Читать книгу The Bell Tolls for No One - Charles Bukowski - Страница 17

Iawakened in a strange bedroom in a strange bed with a strange woman in a strange town. I was up against her back and my penis was inserted into her cunt dog-fashion. It was hot in there and my penis was hard. I moved it a little and she moaned. She appeared to be asleep. Her hair was long and dark, quite long; in fact, a portion of it lay across my mouth—I brushed it away to breathe better, then stroked again. I felt hungover. I dropped out and rolled on my back and tried to reconstruct.

I had flown into town a few days earlier and had given a poetry reading . . . . when? . . . the night before. It was a hot town. Kandel had read there 2 weeks earlier. And just before that the National Guard had managed to bayonet a few folk on campus. I liked an action town. My reading had gone all right. I had opened a pint and gone on through it. The regents and the English dept. had backed down at the last moment and I had to go on backed by student funds.

After the reading there had been a party. Vodka, beer, wine, scotch, gin, whiskey. We sat on the rug and drank and talked. There had been one next to me . . . . long black hair, one tooth missing in the front when she smiled. That missing tooth had endeared me. That was it, and there I was.

I got up to get a drink of water. Nice place. Large. I saw two babies crawling in a crib. No, it was one baby. One was in the crib, crawling. The other was outside walking around naked. A clock said 9:45 a.m. Well, it didn’t say 9: 45 a.m. I went into the kitchen and sterilized a bottle and warmed some milk. I gave the baby the bottle and he went right at it. I gave the walking kid an apple. I couldn’t find any seltzer. There were 2 beers left in the refrigerator. I drank another glass of water and opened the beer. Nice kitchen. Nice young girl. Missing tooth. Nice missing tooth.

I finished the one beer, opened the other, cracked 2 eggs, put on chili powder and salt, and ate. Then I walked into the other room and this kid said, “I can see your Peter.” And I told him, “I can see your Peter too.” Over on the mantle I saw a letter, opened, addressed to a Mrs. Nancy Ferguson. I walked back into the bedroom, placed myself down behind her again.

“Nancy?”

“Yes, Hank?”

“I gave the kid a bottle, the other one an apple.”

“Thanks.”

“Your husband?”

My penis got hard again. I inserted it into her butt.

“We’re . . . . ouch!—go easy there! . . . we’re separated.”

“Did you like my reading?”

“Oooh, goddamn it! Easy there! Yes, the reading was great. I liked it better than Corso’s reading.”

“Corso? You’ve heard him? How about Kandel?”

“I missed the Kandel . . . .”

“I met Corso the other night,” I said.

“Ah, you’ve met him?—Please! It doesn’t feel bad, but go easy . . . . What was Corso like?”