Run With the Hunted by Charles Bukowski Page B

superiority, they could make it with the nurses too:—Dr. Dr. Dr. pinch my ass in the elevator, forget the stink of cancer, forget the stink of life. We are not the poor fools, we will never die; we drink our carrot juice, and when we feel bad we can take a pop, a needle, all the dope we need. Cheep, cheep, cheep, life will sing for us, Big-Time us. I’d go in and sit down and they’d put the drill into me. ZIRRRR ZIRRRR ZIRRRR, ZIR, the sun meanwhile raising dahlias and oranges and shining through nurses’ dresses driving the poor freaks mad. Zirrrrrrr, zirrr, zirr.
    â€œNever saw anybody go under the needle like that!”
    â€œLook at him, cold as steel!”
    Again a gathering of nurse-fuckers, a gathering of men who owned big homes and had time to laugh and to read and go to plays and buy paintings and forget how to think, forget how to feel anything. White starch and my defeat. The gathering.
    â€œHow do you feel?”
    â€œWonderful.”
    â€œDon’t you find the needle painful?”
    â€œFuck you.”
    â€œWhat?”
    â€œI said—fuck you.”
    â€œHe’s just a boy. He’s bitter. Can’t blame him. How old are you?”
    â€œFourteen.”
    â€œI was only praising you for your courage, the way you took the needle. You’re tough.”
    â€œFuck you.”
    â€œYou can’t talk to me that way.”
    â€œFuck you. Fuck you. Fuck you.”
    â€œYou ought to bear up better. Supposing you were blind?”
    â€œThen I wouldn’t have to look at your goddamned face.”
    â€œThe kid’s crazy.”
    â€œSure he is, leave him alone.”
    That was some hospital and I never realized that 20 years later I’d be back, again in the charity ward. Hospitals and jails and whores: these are the universities of life. I’ve got several degrees. Call me Mr.
    â€” S OUTH OF N O N ORTH
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    The ultra-violet ray machine clicked off. I had been treated on both sides. I took off the goggles and began to dress. Miss Ackerman walked in.
    â€œNot yet,” she said, “keep your clothes off.”
    What is she going to do to me, I thought?
    â€œSit up on the edge of the table.”
    I sat there and she began rubbing salve over my face. It was a thick buttery substance.
    â€œThe doctors have decided on a new approach. We’re going to bandage your face to effect drainage.”
    â€œMiss Ackerman, what ever happened to that man with the big nose? The nose that kept growing?”
    â€œMr. Sleeth?”
    â€œThe man with the big nose.”
    â€œThat was Mr. Sleeth.”
    â€œI don’t see him anymore. Did he get cured?”
    â€œHe’s dead.”
    â€œYou mean he died from that big nose?”
    â€œSuicide.” Miss Ackerman continued to apply the salve.
    Then I heard a man scream from the next ward, “ Joe, where are you? Joe, you said you’d come back! Joe, where are you? ”
    The voice was loud and so sad, so agonized.
    â€œHe’s done that every afternoon this week,” said Miss Ackerman, “and Joe’s not going to come get him.”
    â€œCan’t they help him?”
    â€œI don’t know. They all quiet down, finally. Now take your finger and hold this pad while I bandage you. There. Yes. That’s it. Now let go. Fine.”
    â€œ Joe! Joe, you said you’d come back! Where are you, Joe? ”
    â€œNow, hold your finger on this pad. There. Hold it there. I’m going to wrap you up good! There. Now I’ll secure the dressings.”
    Then she was finished.
    â€œO.K., put on your clothes. See you the day after tomorrow. Goodbye, Henry.”
    â€œGoodbye, Miss Ackerman.”
    I got dressed, left the room and walked down the hall. There was a mirror on a cigarette machine in the lobby. I looked into the mirror. It was great. My whole head was bandaged. I was all white. Nothing could be seen but my eyes, my mouth and my ears, and