Читать книгу The Pleasures of the Damned - Charles Bukowski - Страница 44

my telephone

the telephone has not been kind of late,

of late there have been more and more calls

from people who want to come over and talk

from people who are depressed

from people who are lonely

from people who just don’t know what to do

with their time;

I’m no snob, I try to help, try to suggest something that

might be of assistance

but there have been more calls

more and more calls

and what the callers don’t realize is that

I too have

problems

and even when I don’t

it’s

necessary for me

sometimes

just to be alone and quiet and

doing nothing.

so the other day

after many days of listening to depressed and lonely people

wanting me to assuage their grief,

I was lying there

enjoying looking at the ceiling

when the phone rang

and I picked it up and said,

“listen, whatever your problem is or whatever it is you want,

I can’t help you.”

after a moment of silence

whoever it was hung up

and I felt like a man who had escaped.

I napped then, perhaps an hour, when the phone rang

again and I picked it up:

“whatever your problem is

I can’t help you!”

“is this Mr. Chinaski?”

“yes.”

“this is Helen at your dentist’s

office to remind you

that you have an appointment at

3:30 tomorrow

afternoon.”

I told her I’d be

there for her.