Read Online Tales of Ordinary Madness by Charles Bukowski - Free Book Online Page A

place hers on the other.
    But the sticks weren’t quite right. The Zen master, smiling a bit, had to reach forward and adjust the sticks to new depths and elevations.
    Then the Zen master dug out a circle of brown beads.
    He handed the circle of beads to Roy.
    â€œNow?” asked Roy.
    Damn, I thought, Roy always read up on everything else. Why not his own wedding?
    Zen reached forward, placed Hollis’ right hand within Roy’s left. And the beads encircled both hands that way.
    â€œDo you ...”
    â€œI do ...”
    (This was Zen? I thought.)
    â€œAnd do you, Hollis ...”
    â€œI do ...”
    Meanwhile, in the candlelight, there was some asshole taking hundreds of photos of the ceremony. It made me nervous. It could have been the F.B.I.
    â€œPlick! Plick! Plick!”
    Of course, we were all clean. But it was irritating because it was careless.
    Then I noticed the Zen master’s ears in the candlelight. The candlelight shone through them as if they were made of the thinnest of toilet paper.
    The Zen master had the thinnest ears of any man I had ever seen. That was what made him holy! I had to have those ears! For my wallet or my tomcat or my memory. Or for under the pillow.
    Of course, I knew that it was all the scotch and water and all the beer talking to me, and then, in another way, I didn’t know that at all.
    I kept staring at the Zen master’s ears.
    And there were more words.
    â€œ... and you Roy, promise not to take any drugs while in your relationship with Hollis?”
    There seemed to be an embarrassing pause. Then, their hands locked together in the brown beads: “I promise,” said Roy, “not to ...”
    Soon it was over. Or seemed over. The Zen master stood straight up, smiling just a touch of a smile.
    I touched Roy upon a shoulder: “Congratulations.”
    Then I leaned over. Took hold of Hollis’ head, kissed her beautiful lips.
    Still everybody sat there. A nation of subnormals.
    Nobody moved. The candles glowed like subnormal candles.
    I walked over to the Zen master. Shook his hand: “Thank you. You did the ceremony quite well.”
    He seemed really pleased, which made me feel a little better. But the rest of those gangsters – old Tammany Hall and the Mafia: they were too proud and stupid to shake hands with an Oriental.
    Only one other kissed Hollis. Only one other shook the hand of the Zen master. It could have been a shotgun wedding. All that family! Well, I’d be the last to know or the last to be told.
    Now that the wedding was over, it seemed very cold in there. They just sat and stared at each other. I could never comprehend the human race, but somebody had to play clown. I ripped off my green necktie, flipped it into the air:
    â€œHEY! YOU COCKSUCKERS! ISN’T ANYBODY HUNGRY?”
    I walked over and started grabbing at cheese, pickled-pigs’ feet and chicken cunt. A few stiffly warmed up, walked over and grabbed at the food, not knowing what else to do.
    I got them to nibbling. Then I left and hit for the scotch and water.
    As I was in the kitchen, refilling, I heard the Zen master say, “I must leave now.”
    â€œOooh, don’t leave ...” I heard an old, squeaky and female voice from among the greatest gangland gathering in three years. And even she didn’t sound as if she meant it. What was I doing in with these? Or the UCLA prof? No, the UCLA prof belonged there.
    There must be a repentance. Or something. Some action to humanize the proceedings.
    As soon as I heard the Zen master close the front door, I drained my waterglass full of scotch. Then I ran out through the candlelit room of jabbering bastards, found the door (that was a job, for a moment), and I opened the door, closed it, and there I was ... about 15 steps behind Mr. Zen. We still had 45 or 50 steps to go to get down to the parking lot.
    I gained upon him, lurching, two steps to his one.
    I screamed: “Hey,