The Most Beautiful Woman in Town & Other Stories

  “And the rest?” asked the old man.

  “The Double is dead.”

  “Fine. Let’s get on with it then. History and Science have arrived on Time.”

  The agents began walking the President toward one of the two operating tables. They asked him to disrobe. The old man walked to the other table. Drs. Graf and Voelker climbed into their medical gowns and made ready for the task …

  The younger-looking of the 2 men arose from one of the operating tables. He dressed himself in the President’s clothing, then walked to the full-length mirror on the north wall. He stood for a good 5 minutes. Then he turned.

  “It is miraculous! Not even any operating scars… no recuperating period. Congratulations, gentlemen! How do you do it?”

  “Well, Adolph,” answered one of the doctors, “we’ve come a long way since …”

  “WAIT! I am never to be addressed as ‘Adolph’ again … until the proper time, until I say so! … Until then, there will be no German spoken … I am now the President of the United States of America!”

  “Yes, Mr. President!”

  Then he reached and touched above his upper lip:

  “But I do miss the old mustache!”

  They smiled.

  Then he asked:

  “And the old man?”

  “We’ve placed him in the bed. He will not awaken for 24 hours. At this moment… everything … all appendages of the operation have been destroyed, dissolved. All we need do is walk out of here,” said Dr. Graf. “But… Mr. President, it is my suggestion that this man be …”

  “No, I tell you, he’s helpless! Let him suffer as I have suffered!”

  He walked over to the bed and looked down at the man. A white-haired old man in his 80’s.

  “Tomorrow I’ll be in his private home. I wonder how his wife will enjoy my lovemaking?” he gave a small laugh.

  “I’m sure, mein Fuhrer … I’m sorry! Please! I’m sure, Mr. President, that she will enjoy your love-making very much.”

  “Let’s leave this place, then. The doctors first, to go their way. Then the rest of us … one or two at a time … a transfer of cars, then a good night’s sleep at the White House.”

  The old man with the white hair awakened. He was alone in the room. He could escape. He got out of the bed in search of his clothing and as he walked across the room he saw an old man in a full-length mirror.

  No, he thought, oh my god, no!

  He raised an arm. The old man in the mirror raised an arm. He moved forward. The old man in the mirror enlarged. He looked down at his hands — wrinkled, and not his hands! And he looked down at his feet! They weren’t his feet! It wasn’t his body!

  “My God!” he said aloud, “OH MY GOD!”

  Then he heard his voice. It wasn’t even his own voice. They’d transferred the voice box also. He felt his throat, his head with his fingers. No scars! No scars anywhere. He got into the old man’s clothing and ran down the stairway. At the first door he knocked on the door was marked “Landlady.”

  The door opened. An old woman.

  “Yes, Mr. Tilson?” she asked.

  “ ‘Mr. Tilson?’ Lady, I am the President of the United States of America! This is an emergency!”

  “Oh, Mr. Tilson, you’re so funny!”

  “Look, where’s your telephone?”

  “Right where it has always been, Mr. Tilson. Just to the left of the entrance door.”

  He felt in his pockets. They had left him change. He looked into the wallet. $18. He put a dime in the phone.

  “Lady, what’s the address here?”

  “Now, Mr. Tilson, you know the address. You’ve lived here for years! You’re acting very strange today, Mr. Tilson. And I want to tell you something else!”

  “Yes, yes … what is it?”

  “I want to remind you that your rent is due today!”

  “Oh, lady, please tell me the address here!”

  “As if you didn’t know! It’s 2435 Shoreham Drive.”

  “Yes,” he said into the phone, “cab? I want a cab at 2435 Shoreham Drive. I’ll be waiting on the first floor. My name? My name? All right, my name is Tilson …”

  It’s no use going to the White House, he thought, they have that covered … I’ll go to the largest newspaper. I’ll tell them. I’ll tell the editor everything, everything that happened …

  The other patients laughed at him. “See that guy? The guy that kinda looks like that dictator-fellow, what’s-his-name, only a lot older. Anyhow, when he came in here a month ago he claimed that he was the President of the United States of America. That was a month ago. He doesn’t say it too much now. But he sure likes to read the newspapers. I never saw a guy who was so eager to read a newspaper. He does know a lot about politics, though. I guess that’s what drove him crazy. Too much politics.”

  The dinner bell rang. All the patients responded. Except one.

  A male nurse walked up to him.

  “Mr. Tilson?”

  There wasn’t any answer.

  “MR. TILSON!”

  “Oh … yes?”

  “It’s time to eat, Mr. Tilson!”

  The old white-haired man rose and walked slowly toward the patients’ dining room.

  POLITICS IS LIKE TRYING TO SCREW A CAT IN THE ASS

  “Dear Mr. Bukowski:

  Why don’t you ever write about politics or world affairs?

  M.K.

  “Dear M.K.:

  What for? Like, what’s new? — everybody knows the bacon is burning.”

  our raving takes place quite quietly while we are staring down at the hairs of a rug — wondering what the shit went wrong when they blew up the trolley full of jellybeans with the poster of Popeye the Sailor stuck on the side.

  that’s all that matters: the good dream gone, and when that’s gone it’s all gone. the rest is horseshit games for the Generals and money-makers. speaking of which — I see where another U.S. bomber full of H-bombs fell out of the sky again — THIS time into the sea near Iceland. the boys are mighty careless with their paper birds while SUPPOSEDLY protecting my life. the State Dept. says the H-bombs were “unarmed,” whatever that means. then we continue to read where one of the H-bombs (lost) had split open and was spreading radioactive shit everywhere while supposedly protecting me WHILE I hadn’t even asked for protection. the difference between a Democracy and a Dictatorship is that in a Democracy you vote first and take orders later; in a Dictatorship you don’t have to waste your time voting.

  getting back to the H-bomb dropout — a little while back the same thing happened off the coast of SPAIN. (we are everywhere, protecting me.) again the bombs get lost — careless little toys. it took them 3 months — if I remember properly — to find and lift that last bomb out of there. it may have been 3 weeks but to the people in that coast town it must have seemed 3 years. that last bomb — the god damned thing had gotten itself wedged on the edge of a sandhill far down in the sea. and everytime they tried to hook the thing, so tenderly, it would shake loose and roll a little further down the hill. meanwhile, all the poor people in that coast town were tossing in their beds at night wondering if they’d be blown to hell, courtesy of the Stars and Stripes. of course, the U.S. State Dept. issued a statement saying the H-bomb had no detonation fuse, but meanwhile the rich had left for other parts and the American sailors and townspeople looked very nervous. (after all, if the things couldn’t blow up what were they flying them around for? might as well carry 2-ton salamis. fuse means “spark” or “trigger,” and “spark” can come from anywhere, and “trigger” means “jolt” or any similar action that will set off the firing mechanism. NOW the terminology is “unarmed,” which sounds safer but is the same thing.) anyhow, they hooked at the bomb but as the saying goes, the thing seemed to have a mind of its own. then a few undersea storms came about and our lovely little bomb rolled further and further down its hill. the sea is very deep, much deeper than our leadership.

  finally, special equipment was
designed just to haul bomb-ass and the thing was pulled from the sea. Palomares. yes, that’s where it happened: Palomares. and you know what they did next? —

  the American Navy had a BAND CONCERT in the town park in celebration of finding the bomb — if the thing wasn’t dangerous they were really cutting loose. yes, and the sailors played the music and the Spanish people listened to the music and they all came together, one big sexual and spiritual release. whatever happened to the bomb they pulled out of the sea, I don’t know, nobody (except the few) knows, and the band played on. while 1,000 tons of radioactive Spanish topsoil was shipped to Aiken, S.C. in sealed containers. I’ll bet the rent is cheap in Aiken, S.C.

  so now our bombs are swimming and sinking, chilled and “unarmed” about Iceland.

  so what do you do when you’ve got the people’s minds on something not so good? easy, you get their minds on something else. they can only think about one thing at a time. like, all right, headline of Jan. 23, 1968: B-52 CRASHES OFF GREENLAND WITH H-BOMBS; DANES IRKED. Danes irked? oh, mother!

  anyhow, suddenly, Jan. 24, headline: NORTH KOREANS SEIZE U.S. NAVY SHIP.

  oh boy, patriotism is back! why, those dirty bastards! I thought THAT war was over! ah ha, I see — the REDS! Korean puppets!

  it says under the A.P. wirephoto, something like this — The U.S. intelligence ship Pueblo — formerly an army cargo ship, now converted into one of the Navy’s secret spy ships equipped with electric monitoring gear and oceanographic equipment was forced into Wonsan Harbor off the coast of North Korea.

  those dirty Red bastards, always fucking around!

  but I DID notice that the lost H-bomb story got shoved into a small space: “Radiation Detected at B-52 Crash Site; Split Bomb Hinted.”

  we are told that the president was awakened between 2 a.m. and 2:30 a.m. and told of the capture of the Pueblo.

  I presume he went back to sleep.

  the U.S. says the Pueblo was in international waters; the Koreans say the ship was in territorial waters. one country is lying, one is not.

  then one wonders, what good is a spy ship in international waters? it’s like wearing a raincoat on a sunny day.

  the closer you can get on in, the better your instruments pick up.

  headline: Jan. 26, 1968: U.S. CALLS UP 14,700 AIR RESERVISTS.

  the lost H-bombs off Iceland have completely disappeared from print as if it had never happened.

  meanwhile:

  Sen. John C. Stennis (D.-Miss.) said Mr. Johnson’s decision (the call-up of Air Reserves) was “necessary and justified” and added, “I hope he will not hesitate to mobilize ground reserve components as well.”

  Senate minority leader, Richard B. Russell (D.-Ga.): “In the last analysis, this country must get the return of that ship and the men that were seized. After all, great wars have started from much less serious incidents than this.”

  House Speaker John W. McCormack (D.-Mass.): “The American people have to wake up to the realization that communism is still bent on world domination. There is too much apathy about it.”

  I think that if Adolph Hitler were around now he would pretty much enjoy the present scene.

  what’s there to say about politics and world-affairs? the Berlin crisis, the Cuban crisis, spy planes, spy ships, Vietnam, Korea, lost H-bombs, riots in American cities, starvation in India, purge in Red China? are there good guys and bad guys? some that always lie, some that never lie? are there good governments and bad governments? no, there are only bad governments and worse governments. will there be the flash of light and heat that rips us apart one night while we are screwing or crapping or reading the comic strips or pasting blue-chip stamps into a book? instant death is nothing new, nor is mass instant death new. but we’ve improved the product; we’ve had these centuries of knowledge and culture and discovery to work with; the libraries are fat and crawling and overcrowded with books; great paintings sell for hundreds of thousands of dollars; medical science is transplanting the human heart; you can’t tell a madman from a sane one upon the streets, and suddenly we find our lives, again, in the hands of the idiots. the bombs may never drop; the bombs might drop. eeney, meeney, miney, mo … . .

  now if you’ll forgive me, dear readers, I’ll get back to the whores and the horses and the booze, while there’s time. if these contain death, then, to me, it seems far less offensive to be responsible for your own death than the other kind which is brought to you fringed with phrases of Freedom and Democracy and Humanity and/or any or all of that Bullshit.

  first post, 12:30. first drink, now. and the whores will always be around. Clara, Penny, Alice, Jo …

  eeney, meeney, miney, mo …

  MY BIG-ASSED MOTHER

  they were two good girls, Tito and Baby. they both looked near 60 but they were closer to 40. all that wine and worry. I was 29 and looked closer to 50. all that wine and worry. I had gotten the apartment first and then they had moved in. it worried the apartment house manager who kept sending the cops up when we made the least bit of noise. it was jumpy. I was afraid to piss in the center of the bowl.

  the best time was the MIRROR, watching myself, bloated belly, with Baby and Tito, drunk and sick for nights and days, all of us, the cheap radio playing, tubes all worn-out sitting there on that worn-down rug, ah my, the MIRROR, and I’d be watching, and I’d say:

  “Tito, it’s in your ass. feel it?”

  “oh yes, oh my yes — SHOVE! hey! where ya GOING?”

  “now, Baby, you got it in front there, umm? feel it? big purple head, like a snake singing arias! feel me love?”

  “oooh, dahling, I think I’m gonna c….. HEY! where ya GOING?”

  “Tito, I am back in your rumble seat. I am parting you in two. you don’t have a chance!”

  “oooh god ooooh, HEY where ya GOING? get back in there!”

  “I dunno.”

  “you dunno, what?”

  “I dunno who I want to catch it. what can I do? I want you both, I can’t HAVE you both! and while trying to make up my mind I am in a terror of demise and agony trying to hold it! doesn’t anybody understand my suffering?”

  “no, just give it to me!”

  “no, me, me!”

  THEN THE BIG FIST OF THE LAW.

  bang! bAnG! BANG!

  “hey, what’s going on in there?”

  “nuttin’.”

  “nothing? what’s all that moaning and hollering and screaming? it’s 3:30 a.m. you’ve got four floors of people wide awake and wondering.. .”

  “it’s nuttin’. I’m playing chess with my mother and sister.”

  “please go away. my mother has a bad heart. you are terrorizing her. and she’s down to her last pawn.”

  “and YOU are too, buddy! in case you don’t know, this happens to be the Los Angeles Police Department…”

  “christ, I’d have never guessed …”

  “now you’ve guessed. o.k. open up or we’ll kick it down!”

  Tito and Baby ran into the far corner of the dining room, crouched and shivering, holding, hugging their aging wrinkled and wino and insane bodies. they were stupidly lovely.

  “open up here, buddy, we been up here four times in the past week and a half on the same call. you think we like to go around just throwing people in jail just because it makes us feel good?”

  “yeah.”

  “Captain Bradley says he doesn’t care whether you are black or white.”

  “you tell Captain Bradley that I feel the same way.”

  I kept quiet. the two whores shivering and clutching their wrinkled bodies by the corner lampshade. the bland and smothering silence of willow leaves in a chickenshit and unkind winter.

  they had gotten the key from the manager and the door was open 4 inches but it was being held by the chain which I had on there. one of the cops talked to me while the other pushed with a screwdriver, trying to work the chain out of the slot-holder. I’d let the cop get it almost out, then I’d push the end of the chain all the way
back in. while standing there naked with this hard-on.

  “you are violating my rights. you need a search warrant to enter here. you can’t force entry just on your own behest. what the hell’s wrong with you guys.”

  “which one of those is supposed to be your mother.”

  “the one with the biggest ass.”

  the other cop almost had the chain off again. I pushed it back with my finger.

  “come on, let us in, we’ll just talk.”

  “what about? the wonders of Disneyland?”

  “no, no, you sound like an interesting man. we just want to come in and talk.”

  “you must think I’m subnormal. if I ever get queer enough for bracelets I’ll buy them at Thrifty’s. I’m not guilty of a damn thing but a hard-on and a loud radio and you haven’t asked me to shut either of them off.”

  “just let us in. all we want to do is talk.”

  “listen, you are attempting to break and enter without a permit. now, I’ve got the best lawyer in town …”

  “a lawyer? whatta you got a lawyer for?”

  “I’ve used him for years — draft dodging, indecent exposure, rape, drunk driving, disturbing the peace, assault and battery, arson — all bad raps.”

  “he won all those cases?”

  “he’s the best. now look, I’m giving you three minutes. either you stop trying to force the door and leave me in peace or I’m getting him on the phone. he won’t like to be awakened at this time of the morning. he’ll have your badges.”

  the cops stepped back, a little way down the hall. I listened.

  “you think he knows what he’s talking about?”

  “yes, I think he does.”

  they came back.

  “your mother sure has a big ass.”

  “too bad you can’t have it, eh?”

  “all right, we’re leaving, but you keep it quiet in there. we want that radio off and all that moaning and hollering stopped.”