Charles Bukowski - Short Stories Collection Part 18

"thank you."

I hung up. found an alka-seltzer, drank it out of a dirty gla.s.s.

then found a touch of wine. I opened the curtains and looked out at the sun. it was a hard world, no news there, but I hated skidrow. I like little rooms, little places to make some kind of fight from. a woman, a drink, but no day by day job. I couldn't put it together. I was not clever enough. I thought of jumping out the window but couldn't do it. I got dressed and went down to Tommi-Hi's. the girls were laughing down at the end of the bar with two guys. Marty the bartender knew me. I waved him off. no money. I sat there.

a scotch and water arrived in front of me. a note.

"meet me at the Roach Hotel, room 12, at midnight. I'll have the room for us.

love, Linda."

I drank the drink, got out of the way, tried the Roach Hotel at Midnight. the desk clerk said, "nothing doing. no room 12 reserved for a Bukowski." I came at one a.m. I'd been in the park all day, all night, sitting. same thing. "no room 12 reserved for you, sir."

"any room reserved for m under that name or under the name of Linda Bryan?"

"nothing sir."

"do you mind if I look into room 12?"

"there's n.o.body there, sir. I told you, sir."

"I'm in love, man. I'm sorry. please let me have a look!"

he gave me one of those looks reserved for 4th cla.s.s idiots, tossed me the doorkey.

"be back within 5 minutes or you're in trouble."

I opened the door, switched on the lights - "Linda!" - the roaches, seeing the light, all ran back under the wallpaper. there were thousands of them. when I put out the light you could hear them all crawling back out. the wallpaper, itself, seemed to be just a large roachskin.

I took the elevator back down to the desk clerk.

"thanks," I said, "you were right. n.o.body in room 12."

for the first time his voice seemed to take on some kind of kindness.

"I'm sorry, man."

"thanks," I said.

when I got outside the hotel I turned left, which was east, which was skidrow, and as my feet moved me slowly toward there I wondered, why do people lie? now I no longer wonder but I still remember, and now when they lie I almost know about it while they are doing it, but I'm stil lnot as wise as that desk clerk in the roach hotel who knew that the lie was everywhere, or the people who dove past my window while I was drinking port on warm afternoons in Los Angeles across from McArthur park, where they still catch, kill, eat the ducks, and, the people.

the hotel is still there and the room we stayed in and if you care to come by some day I will show it to you. but there's hardly sense in that, is there? let's just say that one night I f.u.c.ked or got f.u.c.ked by 3 women. and let that be story enough.

The Gut Wringing Machine Danforth hung the bodies up one by one after they had been wrung through the wringer. Bagley sat by the phones. "how many we got?"

"19, looks like a good day."

"s.h.i.+t, yeah, yeah. that sounds like a good day. how many did we place yesterday?"

"14."

"fair, fair. we-ll make it good if the way keeps up. I keep worrying they might quit the thing in Viet," said Bagley of the phones.

"don-t be foolish - too many people profit depend on that war."

"but the Paris Peace Conference-"

"you just ain-t yourself today, Bag. you know they just sit around and laugh all day, draw their pay and then make the Paree nightclubs each night. those boys are living good. they don-t want the Peace Conference to end anymore than we want the war to end.

we-re all getting fat, and not a scratch. It-s sweet. and if they settle the thing somehow by accident, there-ll be others. they keep hot points glowing all over the globe."

"yeah, I guess I worry too much." one of the three phones on the desk rang. Bagley picked it up. "SATISFACTORY HELP AGENCY. Bagley speaking."

he listened. "yeh, yeh. we got a good cost accountant. salary?

$300 the first two weeks, I mean a week. we get the first two weeks-pay. then cut him to 50 a week or fire him. If you fire him after the first two weeks, we give YOU one hundred dollars. why?

well, h.e.l.l, don-t you see, the whole idea is to keep things moving. It-s all psychological, like Santa Claus. when? yeah, we-ll send him right over. what-s the address? fine, fine, he-ll be there p.r.o.nto, remember all the terms. we send him with a contract. bye."

Bagley hung up. hummed to himself, underlined the address.

"get one down, Danforth, a tired, thin one, no use s.h.i.+pping out the best on the first shot."

Danforth walked over to the wire clothesline and took the clamps off the fingers of a tired, thin one.

"walk him over here. what-s his name?"

"Herman. Herman Telleman."

"s.h.i.+t, he don-t look so good. looks like he still got a little blood in him, and I can see some color in his eye-I think. listen, Danforthm you got these wringers running good and tight? I want all the guts squeezed out, no resistance at all, you understand? you do your job and I-ll do mine."

"some of these guys came in pretty tough, some men have more guts than others, you know that. you can-t always tell by looking."

"all right, let-s try him. Herman. hey, sonny!"

"what-s up pops?"

"how-d you like a nice little job?"

"ah, h.e.l.l no!"

"what? you don-t want a nice little job?"

"what the f.u.c.k for? my old man, he was from Jersey, he worked all his d.a.m.n life and after that we buried him with his own money, ya know what he had left?"

"what?"

"15 cents and the end of a drab dull life."

"but don-t you want a wife, a family, a home, respectability" a new car every 3 years?"

"I don-t want no grind, daddy-o, don-t put me in no flip-out cage. I just want to laze around. what the s.h.i.+t."

"Danforth, run this b.a.s.t.a.r.d through the wringer and make those screws tight!"

Danforth grabbed the subject but not before Telleman yelled "up your old mothers bunghole-"

"and squeeze ALL THE GUTS OUT OF HIM, ALL OF THE GUTS! do you hear me?"

"aw right, aw right!" answered Danforth. "s.h.i.+t, sometimes I think you got the easy end of the stick!"

"forget sticks! squeeze the guts out of him. Nixon might end the war-"

"there you go talking that nonsense again! I don-t think you been sleeping good, Bagley. something wrong with you."

"yeah, yeah, you-re right! insomnia. I keep thinking we should be making soldiers! I toss all night! what a business that would be!"

"Bag, we do the best with what we can, that-s all."

"aw right, aw right, you run him through the wringer yet?"

Danforth brought Herman Telleman back. he did look a bit different. all the color was gone from his eyes and he had on this utterly false smile. it was beautiful.

"Herman?" asked Bagley.

"yes, sir?"

"what do you feel? or how do you feel?"

"I don-t feel anything, sir."

"you like cops?"

"not cops, sir - policemen. they are the victims of our viciousa"

ness even though they at times protect us by shooting us, jailing us, beating us and fining us. There is no such thing as a bad cop. Policeman, pardon me. do you realize that if there were no policemen, we-d have to take the law into our own hands?"

"and then what would happen?"

"I never thought of that, sir."

"excellent, do you believe in G.o.d?"

"oh, yes sir, in G.o.d and Family and State and Country and honest labor."

"jesus christ!"

"what, sir?"

"sorry, now, here, do you like overtime on a job?"

"oh, yes sir! I would like to work 7 days a week if possible, and 2 jobs if possible."

"why?"

"money, sir, money for color tv, new autos, down payment on a home, silk pajamas, 2 dogs, an electric shave, life insurance, medical insurance, oh all kinds of insurance and college educations for my children if I have children and automatic doors on the garage and fine clothes and 45 dollar shoes, and cameras, wrist watches, rings, washers, refrigerators, new chairs, new beds, wall-to-wall carpeting, donations to the church, thermostat heating and-"

"all right. stop. when are you going to use all this stuff?"

"I don-t understand, sir."

"I mean, when you are working night and day and overtime, when are you going to enjoy these luxuries?"

"oh, there-ll be a day, there-ll be a day, sir!"

"and you don-t think your kids will grow up some day and just think of you as an a.s.shole?"

"after I-ve worked my fingers to the bone for them, sir! of course not!"

"excellent. now just a few more questions."

"yes, sir."

"don-t you think that all this constant drudgery is harmful to the health and the spirit, the soul, if you will-?"

"oh h.e.l.l, if I weren-t working all the time I-d just be sitting around drinking or making oil paintings or f.u.c.king or going to the circus or sitting in the park watching the ducks. things like that."

"don-t you think sitting around in the park watching the ducks is nice?"

"I can-t make any money that way, sir."

"o.k., f.u.c.k-off."

"sir?"

"I mean, I-m through talking to you."

"o.k., this one-s ready. Dan. fine job. give him the contract, make him sign it, he won-t read the fine print. he thinks we-re nice.

trot him down to the address. they-ll take him. I ain-t sent out a better cost accountant in months."

"Danforth had Herman sign the contract, checked his eyes again to make sure that they were dead, put the contract and the address in his hand, led him to the door and gave him a gentle push down the stairway.

Bagley just leaned back with an easy smile of success and watched Danforth run the other 18 through the wringer. where the guts went it was hard to see but almost every man lost his guts somewhere along the line. the ones labeled: "married with family" or "over 40" lost their guts easiest. Bagley leaned back as Danforth ran them through the wringer, he heard them talking: "it-s hard for a man as old as I am to get a job, oh, it-s so hard!"

"another one said:: "oh, baby, it-s cold outside."