" or in bed, I'd be sound asleep and all of a sudden this hand grabbing my string and nuggets, man, sound asleep in the middle of the night, these FINGERNAILS! "AH HA! I CAUGHT YOU! I CAUGHT YOU!" "you crazy bat, the next time you do that I SWEAR I AM GOING TO KILL YOU!" "for christ's sake, go to sleep-" so this night she just sat there screaming her jackoff accusa- tions. I just sat there and drank my wine and didn't deny anything. this made her angry, angrier. and angrier. finally she couldn't stand it, all her talk about jackingoff, I mean ME supposedly jackingoff and me just sitting there smiling at her, and she jumped up and ran out the door. I let her go. I sat there and drank my wine, port. same old stuff. I thought it over, umm, umm, well. then very leisurely I got up and took the elevator down,same old feeling of power. I was not angry. I was very calm. it was just the same old war. I walked on down the street but I didn't go to her favorite bar. why repeat the same play? you are a whore; I tried to make a woman out of you. balls. after a while a man could get to sounding pretty silly. so I went to another bar and sat down on a stool near the door. I ordered a drink and took a slug, set the timing down, and then I saw her. Vicki. she was at the other end of the bar. for some reason she looked scared shitless. but I didn't go on down. I just stared at her as if I didn't know her. then I noticed something next to me in one of those old fashioned fox furs. the dead fox's head hung down over her breast looking at me. the breast looked at me. "your fox looks like it needs a drink, sweetie" I told her. "it's dead; it don't need a drink. I need a drink or I'm gonna die." well, a nice guy like me. who am I to spread death? I bought her a drink, her name, she told me, was Margy. I told her that I was Thomas Nightengale, shoesalesman. Margy. all these women with names, drinking, crapping, having monthlies. fucking men. getting folded into walls. it was too much. we had a coupla more, and already she was in her purse, flash- ing the photo of her children, an ugly demented boy and a girl without any hair, they were in some dull place in Ohio, the father had understanding. oh, one of THOSE? and he brought these women in the house and screwed them in front of her with all the lights on. "ah, I see, I see," I said. "yes, of course, most men are beasts, they simply do not understand. and you're SUCH a sweetie, what the hell, it ain't right." I suggested we go to another bar. Vicki's ass was twitching and she was half Indian. we left her there. we went around the corner. we had one around the corner. then I suggested we go to my place. do a little eating. I mean, get something to cook, bake, fry. I didn't tell her about Vicki, of course. but Vicki always prided herself on her god damned baked chickens. maybe it was because she looked like one. a baked chicken with horse teeth. so I suggested we get a chicken, bake it, bathe it in whiskey. she did not demur. so. liquor store. 5th of whiskey. 5 or 6 quarts of beer. we found an all night market. the place even had a butcher. "we wanta bake a chicken," I said. "oh, christ," he said. I dropped one of the quarts of beer. it really exploded. "christ," he said. I dropped another to see what he would say. "oh, jesus," he said. "I want THREE CHICKENS," I said. "THREE CHICKENS?" "jesus christ, yes," I said. the butcher reached in and got three very white-yellow chick- ens with a few long black unplucked hairs that looked like human hairs on them and he wrapped them all up a big big bundle, all in pink tough paper with this real gripping tape, and I paid him and we got out of there. I dropped 2 more quarts of beer on the way. I rode up the elevator, feeling my power rising. when we got inside my door I lifted Margy's dress to see what was holding her stockings up. then I gave her a big chummy whiskey-goose with long-finger right hand. she screamed and dropped the big pink bun- dle. it fell on the rug and the 3 chickens came out. those 3 chickens, all white-yellow with their 29 or 30 drooling dropping murdered human hairs sticking to them looked very strange gaping there on that worn rug of yellow and brown flowers and trees and Chinese dragons, under electric lights in los angeles at the end of the world near 6th street under Union. "oooh, the chickens." "fuck the chickens." her garter belt was dirty. it was perfect. I goosed her again. well, shit, so I sat down and peeled the whiskey bottle, poured a couple of tall waterglasses full, took off my shoes stockings pants shirt, took one of her cigarettes. sat in my underwear. I always do that, right away. I like to be comfortable.. if the broad don't like it, fuck her. she can go. but they always stay. I got a manner. some broads say I should have been a king. others say other things. fuck 'em. she drank most of her drink and started for her purse. "I have some children in Ohio. they're lovely children-" "forget that. we've been through that stage. tell me, do you suck dick?" "what do you mean?" "OH, BALLS!" I smashed my glass against the wall. then I got another one, filled it up, and we drank some more. I don't know how long we worked on the whiskey but it must have gotten to me because the next thing I know I was laying on the bed naked. staring up at the electric light and Margy was standing there naked and she was rubbing my penis quite rapidly with her fox fur. and while she was rubbing she was saying over and over, "I am going to fuck you, I am going to fuck you-" "listen," I said. "I don't know if you can fuck me. I jacked-off in the elevator earlier this evening. I think it was about 8 o'clock." "I will fuck you anyhow." she really speeded up that fox fur. it was all right. maybe I could get one for myself. I once knew a guy who put raw liver in a long drinking glass and screwed that. me, I didn't like to stick my thing into anything that could break or slice. imagine going to a doctor with a bloody cock and saying it happened while screwing a water glass. once while I was bumming in a small town in Texas I saw this well-built wonderful fuck of a young broad married to this little shriveled up old dwarf with a nasty disposition and some kind of malady that made him trembly all over. she supported him and pushed him around in a wheelchair, and I used to think of him pouncing on all that good meat. I'd get a picture of it, you know, and then finally I got the story. when she had been a younger girl she had gotten this coke bottle stuck all the way into her snatch and just couldn't get the thing out and had to go to a doctor. he got it out, and somehow the story got out. she was ruined in that town after that, and didn't have sense enough to get out. nobody wanted her except the nasty dwarf with the shakes. he didn't give a damn - he had the best piece of ass in town. where was I? oh, yeah. her fox fur went faster and faster and I finally got something going just as I heard a key go into the door. oh, shit, it was probably Vicki! well, it's simple, I thought. I'll just boot her ass out and go about my business. the door opened and there stood Vicki with 2 cops standing behind her. "GET THAT WOMAN OUT OF MY HOUSE!" she screamed. COPS! I couldn't believe it. I pulled the sheet over my pulsa- ting and throbbing and giant sexual organ and pretended to be asleep. it looked like I had a cucumber under there. Margy was screaming back: "I know you, Vicki, this ain't your god damned house! this guy EARNS his way by licking your asshole hairs! he gets you babbling to heaven in Morse code with that long sandpaper tongue of his, you're nothing but a WHORE, a true blue turdy-gulping 2-dollar whore. and THAT went out with Franky D., and you were 48 THEN!" hearing that, my cucumber went down. both of these broads must have been 80 years old. singly, that is, together they might have reached back to suck-off Abe Lincoln, something like that. suck-off General Robert E. Lee, Patrick Henry. Mozart. Dr. Samuel Johnson. Robespierre. Napoleon. Machiavelli? wine preserves. God endures. the whores blow on. and Vicki screamed back: "WHO'S A WHORE? WHO'S A WHORE, HUH? YOU'RE A WHORE, THAT'S WHO! YOU'VE BEEN SELLING THAT CLAPPED HOLE OF YOURS UP AND DOWN ALVARADO STREET FOR 30 YEARS! A BLIND RAT WOULD BACK UP 4 TIMES IF HE RAN INTO THERE ONCE! AND YOU HOLLERING 'POW! POW!' WHEN YOU'RE LUCKY ENOUGH TO GET A GUY TO COME! AND THAT WENT OUT WHEN CONFUCIUS FUCKED HIS MOTHER!" "WHY YOU CHEAP BITCH. YOU'VE GIVEN OUT MORE BLUE BALLS THAN A SILVER CHRISTMAS TREE IN DISNEY- LAND. WHY YOU-" "listen, ladies," said one of the cops. "I will have to ask you to watch your remarks and lower the volume. understanding and kind- ness are the keynotes of Democratic thought. oh, I just DO love the way Bobby Kennedy wears that tickling blobbing knot of raunchy hair over one side of his darling head don't you just?" "why you fuckin' queer," said Margy, "is that why you wear them tight pants, to make your asshole sweeter? god, it DOES look NICE! I'd kinda like to do you in myself. I see you shits bending over into car windows giving out tickets on the freeways and I always feel like pinching your tight little asses." the cop suddenly got a brilliant flare in his dead eyes, he unhitched his club and tapped Margy along the side of the neck with it. she fell to the floor. then he slipped the bracelets on her. I could hear those clicks, and the bastards ALWAYS snapped them too tight. but they felt almost GOOD once you got them on. kind of forceful and heavy and you felt like Christ or something dramatic. I kept my eyes closed so I couldn't see whether they threw a robe or something over her. then the cop who snapped the bracelets said to the other cop, "I'll take her on the elevator. we'll go on the elevator." and I couldn't hear very well, but I listened as they went down, and I heard Margy screaming, "oooooh, oooooooh, you bas- tard. let go of me, let go of me!" and he kept saying, "shut up, shut up, shut up! you're only getting what you deserve! and you haven't seen ANYTHING yet! this-is just the-beginning!" then she really screamed. then the other cop walked over to me. through one narrowed eye I could see him put his big black shiny shoe up on the mattress, up on the sheet. he looked down at me. "is this guy a fag? he looks like a fag, sure as hell." "I don't' THINK he is. he might be. he can sure ball a broad, though." "you want me to run him in?" he asked Vicki. I had my eyes closed. it was a long wait. god, it was a long wait. that big foot there on my sheets. the electric light shining down. then she spoke. finally. "no, he's-.o.k. leave him there." the cop took his foot down. I heard him walk across the room, then wait at the door. he spoke to Vicki: "I'm going to have to charge you 5 bucks more for your protection next month. you're getting a bit harder to watch out for." then he was gone. I mean, out into the hall. I waited for him to get into the elevator. I heard it go down to the first floor. I counted to 64. then, I LEAPED OUT OF BED. my nostrils were flaring like Gregory Peck in heat. "YOU ROTTEN BITCH. YOU EVER DO THAT AGAIN AND I'M GOING TO KILL YOU!" "NO, NO, NO!!!" I raised my hand to give her the old backhand. "I TOLD HIM NOT TO TAKE YOU!" she screamed at me. "ummm. that's right. I've got to consider that." I lowered my hand. then there was some whiskey left and some wine too. I got up and put the chain on the door. we turned off the lights and sat there and drank and smoked and talked about things. this, and that, easy and casual, then, like old times, we looked at the same red horse that flew and flew in red neon on the side of a building just downtown to our east. it flew and flew on the side of this building all night. no matter what happened. you know what it was, a kind of red horse with red wings of neon. but I told you that. a winged horse. anyhow, like always, we count- ed: one, two, three, four, five, six, seven. the wings always flapped 7 times. then the horse, everything, stood still, then, it started again. our whole apartment would be in this red glow. then when the horse stopped flying, somehow things would get white for a flash. I don't know why. I think that it was caused by an advertisement beneath the red winged horse. it said, some kind of product, buy this or buy that, in this WHITE. anyhow. we sat and talked and drank and smoked. later we went to bed together. she kissed very nicely, her tongue was kind of an apologetic sadness. then we fucked. we fucked as the red horse flew. 7 times the wings flapped.. and in the center of the rug the 3 chickens were still there. watching. the chickens turned red, the chickens turned white. 14 times they turned red. then they turned white. 21 times they turned red. then they turned white. 28 times- it had ended a better night than most. === 3women we lived right across from McArthur park, Linda and I, and one night while drinking we saw a man's body fall past our window. it was an odd sight, something like a joke, but it wasn't any joke when his body hit the pavement. "jesus christ," I told Linda, "he plopped right apart like an old tomato! we are just made of guts and shit and slimy stuff!come 'ere! come 'ere! look at 'im!" Linda came to the window, then ran to the bathroom and vomited. she came out. I turned and looked at her. "honest ta christ, baby, he's just like a big spilled bowl of rotten meat and spaghetti, dressed in a ripped suit and shirt!" Linda ran back in and heaved again. I sat and drank the wine. soon I heard the siren. what they really needed was the Sanitation Dept. well, what the fuck, we all had our troubles. I never knew where our rent was coming from and we were too sick from drinking to look for work. everytime we worried, all we could do about our worries was to fuck. that made us forget for a while. we fucked a lot, and lucky for me, Linda was a good lay.that whole hotel was full of people like us, drinking wine and fucking and not knowing what next.now and then one of them jumped out of the window.but the money always seemed to arrive for us from somewhere, just when all seemed like we'd have to eat our own shit, once $300 from a dead uncle, another time, a delayed, income tax refund. another time I was riding on a bus and on the seat in front of me where these 50 cent pieces. what it meant or who had done it, I didn't know, still don't understand. I moved one seat up and began stuffing the half bucks into my pockets. when the pockets got full, I pulled the cord and got off at the next stop. nobody said anything or tried to stop me. I mean, when you're drunk, you've got to be lucky, even if you're not one, you've got to be lucky. part of each day we would spend in the park looking at the ducks. you've got to believe me, that when your health is down from continual drinking and lack of decent food, and you're tired of fucking while trying to forget, you can't beat the ducks. I mean, you've got to get out of your place, because you can get the deep blue blues and it soon might be you out the window. it is easier to do than you might imagine. so Linda and I would sit on a bench and watch the ducks. the ducks didn't worry worth a damn - no rent, no clothes, plenty of food - just float around shitting and quacking. nobbling, nibbling, eating all the time. once in a while one of those from the hotel would catch a duck at night, kill the thing, take it to their room, clean it and cook it. we thought about it but never did it. besides they were very hard to catch; you just get so close and SLUUUSH!!! a spray of water and the motherfuckers would be gone! most of the time we ate small pancakes made of flour and water, or now and then we would steal some corn from somebody's garden - one guy specialized in a corn garden - I don't believe he got to eat a one of them, then there was always a bit of stealing from an outdoor market - I mean there was a vegetable stand in front of a grocery - store - this meant an occasional tomato or two or a small cucumber, but we were petty thieves, small time, and we needed mostly luck. the cigarettes were easiest - a walk at night - somebody always left a car window down and a pack or half-pack of smokes on the dash- board. of course, the wine and the rent were the real problems and we fucked and worried about it. and like all the days of final desperation, ours arrived. no more wine, no more luck, no more anything. no more credit with the landlady or the liquor store. I decided to set the alarm clock for 5:30 a. m. and walk down to the Farm Labor Market, but even the clock didn't work right. it had broken and I had opened it to repair it. it was a broken spring and the only way I could get the spring to work again was to break a portion of it off, hook it up again, lock up the works and wind it up. now if you want to know what a short spring does to an alarm clock or I guess any kind of clock, I'll tell you. the shorter the spring is, the faster the minute and hour hands go around. it was some crazy clock, I'll tell you, and when we were worn out with fucking to stop from worrying we used to watch that clock and try to tell what time it really was. you could see that minute hand moving - we used to laugh at it. then one day - it took us a week to figure it - we found that the clock moved thirty hours for each actual twelve hours of time also it had to be wound every 7 or 8 hours or it would stop. some- times we'd wake up and look at the clock and wonder what time it was. "well, shit, baby," I'd say, "can't you figure out the thing? the clock moves 2 and one half times as fast as it should. it's simple." "yeah, but what time did it say when we last set the clock?" she'd ask. "damned if I know, baby, I was drunk." "well, you better wind it or it'll stop." "o.k." I'd wind it, then we'd fuck. so the morning I decided to go to the Farm Labor Market I couldn't set the clock. we got hold of a bottle of wine from some- where and drank it slowly. I watched that clock, not knowing what it meant, and being afraid of missing the early morning, I just lay in bed and didn't sleep all night. then I got up, dressed and walked around waiting. there were quite a few tomatoes lying in the win- dows and I picked up two or 3 of them and ate them. there was a large blackboard: COTTENPICKERS NEEDED FOR BAKERS- FIELD. FOOD AND LODGING. what the hell was that? cotton in Bakersfield, Calif? I thought Eli Whitney and the cotton gin had put all that out of the way. then a big truck drove up and it turned out they needed tomato-pickers. well, shit, I hated to leave Linda in that bed all alone like that. she could never stay in bed too long alone by herself like that. but I decided to try it. everybody started climbing into the truck. I waited and made sure that all the ladies were on board, and there were some big ones. everybody was in, and then I started to crawl up. a large Mexican, evidently the foreman, started putting in the tailgates - "sorry, senor, full up!" they drove off without me. it was almost 9 p.m. by then and the walk back to the hotel took an hour. I passed all the well-dressed stupid-looking people and was almost run over once by an angry man in a black Caddy. I don't know what he was angry about. maybe the weather. it was a hot day. when I got back to the hotel I had to walk up the stairway because the elevator was right by the landlady's door and she was always fucking with the elevator, shining the brass, or just plain-ass snooping. it was 6 floors up and when I got there, I heard laughing from my room. that bitch Linda hadn't waited too long to get started. well, I'd whip her ass and his too. I opened the door. it was Linda and Jeanie and Eve. "Sweetie!" said Linda, she came up to me. she was all dressed in highheels. she gave me a lot of tongue when she kissed. "Jeanie just got her first unemployment check and Eve is on the dole! we're celebrating!" there was plenty of port wine. I went in and took a bath and then came out in my shorts. I always like to show off my legs. I had the biggest most powerful legs I had ever seen on any man. the rest of me wasn't too much. I sat in my torn shorts and put my legs up on the coffee table. "shit! look at those legs!" said Jeanie. "yeah, yeah," said Eve. Linda smiled. I was poured a wine. you know how such things go. we drank and talked, talked and drank. the girls went out for more bottles. more talk. the clock went round and round. soon it was dark. I was drinking alone, still in my torn shorts. Jeanie had gone to the bedroom and passed out in the bed. Eve had passed out on the couch and Linda had passed out on a smaller leather couch in the hall that led to the bathroom. I still couldn't understand that Mexican closing those tailgates on me. I was unhappy. I went into the bedroom and got into bed with Jeanie. she was a large woman, and naked. I began kissing on her breasts, sucking at them. "hey, what you doing?" "doin? I'm going to fuck you!" I put my finger into her cunt and moved it back and forth. "I'm going to fuck you!" "no! Linda would kill me!" "she'll never know!" I mounted and then very SLOWLY SLOWLY QUIETLY so the springs wound not rattle, so there would not be a sound. I slid it in and out in and out EVER SO SLOWLY and when I came I thought I would never stop. it was one of the best fucks of my life. as I wiped off on the sheets the thought occurred to me - it could be that Man has been fucking improperly for centuries. then I went, sat down in the dark, drank some more. I don't remember how long I sat there. I drank quite a bit. then I went over to Eve. Eve of the dole. she was a fat thing, a little wrinkled, but had very sexy lips, obscene sexy ugly lips. I began kissing that terrible and beautiful mouth. she didn't protest at all. she opened her legs and I entered. she was a little female pig, farting and grunting and sniffling, wiggling, when I came it wasn't like with Jeanie - long and trembling - it was just splot splot and then over. I got off. and before I could get back to my chair I could hear her snoring again. amazing - she fucked like she breathed - nothing to it. each woman fucked just a bit differently, and that's what kept a man going, that's what kept a man trapped. I sat and drank some more thinking of what that dirty son of a bitch in control of the tailgqate had done to me. it didn't pay to be polite. then I began to think about the dole. could an unmarried man and woman get on the dole? of course not. they were supposed to starve to death. and love was a kind of dirty word. but that was something of what it was between Linda and I - love. that's why we starved together, drank together, lived together. what did marriage mean? marriage meant a sanctified FUCK and a sanctified FUCK that's what the world wanted: some poor son of a bitch, trapped and unhappy, with a job to do. well, shit, I'd move down to skidrow and move Linda in with Big Eddie. Big Eddie was an idiot but at least he'd buy her some clothes and put some steaks in her belly which was more than I was able to do. Elephant Legs Bukowski, the social failure. I finished off the bottle and decided I needed some sleep. I wound up the alarm clock and crawled in with Linda. she awakened and began rubbing up against me. "oh shit, oh shit," she said, "I don't know what's the matter with me!" "whatza matta, baby? you sick?you want me to call the Gen- Eral Hospital?" "oh no, shit, I'm just HOT! HOT! I'M SO HOT!" "what?" "I said, I'm burning up hot! FUCK ME!" "Linda-" "what? what?" "I'm so tired. no sleep for two nights. that long walk to the Labor Market and back, 32 blocks in the hot sun-useless. no job. fucking-ass tired." "I'll HELP you!" "whatcha mean?" she crawled halfway down the couch and began licking at my penis. I groaned in wearinesss. "honey, 32 blocks in the hot sun- I'm burned out." she kept working. she had a sandpaper tongue and knew what to do with it. "honey," I told her, "I'm a social zero! I don't deserve you! please relent!" like I say, she was good. some can, some can't. most just know the old-time headbob. Linda began with the penis, lift off, went to the balls, then off the balls, back to the penis again, barberpole, a wonderful amount of energy. ALWAYS LEAVING THE HEAD OF THE COCK, ITSELF, UNTOUCHED. finally, she had me moaning to the ceiling telling her all various sorts of lies about what I would do for her when I finally got my ass straightened out and stopped being a bum. then she came and took the head, put her mouth about a third of the way down, gave this little nip-suck of tooth pressure on, the wolf-nip and I came AGAIN - which made four times that night and I was completely done. some women know more than medical sci- ence. when I awakened they were all up and dressed - looking good - Linda, Jeanie and Eve. they poked at me under the covers, laugh- ing. "hey, Hank, we're going down to look for a live one! and we need an eye opener! we'll be down at Tommi-Hi's!" "o.k., o.k., goodbye!" they all left, wiggling out the door. all Mankind was doomed forever. I was just about asleep when the extension phone rang. "yeah?" Mr. Bukowski?" "yeah?" "I saw those women! they came from your room!" "how do you know? you have 8 floors and about ten or twelve rooms to a floor." "I know all my roomers, Mr. Bukowski! we have all respec- table working people here!" "yeah?" "yes, Mr. Bukowski. I've been running this place for twenty years and never, never have I seen such goings on as at your place! we've always had respectable people here, Mr. Bukowski." "yes, they're so respectable that every two weeks some son of a bitch climbs up onto the roof and takes a header straight into your cement entranceway between those phony potted plants." "you've got until noon to get out, Mr. Bukowski!" "what time is it now?" "8 a.m." "thank you." I hung up. found an alka-seltzer, drank it out of a dirty glass. 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 nobody 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 class 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. nobody 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 won- dered, why do people lie? now I no longer wonder but I still remem- ber, 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 fucked or got fucked 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." "shit, 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, hell, 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 pronto, 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 shipping 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." "shit, 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, hell no!" "what? you don-t want a nice little job?" "what the fuck for? my old man, he was from Jersey, he worked all his damn 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 shit." "Danforth, run this bastard through the wringer and make those screws tight!" Danforth grabbed the subject but not before Telleman yelled "up your old mother-s bunghole-" "and squeeze ALL THE GUTS OUT OF HIM, ALL OF THE GUTS! do you hear me?" "aw right, aw right!" answered Danforth. "shit, 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 vicious- 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. Police- man, 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 God?" "oh, yes sir, in God 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, medi- cal 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 asshole?" "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 hell, if I weren-t working all the time I-d just be sitting around drinking or making oil paintings or fucking 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., fuck-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." another: "I get tired of booking and pimping, getting busted, busted, busted. I need something secure, secure, secure, secure, secure-" another: "all right, I-ve had my fun, now-" another: "I don-t have a trade. every man should have a trade. I don-t have a trade. what am I going to do?" another: "I-ve been all over the world - in the army - I know things." another: "if I had it to do all over again, I-d be a dentist or a barber." another: "all my novels and short stories and poems keep coming back. Shit, I can-t go to New York and shake the hands of the publishers! I have more talent than anybody but you-ve got to have the inside! I-ll take any kind of job but I am better than any kind of job that I take because I am a genius." another: "see how pretty I am? look at my nose? look at my ears? look at my hair? my skin? the way I act! see how pretty I am? see how pretty I am? see how pretty I am? why doesn-t anybody like me? because I-m so pretty. they-re jealous, jealous, jealous-" the phone rang again. "SATISFACTORY HELP AGENCY. Bagley speaking. you what? you need a deep-sea diver? motherfucker! what? oh, pardon. sure, sure, we got dozens of unemployed deep-sea divers. his first 2 weeks- pay is ours. 500 a week, dangerous, you know, really danger- ous - barnacles, crabs, all that- seaweed, maidens on rocks. octu- pi, bends. head-colds. fuck, yes. first 2 weeks- pay is ours. if you fire him after 2 weeks we give you $200. why? why? if a robin laid an egg of gold in your front room chair would you ask WHY? would you? we-ll send you a deep-sea diver in 45 minutes! the address? fine, fine, ah, yes, fine, that-s near the Richfield Building. yes, I know. 45 minutes. thank you. goodbye." Bagley hung up. he was tried already and the day was just