there waas a rock-and-mud slide
on the Pacific Coast Highway and we had to take a
detour and they directed us up into the Malibu hills
and traffic was slow and it was hot, and then
we were lost.
but I spotted a hearse and said, “there’s the
hearse, we’ll follow it,” and my woman said,
that’s not the hearse,” and I said, “yes, that’s the
hearse.”
the hearse took a left and I followed
as it went up
narrow dirt road and then pulled over and I
thought, “he’s lost too.” there was a truck and a man
selling strawberries parked there
and I pulled over
and asked
where the church was and he gave me directions and
my woman told the strawberry man, “we’ll buy some
strawberries on the way back.” then I swung
onto the road and the hearse started up again
and we continued to drive along
until we reached that
church.
we were going
to the funeral of a great man
but
the crowd was very sparse: the
family, a couple of old screenwriter friends,
two or three others. we
spoke to the family and to the wife of the deceased
and then we went in and the ser vice began and the
priest wasn’t so good but one of the great man’s
sons gave a fine eulogy, and then it was over
and we were outside again, in our car,
following the hearse again, back down the steep
road
passing the strawberry truck again and my
woman said, “let’s not stop for strawberries,”
and as we continued to the graveyard, I thought,
Fante, you were one of the best writers ever
and this is one sad day.
finally we were at the graveside, the priest
said a few words and then it was over.
walked up to the widow who sat very pale and
beautiful and quite alone on a folding metal chair.
Hank,” she said, “it’s hard,” and I tried in vain
to say something that might comfort her.
we walked away then, leaving her there, and
felt terrible.
got a friend to drive my girlfriend back to
town while I drove to the racetrack, made it
just in time for the first race, got my bet
down as the mutuel clerk looked at me in wonder and
said, “Jesus Christ, how come you’re wearing a
necktie?”
Other works by Charles Bukowski...
