Women

31

It was 3 or 4 days before I had to fly to Houston to give a reading. I went to the track, drank at the track, and afterwards I went to a bar on Hollywood Boulevard. I went home at 9 or 10 pm. As I moved through the bedroom towards the bathroom I tripped over the telephone cord. I fell against the corner of the bed frame-an edge of steel like a knife blade. When I got up I found I had a deep gash just above the ankle. The blood ran into the rug and I left a bloody trail as I went to the bathroom. The blood ran over the tiles and I left red footprints as I walked about.

There was a knock on the door and I let Bobby in. "Jesus Christ, man, what happened?"

"It's DEATH," I said. "I'm bleeding to death…"

"Man," he said, "you better do something about that leg."

Valerie knocked. I let her in too. She screamed. I poured Bobby and Valerie and myself drinks. The phone rang. It was Lydia.

" Lydia, baby, I'm bleeding to death!"

"Is this one of your dramatic trips again?"

"No, I'm bleeding to death. Ask Valerie."

Valerie took the phone. "It's true, his ankle is cut open. There's blood everywhere and he won't do anything about it. You better come over…"

When Lydia arrived I was sitting on the couch. "Look, Lydia: DEATH!" Tiny veins were hanging out of the wound like strings of spaghetti. I yanked at some of them. I took my cigarette and tapped ashes into the wound. "I'm a MAN! Hell, I'm a MAN!"

Lydia went and got some hydrogen peroxide and poured it into the wound. It was nice. White foam gushed out of the wound. It sizzled and bubbled. Lydia poured some more in.

"You better go to a hospital," Bobby said.

"I don't need a fucking hospital," I said. "It will cure itself…"

The next morning the wound looked horrible. It was still open and seemed to be forming a nice crust. I went to the drugstore for some more hydrogen peroxide, some bandages, and some epsom salts. I filled the tub full of hot water and epsom salts and got in. I began thinking about myself with only one leg. There were advantages:

HENRY CHINASKI IS,

WITHOUT A DOUBT, THE

GREATEST ONE-LEGGED

POET IN THE WORLD

Bobby came by that afternoon. "You know what it costs to get a leg amputated?" "$12,000." After Bobby left I phoned my doctor.

I went to Houston with a heavily bandaged leg. I was taking antibiotic pills in an attempt to cure the infection. My doctor mentioned that any drinking would nullify the good the antibiotic pills had.

At the reading, which was at the modern art museum, I went on sober. After I read a few poems somebody in the audience asked, "How come you're not drunk?"

"Henry Chinaski couldn't make it," I said. "I'm his brother Efram."

I read another poem and then confessed about the antibiotics. I also told them it was against museum rules to drink on the premises. Somebody from the audience came up with a beer. I drank it and read some more. Somebody else came up with another beer. Then the beers began to flow. The poems got better.

There was a party and a di

"She's coming home with us."

"I don't believe it."

… but later there she was, at Nana's place, in the bedroom with me. She had on a sheer nightgown, and she sat on the edge of the bed combing her very long hair and smiling at me. "What's your name?" I asked.

"Laura" she said.

"Well, look, Laura, I'm going to call you Katherine."

"All right," she said.

Her hair was reddish-brown and so very long. She was small but well proportioned. Her face was the most beautiful thing about her.

"Can I pour you a drink?" I asked.

"Oh no, I don't drink. I don't like it."

Actually, she frightened me. I couldn't understand what she was doing there with me. She didn't appear to be a groupie. I went to the bathroom, came back and turned out the light. I could feel her getting into bed next to me. I took her in my arms and we began kissing. I couldn't believe my luck. What right had I? How could a few books of poems call this forth? There was no way to understand it. I certainly was not about to reject it. I became very aroused. Suddenly she went down and took my cock in her mouth. I watched the slow movement of her head and body in the moonlight. She wasn't as good at it as some, but it was the very fact of her doing it that was amazing. Just as I was about to come I reached down and buried my hand in that mass of beautiful hair, pulling at it in the moonlight as I came in Katherine's mouth.

32

Lydia met me at the airport. She was horny as usual. "Jesus Christ," she said. "I'm hot! I play with myself but it doesn't do any good."

We were driving back to my place.

" Lydia, my leg is still in terrible shape. I just don't know if I can handle it with this leg."

"What?"

"It's true. I don't think I can fuck with my leg the way it is."

"What the hell good are you then?"

"Well, I can fry eggs and do magic tricks."

"Don't be fu

"The leg will heal. If it doesn't they'll cut if off. Be patient."

"If you hadn't been drunk you wouldn't have fallen and cut your leg. It's always the bottle!"

"It's not always the bottle, Lydia. We fuck about 4 times a week. For my age that's pretty good."

"Sometimes I think you don't even enjoy it."

" Lydia, sex isn't everything! You are obsessed. For Christ's sake, give it a rest."

"A rest until your leg heals? How am I going to make it meanwhile?"

"I'll play Scrabble with you."

Lydia screamed. The car began to swerve all over the street. "YOU SON-OF-A-BITCH! I'LL KILL YOU!"

She crossed the double yellow line at high speed, directly into oncoming traffic. Horns sounded and cars scattered. We drove on against the flow of traffic, cars approaching us peeling off to the left and right. Then just as abruptly Lydia swerved back across the double line into the lane we had just vacated.

Where are the police? I thought. Why is it that when Lydia does something the police become nonexistent?

"All right," she said. "I'm taking you home and that's it. I've had it. I'm going to sell my house and move to Phoenix. Glen-doline lives in Phoenix now. My sisters warned me about living with an old fuck like you."

We drove the remainder of the way without talking. When we reached my place I took out my suitcase, looked at Lydia, said, "Goodbye." She was crying without making a sound, her whole face was wet. Suddenly she drove off toward Western Avenue. I walked into the court. Back from another reading…

I checked the mail and then phoned Katherine who lived in Austin, Texas. She seemed truly glad to hear from me, and it was good to hear that Texas accent, that high laughter. I told her that I wanted her to come visit me, that I'd pay air fare both ways. We'd go to the racetrack, we'd go to Malibu, we'd… whatever she wanted. "But, Hank, don't you have a girlfriend?"

"No, none. I'm a recluse."

"But you're always writing about women in your poems."

"That's past. This is present."

"But what about Lydia?"

" Lydia?"

"Yes, you told me all about her."