,700 AIR RESERVISTS.
the lost H-bombs off Iceland have completely disappeared from print as
if it had never happened.
meanwhile:
Sen. John C. Stennis (D.-Miss.) said Mr. Johnson's decision (the call-
up of Air Reserves_ was "necessary and justified" and added, "I hope he will
not hesitate to mobilize ground reserve components as well."
Senate minority leader, Richard B. Russell (D.-Ga.): "In the last
analysis, this country must get the return of that ship and the men that
were seized. after all, great wars have started from much less serious
incidents than this."
House Speaker John W. McCormack (D.-Mass.): "The American people have
to wake up to the realization that communism is still bent on world
domination. there is too much apathy about it."
I think that if Adolph Hitler were around now he would pretty much
enjoy the present scene.
what's there to say about politics and world affairs? the Berlin
Crisis, the Cuban crisis, spy planes, spy ships, Vietnam, Korea, lost H-
bombs, riots in American cities, starvation in India, purge in Red China?
are there good guys and bad guys? some that always lie, some that never lie?
are there good governments and bad governments? no, there are only bad
governments and worse governments. will there be a flash of light and heat
that rips us apart one night while we are screwing or crapping or reading
the comic strips or pasting blue-chip stamps into a book? instant death is
nothing new, nor is mass instant death new. but we've improved the product;
we've had these centuries of knowledge and culture and discovery to work
with; the libraries are fat and crawling and overcrowded with books; great
paintings sell for hundreds of thousands of dollars; medical science is
transplanting the human heart; you can't tell a madman from a sane one upon
the streets, and suddenly we find our lives, again, in the hands of the
idiots. the bombs may never drop; the bombs might drop. eeney, meeney,
miney, mo-
now if you'll forgive me, dear readers, I'll get back to the whores and
the horses and the booze, while there's time. if these contain death, then,
to me, it seems far less offensive to be responsible for your own death than
the other kind which is brough to you fringed with phrases of Freedom and
Democracy and Humanity and/or any of all that Bullshit.
first post, 12:30. first drink, now. and the whores will always be
around. Clara, Penny, Alice, Jo-
eeny, meeney, miney, mo-
===
swastika
The President of the United States of America entered his car,
surrounded by his agents. He sat in the back seat. It was a dark and
unimpressive morning. Nobody spoke. They rolled away and the tires could be
heard on a street still wet from the preceding night's rain. The silence was
more unusual than it had ever been before.
They drove along a while and then the President spoke:
"Say, this isn't the way to the airport."
His agents didn't answer. A vacation had been scheduled. Two weeks at
his private home. His plane was waiting at the airport.
It began to drizzle. It looked as if it might rain again. The men,
including the President, were dressed in heavy overcoats; hats; it made the
car seem very full. Outside, the cold wind was steady.
"Driver," said the President, "I believe you're on the wrong course."
The driver didn't answer. The other agents stared straight ahead.
"Listen," said the President, "will somebody tell that man the way to
the airport?"
"We're not going to the airport," said the agent to the President's
left.
"We're not going to the airport?" the President asked.
The agents were again quiet. The drizzle became rain. The driver turned
the wipers on.
"Listen, what is it?" asked the President. "What's going on here?"
"It's been raining for weeks," said the agent next to the driver. "It
gets depressive. "I'll certainly be glad to see a little sunshine."
"Yes, me too," said the driver.
"Something's wrong here," said the President, "I demand to know-"
"You are no longer in a position to demand," said the agent to the
President's right.
"You mean?-"
"We mean," said the same agent.
"Is it to be an assassination?" asked the President.
"Hardly. That's old-fashioned."
"Then what-"
"Please. We have orders not to discuss anything."
They drove for some hours. It continued to rain. Nobody spoke.
"Now," said the agent to the President's left, "circle again, then turn
in. We're not being followed. The rain has been very helpful."
The car circled the area, then turned up a small dirt road. It was
muddy and now and then the tires spun, slipped, then gripped again and the
car went on. A man in a yellow raincoat held a flashlight and directed them
into an open garage. It was an isolated area with many trees. A small
farmhouse sat to the left of the garage. The agents opened the car doors.
"Get out," they told the President. The President did so. The agents
kept the President carefully between them, although there wasn't a human
within miles except for the man with the flashlight and the yellow raincoat.
"I don't see why we couldn't have done the whole thing here," said the
man in the yellow raincoat. "It certainly seems much riskier the other way."
"Orders," said one of the agents. "You know how it is. He's always gone
a lot on intuition. He does so now, more than ever."
"It's very cold. Do you have time for a cup of coffee? It's ready."
"That's good of you. It's been a long drive. I presume the other car is
all ready to go?"
"Of course. It's been checked again and again. Actually, we're about
ten minutes ahead on the timetable. That's one reason I suggested the
coffee. You know how he is about precision."
"O.K., then, let's go in."
Keeping the President carefully between them, they entered the
farmhouse.
"You sit there," one of the agents told the President.
"It's good coffee," said the man in the yellow raincoat, "hand-ground."
He walked around with the pot. He poured himself one, then sat down,
still in the yellow raincoat, only the headpiece thrown on the stove.
"Ah, it is good," said on of the agents.
"Cream And sugar?" one of them asked the President.
"All right," he said-
There wasn't much room in the old car but they all managed to get in,
with the President again in the back seat-The old car also slipped in the
mud and rutholes but made it to the road. Again, it was a silent ride most
of the way. Then one of the agents lit a cigarette.
"Damn it, I just can't stop smoking!"
"Well, it's a hard thing to do, that's all. Don't worry about it."
"I'm not worried about it. Just disgusted with myself."
"Well, forget all that. This is a great day in History."
"I'll say so!" said the one with the cigarette.
Then he inhaled-
They parked outside an old roominghouse. It continued to rain. They sat
there some moments.
"Now," said the agent next to the driver, "get him out. It's clear.
Nobody on the streets."
They walked the President between them, first through the front door,
then up 3 flights of steps, always keeping the President between them. They
stopped and knocked at 306. The signal: one knock, pause, two knocks-
The door was opened and the men quickly pushed the President inside.
The door was then locked and bolted. Three men were waiting inside. Two were
in their 50's. The other sat in an outfit that consisted of an old laborer's
shirt, 2nd-hand trousers that were too large and ten dollar shoes, scuffed
and unpolished. He sat in a rocker in the center of the room. He was in his
80's but he smiled-and the eyes were those same eyes; the nose, the chin,
the forehead hadn't changed much.
"Welcome, Mr. President. I've waited a long time on History and Science
and You, and all have arrived, on schedule, today-"
The President looked at the old man in the rocker. "Great God! You're-
you are-"
"You've recognized me! Others of your citizens have made jokes about
the similarity! Too stupid to even realize that I was-"
"But it was proven that-"
"Of course, it was proven. The bunkers: April 30th, 1945. We wanted it
that way. I've been patient. Science was with us but at times I had to speed-
up History. We wanted the right man. You are the right man. The others were
too impossible --- too alienated from my political philosophy- You are far
more ideal. By working through you it will be easier. But as I said, I had
to speed-up the reel of History a bit-my age-I had to-"
"You mean-?"
"Yes. I had your president Kennedy assassinated. And then, his brother-
"
"But why the 2nd assassination?"
We had information that that young man would have won the presidential
election."
"But what are you going to do with me? I've been told that I'm not to
be assassinated-"
"May I introduce Drs. Graf and Voelker?"
The two men nodded at the President and smiled.
"But what is going to happen?" asked the President.
"Please. Just a moment. I must question my men. Karl, how did it go
with The Double?"
"Fine. We phoned from the farm. The Double arrived at the airport on
schedule. The Double announced, that due to weather conditions, he was
canceling the flight until tomorrow. Then The double announced that he would
take a pleasure drive-that it pleased him to be driven about in the rain-"
"And the rest?" asked the old man.
"The Double is dead."
"Fine. Let's get on with it then. History and Science have arrived on
Time."
The agents began walking the President toward one of the two operating
tables. They asked him to disrobe. The old man walked to the other table.
Drs. Graf and Voelker climbed into their medical gowns and made ready for
the task-
The young-looking of the 2 men arose from one of the operating tables.
He dressed himself in the President's clothing, then walked to the full-
length mirror on the north wall. He stood for a good 5 minutes. Then he
turned.
"It is miraculous! Not even any operating scars-no recuperating period.
Congratulations, gentlemen! How do you do it?"
"Well, Adolph," answered one of the doctors, "we've come a long way
since-"
"WAIT! I am never to be addressed as 'Adolph' again-until the proper
time, until I say so!-Until then, there will be no German spoken-I am now
the President of the United States of America!"
"Yes, Mr. President!"
Then he reached and touched above his upper lip:
"But I do miss the old mustache!"
They smiled.
Then he asked:
"And the old man?"
"We've placed him in the bed. He will not awaken for 24 hours. At this
moment-everything-all appendages of the oper- ation have been destroyed,
dissolved. All we need do is walk out of here," said Dr.Graf. "But-Mr.
President, it is my suggestion that this man be-"
"No, I tell you, he's helpless! Let him suffer as I have suffered!"
He walked over to the bed and looked down at the man. A white-haired
old man in his 80's.
"Tomorrow I'll be in his private home. I wonder how his wife will enjoy
my lovemaking?" he gave a small laugh.
"I'm sure, mein Fuhrer-I'm sorry! Please! I'm sure, Mr. President, that
she will enjoy your love-making very much."
"Let's leave this place, then. The doctors first, to go their way.then
the rest of us-one or two at a time-a transfer of cars, then a good night's
sleep at the White House."
The old man with the white hair awakened. He was alone in the room. He
could escape. He got out of the bed in search of his clothing and as he
walked across the room he saw an old man in a full-length mirror.
No, he thought, oh my god, no!
He raised an arm. The old man in the mirror raised an arm. He moved
forward. The old man in the mirror enlarged. He looked down at his hands ---
wrinkled, and not his hands! And he looked down at his feet! They weren't
his feet! It wasn't his body!
"My God!" he said aloud, "OH MY GOD!"
Then he heard his voice. It wasn't even his own voice. They'd
transferred the voice box also. He felt his throat, his head with his
fingers. No scars! No scars anywhere. He got into the old man's clothing and
ran down the stairway. At the first door he knocked on the door was marked
"Landlady."
The door opened. An old woman.
"Yes, Mr. Tilson?" she asked.
"'Mr. Tilson?' Lady, I am the President of the United States of
America! This is an emergency!"
"Oh, Mr. Tilson, you're so funny!"
"Look, where's your telephone?"
"Right where it has always been, Mr. Tilson. Just to the left of the
entrance door."
He felt in his pockets. They had left him change. He looked into the
wallet. $18. He put a dime in the phone.
"Lady, what's the address here?"
"Now, Mr. Tilson, you know the address. You've lived here for years!
You're acting very strange today, Mr. Tilson. And I want to tell you
something else!"
"Yes, yes- what is it?"
"I want to remind you that your rent is due today!"
"Oh, lady, please tell me the address here!"
"As if you didn't know! It's 2435 Shoreham Drive."
"Yes," he said into the phone, "cab? I want a cab at 2435 Shoreham
Drive. I'll be waiting on the first floor. My name? My name? All right, my
name is Tilson-"
It's no use going to the White House, he thought, they have that
covered-I'll go to the largest newspaper. I'll tell them. I'll tell the
editor everything, everything that happened-
The other patients laughed at him. "See that guy? The guy that kinda
looks like that dictator-fellow, what'-his-name, only a lot older. Anyhow,
when he came in here a month ago he claimed that he was the President of the
United States of America. That was a month ago. He doesn't say it too much
now. But he sure likes to read the newspapers. I never saw a guy who was so
eager to read a newspaper. He does know a lot about politics, though. I
guess that's what drove him crazy. Too much politics."
The dinner bell rang. All the patients responded. Except one.
A male nurse walked up to him.
"Mr. Tilson?"
There wasn't any answer.
"Oh-yes?"
"It's time to eat, Mr. Tilson!"
The old white-haired man rose and walked slowly toward the patients'
dining room.
-charles bukowski -
from the books: The Most Beautiful Woman in Town and Erections,
Ejaculations, Exhibitions and General Tales of Ordinary Madness
===
**Trouble with a Battery**
I bought her a drink and then another drink and then we went up the
stairway behind the bar. there were several large rooms there. she had me
hot. sticking her tongue out at me. and we played all the way up the
stairway. I took the first one, standing up, inside the door. she just slid
back her panties and I put it in.
then we went into the bedroom and there was some kid in the other bed,
there were two beds, and the kid said, "hello."
"it's my brother," she said.
the kid looked real thin and vicious, but then almost everybody in the
world looked vicious when you thought about it.
there were several bottles of wine along the headboard. they opened a
bottle and I waited until they both drank from the bottle, then I tried
some.
I threw a ten on the dresser.
the kid really drank at the wine.
"his big brother is the great bullfighter, Jaime Bravo."
"I've heard of Jaime Bravo, he fights mostly out of T.," I said,
"but you don't have to give me any bullshit."
"o.k.," she said, "no bullshit."
we drank and talked for some time, just small easy talk. and then she
turned out the lights and with the brother there in the other bed, we did it
again. I had my wallet under her pillow.
when we finished she hit the light and went to the bathroom while her
brother and I passed the bottle. while the brother wasn't looking I wiped
off on the sheet.
she came out of the bathroom and she still looked good, I mean after
two shots at it, she still looked good. her breasts were small but firm;
what there was of them really jutted. and her ass was big, big enough.
"why did you come to this place?" she asked, moving toward the bed. she
slid in beside me, pulled up the sheet, pulled from the bottle.
"I had to get my battery charged across the street."
"after that one," she said, "you'll need a charge."
we all laughed. even the brother laughed. then he looked at her:
"is he all right?"
"sure he's all right," she said.
"what's all that?" I asked.
"we have to be careful."
"I don't know what you mean."
"one of the girls was almost murdered up here last year. some guy
gagged her so she couldn't scream and then took a pen knife and cut these
crosses all over her body. she almost bled to death."
the brother dressed very slowly, then left. I gave her a five. she
threw it on the dresser with the ten.
she passed the wine. it was good wine, French wine. you didn't gag.
she put her leg up against mine. we were both sitting up in bed. it was
very comfortable.
"how old are you?" she asked.
"damn near half a century."
"you can sure go, but you look real beat-up."
"I'm sorry. I'm not very pretty."
"oh no, I think you're a beautiful man. didn't anybody ever tell you?"
"I'll bet you say that to all the men you fuck."
"no, I don't."
we sat there a while, passing the bottle. it was very quiet except that
you could hear a little music from the bar downstairs. I passed into a kind
of dream-trance.
"HEY!" she yelled. she jammed a long fingernail into my bellybutton.
"ow! god damn!"
"LOOK at me!"
I turned and looked at her.
"what do you see?"
"a fine-looking Mexican-Indian girl."
"how can you see?"
"what?"
"how can you see? you don't open your eyes. you keep your eyes in
little slits. why?"
it was a fair question. I took a good pull at the French wine.
"I don't know. maybe I'm afraid. afraid of everything. I mean, people,
buildings, things, everything. mainly people."
"I'm afraid too," she said.
"but your eyes are open. I like your eyes."
she was hitting the wine. hard. I knew those Mexican-Americans. I was
waiting for her to get nasty.
then there was a rapping on the door that damn near shitted me out. it
was flung open, viciously, American-style, and there was the bartender - big
red brutal banal bastard.
"ain't you through with that son of a bitch yet?"
"I think he wants some more," she said.
"do you? asked Mr. Banal.
"I think so," I said.
his eyes eagled over to the money on the dresser and he slammed the
door. a money society. THEY thought it was magic.
"that was my husband, sort of," she said.
"I don't think I want to go again," I said.
"why not?"
"first, I'm 48. second, it's kind of like fucking in the waiting room
of a bus station."
she laughed. "I'm what you guys call a 'whore.' I must fuck 8 or ten
guys a week, at least."
"that sure doesn't help my cause."
"it helps mine."
"yeh."
we passed the bottle back and forth.
"you like to fuck women?"
"that's why I'm here."
"how about men?"
"I don't fuck men."
she pulled at the bottle. she must have taken a good one-quarter of it.
"maybe you'd like it in the ass? maybe you'd like a man to fuck you in
the ass?"
"you're talking crazy now."
she looked straight ahead. there was a little silver Christ on the
further wall. she kept looking at the little silver Christ on his cross. he
was very pretty.
"maybe you've been hiding it. maybe you want somebody to fuck you in
the ass."
"o.k., have it your way - maybe that's what I really want."
I got the corkscrew and pulled out the top of a new French wine,
meanwhile getting a bunch of cork and shit into the wine as I always did.
only a waiter in the movies could open a French wine without that trouble.
I took the first good gulp. cork and all. I handed her the bottle. her
leg had dropped away. she had a fish-like look on her face. She took a good
swallow.
I took the wine back from her. the little splints of cork didn't seem
to know where to go in the bottle. I got rid of some of them.
"you want me to fuck you in the ass?" she asked.
"WHAT?"
"I can DO it!"
she got out of bed and went to the top drawer of the dresser and
strapped this belt around her waist and then faced me ---and there, looking
at me, was this BIG celluloid cock.
"ten inches!" she laughed, pushing out her belly, jutting the thing
toward me, "and it never gets soft and it never wears out!"
"I liked you better the other way."
"you don't believe my big brother is Jaime Bravo the great
bullfighter?"
there she was standing there with this celluloid cock on, asking me
about Jaime Bravo.
"I don't think Bravo could cut it in Spain," I said.
"could you cut it in Spain?"
"hell, I can't cut it in Los Angeles. Now please take that ridiculous
artificial cock off-"
she unhooked the thing and put it back in the top dresser drawer.
I got out of bed and sat in a straight-backed chair, drinking the wine.
she found another chair, and there we sat across from each other, naked,
passing the wine.
"this reminds me somehow of an old Leslie Howard movie, although they
wouldn't shoot this part. wasn't Howard in the Somerset Maugham thing? OF
HUMAN BONDAGE?"
"I don't know those people."
"that's right. you're too young."
"did you like this Howard, this Maugham?"
"they both had style. plenty of style. but, somehow, with both of them,
hours or days or years later, you felt gypped, finally."
"but they had this thing you call 'style'?"
"now you're learning."
then I got back into bed. she came on in. I tried it again. I couldn't
make it.
"you suck?" I asked.
"sure."
she took it in her mouth and got it out of me.
I gave her another five, dressed, took another drink of wine, and made
it down the stairway, across the street to the gas station. the battery was
fully-charged. I paid the attendant and then backed on out, hit up 8th ave.
a cop on the bike finally gave up and tailed after a Jap who made a sudden
left turn without blinkers or hand signal on Wilshire blvd. they deserved
each other.
when I got to my place the woman was asleep and the little girl wanted
me to read to her from a book called BABY SUSAN'S CHICKEN. it was terrible.
Bobby found a cardboard carton for the chicks to sleep in. he set it in a
corner behind the kitchen stove. and Bobby put some of Baby Susan's cereal
in a little dish and set it carefully in the carton, so the little chicks
could have some dinner, and Baby Susan laughed and clapped her fat little
hands.
it turns out later that the 2 other chicks are roosters and Baby Susan
is a hen, a hen who lays a most wondrous egg. I'll say. I put the little
girl down and went into the bathroom and let the hot water run into the tub.
then I got into the tub and thought, the next time I get a dead battery I'll
go to a movie. then I stretched out into the hot water and forgot
everything. almost.
===
**THE COPULATING MERMAID OF VENICE, CALIFORNIA**
The bar had closed and they still had to make the walk to therooming
house, and there it was --- the hearse had driven up across the street where
the Stomach Hospital was.
"I think this is THE night," said Tony "I can feel it in my blood, I
really can!"
"The night for what?" asked Bill.
"Look," said Tony, "we know their operation well by now. Let's get one!
What the fuck? You got the guts?"
"Whatsa matta? You think I'm coward because that runtysailor whipped my
ass?"
"I didn't say that, Bill."
"You're the coward! I can whip you, easy-"
"yeah. I know. I'm not talking about that. I say, let's grab a stiff
just for laughs."
"Shit! Let's grab TEN stiffs!
"Wait. You're drunk now. Let's wait. We know the operation.We know how
they operate. We been watching every night."
"And you're not drunk, eh? You wouldn't have the GUTS otherwise!"
"Quiet now! Watch! Here they come. They've got a stiff. Some poor guy.
Look at that sheet pulled over his head. It's sad."
"I am looking. And it is sad-"
"Okay, we know the operation: if it's just one stiff, they toss him in,
light their cigarettes and drive off. But if it's two stiffs, they don't
bother locking the hearse door twice. They're real cool boys. It's just old
stuff with them. If it's two stiffs, they just leave the guy on the roller
there behind the hearse, go in and get the other stiff, then toss them in
together. How many nights have we watched it?"
"I dunno," said Bill, "sixty, at least."
"Okay, now there's the one stiff. If they go back for another --- that
stiff belongs to us. You game for grabs if they go in for another stifff?"
"I'm game! I got double your guts!"
"okay, then, watch. We'll know in a minute-Oops, there they go! They're
going in for another stiff!" said Tony. "You game?"
"Game," said Bill.
They sprinted across the street and grabbed the corpse by the head and
feet. Tony had the head, that sad head wrapped so tight in the sheet, while
Bill grabbed the feet.
Then they ran across the street, the pure white sheet of the corpse
floating in the momentum --- sometimes you could see an ankle, an elbow, a
thigh of flesh, and then they ran it up the room- ing house front steps, got
to the door and Bill said, "Jesus Christ, who's got the key? Look, I'm
scared!"
"We don't have much time! Those bastards are gonna be out soon with the
other stiff! Throw him in the hammock! Quick! We gotta find a goddamned
key!"
They tossed the stiff into the hammock. It rocked back and forth in the
hammock under the moonlight.
"Can't we take the body back?" asked Bill. "Good God oh Mother o
Mighty, can't we take the body back?"
"No time! Too late! They'd see us. HEY! WAIT!" yelled Tony. "I found
the key!"
"THANK JESUS!"
They unlocked the door, then grabbed the thing on the hammock and ran
up the stairway with it. Tony's room was closest. second floor. There was
quite a bit of bumping with the corpse along the stairway wall and railing.
Then they had it outside Tony's door and stretched it out while Tony
looked for his door key. They got the door open, plopped the stiff on the
bed and then went to the refrigerator and got hold of Tony's cheap gallon of
muscatel, had half a waterglass full each, then refilled, came back to the
bedroom, sat down and
looked at the stiff.
"Do you suppose anybody saw us?" asked Bill.
"If they had, I think the cops would be up here by now."
"Do you think they'll search the neighborhood?"
"How can they? How can they go knocking on doors at this time of the
morning, asking, 'Do you have a dead body?'"
"Shit, I guess you're right."
"Sure, I'm right," said Tony, "still, I can't help wondering how those
two guys felt when they came back and saw the body gone? It must have been
kind of funny."
"Yeah," said Bill, "it musta been."
"Well, funny or not, we've got the stiff. There he is, right on the
bed."
They looked at the thing under the sheet, had another drink.
"I wonder when they begin to stiffen up? I wonder when they begin to
stink?"
"That rigor mortis takes a bit of time, I think," said Tony.
"But he'll probably begin to stink pretty soon. It's just like garbage
left in the sink. I don't think they drain the blood until they reach the
mortuary."
So, two drunks, they went on drinking the muscatel; they even forgot at
times about the body, and they spoke of those vague and important other
things in their rather inarticulate way. Then it was back to the body again.
The body was still there.
"What we gonna do with it?" asked Bill.
"Stand it up in the closet after it stiffens up. It seemed pretty loose
when we were carrying it. Probably died about a half and hour ago or so."
"So, okay, we stand it up in the closet. Then what do we do when it
starts to stink?"
"I never thought about that part," said Tony.
"Think about it," said Bill, pouring a good one.
Tony tried to think about it. "You know, we might go to jail for this.
If we get caught."
"Sure, so?"
"Well, I think we made a mistake, but it's too late."
"Too late," repeated Bill.
"So," said Tony, pouring a tall one, "if we are stuck with this stiff
we might as well have a look at him."
"Look at him?"
"Yeah, look at him."
"You got the guts?" asked Bill.
"I dunno."
"You scared?"
"Sure. No training in this sort of thing," said Tony.
"All right. You pull the sheet back," said Bill, "only fill my glass
first. Fill my glass, then pull the sheet back."
"Okay," said Tony.
He filled Bill's glass. Then walked over.
"All right," said Tony, "here GOES!"
Tony pulled the sheet straight back over the body. He kept his eyes
closed.
"Good GOD!" said Bill, "it's a woman! A young woman!"
Tony opened his eyes. "Yeah. Was young. Christ, look at that long
blonde hair, goes way down past her asshole. But she's DEAD! terribly and
finally dead, forever. What a shame! I don't understand it."
"How old you figure she was?"
"She doesn't look dead to me," said bill.
"She is."
"But look at those breasts! Those thighs! That pussy! That pussy: it
still looks alive!"
"Yeah," said Tony, "the pussy, they say: it's the first thing to come
and the last thing to go."
Tony walked over to the pussy, touched it. then he lifted a breast,
kissed the damned dead thing. "It's so sad, everything is so sad --- that we
live all our lives like idiots and then finally die."
"You shouldn't touch the body," said Bill.
"She's beautiful," said Tony, "even dead, she's beautiful."
"Yeah, but if she were alive she wouldn't even look at a bum like you
twice. You know that, don't you?"
"Sure! And that's just the point! Now she can't say, 'NO!'"
"What the hell are you talking about?"
"I mean," said Tony, "that my cock is hard. VERY HARD!"
Tony walked over and poured a glassful from the jug. Drank it down.
Then he walked over to the bed, began kissing the breasts, running his
hands through her long hair, and then finally kissingthat dead mouth in a
kiss from the living to the dead. And then he mounted.
It was GOOD. Tony rammed and jammed. Never such a fuck as this in all
his days! He came. Then rolled off, toweled himself with the sheet.
Bill had watched the whole thing, lifting the gallon muscatel jug in
the dim lamplight.
"Christ, Bill, it was beautiful, beautiful!"
"You're crazy! You just fucked a dead woman!"
"And you've been fucking dead women all your life --- deadwomen with
dead souls and dead pussies --- only you didn't know it!
I'm sorry, Bill, she was a beautiful buck. I have no shame."
playing, tubes all worn-out sitting there on that worn-down rug, ah my, the
MIRROR, and I'd be watching, and I'd say:
"Tito, it's in your ass. feel it?"
"oh yes, oh my yes - SHOVE! hey! where ya GOING?"
"now, Baby, you got it in front here, umm? feel it? big purple head,
like a snake singing arias! feel me love?"
"oooh, dahling, I think I'm gonna c-..HEY! where ya GOING?"
"Tito, I am back in your rumble seat. I am parting you in two. you
don't have a chance!"
"oooh god ooooh, HEY where ya GOING? get back in there!"
"I dunno."
"I dunno who I want to catch it. what can I do? I want you both, I
can't HAVE you both! And while trying to make up my mind I am in a terror of
demise and agony trying to hold it! doesn't anybody understand my
suffering?"
"no, just give it to me!"
"no, me, me!"
THEN THE BIG FIST OF THE LAW.
"bang! BanG! BANG!
"hey, what's going on in there?"
"nuttin'."
"nothing? what's all that moaning and hollering and screaming? it's
3:30 a.m. you've got four floors of people wide awake and wonderin-"
"please go away. my mother has a bad heart. you are terrorizing her.
and she's down to her last pawn."
"and YOU are too, buddy! In case you don't know, this happens to be the
Los Angeles Police Department-"
"christ, I'd have never guessed-"
"now you've guessed. o.k. open up or we'll kick it down!"
Tito and Baby ran into the far corner of the dining room, crouched and
shivering, holding, hugging their aging wrinkled and wino and insane bodies.
they were stupidly lovely.
"open up here, buddy, we been up here four times in the past week and a
half on the same call. you think we like to go around just throwing people
in jail just because it makes us feel good?"
"yeah."
"Captain Bradley says he doesn't care whether you are black or white."
"you tell Captain Bradley that I feel the same way."
I kept quiet. the two whores shivering and clutching their wrinkled
bodies by the corner lampshade. the bland and smothering silence of willow
leaves in a chickenshit and unkind winter.
they had gotten the key from the manager and the door was open 4 inches
but it was being held by the chain which I had on there. one of the cops
talked to me while the other pushed with a screwdriver, trying to work the
chain out of the slot-holder. I'd let the cop get it almost out, then I'd
push the end of the chain all the way back in. while standing there naked
with this hard-on.
"you are violating my rights. you need a search warrant to enter here.
you can't force entry just on your own behest. What the hell's wrong with
you guys."
"which one of those is supposed to be our mother."
"the one with the biggest ass."
the other cop almost had the chain off again. I pushed it back with my
finger.
"come on, let us in, we'll just talk."
"what about? the wonders of Disneyland?"
"no, no, you sound like an interesting man. we just want to come in and
talk."
"you must think I'm subnormal. if I ever get queer enough for bracelets
I'll buy them at Thrifty's. I'm not guilty of a damn thing but a hard-on and
a loud radio and you haven't asked me to shut either of them off."
"just let us in. all we want to do is talk."
"listen, you are attempting to break and enter without a permit. now,
I've got the best lawyer in town-"
"a lawyer? whatta you got a lawyer for?"
"I've used him for years - draft dodging, indecent exposure, rape,
drunk driving, disturbing the peace, assault and battery, arson ---all bad
raps."
"he won all those cases?"
"he's the best. now look, I'm giving you three minutes. either you stop
trying to force the door and leave me in peace of I'm getting him on the
phone. he won't like to be awakened at this time of the morning. he'll have
your badges."
the cops stepped back, a little way down the hall. I listened.
"you think he knows what he's talking about?"
"yes, I think he does."
They came back.
"your mother sure has a big ass."
"too bad you can't have it, eh?"
"all right, we're leaving, but you keep it quiet in there. we want that
radio off and all that moaning and hollering stopped."
"all right, we'll turn off the radio."
they left. what a pleasure to hear them leave. what a pleasure it was
to have a good lawyer. what a pleasure it was to stay out of jail.
I closed the door.
"all right, girls, they're gone. 2 nice young boys on the wrong path.
And now look!"
I looked down. "it's gone, all gone away."
"yes, it's all gone." said Baby. "where does it go? it's so sad."
"shit," said Tito, "it looks like a dad little vienna sausage."
I walked over and sat in a chair, poured a wine. Baby rolled us 3
cigarettes.
"how's the wine?" I asked.
"down to 4 bottles."
"fifths or gallons?"
"fifths."
"jesus, we gotta get lucky."
I picked up a 4 day old newspaper. read the funnies. then went to the
sports section. while I was reading, Tito came on over, dropped down to the
rug. I felt her working. she had a mouth like one of those toilet plungers
that unstopped toilets. I drank my wine and puffed at my cigarette.
they'd suck your brains out if you let them. I think they did it to
each other when I wasn't around.
I got to the horse page. "look here," I told Tito, "this horse cut
fractions of 22 and one fifth for the quarter, he's 44 and 4/5ths for the
half, then one o nine for 6 furlongs, he must have thought it was a 6
furlong race---"
vurp virp slooom
vissaaa ooop
vop bop vop bop vop
"---it's a mile and a quarter, he's trying to sprint away from these
routers, he's got 6 lengths turning the last curve and backing up, the horse
is dying, he wants to be back in the stable---"
sllllurrrp
sllurrrr vip vop vop
vip vop vop
"now check the jock --- if it's Blum he'll win by a nose; if it's
Volske he'll win by 3/4's of a length. it's Volske. he wins by 3/4's a bet
down from 12 to 8. all stable money, the public hates Volske. they hate
Volske and Harmatz. so the stables use these guys 2 or 3 times a meet on the
goodies to keep the public off. if it weren't for these two great riders, at
the right time, I'd be down on East 5th Street ---"
"oooh, you bastard!" Tito lifted her head and screamed, knocked the
newspaper out of my hand. then went back to work. I didn't know what to do.
she was really angry. then Baby walked over. Baby had very good legs and I
lifted her purple skirt and looked at the nylons. Baby leaned over and
kissed me, gave me the tongue down the throat. I got my palm on her haunch.
I was trapped. I didn't know what to do. I needed a drink. 3 idiots locked
together. o moaning and the flight of the last bluebird into the eye of the
sun, it was a child's game, a stupid game.
first quarter, 22 and 1/4, the half in 44 and 1/5, she smoked it out,
victory by a head, Calif. Rain of my body. figs broken lovely open like
great red guts in the sun and sucked loose while your mother hated you and
your father wanted to kill you and the backyard fence was green and belonged
to the Bank of America. Tito smoked it out while I fingered Baby.
then we seperated, each waiting the bathroom's turn to wipe the snot
from our sexual noses. I was always last. I came out and took one of the
winebottles and went over to the window and looked out.
"Baby, roll me another smoke."
we were on the top floor, the 4th. Floor, high up on a hill. but you
can look out on Los Angeles and get nothing, nothing at all. all those
people down there sleeping, waiting to get up and go to work. it was stupid.
Stupid, stupid and horrible. we had it right: eye, say, blue on green
staring deeply through shreds of beanfields, into each other, come.
Baby brought me the cigarette. I inhaled and watched the sleeping city.
we sat and waited on the sun and whatever there was to be. I did not like
the world, but at cautious and easy times you could almost understand it.
I don't know where Tito and Baby are now, if they are dead or what, but
those nights were good, pinching those high-heeled legs, kissing nylon
knees. all that color of dresses and panties, and making the L.A. Police
Force earn the green.
Spring or flowers or Summer will never be like that again.
-charles bukowski -
from the books: The Most Beautiful Woman in Town and Erections,
Ejaculations, Exhibitions and General Tales of Ordinary Madness
===
A CAT IN THE ASS
"Dear Mr. Bukowski:
Why don't you ever write about politics or world affairs?"
M.K.
"Dear M.K.:
What for? Like, what's new? --- everybody knows the bacon is
burning."
our raving takes place quite quietly while we are staring down at the
hairs of a rug --- wondering what the shit went wrong when they blew up the
trolley full of jellybeans with the poster of Popeye the Sailor stuck on the
side.
that's all that matters: the good dream gone, and when that's gone it's
all gone. the rest is horseshit games for the Generals and money-makers,
speaking of which --- I see where another U.S. bomber full of H-bombs fell
out of the sky again --- THIS time into the sea while SUPPOSEDLY protecting
my life. the State Dept. says the H-bombs were "unarmed," whatever that
means. then we continue to read where one of the H-bombs (lost) had split
open and was spreading radioactive shit everywhere while supposedly
protecting me WHILE I hadn't even asked for protection. the difference
between a Democracy and a Dictatorship is that you don't have to waste your
time voting.
getting back to the H-bomb dropout --- a little while back the same
thing happened off the coast of SPAIN. (we are everywhere, protecting me.)
again the bombs get lost --- careless little toys. it took them 3 months ---
if I remember properly --- to find and lift that last bomb out of there. it
may have been 3 weeks but to the people in that coast town it must have
seemed 3 years. that last bomb --- the god damned thing had gotten itself
wedged on the edge of a sandhill far down in the sea. and everytime they
tried to hook the thing, so tenderly, it would shake loose and roll a little
further down the hill. meanwhile, all the poor people in that coast town
were tossing in their beds at night wondering if they'd be blown to hell,
courtesy of the Stars and Stripes. of course, the U.S. State Dept. issued a
state ment saying the H-bomb had no detonation fuse, but meanwhile the rich
had left for other parts and the American sailors and townspeople looked
very nervous. (after all, it the things couldn't blow up what were they
flying them around for? might as well carry 2-ton salamis. fuse means
"spark" or "trigger," and "spark" can come from any where, and "trigger"
means "jolt" or any similar action that will set off the firing mechanism.
NOW the terminology is "unarmed," which sounds safer but is the same thing.)
anyhow, they hooked at the bomb but as the saying goes, the thing seemed to
have a mind of its own. then a few undersea storms came about and our lovely
little bomb rolled further and further down its hill. the sea is very deep,
much deeper than our leadership.
finally, special equipment was designed just to haul bomb-ass and the
thing was pulled from the sea. Palomares. yes, that's where it happened:
Palomares. and you know what they did next? ---
the American Navy had a BAND CONCERT in the town park in celebration of
finding the bomb - if the thing wasn't dangerous they were really cutting
loose. yes, and the sailors played the music together, one big sexual and
spiritual release. whatever happened to the bomb they pulled out of the sea,
I don't know, nobody (except the few) knows, and the band played on. while
1,000 tons of radio- active Spanish topsoil was shipped to Aiken, S.C. in
sealed containers. I'll be the rent is cheap in Aiken, S.C.
so now our bombs are swimming and sinking, chilled and "un- armed"
about Iceland.
so what do you do when you've got the people's minds on something not
so good? easy, you get their minds on something else. they can only think
about one thing at a time. like, all right, head line of Jan. 23, 1968: B-52
CRASHES OFF GREENLAND WITH H-BOMBS; DANES IRKED. Danes irked? oh, mother!
anyhow, suddenly, Jan. 24, headline: NORTH KOREANS SEIZE U.S. NAVY
SHIP.
oh boy, patriotism is back! why, those dirty bastards! I thought THAT
war was over! ah ha, I see --- the REDS! Korean puppets!
it says under the A.P. wirephoto, something like this --- the U.S.
intelligence shop Pueblo --- formerly an army cargo ship, now converted into
one of the Navy's secret spy ships equipped with electric monitoring gear
and oceanographic equipment was forced into Wonsan Harbor off the coast of
North Korea.
those dirty Red bastards, always fucking around!
but I DID notice that the lost H-bomb story got shoved into a small
space: "Radiation Detected at B-52 Crash Site; Split Bomb hinted."
we are told that the president was awakened between 2 a.m. and 2:30
a.m. and told of the capture of the Pueblo.
I presume he went back to sleep.
the U.S. says the Pueblo was in international waters; the Koreans say
the shop was in territorial waters. one country is lying, one is not.
then one wonders, what good is a spy ship in international waters? it's
like wearing a raincoat on a sunny day.
the closer you can get on in, the better your instruments pick up.
headline: Jan. 26, 1968: U.S. CALLS UP 14,700 AIR RESERVISTS.
the lost H-bombs off Iceland have completely disappeared from print as
if it had never happened.
meanwhile:
Sen. John C. Stennis (D.-Miss.) said Mr. Johnson's decision (the call-
up of Air Reserves_ was "necessary and justified" and added, "I hope he will
not hesitate to mobilize ground reserve components as well."
Senate minority leader, Richard B. Russell (D.-Ga.): "In the last
analysis, this country must get the return of that ship and the men that
were seized. after all, great wars have started from much less serious
incidents than this."
House Speaker John W. McCormack (D.-Mass.): "The American people have
to wake up to the realization that communism is still bent on world
domination. there is too much apathy about it."
I think that if Adolph Hitler were around now he would pretty much
enjoy the present scene.
what's there to say about politics and world affairs? the Berlin
Crisis, the Cuban crisis, spy planes, spy ships, Vietnam, Korea, lost H-
bombs, riots in American cities, starvation in India, purge in Red China?
are there good guys and bad guys? some that always lie, some that never lie?
are there good governments and bad governments? no, there are only bad
governments and worse governments. will there be a flash of light and heat
that rips us apart one night while we are screwing or crapping or reading
the comic strips or pasting blue-chip stamps into a book? instant death is
nothing new, nor is mass instant death new. but we've improved the product;
we've had these centuries of knowledge and culture and discovery to work
with; the libraries are fat and crawling and overcrowded with books; great
paintings sell for hundreds of thousands of dollars; medical science is
transplanting the human heart; you can't tell a madman from a sane one upon
the streets, and suddenly we find our lives, again, in the hands of the
idiots. the bombs may never drop; the bombs might drop. eeney, meeney,
miney, mo-
now if you'll forgive me, dear readers, I'll get back to the whores and
the horses and the booze, while there's time. if these contain death, then,
to me, it seems far less offensive to be responsible for your own death than
the other kind which is brough to you fringed with phrases of Freedom and
Democracy and Humanity and/or any of all that Bullshit.
first post, 12:30. first drink, now. and the whores will always be
around. Clara, Penny, Alice, Jo-
eeny, meeney, miney, mo-
===
swastika
The President of the United States of America entered his car,
surrounded by his agents. He sat in the back seat. It was a dark and
unimpressive morning. Nobody spoke. They rolled away and the tires could be
heard on a street still wet from the preceding night's rain. The silence was
more unusual than it had ever been before.
They drove along a while and then the President spoke:
"Say, this isn't the way to the airport."
His agents didn't answer. A vacation had been scheduled. Two weeks at
his private home. His plane was waiting at the airport.
It began to drizzle. It looked as if it might rain again. The men,
including the President, were dressed in heavy overcoats; hats; it made the
car seem very full. Outside, the cold wind was steady.
"Driver," said the President, "I believe you're on the wrong course."
The driver didn't answer. The other agents stared straight ahead.
"Listen," said the President, "will somebody tell that man the way to
the airport?"
"We're not going to the airport," said the agent to the President's
left.
"We're not going to the airport?" the President asked.
The agents were again quiet. The drizzle became rain. The driver turned
the wipers on.
"Listen, what is it?" asked the President. "What's going on here?"
"It's been raining for weeks," said the agent next to the driver. "It
gets depressive. "I'll certainly be glad to see a little sunshine."
"Yes, me too," said the driver.
"Something's wrong here," said the President, "I demand to know-"
"You are no longer in a position to demand," said the agent to the
President's right.
"You mean?-"
"We mean," said the same agent.
"Is it to be an assassination?" asked the President.
"Hardly. That's old-fashioned."
"Then what-"
"Please. We have orders not to discuss anything."
They drove for some hours. It continued to rain. Nobody spoke.
"Now," said the agent to the President's left, "circle again, then turn
in. We're not being followed. The rain has been very helpful."
The car circled the area, then turned up a small dirt road. It was
muddy and now and then the tires spun, slipped, then gripped again and the
car went on. A man in a yellow raincoat held a flashlight and directed them
into an open garage. It was an isolated area with many trees. A small
farmhouse sat to the left of the garage. The agents opened the car doors.
"Get out," they told the President. The President did so. The agents
kept the President carefully between them, although there wasn't a human
within miles except for the man with the flashlight and the yellow raincoat.
"I don't see why we couldn't have done the whole thing here," said the
man in the yellow raincoat. "It certainly seems much riskier the other way."
"Orders," said one of the agents. "You know how it is. He's always gone
a lot on intuition. He does so now, more than ever."
"It's very cold. Do you have time for a cup of coffee? It's ready."
"That's good of you. It's been a long drive. I presume the other car is
all ready to go?"
"Of course. It's been checked again and again. Actually, we're about
ten minutes ahead on the timetable. That's one reason I suggested the
coffee. You know how he is about precision."
"O.K., then, let's go in."
Keeping the President carefully between them, they entered the
farmhouse.
"You sit there," one of the agents told the President.
"It's good coffee," said the man in the yellow raincoat, "hand-ground."
He walked around with the pot. He poured himself one, then sat down,
still in the yellow raincoat, only the headpiece thrown on the stove.
"Ah, it is good," said on of the agents.
"Cream And sugar?" one of them asked the President.
"All right," he said-
There wasn't much room in the old car but they all managed to get in,
with the President again in the back seat-The old car also slipped in the
mud and rutholes but made it to the road. Again, it was a silent ride most
of the way. Then one of the agents lit a cigarette.
"Damn it, I just can't stop smoking!"
"Well, it's a hard thing to do, that's all. Don't worry about it."
"I'm not worried about it. Just disgusted with myself."
"Well, forget all that. This is a great day in History."
"I'll say so!" said the one with the cigarette.
Then he inhaled-
They parked outside an old roominghouse. It continued to rain. They sat
there some moments.
"Now," said the agent next to the driver, "get him out. It's clear.
Nobody on the streets."
They walked the President between them, first through the front door,
then up 3 flights of steps, always keeping the President between them. They
stopped and knocked at 306. The signal: one knock, pause, two knocks-
The door was opened and the men quickly pushed the President inside.
The door was then locked and bolted. Three men were waiting inside. Two were
in their 50's. The other sat in an outfit that consisted of an old laborer's
shirt, 2nd-hand trousers that were too large and ten dollar shoes, scuffed
and unpolished. He sat in a rocker in the center of the room. He was in his
80's but he smiled-and the eyes were those same eyes; the nose, the chin,
the forehead hadn't changed much.
"Welcome, Mr. President. I've waited a long time on History and Science
and You, and all have arrived, on schedule, today-"
The President looked at the old man in the rocker. "Great God! You're-
you are-"
"You've recognized me! Others of your citizens have made jokes about
the similarity! Too stupid to even realize that I was-"
"But it was proven that-"
"Of course, it was proven. The bunkers: April 30th, 1945. We wanted it
that way. I've been patient. Science was with us but at times I had to speed-
up History. We wanted the right man. You are the right man. The others were
too impossible --- too alienated from my political philosophy- You are far
more ideal. By working through you it will be easier. But as I said, I had
to speed-up the reel of History a bit-my age-I had to-"
"You mean-?"
"Yes. I had your president Kennedy assassinated. And then, his brother-
"
"But why the 2nd assassination?"
We had information that that young man would have won the presidential
election."
"But what are you going to do with me? I've been told that I'm not to
be assassinated-"
"May I introduce Drs. Graf and Voelker?"
The two men nodded at the President and smiled.
"But what is going to happen?" asked the President.
"Please. Just a moment. I must question my men. Karl, how did it go
with The Double?"
"Fine. We phoned from the farm. The Double arrived at the airport on
schedule. The Double announced, that due to weather conditions, he was
canceling the flight until tomorrow. Then The double announced that he would
take a pleasure drive-that it pleased him to be driven about in the rain-"
"And the rest?" asked the old man.
"The Double is dead."
"Fine. Let's get on with it then. History and Science have arrived on
Time."
The agents began walking the President toward one of the two operating
tables. They asked him to disrobe. The old man walked to the other table.
Drs. Graf and Voelker climbed into their medical gowns and made ready for
the task-
The young-looking of the 2 men arose from one of the operating tables.
He dressed himself in the President's clothing, then walked to the full-
length mirror on the north wall. He stood for a good 5 minutes. Then he
turned.
"It is miraculous! Not even any operating scars-no recuperating period.
Congratulations, gentlemen! How do you do it?"
"Well, Adolph," answered one of the doctors, "we've come a long way
since-"
"WAIT! I am never to be addressed as 'Adolph' again-until the proper
time, until I say so!-Until then, there will be no German spoken-I am now
the President of the United States of America!"
"Yes, Mr. President!"
Then he reached and touched above his upper lip:
"But I do miss the old mustache!"
They smiled.
Then he asked:
"And the old man?"
"We've placed him in the bed. He will not awaken for 24 hours. At this
moment-everything-all appendages of the oper- ation have been destroyed,
dissolved. All we need do is walk out of here," said Dr.Graf. "But-Mr.
President, it is my suggestion that this man be-"
"No, I tell you, he's helpless! Let him suffer as I have suffered!"
He walked over to the bed and looked down at the man. A white-haired
old man in his 80's.
"Tomorrow I'll be in his private home. I wonder how his wife will enjoy
my lovemaking?" he gave a small laugh.
"I'm sure, mein Fuhrer-I'm sorry! Please! I'm sure, Mr. President, that
she will enjoy your love-making very much."
"Let's leave this place, then. The doctors first, to go their way.then
the rest of us-one or two at a time-a transfer of cars, then a good night's
sleep at the White House."
The old man with the white hair awakened. He was alone in the room. He
could escape. He got out of the bed in search of his clothing and as he
walked across the room he saw an old man in a full-length mirror.
No, he thought, oh my god, no!
He raised an arm. The old man in the mirror raised an arm. He moved
forward. The old man in the mirror enlarged. He looked down at his hands ---
wrinkled, and not his hands! And he looked down at his feet! They weren't
his feet! It wasn't his body!
"My God!" he said aloud, "OH MY GOD!"
Then he heard his voice. It wasn't even his own voice. They'd
transferred the voice box also. He felt his throat, his head with his
fingers. No scars! No scars anywhere. He got into the old man's clothing and
ran down the stairway. At the first door he knocked on the door was marked
"Landlady."
The door opened. An old woman.
"Yes, Mr. Tilson?" she asked.
"'Mr. Tilson?' Lady, I am the President of the United States of
America! This is an emergency!"
"Oh, Mr. Tilson, you're so funny!"
"Look, where's your telephone?"
"Right where it has always been, Mr. Tilson. Just to the left of the
entrance door."
He felt in his pockets. They had left him change. He looked into the
wallet. $18. He put a dime in the phone.
"Lady, what's the address here?"
"Now, Mr. Tilson, you know the address. You've lived here for years!
You're acting very strange today, Mr. Tilson. And I want to tell you
something else!"
"Yes, yes- what is it?"
"I want to remind you that your rent is due today!"
"Oh, lady, please tell me the address here!"
"As if you didn't know! It's 2435 Shoreham Drive."
"Yes," he said into the phone, "cab? I want a cab at 2435 Shoreham
Drive. I'll be waiting on the first floor. My name? My name? All right, my
name is Tilson-"
It's no use going to the White House, he thought, they have that
covered-I'll go to the largest newspaper. I'll tell them. I'll tell the
editor everything, everything that happened-
The other patients laughed at him. "See that guy? The guy that kinda
looks like that dictator-fellow, what'-his-name, only a lot older. Anyhow,
when he came in here a month ago he claimed that he was the President of the
United States of America. That was a month ago. He doesn't say it too much
now. But he sure likes to read the newspapers. I never saw a guy who was so
eager to read a newspaper. He does know a lot about politics, though. I
guess that's what drove him crazy. Too much politics."
The dinner bell rang. All the patients responded. Except one.
A male nurse walked up to him.
"Mr. Tilson?"
There wasn't any answer.
"Oh-yes?"
"It's time to eat, Mr. Tilson!"
The old white-haired man rose and walked slowly toward the patients'
dining room.
-charles bukowski -
from the books: The Most Beautiful Woman in Town and Erections,
Ejaculations, Exhibitions and General Tales of Ordinary Madness
===
**Trouble with a Battery**
I bought her a drink and then another drink and then we went up the
stairway behind the bar. there were several large rooms there. she had me
hot. sticking her tongue out at me. and we played all the way up the
stairway. I took the first one, standing up, inside the door. she just slid
back her panties and I put it in.
then we went into the bedroom and there was some kid in the other bed,
there were two beds, and the kid said, "hello."
"it's my brother," she said.
the kid looked real thin and vicious, but then almost everybody in the
world looked vicious when you thought about it.
there were several bottles of wine along the headboard. they opened a
bottle and I waited until they both drank from the bottle, then I tried
some.
I threw a ten on the dresser.
the kid really drank at the wine.
"his big brother is the great bullfighter, Jaime Bravo."
"I've heard of Jaime Bravo, he fights mostly out of T.," I said,
"but you don't have to give me any bullshit."
"o.k.," she said, "no bullshit."
we drank and talked for some time, just small easy talk. and then she
turned out the lights and with the brother there in the other bed, we did it
again. I had my wallet under her pillow.
when we finished she hit the light and went to the bathroom while her
brother and I passed the bottle. while the brother wasn't looking I wiped
off on the sheet.
she came out of the bathroom and she still looked good, I mean after
two shots at it, she still looked good. her breasts were small but firm;
what there was of them really jutted. and her ass was big, big enough.
"why did you come to this place?" she asked, moving toward the bed. she
slid in beside me, pulled up the sheet, pulled from the bottle.
"I had to get my battery charged across the street."
"after that one," she said, "you'll need a charge."
we all laughed. even the brother laughed. then he looked at her:
"is he all right?"
"sure he's all right," she said.
"what's all that?" I asked.
"we have to be careful."
"I don't know what you mean."
"one of the girls was almost murdered up here last year. some guy
gagged her so she couldn't scream and then took a pen knife and cut these
crosses all over her body. she almost bled to death."
the brother dressed very slowly, then left. I gave her a five. she
threw it on the dresser with the ten.
she passed the wine. it was good wine, French wine. you didn't gag.
she put her leg up against mine. we were both sitting up in bed. it was
very comfortable.
"how old are you?" she asked.
"damn near half a century."
"you can sure go, but you look real beat-up."
"I'm sorry. I'm not very pretty."
"oh no, I think you're a beautiful man. didn't anybody ever tell you?"
"I'll bet you say that to all the men you fuck."
"no, I don't."
we sat there a while, passing the bottle. it was very quiet except that
you could hear a little music from the bar downstairs. I passed into a kind
of dream-trance.
"HEY!" she yelled. she jammed a long fingernail into my bellybutton.
"ow! god damn!"
"LOOK at me!"
I turned and looked at her.
"what do you see?"
"a fine-looking Mexican-Indian girl."
"how can you see?"
"what?"
"how can you see? you don't open your eyes. you keep your eyes in
little slits. why?"
it was a fair question. I took a good pull at the French wine.
"I don't know. maybe I'm afraid. afraid of everything. I mean, people,
buildings, things, everything. mainly people."
"I'm afraid too," she said.
"but your eyes are open. I like your eyes."
she was hitting the wine. hard. I knew those Mexican-Americans. I was
waiting for her to get nasty.
then there was a rapping on the door that damn near shitted me out. it
was flung open, viciously, American-style, and there was the bartender - big
red brutal banal bastard.
"ain't you through with that son of a bitch yet?"
"I think he wants some more," she said.
"do you? asked Mr. Banal.
"I think so," I said.
his eyes eagled over to the money on the dresser and he slammed the
door. a money society. THEY thought it was magic.
"that was my husband, sort of," she said.
"I don't think I want to go again," I said.
"why not?"
"first, I'm 48. second, it's kind of like fucking in the waiting room
of a bus station."
she laughed. "I'm what you guys call a 'whore.' I must fuck 8 or ten
guys a week, at least."
"that sure doesn't help my cause."
"it helps mine."
"yeh."
we passed the bottle back and forth.
"you like to fuck women?"
"that's why I'm here."
"how about men?"
"I don't fuck men."
she pulled at the bottle. she must have taken a good one-quarter of it.
"maybe you'd like it in the ass? maybe you'd like a man to fuck you in
the ass?"
"you're talking crazy now."
she looked straight ahead. there was a little silver Christ on the
further wall. she kept looking at the little silver Christ on his cross. he
was very pretty.
"maybe you've been hiding it. maybe you want somebody to fuck you in
the ass."
"o.k., have it your way - maybe that's what I really want."
I got the corkscrew and pulled out the top of a new French wine,
meanwhile getting a bunch of cork and shit into the wine as I always did.
only a waiter in the movies could open a French wine without that trouble.
I took the first good gulp. cork and all. I handed her the bottle. her
leg had dropped away. she had a fish-like look on her face. She took a good
swallow.
I took the wine back from her. the little splints of cork didn't seem
to know where to go in the bottle. I got rid of some of them.
"you want me to fuck you in the ass?" she asked.
"WHAT?"
"I can DO it!"
she got out of bed and went to the top drawer of the dresser and
strapped this belt around her waist and then faced me ---and there, looking
at me, was this BIG celluloid cock.
"ten inches!" she laughed, pushing out her belly, jutting the thing
toward me, "and it never gets soft and it never wears out!"
"I liked you better the other way."
"you don't believe my big brother is Jaime Bravo the great
bullfighter?"
there she was standing there with this celluloid cock on, asking me
about Jaime Bravo.
"I don't think Bravo could cut it in Spain," I said.
"could you cut it in Spain?"
"hell, I can't cut it in Los Angeles. Now please take that ridiculous
artificial cock off-"
she unhooked the thing and put it back in the top dresser drawer.
I got out of bed and sat in a straight-backed chair, drinking the wine.
she found another chair, and there we sat across from each other, naked,
passing the wine.
"this reminds me somehow of an old Leslie Howard movie, although they
wouldn't shoot this part. wasn't Howard in the Somerset Maugham thing? OF
HUMAN BONDAGE?"
"I don't know those people."
"that's right. you're too young."
"did you like this Howard, this Maugham?"
"they both had style. plenty of style. but, somehow, with both of them,
hours or days or years later, you felt gypped, finally."
"but they had this thing you call 'style'?"
"now you're learning."
then I got back into bed. she came on in. I tried it again. I couldn't
make it.
"you suck?" I asked.
"sure."
she took it in her mouth and got it out of me.
I gave her another five, dressed, took another drink of wine, and made
it down the stairway, across the street to the gas station. the battery was
fully-charged. I paid the attendant and then backed on out, hit up 8th ave.
a cop on the bike finally gave up and tailed after a Jap who made a sudden
left turn without blinkers or hand signal on Wilshire blvd. they deserved
each other.
when I got to my place the woman was asleep and the little girl wanted
me to read to her from a book called BABY SUSAN'S CHICKEN. it was terrible.
Bobby found a cardboard carton for the chicks to sleep in. he set it in a
corner behind the kitchen stove. and Bobby put some of Baby Susan's cereal
in a little dish and set it carefully in the carton, so the little chicks
could have some dinner, and Baby Susan laughed and clapped her fat little
hands.
it turns out later that the 2 other chicks are roosters and Baby Susan
is a hen, a hen who lays a most wondrous egg. I'll say. I put the little
girl down and went into the bathroom and let the hot water run into the tub.
then I got into the tub and thought, the next time I get a dead battery I'll
go to a movie. then I stretched out into the hot water and forgot
everything. almost.
===
**THE COPULATING MERMAID OF VENICE, CALIFORNIA**
The bar had closed and they still had to make the walk to therooming
house, and there it was --- the hearse had driven up across the street where
the Stomach Hospital was.
"I think this is THE night," said Tony "I can feel it in my blood, I
really can!"
"The night for what?" asked Bill.
"Look," said Tony, "we know their operation well by now. Let's get one!
What the fuck? You got the guts?"
"Whatsa matta? You think I'm coward because that runtysailor whipped my
ass?"
"I didn't say that, Bill."
"You're the coward! I can whip you, easy-"
"yeah. I know. I'm not talking about that. I say, let's grab a stiff
just for laughs."
"Shit! Let's grab TEN stiffs!
"Wait. You're drunk now. Let's wait. We know the operation.We know how
they operate. We been watching every night."
"And you're not drunk, eh? You wouldn't have the GUTS otherwise!"
"Quiet now! Watch! Here they come. They've got a stiff. Some poor guy.
Look at that sheet pulled over his head. It's sad."
"I am looking. And it is sad-"
"Okay, we know the operation: if it's just one stiff, they toss him in,
light their cigarettes and drive off. But if it's two stiffs, they don't
bother locking the hearse door twice. They're real cool boys. It's just old
stuff with them. If it's two stiffs, they just leave the guy on the roller
there behind the hearse, go in and get the other stiff, then toss them in
together. How many nights have we watched it?"
"I dunno," said Bill, "sixty, at least."
"Okay, now there's the one stiff. If they go back for another --- that
stiff belongs to us. You game for grabs if they go in for another stifff?"
"I'm game! I got double your guts!"
"okay, then, watch. We'll know in a minute-Oops, there they go! They're
going in for another stiff!" said Tony. "You game?"
"Game," said Bill.
They sprinted across the street and grabbed the corpse by the head and
feet. Tony had the head, that sad head wrapped so tight in the sheet, while
Bill grabbed the feet.
Then they ran across the street, the pure white sheet of the corpse
floating in the momentum --- sometimes you could see an ankle, an elbow, a
thigh of flesh, and then they ran it up the room- ing house front steps, got
to the door and Bill said, "Jesus Christ, who's got the key? Look, I'm
scared!"
"We don't have much time! Those bastards are gonna be out soon with the
other stiff! Throw him in the hammock! Quick! We gotta find a goddamned
key!"
They tossed the stiff into the hammock. It rocked back and forth in the
hammock under the moonlight.
"Can't we take the body back?" asked Bill. "Good God oh Mother o
Mighty, can't we take the body back?"
"No time! Too late! They'd see us. HEY! WAIT!" yelled Tony. "I found
the key!"
"THANK JESUS!"
They unlocked the door, then grabbed the thing on the hammock and ran
up the stairway with it. Tony's room was closest. second floor. There was
quite a bit of bumping with the corpse along the stairway wall and railing.
Then they had it outside Tony's door and stretched it out while Tony
looked for his door key. They got the door open, plopped the stiff on the
bed and then went to the refrigerator and got hold of Tony's cheap gallon of
muscatel, had half a waterglass full each, then refilled, came back to the
bedroom, sat down and
looked at the stiff.
"Do you suppose anybody saw us?" asked Bill.
"If they had, I think the cops would be up here by now."
"Do you think they'll search the neighborhood?"
"How can they? How can they go knocking on doors at this time of the
morning, asking, 'Do you have a dead body?'"
"Shit, I guess you're right."
"Sure, I'm right," said Tony, "still, I can't help wondering how those
two guys felt when they came back and saw the body gone? It must have been
kind of funny."
"Yeah," said Bill, "it musta been."
"Well, funny or not, we've got the stiff. There he is, right on the
bed."
They looked at the thing under the sheet, had another drink.
"I wonder when they begin to stiffen up? I wonder when they begin to
stink?"
"That rigor mortis takes a bit of time, I think," said Tony.
"But he'll probably begin to stink pretty soon. It's just like garbage
left in the sink. I don't think they drain the blood until they reach the
mortuary."
So, two drunks, they went on drinking the muscatel; they even forgot at
times about the body, and they spoke of those vague and important other
things in their rather inarticulate way. Then it was back to the body again.
The body was still there.
"What we gonna do with it?" asked Bill.
"Stand it up in the closet after it stiffens up. It seemed pretty loose
when we were carrying it. Probably died about a half and hour ago or so."
"So, okay, we stand it up in the closet. Then what do we do when it
starts to stink?"
"I never thought about that part," said Tony.
"Think about it," said Bill, pouring a good one.
Tony tried to think about it. "You know, we might go to jail for this.
If we get caught."
"Sure, so?"
"Well, I think we made a mistake, but it's too late."
"Too late," repeated Bill.
"So," said Tony, pouring a tall one, "if we are stuck with this stiff
we might as well have a look at him."
"Look at him?"
"Yeah, look at him."
"You got the guts?" asked Bill.
"I dunno."
"You scared?"
"Sure. No training in this sort of thing," said Tony.
"All right. You pull the sheet back," said Bill, "only fill my glass
first. Fill my glass, then pull the sheet back."
"Okay," said Tony.
He filled Bill's glass. Then walked over.
"All right," said Tony, "here GOES!"
Tony pulled the sheet straight back over the body. He kept his eyes
closed.
"Good GOD!" said Bill, "it's a woman! A young woman!"
Tony opened his eyes. "Yeah. Was young. Christ, look at that long
blonde hair, goes way down past her asshole. But she's DEAD! terribly and
finally dead, forever. What a shame! I don't understand it."
"How old you figure she was?"
"She doesn't look dead to me," said bill.
"She is."
"But look at those breasts! Those thighs! That pussy! That pussy: it
still looks alive!"
"Yeah," said Tony, "the pussy, they say: it's the first thing to come
and the last thing to go."
Tony walked over to the pussy, touched it. then he lifted a breast,
kissed the damned dead thing. "It's so sad, everything is so sad --- that we
live all our lives like idiots and then finally die."
"You shouldn't touch the body," said Bill.
"She's beautiful," said Tony, "even dead, she's beautiful."
"Yeah, but if she were alive she wouldn't even look at a bum like you
twice. You know that, don't you?"
"Sure! And that's just the point! Now she can't say, 'NO!'"
"What the hell are you talking about?"
"I mean," said Tony, "that my cock is hard. VERY HARD!"
Tony walked over and poured a glassful from the jug. Drank it down.
Then he walked over to the bed, began kissing the breasts, running his
hands through her long hair, and then finally kissingthat dead mouth in a
kiss from the living to the dead. And then he mounted.
It was GOOD. Tony rammed and jammed. Never such a fuck as this in all
his days! He came. Then rolled off, toweled himself with the sheet.
Bill had watched the whole thing, lifting the gallon muscatel jug in
the dim lamplight.
"Christ, Bill, it was beautiful, beautiful!"
"You're crazy! You just fucked a dead woman!"
"And you've been fucking dead women all your life --- deadwomen with
dead souls and dead pussies --- only you didn't know it!
I'm sorry, Bill, she was a beautiful buck. I have no shame."