Charles Bukowski

Post Office. Chapter II: 23

I finally, got a day off, and you know what I did? I got up early before Joyce got back in and I went down to the market to do a little shopping, and maybe I was crazy. I walked through the market and instead of getting a nice red steak or even a bit of frying chicken, you know what I did? I hit snake-eyes and walked over to the Oriental section and began filling my basket full of octopi, sea-spiders, snails, seaweed and so forth. The clerk gave me a strange look and began ringing it up.
When Joyce came home that night, I had it all on the table, ready. Cooked seaweed mixed with a dash of sea-spider, and piles of little golden, fried-in-butter snails.

I took her into the kitchen and showed her the stuff on the table.

“I’ve cooked this in your honor,” I said, “in dedication of our love.”

“What the hell’s that shit?” she asked. “Snails.”

“Snails?”

“Yes, don’t you realize that for many centuries Orientals have thrived upon this and the like? Let us honor them and honor ourselves. It’s fried in butter.”
Joyce came in and sat down.

I started snapping snails into my mouth. “God damn, they are good, baby! TRY ONE!”

Joyce reached down and forked one into her mouth while looking at the others on her plate.

I jammed in a big mouthful of delicious seaweed.

“Good, huh, baby?”

She chewed the snail in her mouth.

“Fried in golden butter!”

I picked up a few with my hand, tossed them into my mouth.

“The centuries are on our side, babe. We can’t go wrong!”

She finally swallowed hers. Then examined the others on her plate.

“They all have tiny little assholes! It’s horrible! Horrible!”

“What’s horrible about assholes, baby?”

She held a napkin to her mouth. Got up and ran to the bath– room. She began vomiting. I hollered in from the kitchen:

“WHAT’S WRONG WITH ASSHOLES, BABY? YOU’VE GOT AN ASSHOLE, I’VE GOT AN ASSHOLE! YOU GO TO THE STORE AND BUY A PORTERHOUSE STEAK, THAT HAD AN ASSHOLE! ASSHOLES COVER THE EARTH! IN A WAY TREES HAVE ASSHOLES BUT YOU CAN’T FIND THEM, THEY JUST DROP THEIR LEAVES. YOUR ASS– HOLE, MY ASSHOLE, THE WORLD IS FULL OF BILLIONS OF ASSHOLES. THE PRESIDENT HAS AN ASSHOLE, THE CARWASH BOY HAS AN ASSHOLE, THE JUDGE AND THE MURDERER HAVE ASSHOLES... EVEN PURPLE STICK– PIN HAS AN ASSHOLE!”

“Oh stop it! STOP IT!”

She heaved again. Small town. I opened the bottle of sake and had a drink.

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