Read What Matters Most Is How Well You Walk Through the Fire Page 11


  told me

  when things get bad

  she’ll come and

  bring me

  lovely living

  angels.

  I phoned her

  an hour ago

  holding a

  sharp knife

  in my

  left hand.

  the phone service

  said

  they’d

  leave the

  message.

  Hollywood Ranch Market

  she was 32 years younger

  than I was

  with a body fit for the

  gods.

  it was 2:30 a.m.

  we’d lived together for

  8 months

  and she shook me,

  “Hank?”

  “yeah?”

  “I have to have some

  deep fried

  chicken gizzards!”

  “what? again?”

  “I’ve got to have them now!”

  “all right.”

  we got up and dressed.

  outside it was beginning to

  rain.

  we drove to the Hollywood

  Ranch Market.

  she ordered her

  deep fried

  chicken gizzards

  and I ordered an ear of corn

  and a roast beef

  sandwich.

  it was beginning to rain harder

  and as we waited

  a man without legs

  rolled up on a little platform

  he had an unforgettable face

  with black eyes and

  a large nose.

  he grabbed my woman around

  the calf of one of her

  legs

  with a hand the size of a

  table radio:

  “hey, Cleo, baby! how ya

  doin’?”

  “Beef-o!” she replied,

  “you son-of-a-bitch, how ya

  doing?”

  “great, baby, great! got a

  light?”

  Beef-o had a king-size Marlboro in his

  mouth.

  she bent over and lit him

  up as one of her breasts almost

  slipped out of

  her blouse.

  “you’re looking great, baby,

  great! who’s the guy? that your

  old man? hey, man, how ya doin’?”

  I bent over to shake and

  my hand vanished into his.

  after some more small talk

  Beef-o rolled off into the

  rain and she said,

  “can you wait a minute?

  I want to run down and see

  Billy John. Billy John’s just got one

  arm but he’s the neatest guy

  you ever met! be right back!”

  I paid for the orders

  and stood there in the rain

  holding the

  bags for 10 or 15 minutes.

  then Cleo came back,

  “Billy John’s not there, I

  don’t know what happened

  to Billy John…”

  back in bed we sat upright

  eating. I finished my corn

  and my sandwich. she put her

  gizzards down.

  “they just don’t taste right,

  they just don’t taste like they

  used to taste.”

  she stretched out.

  then her young lips parted

  red red red with lipstick.

  bits of chicken gizzard still

  clung to the corners

  of her mouth.

  she began to

  snore.

  I sat and listened to the rain

  then I switched out the

  light.

  I knew then that

  I had to get out of east Hollywood!

  they didn’t even bother to

  fix the streets

  anymore.

  rape

  the Free Verse Poets whispered

  that Julia only gave it to the

  Rhyming Poets, or at least

  she was always seen only with

  them.

  the Free Verse Poets put it into my head

  to go on over there and score

  one for Us.

  early on that 4th of July evening

  I had Julia up against the refrigerator

  trapped

  when this 19-year-old boy

  walked into the kitchen and asked,

  “hey, mom, what’s going on?”

  we were introduced and went into

  the other room. I poured the boy

  a half glass of Jack Daniels

  and watched his delicate lips

  pucker as he took little sips.

  that would teach him not to

  get in the way of his mother’s

  erotic life.

  then there was a knock on the

  door and in came Monzo the

  poet and his wife

  Denise. Denise hated me with

  a hatred

  much more powerful than

  Monzo’s poems.

  I figured the only way to

  accomplish my mission

  was to drink them all senseless:

  the son, Monzo, his wife and

  Julia. then

  I’d ravish Julia.

  I had brought along enough

  beer and whiskey

  to accomplish this.

  we drank and then the fireworks

  came on at the Los Angeles

  Coliseum

  and by standing at the window

  we could watch the show.

  everybody seemed delighted.

  “terribly dull shit,” I said.

  “Chinaski,” Monzo’s wife said,

  “you are so negative!”

  I placed my hand on Julia’s ass

  as we watched, I pinched her ass,

  fondled the crack.

  the boy was in the bathroom

  vomiting.

  then somebody said, “oh,

  my god!”

  some of the fireworks had fallen

  into the tall palm trees

  in the street outside

  and they were burning,

  one setting fire to another.

  “now,” I said, “there is something

  that is really beautiful!”

  “oh, Chinaski,” Monzo’s wife said,

  “you are such an obnoxious

  son-of-a-bitch!”

  the fire engines came and soon spoiled

  it for me. we sat down and drank some

  more.

  they talked. they used terms

  like lower-class, middle-class, upper-

  middle-class, upper-upper-class. they talked

  about personal communication. they talked about the

  environment and Dylan Thomas. they

  discussed communes and organic gardens.

  they spoke of Yoga. they talked about unstructured

  schools and about growing grass

  indoors with ultraviolet light. they talked

  about Tim Leary, Abbie Hoffman, Jerry Rubin,

  about the war in Vietnam and how they liked

  certain cartoonists like Robert Crumb.

  they talked about love-ins, they

  talked about smoke-ins. they talked about

  how everybody was fucking the American

  Indian. and they drank very little while I

  drank a great deal. I soon realized that

  they had decided to stick it out with Julia to

  keep her from being ravished.

  I finally gave up

  got back to my car

  and drove to my place on

  DeLongpre Avenue

  where I uncapped a beer

  lucked upon some Wagner

  on the radio

  and then my landlady in the back
/>
  came out and we went

  over to her place

  where we drank two quarts of Eastside beer

  one after the other

  while her old man

  in a white torn undershirt

  his head resting on the table

  slept peacefully.

  she talked about

  Catholicism

  (she went to mass every Sunday)

  and the horrors of

  hemorrhoids and gallstones

  (and operations for same)

  and in between we sang songs

  from the 30’s,

  Bing Crosby songs and the like,

  and when I left there at

  5 a.m.

  it was unclearly the 5th of July

  and I had forgotten all about

  my failure to ravish

  Julia.

  gone away

  they were not quite looking at one

  another nor were they trying to look

  away.

  they sat quietly on the uncomfortable

  metal chairs in the small

  glass-enclosed waiting room.

  there must have been

  13 or 14 of them

  men and women

  they looked neither

  comfortable nor uncomfortable

  as

  I stood there

  waiting for one of them

  to speak

  because

  I didn’t know which one

  was the one in charge.

  they were all in civilian clothes

  and finally I asked:

  “pardon me, but could somebody tell

  me which room Betty Winters is in?”

  “Betty Winters?” asked a man

  dressed completely in matching brown.

  I noticed he had a large ring of keys

  fastened to his belt.

  “yes,” I answered, “I’ve come to

  visit her. these are visiting hours,

  aren’t they?”

  there was no answer.

  the man in brown got

  out of his chair. he looked at

  a chart on the wall.

  “Betty Winters is in 303 only she’s

  not there. she took restricted

  leave.”

  the man in brown walked

  back to his chair and

  sat down.

  the other people had remained

  detached and motionless.

  I almost asked, “is she coming

  back?” but I already knew what

  the man in brown knew:

  if she didn’t return she was

  too insane to know she wasn’t

  sane enough

  and if she did return she was

  sane enough to know that she was

  insane.

  Betty Winters had asked me

  to come visit her that day.

  like most other afternoons

  it was a wasted afternoon

  for me.

  as I walked back down the hall

  a man ran along

  in front of me. he jumped

  and skipped

  as he ran along

  slapping at invisible marks on the

  wall with his hands. he

  never seemed to miss. suddenly he

  let out a shout

  darted into a side room and

  without looking back

  slammed the door

  behind him.

  note left on the dresser by a lady friend:

  WINE: at present you are buying about 60 bottles

  per month

  retailing at $5 a bottle

  which comes to a total of $300 a month

  (plus tax).

  if you can cut this down to 30 bottles a month

  (one bottle per night) and buy your wine

  by the case at 10% discount you will only spend

  $135. the amount saved will be approx. $165 per month

  or

  $1980 yearly!

  DINING OUT: at present you go out to eat about

  4 nights a week and it costs about $25 a night, including

  drinks, which comes to a total of $400 per month. cut

  your

  dining out to 2 nights a week and to about $20 each

  night

  (much less if you eat Chinese). this will come to

  about $160 a month (plus tips). the amount saved will be

  approx. $240 a month, or $2880 a year!

  TELEPHONE: at present you have been spending about

  $200 per

  month. this one’s easy: no more long distance calls! this

  will cut your expense in half. the amount saved will be

  $100 a month,

  or $1200 per year.

  RACETRACK: at present you are spending (losing)

  about

  $90 a week. Hank, you’ve just got to figure out

  a new betting system, for this comes to $360 per month!

  so my dear, by cutting down on wining, dining, long

  distance

  calls and losing at the track

  you will save approx. $865 a month, or

  get this:

  $10,380 per year! REALLY!

  get ready,

  get set,

  GO!

  legs

  Houdini was caught off guard

  by a kid

  who punched him in the belly

  before he was ready.

  he hadn’t inflated his air vest

  yet.

  the same thing happened to me

  at a party once:

  I told this big guy:

  “go ahead, hit me in the belly

  as hard as you can! I have abs of

  steel!”

  just then a young girl with beautiful

  legs

  crossed them

  and I caught a glimpse

  of miraculous thigh

  just as the big guy

  drove his fist straight through my

  stomach wall.

  the pain was almost tranquil

  and I couldn’t see

  then it got real bad

  and I lifted my drink

  and had some

  and a while later

  when I could talk

  I told the big guy:

  “now it’s my turn!”

  “yeah, right,” he said and vanished into

  the crowd.

  the girl with the beautiful legs

  left early

  with somebody else.

  later on that night

  I drank a pint of whiskey

  straight

  without stopping.

  there was really nothing else left

  for me

  to do, and I got a

  well-deserved

  smattering of

  applause.

  the artist

  “look,” I say, “you shouldn’t have broken in

  here, it’s just not done…”

  “why not? we waited out there for 2 hours.”

  “you’re taking a chance of getting sliced

  from gullet to asshole,” I tell him.

  “I often lay here in the dark

  and don’t want to be

  bothered…”

  “but I thought we were friends…”

  “you shouldn’t think. it’s harmful.”

  “Hank, I haven’t painted a thing this year.

  I’m hurting.”

  “that’s your dirty laundry. you’re living with your

  mother.

  she’ll powder your

  bunghole…”

  “you don’t like me, do you?”

  “you’re always talking about Art,”

  I tell him. “I don’t like Artists, I don’t like

  you, I don’t like most

  people, I don’t like door-knockers.

  I never knock on an
y man’s door;

  I expect the same.”

  “do you want me to leave?”

  “of course.”

  “do you have a five?”

  “I don’t carry fives.”

  “do you have a one?”

  “I don’t carry ones.”

  “do you have any small change?”

  “never carry it. holes in my pockets.”

  after he leaves I go into the kitchen and see where he

  and his

  girlfriend broke in. she had sat through the whole

  conversation

  with a 15 cent Mona Lisa smile on her

  face.

  I need two new hooks on

  the screen. then I go and check my hunting

  knife. might be better to gut him

  the next time he crawls

  through

  there.

  better for him, better for me,

  better for his mother,

  better for Art.

  revolt in the ranks

  I have just spent one-hour-and-a-half

  handicapping tomorrow’s

  card.

  when am I going to get at the poems?

  well, they’ll just have to wait,

  they’ll have to warm their feet in the

  anteroom

  where they’ll sit gossiping about

  me.

  “this Chinaski, doesn’t he realize that

  without us he would have long ago

  gone mad, been dead?”

  “he knows, but he thinks he can keep

  us at his beck and call!”

  “he’s an ingrate!”

  “let’s give him writer’s block!”

  “yeah!”

  “yeah!”

  “yeah!”

  the little poems kick up their heels

  and laugh.

  then the biggest one gets up and

  walks toward the door.

  “hey, where you going?” he is

  asked.

  “somewhere where I am

  appreciated.”

  then, he

  and the others

  vanish.

  I open a beer, sit down at the

  machine and nothing

  happens.

  like now.

  life of the king