"Bukowski, Charles - Chinaski 04 - Ham on Rye" - читать интересную книгу автора (Bukowski Charles)

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 he 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?"
'The Japs. The trouble is that there are too many Chinks.
When you kill a Chink he splits in half and becomes two Chinks."
"How come their skin is yellow?"

"Because instead of drinking water they drink their own pee- pee."
"Daddy, don't tell the boy that!"
"Then tell him to stop asking questions."
We drove along through another warm Los Angeles day. My mother
had on one of her pretty dresses and fancy hats. When my mother was dressed
up she always sat straight and held her neck very stiff.
"I wish we had enough money so we could help John and his family," said
my mother.
"It's not my fault if they don't have a pot to piss in," answered my
father.
"Daddy, John was in the war just like you were. Don't you think he
deserves something?"
"He never rose in the ranks. I became a master sergeant."
"Henry, all your brothers can't be like you."
"They don't have any god-damned drive! They think they can live
off the land!"


We drove along a bit further. Uncle John and his family lived in a
small court. We went up the cracked sidewalk to a sagging porch and my
father pushed the bell. The bell didn't ring. He knocked, loudly.
"Open up! It's the cops!" my father yelled.
"Daddy, stop it!" said my mother.
After what seemed a long time, the door opened a crack. Then it opened