Charles Bukowski - Post Office

Then Joyce demanded that we get married.

What the hell? I thought, I’m cooked anyhow.

I drove her to Vegas for a cheap wedding, then drove her right back.

I sold the car for ten dollars and the next thing I knew we were on a bus to Texas and when we landed I had 75 cents in my pocket. It was a very small town, the population, I believe, was under 2,000. The town had been picked by experts, in a national article, as the last town in the USA any enemy would attack with an atomic bomb. I could see why.

All this time, without knowing it, I was working my way back toward the post office. That mother.

Joyce had a little house in town and we laid around and screwed and ate. She fed me well, fattened me up and weakened me at the same time. She couldn’t get enough. Joyce, my wife, was a nymph.

I took little walks through the town, alone, to get away from her, teethmarks all over my chest, neck and shoulders, and somewhere else that worried me more and was quite painful. She was eating me alive.

I limped through the town and they stared at me, knowing about Joyce, her sex drive, and also that her father and grandfather had more money, land, lakes, hunting preserves than all of them. They pitied and hated me at the same time.

A midget was sent to get me out of bed one morning and he drove me all over, pointing out this and that, Mr. so and so, Joyce’s father owns that, and Mr. so and so, Joyce’s grandfather owns that…

We drove all morning. Somebody was trying to scare me. I was bored. I sat in the back seat and the midget thought I was an operator, that I had worked my way into millions. He didn’t know it was an accident, and that I was an ex-mail carrier with 75 cents in my pocket.

The midget, poor fellow, had a nervous disease and drove very fast, and every so often he’d shake all over and lose control of the car. It went from one side of the road to the other and once scraped along a fence for 100 yards before the midget got control of himself.

“HEY! EASY THERE, BUSTER!” I yelled at him from the back seat.

That was it. They were trying to knock me off. It was obvious. The midget was married to a very beautiful girl. When she was in her teens she got a coke bottle trapped in her pussy and had to go to a doctor to get it out, and, like in all small towns, the word got around about the coke bottle, the poor girl was shunned, and the midget was the only taker. He’d ended up with the best piece of ass in town.

I lit up a cigar Joyce had given me and I told the midget, “That’ll be all, buster. Now see that I get back. And drive slowly. I don’t want to blow this game now.”

I played the operator to please him.

“Yes, sir, Mr. Chinaski. Yes, sir!”

He admired me. He thought I was a son of a bitch.

When I got in, Joyce asked, “Well, did you see everything?”

“I saw enough,” I said. Meaning, that they were trying to knock me off. I didn’t know if Joyce was in on it or not. Then she started peeling my clothes off and pushing me toward the bed. “Now wait a minute, baby! We’ve already gone twice and it’s not even 2 p.m. yet!” She just giggled and kept on pushing.

Her father really hated me. He thought I was after his money. I didn’t want his god damned money. And I didn’t even want his god damned precious daughter.

The only time I ever saw him was when he walked into the bedroom one morning about 10 a.m. Joyce and I were in bed, resting up. Luckily we had just finished.

I peered at him from under the edge of the cover. Then I couldn’t help myself. I smiled at him and gave him a big wink.

He ran out of the house growling and cursing.

If I could be removed, he’d certainly see to it.

Cramps was cooler. We’d go to his place and I’d drink whiskey with him and listen to his cowboy records. His old lady was simply indifferent. She neither liked or hated me. She fought with Joyce a lot and I sided with the old lady once or twice. That kind of won her over. But gramps was cool. I think he was in on the conspiracy.

We had been at this cafe and eaten, with everybody fawning over us and staring. There was gramps, grandma, Joyce, and I.

Then we got in the car and drove along.

“Ever seen any buffalo, Hank?” gramps asked me.

“No, Wally, I haven’t.”

I called him “Wally.” Old whiskey buddies. Like hell.

“We have them here.”

“I thought they were just about extinct?”

“Oh, no, we got dozens of ’em.”

“I don’t believe it.”

“Show him, Daddy Wally,” said Joyce.

Silly bitch. She called him “Daddy Wally.” He wasn’t her daddy.

“All right.”

We drove on a way until we came to this empty fenced-in field. The ground sloped and you couldn’t see the other end of the field.

It was miles long and wide. There was nothing but short green grass.

“I don’t see any buffalo,” I said.

“The wind’s right,” said Wally. “Just climb in there and walk a ways. You’ve got to walk a ways to see them.”

There was nothing in field. They thought they were being very funny, conning a city-slicker. I climbed the fence and walked on in.

“Well, where are the buffalo?” I called back.

“They’re there. Go on in.”

Oh hell, they were going to play the old drive-away joke. Damned farmers. They’d wait until I got in there and then drive off laughing. Well, let them. I could walk back. It’d give me a rest from Joyce.

I walked very quickly into the field, waiting for them to drive off. I didn’t hear them leaving. I walked further in, then turned, cupped my hands and yelled back at them: “WELL, WHERE’S THE BUFFALO?”

My answer came from behind me. I could hear their feet on the ground. There were 3 of them, big ones, just like in the movies, and they were running, they were coming FAST! One had a bit of a lead on the others. There was little doubt who they were headed for.

“Oh shit!” I said.

I turned and began running. That fence looked a long way away. It looked impossible. I couldn’t spare the time to look back. That might make the difference. I was flying, wide-eyed. I really moved! But they gained steadily! I could feel the ground shaking around me as they beat up the earth getting right down on me. I could hear them slobbering, I could hear them breathing. With the last of my strength I dug in and leaped the fence. I didn’t climb it. I sailed over it. And landed on my back in a ditch with one of those things poking his head over the fence and looking down at me.

In the car, they were all laughing. They thought it was the funniest thing they had ever seen. Joyce was laughing louder than any of them.

The stupid beasts circled, then loped off.

I got out of the ditch and climbed in the car.

“I’ve seen the buffalo,” I said, “now let’s go catch a drink.”

They laughed all the way in. They’d stop and then somebody would start and then they all would start. Wally had to stop the car once. He couldn’t drive anymore. He opened the door and rolled out on the ground and laughed. Even grandma was getting hers, along with Joyce.

Later the story got around in town and there was a bit of swagger missing from my walk. I needed a haircut. I told Joyce.

She said, “Go to a barbershop.”

And I said, “I can’t. It’s the buffalo.”

“Are you afraid of those men in the barbershop?”

“It’s the buffalo,” I said.

Joyce cut my hair. She did a terrible job.

Then Joyce wanted to go back to the city. For all the drawbacks, that little town, haircuts or not, beat city life. It was quiet. We had our own house. Joyce fed me well.) Plenty of meat. Rich, good, well-cooked meat. I’ll say one thing for that bitch. She could cook. She could cook better than any woman I had ever known. Food is good for the nerves and the spirit. Courage comes from the belly—all else is desperation.