Post Office (14 page)

“No, no, your blood pressure is all right.”

Then he put the stethoscope to me and weighed me.

“I can find nothing wrong.”

Then he gave me a special blood test. He took blood from my arm three times at intervals, each time lapse longer than the last.

“Do you care to wait in the other room?”

“No, no. I’ll go out and walk around and come back in time.”

“All right but come back in time.”

I was on time for the second blood extraction. Then there was a longer wait for the third one, 20 or 25 minutes. I walked out on the street. Nothing much was happening. I went into a drugstore and read a magazine. I put it down, looked at the clock and went outside. I saw this woman sitting at the bus stop. She was one of those rare ones. She was showing plenty of leg. I couldn’t keep my eyes off her. I crossed the street and stood about 20 yards away.

Then she got up. I had to follow her. That big ass beckoned me. I was hypnotized. She walked into a post office and I walked in behind her. She stood in a long line and I stood behind her. She got two postcards. I bought 12 airmail postcards and two dollars worth of stamps.

When I came out she was getting on the bus. I saw the last of that delicious leg and ass get on the bus and the bus carried her away.

The doctor was waiting.

“What happened? You’re five minutes late!”

“I don’t know. The clock must have been wrong.”

“THIS THING MUST BE EXACT!”

“Go ahead. Take the blood anyhow.”

He stuck the needle into me …

   A couple of days later, the tests said there was nothing wrong with me. I didn’t know if it was the five minutes difference or what. But the dizzy spells got worse. I began to clock out after four hours work without filling out the proper forms.

I‘d walk in around 11 p.m. and there would be Fay. Poor pregnant Fay.

“What happened?”

“I couldn’t take any more,” I‘d say, “too sensitive…”

The boys on Dorsey station didn’t know my problems. I’d enter through the back way each night, hide my sweater in a tray and walk in to get my timecard: “Brothers and sisters!” I’d say. “Brother, Hank!”

“Hello, Brother Hank!”

We had a game going, the black-white game and they liked to play it. Boyer would walk up to me, touch me on the arm and say, “Man, if I had
your
paint job I’d be a millionaire!”

“Sure you would, Boyer. That’s all it takes: a white skin.”

Then round little Hadley would walk up to us.

“There used to be this black cook on this ship. He was the only black man aboard. He cooked tapioca pudding two or three times a week and then jacked-off into it. Those white boys really liked his tapioca pudding, hehehehe! They asked him how he made it and he said he had his own secret recipe, hehehehehehe!”

We all laughed. I don’t know how many times I had to hear the tapioca pudding story …

   “Hey, poor white trash! Hey, boy!”

“Look, man, if I called you ‘boy’ you might draw steel on me. So don’t call me ‘boy.’ “

“Look, white man, what do you say we go out together this Saturday night? I got me a nice white gal with blonde hair. “

“And I got myself a nice black gal. And you know what color her hair is.”

“You guys been fucking our women for centuries. We’re trying to catch up. You don’t mind if I stick my big black dick into your white gal?”

“If she wants it she can have it.”

“You stole the land from the Indians.”

“Sure I did.”

“You won’t invite me to your house. If you do, you’ll ask me to come in the back way, so no one will see my skin …”

“But I’ll leave a small light burning.”

It got boring but there was no way out.

Fay was all right with the pregnacy. For an old gal, she was all right. We waited around at our place. Finally the time came.

“It won’t be long,” she said. “I don’t want to get there too early.”

I went out and checked the car. Came back.

“Oooh, oh,” she said. “No, wait.”

Maybe she
could
save the world. I was proud of her calm. I forgave her for the dirty dishes and
The New Yorker
and her writers’ workshop. The old gal was only another lonely creature in a world that didn’t care.

“We better go now,” I said.

“No,” said Fay, “I don’t want to make you wait too long. I know you haven’t been feeling well.”

“To hell with me. Let’s make it.”

“No, please, Hank.”

She just sat there.

“What can I do for you?” I asked.

“Nothing.”

She sat there 10 minutes. I went into the kitchen for a glass of water. When I came out she said, “You ready to drive?”

“Sure.”

“You know where the hospital is?”

“Of course.”

I helped her into the car. I had made two practice runs the week earlier. But when we got there I had no idea where to park. Fay pointed up a runway.

“Go in there. Park in there. We’ll go in from there.”

“Yes, ma’am,” I said …

   She was in bed in a back room overlooking the street. Her face grimaced. “Hold my hand,” she said. I did.

“Is it really going to happen?” I asked.

“Yes.”

“You make it seem so easy,” I said. “You’re so very nice. It helps.”

“I’d like to
be
nice. It’s that god damned post office …”

“I know. I know.”

We were looking out the back window.

I said, “Look at those people down there. They have no idea what is going on up here. They just walk on the sidewalk. Yet, it’s funny … they were once born themselves, each one of them.”

“Yes, it is funny. “

I could feel the movements of her body through her hand.

“Hold tighter,” she said. “Yes.”

“I’ll hate it when you go.”

“Where’s the doctor? Where is everybody? What the hell!”

“They’ll be here.”

Just then a nurse walked in. It was a Catholic hospital and she was a very handsome nurse, dark, Spanish or Portuguese.

“You … must go … now,” she told me.

I gave Fay crossed fingers and a twisted smile. I don’t think she saw. I took the elevator downstairs.

My German doctor walked up. The one who had given me the blood tests.

“Congratulations,” he said, shaking my hand, “it’s a girl. Nine pounds, three ounces.”

“And the mother?”

“The mother will be all right. She was no trouble at all.”

“When can I see them?”

“They’ll let you know. Just sit there and they’ll call you.”

Then he was gone.

I looked through the glass. The nurse pointed down at my child. The child’s face was very red and it was screaming louder than any of the other children. The room was full of screaming babies. So many births! The nurse seemed very proud of my baby. At least, I hoped it was mine. She picked the girl up so I could see it better. I smiled through the glass, I didn’t know how to act. The girl just screamed at me. Poor thing, I thought, poor little damned thing. I didn’t know then that she would be a beautiful girl someday who would look just like me, hahaha.

I motioned the nurse to put the child down, then waved goodbye to both of them. She was a nice nurse. Good legs, good hips. Fair breasts.

   Fay had a spot of blood on the left side of her mouth and I took a wet cloth and wiped it off. Women were meant to suffer; no wonder they asked for constant declarations of love.

“I wish they’d give me my baby,” said Fay, “it’s not right to separate us like this.”

“I know. But I guess there’s some medical reason.”

“Yes, but it doesn’t seem right.”

“No, it doesn’t. But the child looked fine. I’ll do what I can to make them send up the child as soon as possible. There must have been 40 babies down there. They’re making all the mothers wait. I guess it’s to let them get their strength back. Our baby looked
very
strong, I assure you. Please don’t worry.”

“I’d be so happy with my baby.”

“I know, I know. It won’t be long.”

“Sir,” a fat Mexican nurse walked up, “I’ll have to ask you to leave now.”

“But I’m the father.”

“We know. But your wife must rest.”

I squeezed Fay’s hand, kissed her on the forehead. She closed her eyes and seemed to sleep then. She was not a young woman. Maybe she hadn’t saved the world but she had made a major improvement. Ring one up for Fay.

Marina Louise, Fay named the child. So there it was, Marina Louise Chinaski. In the crib by the window. Looking up at the tree leafs and bright designs whirling on the ceiling. Then she’d cry. Walk the baby, talk to the baby. The girl wanted mama’s breasts but mama wasn’t always ready and I didn’t have mama’s breasts. And the job was still there. And now riots. One tenth of the city was on fire …

On the elevator up, I was the only white man there. It seemed strange. They talked about the riots, not looking at me.

“Jesus,” said a coal black guy, “it’s really something. These guys walking around the streets drunk with fifths of whiskey in their hands. Cops driving by but the cops don’t get out of their cars, they don’t bother the drunks. It’s daylight. People walking around with t.v. sets, vacuum cleaners, all that. It’s really something …”

“Yeah, man.”

“The black-owned places put up signs, ‘BLOOD BROTHERS.’ And the white-owned places too. But they can’t fool the people. They know which places belong to Whitey …”

“Yeah, brother.”

Then, the elevator stopped at the fourth floor and we all got off together. I felt that it was best for me not to make any comment at that time.

   Not much later the postmaster of the city came on over the intercoms;

“Attention! The southeast area has been barricaded. Only those with proper identification will be allowed through. There is a 7 p.m. curfew. After 7 p.m. nobody will be allowed to pass. The barricade extends from Indiana Street to Hoover Street, and from Washington Boulevard to 135th Place. Anybody living in this area is excused from work now.”

I got up and reached for my timecard.

“Hey! Where you going?” the supervisor asked me.

“You heard the announcement?”

“Yeah, but you’re not—”

I slipped my left hand into my pocket.

“I’m not WHAT? I’m not WHAT?”

He looked at me.

“What do
you
know, WHITEY?” I said.

I took my timecard, walked over and punched out.

The riots ended, the baby calmed down, and I found ways to avoid Janko. But the dizzy spells persisted. The doctor wrote me a standing order for the green-white librium capsules and they helped a bit.

One night I got up to get a drink of water. Then I came back, worked 30 minutes and took my 10-minute break.

When I sat down again, Chambers the supervisor, a high yellow, came running up:

“Chinaski! You’ve finally hung yourself! You’ve been gone 40 minutes!”

Chambers had fallen on the floor in a fit one night, frothing and twitching. They had carried him out on a stretcher. The next night he had come back, necktie, new shirt, as if nothing had happened. Now he was pulling the old water fountain game on me.

“Look, Chambers, try to be sensible. I got a drink of water, sat down, worked 30 minutes, then took my break. I was gone 10 minutes.”

“You’ve hung yourself, Chinaski! You’ve been gone 40 minutes! I have seven witnesses!”

“Seven witnesses?”

“YES, seven!”

“I tell you, it was 10 minutes.”

“No, we’ve got you, Chinaski! We’ve really got you this time!”

Then, I was tired of it. I didn’t want to look at him anymore:

“All right, then. I’ve been gone 40 minutes. Have your way. Write it up.”

Chambers ran off.

I stuck a few more letters, then the general foreman walked up. A thin white man with little tufts of grey hair hanging over each ear. I looked at him and then turned and stuck some more letters.

“Mr. Chinaski, I’m sure that you understand the rules and regulations of the post office. Each clerk is allowed two 10-minute breaks, one before lunch, the other after lunch. The break privilege is granted by management: 10 minutes. Ten minutes is—”

“GOD DAMN IT!” I threw my letters down. “Now I admitted to a 40-minute break just to satisfy you guys and get you off my ass. But you keep coming around! Now I take it back! I only took 10 minutes! I want to see your seven witnesses! Trot them out!”

   Two days later I was at the racetrack. I looked up and saw all these teeth, this big smile and the eyes shining, friendly. What was it—with all those teeth? I looked closer. It was Chambers looking at me, smiling and standing in a coffee line. I had a beer in my hand. I walked over to a trashcan, and still looking at him, I spit. Then I walked off. Chambers never bothered me again.

The baby was crawling, discovering the world. Marina slept in bed with us at night. There was Marina, Fay, the cat and myself. The cat slept on the bed too. Look here, I thought, I have three mouths depending on me. How very strange. I sat there and watched them sleeping.

Then two nights in a row when I came home in the mornings, the early mornings, Fay was sitting up reading the classified sections.

“All these rooms are so damned expensive,” she said.

“Sure,” I said.

The next night I asked her as she read the paper:

“Are you moving out?”

“Yes.”

“All right. I’ll help you find a place tomorrow. I’ll drive you around.”

I agreed to pay her a sum each month. She said, “All right.”

Fay got the girl. I got the cat.

   We found a place eight or 10 blocks away. I helped her move in, said goodbye to the girl and drove on back.

I went over to see Marina two or three or four times a week. I knew as long as I could see the girl I would be all right.

Fay was still wearing black to protest the war. She attended local peace demonstrations, love-ins, went to poetry readings, workshops, communist party meetings, and sat in a hippie coffee house. She took the child with her. If she wasn’t out she was sitting in a chair smoking cigarette after cigarette and reading. She wore protest buttons on her black blouse. But she was usually off somewhere with the girl when I drove over to visit.