Charles Bukowski - Factotum

Toward quitting time the truck driver came back a little early. He sat on a pile of magazines and smoked a cigarette.

"Yeah, Harry," he said to one of the clerks, "I got a raise today. I got a two dollar raise."

At quitting time I stopped for a bottle of wine, went up to my room, had a drink then went downstairs and phoned my company. The phone rang a long time. Finally Mr. Heathercliff answered. He was still there.

"Mr. Heathercliff?"

"Yes?"

"This is Chinaski."

"Yes, Mr. Chinaski?"

"I want a two dollar raise."

"What?"

"That's right. The truck driver got a raise."

"But he's been with us two years."

"I need a raise."

"We're giving you seventeen dollars a week now and you're asking for nineteen?"

"That's right. Do I get it or not?"

"We just can't do it."

"Then I quit." I hung up.

Monday I was hungover. I shaved off my beard and followed up an ad. I sat across from the editor, a man in shirt sleeves with deep hollows under his eyes. He looked as if he hadn't slept for a week. It was cool and dark in there. It was the composing room of one of the town's two newspapers, the small one. Men sat at desks under reading lamps working at copy.

"Twelve dollars a week," he said.

"All right," I said, "I'll take it."

I worked with a little fat man with an unhealthy looking paunch. He had an old-fashioned pocket watch on a gold chain and he wore a vest, a green sunshade, had thick lips and a meaty dark look to his face. The lines in his face had no interest or character; his face looked as if it had been folded several times and then smoothed out, like a piece of cardboard. He wore square shoes and chewed tobacco, squirting the juice into a spitoon at his feet.

"Mr. Belger," he said of the man who needed the sleep, "has worked hard to put this paper on its feet. He's a good man. We were going bankrupt until he came along."

He looked at me. "They usually give this job to a college boy."

He's a frog, I thought, that's what he is.

"I mean," he said, "this job usually goes to a student. He can study his books while he waits for a call. Are you a student?"

"No."

"This job usually goes to a student."

I walked back to my work room and sat down. The room was filled with rows and rows of metal drawers and in the drawers were zinc engravings that had been used for ads. Many of these engravings were used again and again. There was also lots of type-customer names and logos. The fat man would scream "_Chinaski!_" and I'd go see which ad or what type he wanted. Often I was sent to the competing newspaper to borrow some of their type. They borrowed ours. It was a nice walk and I found a place in a back alley where I could get a glass of beer for a nickel. There weren't many calls from the fat man and the nickel beer place became my hangout. The fat man began to miss me. At first he simply gave me unkind looks. Then one day he asked:

"Where you been?"

"Out getting a beer."

"This is a job for a student."

"I'm not a student."

"I gotta let you go. I need somebody who is right here all the time available."

The fat man took me over to Belger who looked as tired as ever. "This is a job for a student, Mr. Belger. I'm afraid this man doesn't fit in. We need a student."

"All right," said Belger. The fat man padded off.

"What do we owe you?" asked Belger.

"Five days."

"O. K., take this down to payroll."

"Listen, Belger, that old fuck is disgusting."

Belger sighed. "Jesus Christ, don't I know it?"

I went down to payroll.

We were still in Louisiana. The long train ride through Texas lay ahead. They gave us cans of food but no openers. I stored my cans on the floor and stretched out on the wooden seat. The other men were gathered in the front of the coach, sitting together, talking and laughing. I closed my eyes.

After about ten minutes I felt dust rising up through the cracks in the plank seat. It was very old dust, coffin dust, it stank of death, of something that had been dead for a long time. It filtered into my nostrils, settled into my eyebrows, tried to enter my mouth. Then I heard heavy breathing sounds. Through the cracks I could see a man crouched behind the seat, blowing the dust into my face. I sat up. The man scrambled out from behind the seat and ran to the front of the car. I wiped my face and stared at him. It was hard to believe.

"If he comes up here I want you fellows to help me," I heard him say. "You gotta promise to help me…"

The gang of them looked back at me. I stretched out on the seat again. I could hear them talking:

"What's wrong with him?" "Who does he think he is?" "He don't speak to nobody." "He just stays back there by himself."

"When we get him out there on those tracks we'll take care of him. The bastard."

"You think you can take him, Paul? He looks crazy to me."

"If I can't take him, somebody can. He'll eat shit before we're done."

Some time later I walked to the front of the car, for a drink of water. As I walked by they stopped talking. They watched me in silence as I drank water from the cup. Then as I turned and walked back to my seat they started talking again.

The train made many stops, night and day. At every stop where there was a bit of green and a small town nearby, one or two of the men would jump off.

"Hey, what the hell happened to Collins and Martinez?"

The foreman would take his clipboard and cross them off the list. He walked back to me. "Who are you?"

"Chinaski."

"You staying with us?"

"I need the job."

"O. K." He walked away.

At El Paso the foreman came through and told us we were switching trains. We were given tickets good for one night at a nearby hotel and a meal ticket to use at a local cafe; also directions on how, when and where to board the next train through in the a.m.

I waited outside the cafe as the men ate and as they came out picking their teeth and talking, I walked in.

"We'll get his ass good, that son of a bitch!"

"Man, I hate that ugly bastard."

I went in and ordered a hamburger steak with onions and beans. There wasn't any butter for the bread but the coffee was good. When I came out they were gone. A bum was walking up the sidewalk toward me. I gave him my hotel ticket.

I slept in the park that night. It seemed safer. I was tired and that hard park bench didn't bother me at all. I slept.

Some time later I was awakened by what sounded like a roar. I never knew that alligators roared. Or more exactly it was many things: a roar, an agitated inhale, and a hiss. I also heard the snapping of jaws. A drunken sailor was in the center of the pond and he had one of the alligators by the tail. The creature tried to twist and reach the sailor but found it difficult. The jaws were horrifying but very slow and uncoordinated. Another sailor and a young girl stood watching and laughing. Then the sailor kissed the girl and they walked off together leaving the other fighting the alligator…

I was next awakened by the sun. My shirt was hot. It was almost burning. The sailor was gone. So was the alligator. On a bench to the east sat a girl and two young men. They had evidently slept in the park that night too. One of the young men stood up.

"Mickey," said the young girl, "you've got a hard-on!"

They laughed.

"How much money we got?"

They looked through their pockets. They had a nickel.

"Well, what are we going to do?"

"I don't know. Let's start walking."

I watched them walk off, out of the park, into the city.

When the train stopped in Los Angeles we had a two or three day stopover. They issued hotel and meal tickets again. I gave my hotel tickets to the first bum I met. As I was walking along looking for the cafe where I would use my meal tickets I found myself behind two of the men who had shared the ride from New Orleans. I walked faster until I was alongside of them.