The Bell Tolls for No One. Charles Bukowski

told me.”

      We walked into the bedroom. There was Teddy sitting on a chair, smoking a cigarette. Helen pulled her dress off and climbed onto the bed.

      “Go ahead,” said Teddy, “do it.”

      “But Teddy, it’s your wife.”

      “I know it’s my wife.”

      “I mean, look Teddy—”

      “I’ll give you ten bucks to do it,” he said. “Is it a deal, Bukowski?”

      “Ten bucks?”

      “That’s right.”

      I took off my clothes and got on.

      “Give her a long ride,” said Teddy. “No quickies.”

      “I’ll try, but she’s got me going.”

      “Just think of a stack of horseshit,” said Teddy.

      “Yeah, think of a stack of horseshit,” said his wife.

      “How tall?” I asked.

      “Real tall. Wide. Covered with flies,” said Teddy.

      “Thousands of flies,” said Helen, “all eating shit.”

      “Flies are sure strange,” I said.

      “Your ass looks funny,” Teddy said to me.

      “Yours does too,” I said.

      “How does my ass look?” asked Helen.

      “Please,” I said, “I don’t wanna think about your ass or I’m not gonna last.”

      “Try singing the National Anthem,” said Helen.

      “Oh, say can you see? By the stars early light? Oh—”

      “What’s the matter?” she asked.

      “I don’t know the words.”

      “Say anything that comes to your mind then,” said Helen.

      “I’m coming,” I said.

      “What?” she asked.

      “I said, ‘I’m coming!’ ”

      “Oh, my gawd!” she said.

      We clutched and kissed, moaning. I climbed off. I wiped off on the sheet and Teddy handed me a ten.

      “Next time,” he said, “try to last longer or it’s only five bucks.”

      “O.K.,” I said.

      “Oh, Teddy!” said Helen from the bed.

      “What, dear?”

      “I love you . . . ”

      The second night was a bit different. Teddy and his wife had wrestled on the floor. Then Teddy had disappeared. I was drinking beer and watching television. Helen snapped off the TV and stood in front of it.

      “Hey—that was a good program, Helen. Why’d you turn it off?”

      “You’re not much of a man, are you?”

      “What do you mean?”

      “Did you like that fried chicken tonight?”

      “Sure.”

      “Do you like my legs, my hips, my breasts?”

      “Sure, sure.”

      “Do you like the color of my hair? Do you like the way I walk? Do you like my dress?”

      “Sure, sure, sure.”

      “You’re not much of a man, are you?”

      “I don’t understand.”

      “Beat me!”

      “Beat you? What for?”

      “Don’t you understand? Beat me! Use your belt! Use your hand! Make me cry! Make me scream!”

      “Look—”

      “Rape me! Hurt me!”

      “Look, Mrs. Ralstead . . . ”

      “Oh, for Christ’s sake, get going!”

      I took off my belt and slapped her across the thigh.

      “Harder, you fool!”

      “Mrs. Ralstead . . . ”

      “Be a beast!”

      I slammed her across the ass with the buckle. She screamed.

      “MORE! MORE!”

      I laid the belt to her. All up and down her legs. Then I slapped her and knocked her down, picked her up by the hair.

      “Rip my dress!” she said. “Rip my dress to shreds!”

      “But Mrs. Ralstead—I like your dress.”

      “Oh, you fool—rip my dress!”

      I ripped it straight down the front. Then I kept ripping until she didn’t have anything on.

      “What do I do now?”

      “Hit me! Rape me!”

      I hit her again, picked her up and carried her into the bedroom. Teddy was sitting there smoking a cigarette. Helen was sobbing, crying.

      “Beautiful!” said Teddy. “Beautiful!”

      “You beast!” Helen screamed at me.

      “Get her!” said Teddy. “Slam it to her!”

      I leaped onto his wife and inserted my penis.

      “Make it last,” said Teddy, “no quickies.”

      “But she’s got me hot,” I shouted.

      “Just think about eating shit,” said Teddy.

      “Eating shit?”

      “Yes,” said Helen, “with the flies still on it.”

      “The flies would fly away if I got the shit close to my mouth,” I said.

      “Not these flies,” said Helen. “These flies are different. You swallow them with the shit.”

      “O.K.,” I said.

      “No quickies,” said Teddy.

      “Little boy blue,” I said, “come blow your horn, the cow’s in the meadow, the sheep’s in the corn . . . ”

      “You haven’t learned the National Anthem yet?” asked Teddy.

      “No.”

      “You’re not a very good American, are you Bukowski?”

      “I guess I’m not.”

      “I’ve never failed to vote,” said Teddy. “This is a great country.”

      “Little Jack Horner,” I said, “sat in a corner, eating a pumpkin pie . . . ”

      “And along came a spider and sat down beside her,” said Helen.

      “Wait a minute,” said Teddy, “is that the way it goes?”

      “I don’t know,” I said. “Mary had a little lamb and its fleece was white as snow and everywhere that Mary went—I’m coming!”

      “What—?” asked Helen.

      “I’m coming!”

      “Oh, my gawd!” she said.

      We clutched and kissed, moaning. I climbed off. I wiped off on the sheet