"Bukowski, Charles - Ham On Rye" - читать интересную книгу автора (Bukowski Charles)

"I mean, after having the children, and with this type of life, the worry and all . . . I don't look so good anymore. He saw a young girl, she looked good to him . . . she got on his bike, you know, she put her arms around him . . ."
"What?" asked my father. "How would you like to be raped?"
"I guess I wouldn't like it."
"Well, I'm sure the young girl didn't like it either."

A fly appeared and whirled around and around the table. We watched it.
"There's nothing to eat here," said my father. "The fly has come to the wrong place."
The fly became more and more bold. It circled closer and made buzzing sounds. The closer it circled the louder the buzzing became.
"You're not going to tell the cops that John might come home?"
my aunt asked my father.
"I am not going to let him off the hook so easily," said my father. My mother's hand leaped quickly. It closed and she brought her hand back down to the table.
"I got him," she said.
"Clot what?" asked my father. 'The fly," she smiled.
"I don't believe you . . ."
"You see the fly anywhere? The fly is gone."
"It flew off."
"No, I have it in my hand."
"Nobody is that quick."
"I have it in my hand."
"Bullshit."
"You don't believe me?"
"No."
"Open your mouth."
"All right."
My father opened his mouth and my mother cupped her hand over it. My father leaped up, grabbing at his throat.
"JESUS CHRIST!"
I he fly came out of his mouth and began circling the table again.
"That's enough," said my father, "we're going home!"
He got up and walked out the door and down the walk and got into the Model-T and just sat there very stiffly, looking dangerous.
"We brought you a few cans of food," my mother said to my aunt. "I'm sorry it can't be money but Henry is afraid John will use it for gin, or for gasoline for his motorcycle. It isn't much: soup, hash, peas . . ."

"Oh, Katherine, thank you! I hank you, both . . ."
My mother got up and I followed her. There were two boxes of canned food in the car. I saw my father sitting there rigidly. He was still angry.
My mother handed me the smaller box of cans and she took the large box and I followed her back into the court. We set the boxes down in the breakfast nook. Aunt Anna came over and picked up a can. It was a can of peas, the label on it covered with little round green peas.
"This is lovely," said my aunt.
"Anna, we have to go. Henry's dignity is upset."
My aunt threw her arms around my mother. "Everything has been so awful. But this is like a dream. Wait until the girls come home. Wait until the girls see all these cans of food!"
My mother hugged my aunt back. Then they separated.
"John is not a bad man," my aunt said.
"I know," my mother answered. "Goodbye, Anna."
"Goodbye, Katherine. Goodbye, Henry."
My mother turned and walked out the door. I followed her. We walked to the car and got in. My father started the car.
As we were driving off I saw my aunt at the door waving. My mother waved back. My father didn't wave back. I didn't either.

5
I had begun to dislike my father. He was always angry about something. Wherever we went he got into arguments with people. But he didn't appear to frighten most people; they often just stared at him, calmly, and he became more furious. If we ate out, which was seldom, he always found something wrong with the food and sometimes refused to pay. "There's flyshit in this whipped cream! What the hell kind of a place is this?"
"I'm sorry, sir, you needn't pay. Just leave."
"I'll leave, all right! But I'll be back! I'll burn this god-damned place down!"
Once we were in a drug store and my mother and I were standing to one side while my father yelled at a clerk. Another clerk asked my mother, "Who is that horrible man? Everytime he comes in here there's an argument."
"That's my husband," my mother told the clerk. Yet, I remember another time. He was working as a milkman and made early morning deliveries. One morning he awakened me. "Come on, I want to show you something." I walked outside with him. I was wearing my pajamas and slippers. It was still dark, the moon was still up. We walked to the milk wagon which was horsedrawn. The horse stood very still. "Watch," said my father. He took a sugar cube, put it in his hand and held it out to the horse. The horse ate it out of his palm. "Now you try it . . ."