| sex, alcohol and the post office (final installment) |
charles bukowski
painting by james burkhart
painting by james burkhart
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| Chinaskis apt. Linda on the couch reading. Chinaski enters. He greets her, goes to the kitchen, makes a drink, joins her on the couch. Lites up a stogie. LINDA: You have a good day?. CHINASKI: No. Stone called me into his office. They want to suspend me for writing that column for balls. He said that writing pornography while working as a mailman for the postal service is a no-no. LINDA: Why dont you quit that stupid job? CHINASKI: Quit the post office? LINDA: Thats right. CHINASKI: Its a tempting thought. What about money. Im too old to be poor. LINDA: I/ll get a job. I/ll get a job and you can stay home and write. CHINASKI:Ive been thru that. Its a nice concept that generally fails to work out in practice. The woman works and the guy writes and she comes home after ten hours on the job with her ass in shreds and the pad looks like shit and there he is on the couch sucking a beer while chewing away on a stogie while watching cartoons on the tube and he sees her and says: Hi babe--whats for dinner? They sit. CHINASK: Any mail? LINDA: You got a letter. CHINASKI: Who from? LINDA: Looks like a fan letter. He perks up. CHINASK: How can you tell. LINDA: its the handwriting. You only get fan letters from lunatics and there is something about a lunatics penmanship that is easily identified. They write like they are trying to stab the paper to death. Chinaski takes the letter, rips it open. He starts to read. LINDA: Aloud please. CHINASKI: Dear Henry Chinaski: You dont know me but Im a cute bitch. Ive been going with sailors and this guy who is a truck driver but they dont satisfy me. We fuck but its nothing. Im 22 and have a 5 year old daughter, Aster. I live with a guy but theres no sex, we just live together. Almost every man these days is a fag. Its really difficult for a woman. I had a girlfriend who married a guy and she came home one day and found him in bed with another man. No wonder all the girls have to buy vibrators. Its rough shit. Id like to come see you. My mother could watch Aster. Enclosed is a foto of me. Ive read some of your books. I think they are great. Theyre easy to read and funny too. I gave one to my boss—It Runs Around the Room and Me. He didnt like it. He said it was cheap shit. He said you didnt know how to write. Yours, Tanya. Chinaski looks at the foto. Tanya is sitting on a couch with her legs up revealing the absence of panties. CHINASKI: She is a cute bitch. LINDA: Let me see that. He hands the picture over. CHINASKI: If I ever meet her boss I am going to take my typewriter and stick it up his ass--sideways. He roars. LIndea tears up the letter and foto. LINDA: This you dont need. CHINASKI: What the fuck! Why'd ya do that for? LINDA: Because I know you. You would call her. You love it when these dizzy twats write these scabby letters. And the dizzier the twat and the scabbier the tletter the more you love it. He sits without speaking, chewing on his stogie. Picks up the form and starts to work. Linda still steaming. LINDA: Theres a party tonite. CHINASK: Where? LINDA: At that guys place--whats his name--the surfer. The one you dont like. CHINASK: That covers a lot of territory. LINDA: I wanna go. Rolls his eyes. LINDA: And I am going. You can come with or you can stay here. Its up to you. CHINASKI: This has been one son of a bitch day for ultimatums. At the party. Small apt, filled with many people, drinking and dope and plenty of noise in the form of rock and roll from the stereo with the volume up high. There is dancing, including Linda and a young guy--the surfer, who is also a good dancer. And she too. She shakes that ass. They pump and grind away. Chinaski in a corner by himself, sucking on a beer. Linda joins him. She is pooped. LINDA: That was great. Chinaski sucks on his beer. LINDA: Why wont you dance with me? He groans. LINDA: Youre a stiff. Why? CHINASKI: Can we go? LINDA: No. Im having fun. She bumps and grinds to the music. The blonde kid comes up. They move to the center of the room and dance. Chinask goes to the kitchen, grabs a beer, out the back door and sits on the steps. He sucks on the beer while nipping from time to time from a half pint in his jacket. He gets up and goes to a bush and throws up. Sits back down on the steps. Continues drinking. He is joined by a young guy. YOUNG GUY: Youre Chinaski. CHINASKI: Thats right. YOUNG GUY: Im Bill. CHINASK: Hello Bill. BILL: That your girl in there dancing--the redhead? CHINASKI: Yeah. BILL: Shes a fox. CHINASKI: She is definitely a fox. BILL: I was in Germany last year. Your books were all over the place. Youre very big there. CHINASKI: I wish they would send me some royalties. He offers Bill a nip from the half pint. CHINASKI: You a writer, Bill? BILL: No. Im not talented. CHINASKI: Dont let that stop you. Linda appears. LINDA: What are you doing? I thought you left. CHINASKI: Id like to. This is Bill. Hes not a writer. He thinks youre a fox. LINDA: Are you going to sit out here and drink all nite? CHINASKI: I prefer that to watching you rub your pussy up against some blonde putz. LINDA: We were dancing--ya know. Its a custom--goes back a long way. CHINASKI: Pay attention Bill. This is important. You are observing woman in a favored role--the ballbuster. That is a woman who regularly and unfailingly obliges you to do numerous things she knows you do not want to do. Why you say? Because its their sincere belief that a relationship, in order to grow and flourish, depends on regular amounts of stimulation in the form of argument. They like to see flames shooting out of your ass. There is screaming and the mutual exchange of abuse. Then you go into the bedroom and fuck while muttering vows of love. Is this clear? Its the main point of my writing. LInda leaves. Chinaski stands. He takes a nip from the pint which he chases with a long drain from the beer. Turns to Bill. CHINASKI: the greatest men are the most alone. An office. Large desk with girl at typer. Chinaski walks up. He carries a manuscript which he deposits on desk. CHINASKI: Im chinaski. This is for Joe. She looks up. GIRL: Youre Chinaski? CHINASKI: Thats right. GIRL: I read your column every week. I think its great. CHINASKI: I think youre great. Got anything to drink? A woman enters. 40/42, built, good clothes, dark hair and eyes. CHINASKI: Hi Dee Dee. DEE DEE: Hank! CHINASKI: You work here? DEE DEE: Im dropping off some ads. CHINASKI: Wanna grab a drink? A house. Nice place. Big rooms with hi ceilings, tile floors, fireplace, etc. Furniture and other articles of interior design in the bolero or non-gringo style. Chinaski and Dee Dee on the couch drinking. DEE DEE: Youre becoming a famous dude. CHINASKI: Yeah. Who wouldve thought it? DEE DEE: I would. There was something about you. I always felt it. When I used to see you, first with Bernie and then with Jack. But you never noticed me. You were always sucking on a can of beer looking obsessed with something. CHINASKI: I was nuts. It was the post office. DEE DEE: You got a girlfriend? CHINASKI: Good question. We had a beef. The latest in a series. She accused me of numerous character defects such as alcoholism, sloth and poor grooming. I called her a bitch, a schizophrenic and an ignorant slut. Then things got ugly. The climax occured when she grabbed a pint of Vodka I was drinking and poured it into the sink. It was my last bottle. It was 2:30 AM and the liquor stores were closed. I became insane. There was a brief scuffle. I had my hands around her throat. She drove a knee into my balls and went for my eyes with her nails. She ran out the door. I followed. She got in her car. I stood in front. She placed the car in gear. I moved aside. She peeled off. Got the picture? DEE DEE: She sounds crazy. CHINASKI: She has her non-lucid moments. They had to lock her up once. She picked up a washing machine and threw it down a flight of stairs. DEE DEE: Now what? CHINASKI: She went to Utah. She has a sister threre. They have a big dance every year at this time. She never misses it. They sit and drink. DEE DEE: Im doing OK. The only thing missing is a good man. I look but I dont find. Where are they? She moves closer and smothers him with her tits. The pad. Chinaski on the couch with a drink and cigar, doping out the form. The phone rings. CHINASKI: Hello. LINDA: Its me. CHINASKI: Hi. LINDA: How are you doing? CHINASKI: OK. Hows Utah? LINDA: Its OK. I miss you. CHINASKI: I miss you. LINDA: I have an idea. Why dont you come here for a visit. CHINASKI: To Utah? LINDA: Yes. CHINASKI: What would I do there, LINDA: You would be with me. CHINASKI: Baby--Im a city boy. Nature confuses and frightens me. I have to be near a liquor store and a racetrack at all times. LINDA: Dont you miss me? CHINASKI: Yes. LINDA: Are you horny? CHINASKI: Yes. LINDA: You want me to squeeze your pimples? CHINASKI: Yes. LINDA: Then come to Utah. Utah. Night. A campsite in the woods. A small tent with Chinaski inside. They are in sleeping bags nose to nose. LINDA: Isnt this great? CHINASKI: You said it. I love going to bed at 8 o'clock. If I was in LA Id be at the track having a miserable fucking time. LINDA: tomorrow we/ll go horseback riding. I cant wait. The thought of you on a horse paralyzes the mind. I will pee my pants. CHINASKI: Yeah. I can see the headlines now. Henry Chinaski, Minor LA Poet, Dies in Utah Falling Off Non-moving Horse. They go to sleep. That is--Linda goes to sleep. Chinaski thrashing inside the sleeping bag. Begins to doze off. Loud buzzing noise from mosquito. He sits up. CHINASKI: Son of a bitch! He clicks on a flashlight. Aiming it around inside the tent. He spots the bug on the sleeping bag. Smashes at it with his fist— misses. Linda sits up. LINDA: Hank--for Christs sake. Its a mosquito. CHINASKI: I hate those sons of bitches! He tracks mosquito. It lands. He nails it. He beams. CHINASKI: I got that son of a bitch! Clicks off the flashlight. Thrashing around in the sleeping bag. Begins to doze. Another mosquito starts to buzz. Morning. Around the fire. There is Chinaski and Linda and Glendoline. Glendoline is 43/45. She is tall and fat. She is ugly as Chinaski. She wears levis, boots and a hat and a buckskin jacket in revolting shape. Chinaski sits on a rock. He is in a poor way. His eyes droop; his face is covered with vicious bites. His clothes are a mess. He has made one concession to nature in the form of a cheap windbreaker. He sucks on a beer. Glendoline stands. She holds a manuscript. GLENDOLINE: Im going to read a chapter from my novel. The novel is called The Wild Woman of the Mountains. She reads. (quote from novel; very bad) Later. Glendoline reading. (quote) Chinaski with a miserable look. GLENDOLINE: What do you think? CHINASKI: Its not bad, Gwendoline. But it needs some work. For one thing its infested with cliches. Theyre all over the place. You have to avoid those things like the plague. The readers sees a couple of those in a row and hes gone. The reader is a busy guy--he has many things he could be doing besides reading your book. You have to bear that in mind--always. Its a question of style. It always comes back to that. And that takes time. About ten years. GLENDOLINE: It takes ten years to write something like:"I drank a six pack and went down to the liquor store where I had run out of credit in spite of which I managed to beard Tony for some chips and sardines and a can of those tiny sausages and some cigars and a half pint of vodka", etc,etc. That takes ten years? CHINASKI: I see your point. Can we change the subject? She starts to scream. GLENDOLINE: I AM GOING TO BE GREAT! I AM GOING TO BE TRULY GREAT! NOBODY KNOWS HOW TRULY GREAT I AM GOING TO BE! CHINASKI: Im going for a hike. In the woods. Its a fine day. The sun shines, filtering down thru the trees to produce an ecstatic effect. Chinaski hikes along. The trail borders a stream. There are plants and flowers, nicely tended and tagged with elaborate descriptions to inform the botanically deprived. He hikes along. Enters a picnic area. He sits at a table and takes out a notebook and begins to scribble a poem. Hiking along. The stream leads to a small lake. The lake is fed from a splendid waterfall on the other side. The trail follows the edge of the lake. He hikes along. Now the trail begins to wander away from the lake. The lake disappears from view. He stops, cocks an ear to listen for the waterfall. He can hear it nearby. He leaves the trail and strikes out in that direction. Hiking along. The trees and bush thicken, the ground a nasty terrain of rock, branch and vine.Its dark. A few narrow rays of light poke thru. He picks his way along, none too surely. He trips and bops his head against a rock. He walks into a tree. He is stabbed by a bush. A swarm of flies and mosquitos appear for lunch. He swats at them viciously. He stops to cock an ear for the waterfall. No waterfall. NO waterfall, no lake, no trail. Hes lost. He starts to scream. LINDA! SWEETHEART! WHERE ARE YOU? WHERE AM I? IM LOST BABY! He continues on. Now the ground begins to soften. He is in a sort of swamp. He sinks in to his knees. CHINASKI: Jesus mother of fucking christ! He retreats to dry ground. Hikes along. The woods thin out. There is sky. He comes to a fence. Beyond the fence a sort of pasture. He studies the fence and beyond. No lions or water buffalos in sight. Over the fence. He walks along and comes to a road. Visibly relieved at this sight. He kneels and inspects the road for tire tracks which are present. Hikes along the road. Hiking along. A car in the distance. Car comes into view. Its Linda. He is ecstatic. CHINASKI: Baby I am so glad to see you! I got lost! I love you sweetheart! LINDA: I knew you would get lost. You got lost deliberately because you were pissed. CHINASKI: No sweetheart--my darling. I got lost out of fear and ignorance. I got lost because I am not a complete person. I am a stunted city person. I am a failed drizzling shit with nothing to offer. LINDA: Dont get me started on that one. The post office. Chinaski casing mail. Next to him is Felson. Felson is 65/67 and looks it and then some. He stands there in front of his case in a severe stoop. His shoulders are higher than his head. His face is lifeless.--the color of cement. The eyes are a couple of holes punchesd into the skull. The mouth is small and hard--without lips. He stands there with Chinaski casing the mail like a zombie. Chinaski having his problems. He is pale and standing there none too steadily. FELSON: Hank--you OK? CHINASKI: I feel dizzy. I been getting these fuckingd dizzy spells. FELSON: take a break. Get a drink of water. CHINASKI: Yeah. In the cafeteria. Chinaski draws a coke, goes to a table and sits. Black guy comes over, sits down with. BLACK GUY: Brother Hank! CHINASKI: Hello Handley HANDLEY: you OK? You look a little pale. CHINASKI; I been getting these dizzy spells. HANDLEY; You seen a medic? CHINASKI; Yeah-- He said im in great shape. Said I had the blood pressure of a 25 year old. HANDLEY; They always say that. They always say: you got the blood pressure of a 25 year old. Two weeks later you drop dead. Let me ask you a question: do you get these dizzy spells other places than the post office--like when you are at the track. Or do you just get them at work. CHINASKI; I only get them at work. HANDLEY; Theres your answer. Hank--I ever tell ya the story about this cook on this ship when I was in the merchant marine. It was a black guy. Me and him were the only black guys aboard. He used to tell me: dont eat the tapioca pudding. Why? Because he used to jerk off into it. Those white boys loved it! They used to ask him how he made it and he said he had his own secret recipe! CHINASKI: Thats a good one Handley. Back upstairs. Chinaski in front of his case FELSON: You feel better?. CHINASKI: yeah. FELSON: I covered for ya while you were gone. CHINASKI: Thanks Felson. They stand there casing mail like zombies. Now its Felson s turn. He falls to the floor. CHINASKI: Jesus Christ! Chinski bends down. Felson doesnt look good. He is lying there, face up with a frozen look in the eyes, blood draining from the face and a little drool beginning to leak from the mouth. CHINASKI: FELSON! Hey Felson! Hey someone give me a hand over here! An office. Small room with many filing cabinets. There is a desk with files. Two chairs also. Files on the floor. its files, files, files. Behind the desk a woman. Beside the desk Chinaski. WOMAN: What can I do for you Mr Chinaski? CHINASKI: I want to resign. WOMAN: Pardon me? CHINASKI: I want to resign from my job She gives him a look.Then some papers. Fills these out please. CHINASKI: All these? WOMAN: Yes. The office. Later. Chinaski hands the papers over. WOMAN: Youre done? That was fast. She looks thru papers. Looks at Chinaski WOMAN: May I ask a question. CHINASKI: Go ahead. WOMAN: Why are you resigning from the post office? CHINASKI: Its like this--madam. WOMAN: Betty. CHINAKSI: Its like this Betty. I dont know why I am resigning from the Post office. The fact I was standing there when George Felson nearly dropped dead the other day may be a factor. Also these dizzy spells. I dont know. I got my little expenses like everyone else--child support, the rent, shoes and socks, all that. A pint of vodka from time to time or a day at the track. There are sexual needs. Yet here I am. I walked over here like a piece of iron being drawn to a magnet. I didnt even think about it. Chinaskis apt. Linda on the couch reading. Chinaski enters. He greets her, goes to the kitchen, makes a drink, joins her on the couch. Lites up a stogie. LINDA: You have a good day? CHINASKI: I had a great day. I quit. LINDA: No shit. CHINASKI: Thats right. I am a free man. LINDA: Jesus. CHINASKI: I got some social security coming. $64 a month. They sit. LINDA: I think its great. Now you can just stay home and write. CHINASKI: What about money? LINDA: I/ll get a job. CHINASKI: Ive been thru that. Its a nice concept that generally fails to work out in practice. The woman works and the guy writes and she comes home after ten hours on the job with her ass in shreds and the pad looks like shit and there he is sitting on the couch watching cartoons on TV and he greets her and says: Hi babe-- whats for dinner? They sit. CHINASKI: Maybe I can get some sort of part time thing. Shipping clerk or some shit. I did that once. That wasnt bad. They give you this little gummed taped gadjet for applying labels and youre in business. There is about two hours actual work a day. I had a little office with my radio and the phone and I could sit there more or less anonomysly and work on my form. There was a coffee shop next door and when I got bored I/d walk down the alley and sit there and have a coffeee and come on with the waitresses. The truck drivers would come by and we would bullshit for a while and then walk back to the warehouse and throw a few boxes on or off the truck. I had this thing called a bill of lading they had to sign. That was it. LINDA: Dont worry about it. Something will come up. The pad. In the bedroom. Chinaski and Linda asleep. The room is dark but with some light from the windows beginning to creep in. The alarm goes off. Chinaski washes, reaches out and snaps off the clock. Linda wakes. LINDA: What the fuck...what time is it? CHINASKI: Go to sleep. LINDA: What? What are you doing? What time is it? CHINASKI: Its 5:30. Im getting up. LINDA: Why? CHINASKI: Im going for a job. LINDA: A job? CHINASKI: Go to sleep. Ill see you later. She rolls back over. LINDA: youre nuts... An office. Behind the desk a man. In front of the desk Chinaski. MAN: Thsis is a tough job. Its a young mans job. CHINASKI: I can handle it. I used to be in the ring. MAN: Oh yes? CHINASKI: Thats right. MAN: I follow boxing. I dont remember a fighter named Henry Chinaski. CHINASKI: I fought under a different name--Kid Stardust. MAN: I dont remember a fighter named Kid Stardust. CHINASKI: I fought in South America. MAN: How old are you? CHINASKI: 42. Im not young. I/ll go along with you there. But Im tough. Man studies Chinaski briefly. MAN: OK. I/ll give you a shot. Just remember something: if you dont make it, Im the one that looks like an asshole. A warehouse. On the loading dock. There is Chinaski wearing boots and a hardhat and a white smock splashed with blood. He stands in line with other men, who are dressed the same, in boots and hardhats and white smocks splashed with blood. The difference is that the other men are all spades, all in there 20's or early 30's, all huge. Chinaski, who is not small, is dwarfed by them. Work begins. The line melts away, some of the men dissapearing into the warehouse, the rest stringing themselves up and down the dock. Chinaski with another man is led to one end of the dock where a long semi awaits loading. Now other men come back out of the warehouse steering wheelbarrows filled with meat. Quarters of ham piled high in the wheelbarrows swimming in shallow pools of blood. Loading begins. Chinaski stands there at the edge of the dock while his partner goes into the truck while the guy behind the wheelbarrow snatches one of the quarters of ham and heaves it thru the air at Chinaski who catches it with his chest. It drives him back, then he pivots to relay it to the guy in the truck. He spins back just in time to catch another ham in the chest which drives him back and he pivots to relay it to the guy in the truck. Then he spins madly to catch the next ham already on the way. It goes on. The men are working smoothly, rythymically, blankly along playing catch with the hams. They concede nothing to Chinaski in spite of his age, feeble nerves and condition. They dont care if he makes it or drops dead on the spot. In fact they prefer the latter. They flick a casual glance from time to time to see how he is doing which is not good. He is splashed with blood from the meat, the sweat pouring off, watery eyes and a runny nose and a little green starting to creep in around the gills. It goes on. Ham after ham after ham. There are no breaks. The wheelbarrows are loaded up, unloaded and steered right back up relay style. Chinaski may or may not make it. The odds favor the meat. It goes on. Then it stops. There are no more wheelbarrows. Chinaski is wasted. He stands there covered with blood, grease and sweat. Now the foreman re-appears and grabs Chinaski and some of the other men and trots them off into the warehouse. Into a large room. Up near the ceiling at the far end of the room is a large openeing with a conveyer apparatus feeding into and out of it. There is a noise, the conveyor apparatus begins to roll and out of the opening pops the carcass of a steer. Knifing nastily thru the air right for Chinaski. The foreman points to Chinaski. FOREMAN: ALL RIGHT--YOU! SWING IT! CHINASKI: Swing it? FOREMAN: THATS RIGHT--DANCE WITH IT! Chinaski looks blank. The foreman rolls his eyes. FOREMAN: Oh for shits sake! George! A large spade comes forward, grabs the steer and performs a short routine. He runs forward, then backward, then forward again, bearing the steer down to spring it from the hook and runs it on out the door. Another steer pops out of the opening, knifing towards Chinaski. FOREMAN: You got it? CHINASKI: I got it. Chinaski grabs the steer. He runs forward, then backward, then forward again bearing the carcass down to spring it from the hook and runs it out the door. Out the door and back onto the loading dock and into another semi that awaits loading. Chinaski watches the man in front flick the carcass up and rip it down over a hook in the ceiling. Chinaski does the same. He hoists the carcass up and brings it down over the hook. The hook is quite dull and does not penetrate and the carcass slips off. He tries again. Heaves the carcass up and down over the hook. Same thing. The carcass slips off the hook. CHINASKI: Cocksucker! Behind him a large spade is waiting to hang his steer. Chinaski tries again. He hoists the carcass up and brings it down violently on the hook. The hook pokes thru. Chinaski hangs the steer and then hangs on to the steer sucking air. MAN (behind him): ID LIKE TA HANG THIS MEAT JIM! Chinaski trots off. Back into the large room for another steer, etc. It goes on. Chinaski is sinking. He is not going to make it. He knows it and everyone else knows it. The only question is when. Now there is a break. A catering truck pulls over with a few blasts on the horn and the men wander over. Chinaski is first in line. Coffee. The foreman walks over. FOREMAN: Chinaski. CHINASKI: Yeah? FOREMAN: Get that truck and move it over to stall 17. CHINASKI: What about my break? FOREMAN: What about it? CHINASKI: Id like it. FOREMAN: Id like that truck moved first. Chinaski goes to the truck--a large semi. The cab is 7 feet off the ground. He has a little trouble getting a leg up and a foot onto the step and himself pulled up and the door opened and the cab entered. Then he looks down at the floor into a nest of gear shifts and clutch pedals. He turns the key and hits one of the pedals and tries a gear shit that produces a ferocious grinding but no movement and then tries another combination with the same result and then tries another combination and the truck bucks forward and stalls. He restarts it and drives it over to stall 17. He parks, kills the motor and gets out of the truck. He misses the step and screams and falls to the ground. He gets up and walks back to the dock. The break is over. The lunch truck is gone. The men are back at work loading meat. A small warehouse. There are many cartons and boxes piled up and stenciled to tabulate contents within, mostly relating to art or drafting supplies, and many large canvas stretchers, easels, taborets, etc. Chinaski is standing talking to another man. MAN: When things are slow you can get yourself a cup of coffee at the cafe around the corner. But I want you here when the UPS comes. He usually gets here around 11. Dont miss that UPS guy. CHINASKI: OK MAN: Keep your squeegie rack filled. Keep a good supply of squeegies. CHINASKI: OK. MAN: Keep an eye peeled for winos. They hang out in the alley. They steal anything it comes out of your salary. CHINASKI: OK MAN: You got plenty of fragile labels? CHINASKI: Yeah. MAN: Dont be afraid to use them. I want this stuff packed good--especially the paints in glass. CHINASKI: OK. MAN: Today we have to fill an order for UCLA. They want three gallons of Cadmium Red light. I am giving them Vermillion instead. Why you dont need to know. The Vermillion is right there. He indicates a wagon stacked with gallon cans of paint. MAN: See these cadmium red light labels?. CHINASKI: yes. MAN: I want you to get a razor blade and soak the rag in water and apply it to the vermillion labels on the cans of paint and scrape them off and replace them with the cadmium red light labels. Can you do that? CHINASKI: Yes MAN: Good. He leaves. Later. Chinaski is sitting there scraping the vermillion labels off the cans of paint. A man comes over. He is 26/28, very fat and jumpy. MAN: You the new guy? CHINASKI: Yeah. MAN: Im Paul. CHINASKI; Hello Paul. Im Hank. Paul reaches into a coat pocket and brings out a handful of pills of different colors and sizes. PAUL: Want one? CHINASKI: No. PAUL: Go ahead. CHINASKI: No thanks. Paul drops 3 or 4. PAUL: Damn things. Some want to take me up, some want to take me down. I let em fight over me. CHINASKI: They say its not good. PAUL: You wanna come over my place after work toniite? CHINASKI: Ive got a woman. PAUL: I got something better. CHINASKI: Like what? PAUL: A reducing machine. My girlfriend bought it for me. We take pills and fuck on it. The machine does all the work. Its great. But you have to do it before ten o'clock because of the noise. It sounds like a washing machine. The people in the building think I am a real clean guy. Chinaski laughs. CHINASKI: You want me to come over and watch you and your girlfriend fuck on the machine? PAUL: No. You and I will fuck on the machine. CHINASKI: Who gets on top? PAUL: I can get on top or you can get on top. Either way is OK with me. CHINASKI: Thanks Paul--Im straight. PAUL: Its a great machine. Take a few pills, get on the machine and you forget everything. CHINASKI: I/ll pass Paul. PAUL: Suit yourself. He leaves. Bud returns. He is pushing another wagon with more paint. BUD: How ya doing? CHINASKI: OK. BUD: When you finish those you can do these. These are cobalt clue. Scrape off the cobalt blue and replace them with these ultramarine labels here. CHINASKI: OK Bud. The apartment. Linda and chinaski sitting around. LINDA: you got a letter--from Marionetti. Chinaski opens the letter, begins to read Hank: I got the stories and they are great. Its almost a novel. You have these characters of similar type—the drinking, screwing, horse playing type—to appear and reappear and they all share a common interest-- never to find a job. All thats needed is the insertion of a narrative line that ties everything together—the post office maybe. You know what I mean. I like that format and think it works for these stories. Give me your thoughts The poetry book is selling. I wouldnt say its flying off the shelves but its moving along steadily and for poetry that is something. I think eventually there will be a second printing. You are starting to establish a reputation of a particular kind—the small but demented following kind. In view of that I want to do a reading—maybe at the Palace of Fine Arts—a great venue. I can give you $400. I was in Europe—Paris and Germany and then down to Morocco to pay a call on Bill Lee. Bill is the same. Still writing and dicking young boys. He says hello. I could tell you about my new girlfriend but I will save it for later. She is 22, very sweet, very horny. I am 48, also horny but not so sweet. She doesnt care. She just wants to fuck. Her name is—get this—joy. Later, Larry LINDA: thats great! 400 bucks! CHINASKI: I would rather win at the track. They sit. LINDA: You wanna go out and eat? CHINASKI: I dont eat. You know that. He picks up paper, turns to the classified, begins to study the ads. LINDA: What are you doing? CHINASKI: Looking for a job. Heres one-- packer in a dog biscuit factory. Heres one--telephone sales for a condum co. Heres a good one--scraping wallpaper in condemned buildings. LINDA: Hank--forget it. A plane flight. Chinaski and Linda in their seats. LINDA: This is great. I cant wait to meet Marionetti. CHINASKI: I cant wait to get paid. LINDA: I wanna eat at this restaurant-- the New Pisa. Its great. They have these little rooms with a curtain. I was there once before. I was with a guy and we were standing at the bar and started talking to this guy and his wife. They were like 55 or 60, very nice. The guy was cute. We were talking about this and that and I asked him what he does. He says: Im a photographer. So I said: like what kind of photography? And he says mostly journalism--newspapers and magazines, etc. So I asked if I had ever seen any of his pictures. And he looked at me in a sort of humorous way and he says: have you ever heard of World War ll? I said yes. He said: there was a famous battle on an island in the Pacific called Iwo Jima. This battle led to a famous picture taken of some marines on a hill raising the American rican flag. I took that picture. She jabs Chinaski. LINDA: Isnt that great! He was that guy-- Rosenberg or Rosenstein. CHINASKI: Rosenthal. He signals to the Stewardess for a fresh round. LINDA: You nervous? CHINASKI: A little. LINDA: Just dont get loaded. I want a brilliant performance. CHINASKI: They dont give a shit. They just want me on the cross. LINDA: You call $500 for an hours work a cross? Youre some Christ! CHINASKI: I said I would never do this. I would never read in front of those bloodsuckers. Thats what killed Dylan Thomas. LINDA: No sweetheart. What killed Dylan Thomas was cirrhosis of the liver. You dont get it reading poetry for $500 a shot. San Francisco. In a coffee house. Of the type known as North Beach jive artiste. Many small tables featuring longhairs, tourists, white collar types, the odd neighborhood regular. On one wall a poster of Chinaski announcing the reading. Linda and Chinaski at a table. Linda eating a tart-- heavily crusted object filled with fruit and custard. She breaks off a piece, forks it, lifts to the mouth, opens wide, the jaws grind, she swallows, rolls her eyes. LINDA: This is fabulous! You want some? CHINASKI: No thanks. She forks another piece and sticks it in his face. LINDA: Take it. CHINASKI: I said no. LINDA: Take it! He eats. LINDA: Hank--these posters are great. CHINASKI: Yeah--the suck is on. They are joined by Marionetti. He is tall, early fifties, bald, a kindly face with plenty of con beaming from the eyes. MARIONETTI: Hi Hank. Chinaski greets him, stands, performs the intros. Marionetti sits. CHINASKI: Linda wants to hear about the good old days. MARIONETTI: We wrote and drank and sucked each others dicks. They got a story on you in todays Chronicle. I got it here. He produces paper, starts to read. (quote from blurb here) CHINASKI: Great. MARIONETTI: Not that we need it. We already got a sellout. Hows LA? CHINASKI: LA is LA. I quit my job at the Post Office. I am terrified. MARIONETTI: Dont worry about it. You can make it. Its like Jackie Mason says: "I got enough money to last the rest of my life--as long as I dont buy anything". A toilet. Chinaski puking into the bowl. He finishes puking and washes up.and joins Marionetti who waits outside. MARIONETTI: Hank--you OK? CHINASKI: Im OK. Its a nervous reaction. MARIONETTI: Youre gonna be great. Out on stage. There is the chair, the coffee table, the refrigerator. Marionetti walks out. Roaring applause. MARIONETTI: Good evening. My name is Marionetti. Aldous Huxley once said: Anyone can be a genius at 25; at 50 it takes some doing. I dont know if Henry Chinaski is a genius. The only thing I know is that when I read his poems and stories they make me laugh out loud. its the people. He writes about them in a certain way. Like he is interested in them. In the way they look and talk and eat and drink and screw. Its the real thing. There is no bullshit. Ladies and Gentleman: Henry Chinaski! Chinaski enters. The audience goes wild. He waits for the noise to subside. He goes to the fridge, opens it, draws a beer. CHINASKI: My girlfriend told me to keep the drinking to a minimum. I said the audience prefers me in a vulnerable state. True or no? Audience goes wild. He sits, opens his portfolio, withdraws a poem. CHINASKI:This one is called: some people. I remember writing this poem. It took me about 9 minutes. I said: that was easy. The next time I looked at it I still liked it. There was a meaningless quality about it that was reassuring. some people never go crazy. me, sometimes I/ll lie down behind the couch for 3 or 4 days, they/ll find me there. its hank they/ll say, and they pour wine down my throat rub my chest sprinkle me with oils. then, I/ll rise with a roar, rant, rage-- curse them and the universe as I send them scattering over the lawn. I/ll feel much better, sit down to toast and eggs, hum a little tune, suddenly become as lovable as a pink overfed whale. some peole never go crazy. what truly horrible lives they must lead. There is silence and then the room goes wild. Fierce, howling, whistling, barking, etc. The noise subsides. CHINASKI: This one is about a woman I used to know. We had some good times. Then we had some bad times. She turned against me. Why I know not. The point of this poem--I will help you out here--is that once a woman turns against you you can forget it. They are different then men in this way. They can watch you lying on the street under the wheels of a truck and spit on you. (poem) He finishes and the room goes wild. CHINASKI: Thank you. This is OK. Tomorrow I have to go back to LA and return to my normal way of living which you would in no way want to experience for yourself. This is a poem about writing. I get a lot of mail from people asking me how to become a writer. It works like this. You buy a typewriter and go into a room and you sit down at the typewriter and start writing. You stay in this room writing for ten years. When you come out of the room you are a writer. Guaranteed. You may be a good writer, a mediocre writer or a writer of no talent, not a shred. But you will be a writer. Later. Chinaski finishing poem to roaring applause, howling, barking, etc CHINASKI: Thank you. This is a poem about drinking. After a hard night of which you apply the Henry Chinaski hangover cure: two soft boiled eggs with a pinch of chili powder which you eat while drinking a warm beer. Then you pop a bennie. (poem) Finishes poem, crowd goes wild, he waits for noise to subside. CHINASKI: Thank you. I am going to read one more poem and drink two more beers. Then the reading is over. No encores. I want all you people to start passing the word about my books. I quit my job at the Post Office and writing is my major source of income. Plus whatever I can supplement via the track, ho ho. Reads poem. Audience goes wild. CHINASKI: That wraps it. Thank you very much. An apt. Room in an uproar with lacerating rock and roll erupting from the stereo and many people drinking and gibbering incoherently and more outside hammering at the door to be let in. They hammer and invoke Chinaskis name. Linda, Chinaski and Marionetti chatting. LINDA: My first husband had a big cock. But that was all he had. There was no personality--no vibes. He liked to watch TV and that was it. We had to arrange our lovemaking around the TV schedule. He was dull, dull, dull. Then I met a guy who was a track star. This one had no sex drive at all. He was into the high hurdles and coke. Then I met this guy and then I met that guy and then I met some other guy and if it wasnt one thing it was another. They have a drug problem or they have a drinking problem or they have no money or they chase other women or they dont change their underwear or they want free housekeeping or they cant leave their mnother or they spend 3 hours a day in front of the mirror in the bathroom performing their toilet. Its endless. Then I met Chinaski. I said to myself: maybe this is what I need--a bum. An old bum no one else wants. There was no problem in the vibes dept: the vibes were there in abundance. I had read his books so I knew all about the drinking and the horses and the whores and the cheap cigars and so on. I figured these were mere sypmptoms of loneliness growing out of a desperate need for love that I would surely overcome in time. And I think I was right. But I failed to anticipate something more serious. I refer to his typewriter. This is the only thing he truly cares about. The world and everything in it can be sucked right down into the sewer as long as Chinaski is left alone in a room with his typewriter. MARIONETTI: had the same problem with my second wife. We were walking along one day having a more or less routine beef and she said something quite profound by way of describing our relationship--or non-relationship. I was starting to lose my memory at the time and had developed the habit of writing little notes to myself when struck by a brilliiant thought. So I stopped and took out my notebook and made a brief entry. I knwew this was a fatal act but I did it anyway. She went thru the roof. She said: what the fuck are you doing? I said: nothing. She said: you are pathetic. You are fucking pathetic. The only thing that interests you about what I am saying is the use of it you will make in some future pathetic work. A woman who is drunk joins them and presses herself against Chinaski. Its Dee Dee. DEE DEE: Hi Hank. CHINASKI: Dee Dee. This is great. DEE DEE: Hank--I miss you. Why dont you call me? LINDA: Whos the bitch? DEE DEE: Is this Linda? CHINASKI: This is Linda. DEE DEE: Im lonely Hank. After you left I had an affair with a fag. It was horrible. Then I met a bullfighter. He beat me up. I could be good for you Hank--I know a lot of people. I had 3 records in the top 40 last week. Now Linda goes for Dee Dee. Chinaski steps between them and breaks it up. CHINASKI: Girls--please! Later. The party moving along. People come and go. The drinking is even. A small scuffle breaks out between two drunks. Chinaski breaks it up. CHINASKI: Leave the guy alone. DRUNK: Hes a fag. CHINASKI: Hes a fag who prints my poetry. DRUNK: I dont believe any of that shit Chinaski. All that shit about living on skid row and doing time and being tight with all the pimps and junkies, etc. CHINASKI: Just lucky, I guess. DRUNK: Bullshit. Now there is a sudden punching sound and the noise of exploding glass. Someone from the street has heaved a bottle thru the window. CHINASKI: All right--thats it. The party has terminated. Everyone out! Later. Chinaski in a chair nipping from a pint surveying the damage. Linda sits opposite. She looks at him without pleasure. LINDA: I think its over Hank. CHINASKI: Whats over? LINDA: This--me and you. CHINASKI: Why? LINDA: Im beginning to see a pattern. You have limited interests. There is no stimuli. You dont own a TV, you dont read the newspaper, you dont go to parties, movies, baseball games, parades, the beach. You dont take trips to scenic areas. You dont like restaurants. When we eat at a restaurant you keep your head down staring at your plate. You dont like shopping. When we shop I have to go inside and buy all the shit while you circle the parking lot in your car. It all points to a pathologic or socio-pathologic need to shun human contact. Yet you claim to be a writer. I thought a writer was a person with this insatiable curiosity about the people and the world around him. Your curiosity level is zero. A lizard living under a rock in the desert has more curiosity than you. Youre doing it backwards. CHINASKI: Thats why Im making it. LINDA: Making it! You think youre making it? CHINASKI: Im paying the fucking rent. To me thats making it. LINDA: Making it is becoming rich and famous. Youre not rich. Are you famous? If you walked down the street in New York would anybody recognize you? CHINASKI: No--and I wouldnt recognize them. And that is the way I hope to keep it. What you say is true: I have no curiosity. I dont like people. Will Rogers said he never met a person he didnt like. I never met a person I liked. I only want one thing--to be left alone. It seems a modest request. Now can we go to bed? LINDA: You go to bed. Im going back to LA. You want to be left alone--Im leaving you alone. You can wake up tomorrow morning magnificently alone with a big hard-on and flog it ecstatically all by yourself. Later. In the bedroom. Its dark. Chinaski in bed on his back snoring. Linda enters. She goes to the bed. Rips the covers off. She jumps up on top pinning him with her knees in his chest. He wakes. CHINASKI: What the fuck... LINDA: I/ll leave you alone--cocksucker. She screams and claws his face and sinks her teeth into his arm. They thrash on the bed. He gets a knee up and manages to dump her on the floor. Out of the bed skipping into the kitchen. There is a bottle of whisky on the table which he swipes and takes a drink and pours some into the hole in his arm. He goes to the bathroom and over to the mirror where he examines himself cautiously in the mirror. CHINASKI: GOD SAVE ME FROM THIS AND EVERY OTHER WEENIE-HATING BITCH IN THE WORLD WITH AN ENLARGED PUSSY! The pad. Chinaski on the couch doping out the form. Its hot. He is stripped to the waist with the fan going. His face still bears signs of the fight with Linda, also the arm which sports a bandage. Someone at the door--the mailman. He rises and goes to the door. CHINASKI: Wheres the regular guy? Mailman gives him an abused look. MAILMAN: Sick. CHINASKI: You wanna beer? MAILMAN: Thanks--I gotta deliver this mail. CHINASKI: Fuck the mail. I usta be a mailman. MAILMAN: That right? CHINASKI: Thats right. So when I say fuck the mail I say it with a certain amount of insight. You want that beer or no? Mailman enters. MAILMAN: Its a hot son of a bitch out there. He sets the bag down. Chinaski draws the beer, they sit. MAILMAN: What happened to your face? CHINASKI: I had a beef with my ex- girlfriend. MAILMAN: You look familiar now that you mention it. CHINASKI: I worked out of West Jefferson for 8 years, then Harvard central. MAILMAN: I worked West Jefferson. CHINASKI: There was Tom Moto, Bill Fleming, Big Daddy Horton, Connors. MAILMAN: Connors resigned. They caught him stealing. CHINASKI: No shit? Connors? The guy was like a fucking marine. He was Mr. Post Office. MAILMAN: Thats right. He was stealing from this Jap temple. Little old ladies were sending cash to this temple. But they werent getting any letters back thanking them for their contribution. Thats because Connors was stealing the money. So when the little old ladies called the temple to find out why they werent getting their thank you letters the temple called the Post Office to find out why they werent getting their money and the Post Office started keeping an eye on Connors and thats how the mystery of the dissapearing funds was solved. CHINASKI: I have alwasy said it is the perfectly groomed and impeccably dressed individual who performs his job in exemplary fashion who goes home at nite and there is human pus all over the floor. MAILMAN: So what are you--on disability? CHINASKI: No. I quit. The Post Office was beginning to interfere with my true vocation--playing the horses. MAILMAN: You make a living playing the horses? CHINASKI: I didnt say I made a living at it. Mailman stands: MAILMAN: I gotta go. Thanks for the beer. Chinaski shows him out. CHINASKI: Watch out for the woman at 345. She invited the regular guy in for coffee one day and the next thing he knows she is tearing her clothes off and screaming rape. Mailman rolls his eyes. Chinaski goes back to the couch, sits down to read his mail. He has one piece--a fan letter. Dear Henry Chinaski: Ive read some of your books. I work as a typist at a place on Cherokee Ave. I have a picture of you on the wall. Its a poster from one of your readings. People ask me--whos that? I say: thats my boyfriend. They say: my god! I was married once and got divorced. He was a stiff. All he did was work on his motorcycle. The sex was boring. He didnt like oral sex. Anyway I like the way you write and would like to meet you. I think we have a lot in common. Maybe we could have a drink. My phone number is 347-6754. They say I am stacked. Love, Tammy Chinaski sits for a minute, chewing on his stogie. He sucks from his beer. He gets up and goes to the kitchen. There is the table and the typer upon it. He sits and inserts a piece of paper intothe machine. Begins to type: I met Linda Vance at a party. She was a redhead. She was in the middle of the room dancing with a young blonde guy. Normally I didnt go to parties but there I was... THE END |