Charles Bukowski - Post Office

“Look, white man, what do you say we go out together this Saturday night? I got me a nice white gal with blonde hair.”

“And I got myself a nice black gal. And you know what color her hair is.”

“You guys been fucking pur women for centuries. We’re trying to catch up. You don’t mind if I stick my big black dick into your white gal?”

“If she wants it she can have it.”

“You stole the land from the Indians.”

“Sure I did.”

“You won’t invite me to your house. If you do, you’ll ask me to come in the back way, so no one will see my skin…”

“But I’ll leave a small light burning.” It got boring but there was no way out.

Fay was all right with the pregnancy. For an old gal, she was all right. We waited around at our place. Finally the time came. “It won’t be long,” she said. “I don’t want to get there too early.”

I went out and checked the car. Came back.

“Oooh, oh,” she said. “No, wait.”

Maybe she could save the world. I was proud of her calm. I forgave her for the dirty dishes and the New Yorker and her writers’ workshop. The old gal was only another lonely creature in a world that didn’t care.

“We better go now,” I said.

“No,” said Fay, “I don’t want to make you wait too long. I know you haven’t been feeling well.”

“To hell with me. Let’s make it.”

“No, please, Hank.” She just sat there. “What can I do for you?” I asked. “Nothing.” She sat there ten minutes. I went into the kitchen for a glass of water. When I came out she said, “You ready to drive?”

“Sure.”

“You know where the hospital is?”

“Of course.”

I helped her into the car. I had made two practice runs the week earlier. But when we got there I had no idea where to park. Fay pointed up a runway.

“Go in there. Park in there. We’ll go in from there.”

“Yes, mam,” I said…

She was in bed in a back room overlooking the street. Her face grimaced. “Hold my hand,” she said.

I did.

“Is it really going to happen?” I asked.

“Yes.”

“You make it seem so easy,” I said.

“You’re so very nice. It helps.”

“I’d like to be nice. It’s that god damned post office…”

“I know. I know.”

We were looking out the back window.

I said, “Look at those people down there. They have no idea what is going on up here. They just walk on the sidewalk. Yet, it’s funny… they were once born themselves, each one of them.”

“Yes, it is funny.”

I could feel the movements of her body through her hand.

“Hold tighter,” she said.

“Yes.”

“I’ll hate it when you go.”

“Where’s the doctor? Where is everybody? What the hell!”

“They’ll be here.”

Just then a nurse walked in. It was a Catholic hospital and she was a very handsome nurse, dark, Spanish or Portuguese. “You… must go… now,” she told me. I gave Fay crossed fingers and a twisted smile. I don’t think she saw. I took the elevator downstairs.

My German doctor walked up. The one who had given me the blood tests. “Congratulations,” he said, shaking my hand, “it’s a girl. 9 pounds, 3 ounces.”

“And the mother?”

“The mother will be all right. She was no trouble at all.”

“When can I see them?”

“They’ll let you know. Just sit there and they’ll call you.”

Then he was gone.

I looked through the glass. The nurse pointed down at my child. The child’s face was very red and it was screaming louder than any of the other children. The room was full of screaming babies. So many births! The nurse seemed very proud of my baby. At least, I hoped it was mine. She picked the girl up so I could see it better. I smiled through the glass, I didn’t know how to act. The girl just screamed at me. Poor thing, I thought, poor little damned thing. I didn’t know then that she would be a beautiful girl someday who would look just like me, hahaha. I motioned the nurse to put the child down, then waved goodbye to both of them. She was a nice nurse. Good legs, good hips. Fair breasts.

Fay had a spot of blood on the left side of her mouth and I took a wet cloth and wiped it off. Women were meant to suffer; no wonder they asked for constant declarations of love.

“I wish they’d give me my baby,” said Fay, “it’s not right to separate us like this.”

“I know. But I guess there’s some medical reason.”

“Yes, but it doesn’t seem right.

“No, it doesn’t. But the child looked fine. I’ll do what I can to make them send up the child as soon as possible. There must have been 40 babies down there. They’re making all the mothers wait. I guess it’s to let them get their strength back. Our baby looked very strong, I assure you. Please don’t worry.”

“I’d be so happy with my baby.”

“I know, I know. It won’t be long.”

“Sir,” a fat Mexican nurse walked up, “I’ll have to ask you to leave now.”

“But I’m the father.”

“We know. But your wife must rest.” I squeezed Fay’s hand, kissed her on the forehead. She closed her eyes and seemed to sleep then. She was not a young woman. Maybe she hadn’t saved the world but she had made a major improvement. Ring one up for Fay.

Marina Louise, Fay named the child. So there it was, Marina Louise Chinaski. In the crib by the window. Looking up at the tree leafs and bright designs whirling on the ceiling. Then she’d cry. Walk the baby, talk to the baby. The girl wanted mama’s breasts but mama wasn’t always ready and I didn’t have mama’s breasts. And the job was still there. And now riots. One tenth of the city was on fire…

On the elevator up, I was the only white man there. It seemed strange. They talked about the riots, not looking at me.

“Jesus,” said a coal black guy, “it’s really something. These guys walking around the streets drunk with 5ths of whiskey in their hands. Cops driving by but the cops don’t get out of their cars, they don’t bother the drunks. It’s daylight. People walking around with t.v. sets, vacuum cleaners, all that. It’s really something…”

“Yeah, man.”

“The black-owned places put up signs, ‘BLOOD BROTHERS.’ And the white-owned places too. But they can’t fool the people. They know which places belong to Whitey…”

“Yeah, brother.”

Then the elevator stopped at the 4th floor and we all got off together. I felt that it was best for me not to make any comment at that time.

Not much later the postmaster of the city came on over the intercoms:

“Attention! The southeast area has been barricaded. Only those with proper identification will be allowed through. There is a 7 p.m. curfew. After 7 p.m. nobody will be allowed to pass. The barricade extends from Indiana Street to Hoover Street, and from Washington Boulevard to 135th Place. Anybody living in this area is excused from work now.”

I got up and reached for my timecard.

“Hey! Where you going?” the supervisor asked me.

“You heard the announcement?”

“Yeah, but you’re not—”

I slipped my left hand into my pocket.

“I’m not WHAT? I’m not WHAT?”

He looked at me.

“What do you know, WHITEY?” I said.

I took my timecard, walked over and punched out.

The riots ended, the baby calmed down, and I found ways to avoid Janko. But the dizzy spells persisted. The doctor wrote me a standing order for the green-white librium capsules and they helped a bit.