Just White Air and Waiting

Henry Chinaski, in many ways, is your typical outsider. He's depressed. He likes to be alone. He hates his parents.

He might be an outsider, but he's not sensitive. He's tough. He could knock seven shades of shit out of you. Even if he couldn’t, he’d have a damn good go. If you beat him unconscious, he’d still come back for more.

Below are some excerpts from Charles Bukowski’s 'Ham on Rye' (1982). If you want to find out how tough he is, read the book. For now, it’s all just white air and waiting.

-

“The first thing I remember is being under something. It was a table, I saw a table leg, I saw the legs of the people, and a portion of the tablecloth hanging down. It was dark under there, I liked being under there. It must have been in Germany. I must have been between one and two years old. It was 1922. I felt good under the table. Nobody seemed to know that I was there. There was sunlight upon the rug and on the legs of the people. I liked the sunlight. The legs of the people were not interesting, not like the tablecloth which hung down, not like the table leg, not like the sunlight.”

-

“The first children of my age that I knew were in kindergarten. They seemed strange, they laughed and talked and seemed happy. I didn’t like them. I always felt as if I was going to be sick, to vomit, and the air seemed strangely still and white... One problem I had was going to the bathroom. I always needed to go to the bathroom, but I was ashamed to let the others know that I had to go, so I held it. It was really terrible to hold it. And the air was white, I felt like vomiting, I felt like shitting and pissing, but I didn’t say anything. And when some of the others came back from the bathroom I’d think, you’re dirty, you did something in there...

The little girls were nice in their short dresses, with their long hair and beautiful eyes, but I thought, they do things in there too, even though they pretend they don’t.

Kindergarten was mostly white air...”

-

“We went down into a cellar, under the house. It was dark and damp and we stood a while until our eyes grew used to the gloom. Then I could see a number of barrels.

'These barrels are full of different kinds of wine', Baldy said...

I put my mouth under the spigot and opened it. A smelly liquid trickled out and into my mouth. I spit it out.

'Don't be chicken! Swallow it, what the shit!'

I opened the spigot and I opened my mouth. The smelly liquid entered and I swallowed it. I turned off the spigot and stood there. I thought I was going to puke.

'Now, you drink some', I said to Baldy.
'Sure', he said, 'I ain't fucking afraid!'

He got down under a barrel and took a good swallow. A little punk like that wasn't going to outdo me. I got under another barrel, opened it and took a swallow. I stood up. I was beginning to feel good.

'Hey, Baldy', I said, "I like this stuff."
'Well, shit, try some more.'

I tried some more. It was tasting better. I was feeling better... Never had I felt so good. It was better than masturbating. I went from barrel to barrel. It was magic. Why hadn't someone told me? With this, life was great, a man was perfect, nothing could touch him.

I stood up straight and looked at Baldy.
‘Where’s your mother? I’m going to fuck your mother!’”

-

“’Let’s go’ said my father, and I walked into the bathroom.
He got the strop down.
‘Take down your pants and shorts’, he said.
I didn’t do it. He reached in front of me, yanked my belt open, unbuttoned me and yanked my pants down. He pulled down my shorts. The strop landed. It was the same, the same explosive sound, the same pain.
‘You’re going to kill your mother!’ he screamed.

He hit me again. But the tears weren’t coming. My eyes were strangely dry. I thought about killing him. That there must be a way to kill him. In a couple of years I could beat him to death. But I wanted him now. He wasn’t much of anything. I must have been adopted.”

-

“I walked back into the bedroom and got into bed and pulled the covers to my throat. I looked up at the ceiling as I talked to myself.

All right, God, say that You are really there. You have put me in this fix. You want to test me. Suppose I test You? Suppose I say that You are not there? You’ve given me a supreme test with my parents and with these boils. I think that I have passed Your test. I am tougher than You. If You will come down here right now, I will spit into Your face, if You have a face. And do You shit? The priest never answered that question. He told us not to doubt. Doubt what? I think that You have been picking on me too much so I am asking You to some down here so I can put You to the test!”

-

Gathered around me were the weak instead of the strong, the ugly instead of the beautiful, the losers instead of the winners. It looked like it was my destiny to travel in their company through life. That didn’t bother me so much as the fact that I seemed irresistible to these dull idiot fellows. I was like a turd that drew flies instead of like a flower that butterflies and bees desired. I wanted to live alone, I felt best being alone, cleaner, yet I was not clever enough to rid myself of them”

-

“I made practice runs down to skid row to get ready for my future, I didn’t like what I saw down there. I didn’t like what I saw down there. Those men and women had no special daring or brilliance. They wanted what everyone else wanted. There was also some obvious mental cases down there who were allowed to walk the street undisturbed. I had noticed that both in the very poor and rich extremes of society the mad were often allowed to mingle freely. I knew that I wasn’t entirely sane. I still knew, as I had as a child, that there was something strange about myself...

Sitting there drinking, I considered suicide, but I felt a strange fondness for my boy, my life. Scarred as they were, they were mine... It was felt to sit alone in a small space and smoke and drink. I had always been good company for myself.”

Fabpants Recommends: I’ve been writing this blog whilst listening to Horse Stories album 'Everyone's a Photographer'. My Geek had never heard it before. He liked it. My Geek rarely likes music that he hasn’t heard before.

Download MP3: Horse Stories - Lies (sorry, this link has died)

Download MP3: Horse Stories - Bloody Time Of The Year (sorry, this link has died)

Download MP3: Horse Stories - You Explained Away (sorry, this link has died)