Ham On Rye - Charles Bukowski [4]
“Hello, Ben,” said my mother.
“Hello, Katy.” Then he looked at me. “Is this Henry?”
“Yes.”
“Sit down.”
My father and I sat down.
My mother stood there. “These flowers, Ben. I don’t see a vase.”
“They’re nice flowers, thanks, Katy. No, there isn’t a vase.”
“I’ll go get a vase,” said my mother.
She left the room, holding the flowers.
“Where are all your girlfriends now, Ben?” asked my father.
“They come around.”
“I’ll bet.”
“They come around.”
“We’re here because Katherine wanted to see you.”
“I know.”
“I wanted to see you too, Uncle Ben. I think you’re a real pretty man.”
“Pretty like my ass,” said my father.
My mother entered the room with the flowers in a vase.
“Here, I’ll put them on this table by the window.”
“They’re nice flowers, Katy.”
My mother sat down.
“We can’t stay too long,” said my father.
Uncle Ben reached under the mattress and his hand came out holding a pack of cigarettes. He took one out, struck a match and lit it. He took a long drag and exhaled.
“You know you’re not allowed cigarettes,” said my father. “I know how you get them. Those prostitutes bring them to you. Well, I’m going to tell the doctors about it and I’m going to get them to stop letting those prostitutes in here!”
“You’re not going to do shit,” said my uncle.
“I got a good mind to rip that cigarette out of your mouth!” said my father.
“You never had a good mind,” said my uncle.
“Ben,” my mother said,” “you shouldn’t smoke, it will kill you.”
“I’ve had a good life,” said my uncle.
“You never had a good life,” said my father. “Lying, boozing, borrowing, whoring, drinking. You never worked a day in your life! And now you’re dying at the age of 24!”
“It’s been all right,” said my uncle. He took another heavy drag on the Camel, then exhaled.
“Let’s get out of here,” said my father. “This man is insane!”
My father stood up. Then my mother stood up. Then I stood up.
“Goodbye, Katy,” said my uncle, “and goodbye, Henry.” He looked at me to indicate which Henry.
We followed my father through the sanitarium halls and out into the parking lot to the Model-T. We got in, it started, and we began down the winding road out of the mountains.
“We should have stayed longer,” said my mother.
“Don’t you know that TB is catching?” asked my father.
“I think he was a very pretty man,” I said.
“It’s the disease,” said my father. “It makes them look like that. And besides the TB, he’s caught many other things too.”
“What kind of things?” I asked.
“I can’t tell you,” my father answered. He steered the Model-T down the winding mountain road as I wondered about that.
4
It was another Sunday that we got into the Model-T in search of my Uncle John.
“He has no ambition,” said my father. “I don’t see how he can hold his god-damned head up and look people in the eye.”
“I wish he wouldn’t chew tobacco,” said my mother. “He spits the stuff everywhere.”
“If this country was full of men like him the Chinks would take over and we’d be running the laundries…”
“John never had a chance,” said my mother. “He ran away from home early. At least you got a high school education.”
“College,” said my father.
“Where?” asked my mother.
“The University of Indiana.”
“Jack said you only went to high school.”
“Jack only went to high school. That’s why he gardens for the rich.”
“Am I ever going to see my Uncle Jack?” I asked.
“First let’s see if we can find your Uncle John,” said my father.
“Do the Chinks really want to take over this country?” I asked.
“Those yellow devils have been waiting for centuries to do it. What’s stopped them is that they have been kept busy fighting the Japs.”
“Who are the best fighters, the Chinks or the Japs?”