Absence of the Hero

by Charles Bukowski

  Reddough stood there, seemingly unsure then of what to do and why. He wavered forward, then backward, then sat back down at the table. Harry sat down across from him. Ann and Tina stood watching.

  “Pour me a good one, Red.”

  “Yeah.”

  He filled both water glasses to the rims. The fifth was empty.

  Harry raised his glass. “Here’s to us!”

  They clicked glasses and each drained about half a glass.

  Red looked at Harry. “You know, city boy, I kind of like you. You say what you think even if it is fucked-up.”

  “You say what you think too, Red.”

  “That’s important, isn’t it?”

  “Yeah.”

  “You don’t want to fuck my wife, do you?”

  “No, Red.”

  “Anyhow, you’re ugly. You don’t worry me.”

  “Thanks, Red.”

  Suddenly Red put his head down on the table, knocking over his drink as he did so. He was out. . . .

  Harry finished his drink, stood up, looked around, saw Ann.

  “Goodnight, Ann.”

  Then Tina was leading him by the hand. Then they were in the guest bedroom. Nice place.

  Harry sat on the edge of the bed, taking off his shoes. Tina was disrobing near the closet.

  “You had a lucky night, Harry.”

  “I prey on good luck. It feeds me.”

  “I know. You’re lucky to have me, Harry.”

  “Sure, Tina.”

  Harry got his clothes off and put himself down under the cover and between the clean sheets. Life was not so bad. Now, if he could get rid of that number in L.A. he could start all over again. He evolved off into sleep. . . .

  It could have been 3 A.M., 4 A.M., one of those—anyhow, he was awakened to find Tina riding him topside. It startled him that he was hard. Her head was bent back and she was groaning. He played along with it.

  “O.K., baby, ride the bronco!”

  But all he wanted to do was to be back in L.A. watching the Johnny Carson monologue on TV and not liking it at all. But it was a place to be. A candy-cotton numb dream of isolation. And no trouble, no trouble at all.

  Harry reached out, grabbed the cheeks of Tina’s ass and said, “Work it, baby, you beautiful fucking whore. . . .”

  The Invader

  It was a hot Saturday night, late. There had been nothing worthwhile on cable TV but they had watched it anyhow, relentlessly, and without hope. Harry had drunk a bottle of red wine and Ann about a half.

  Now they were in the bedroom attempting to sleep but it was difficult: bad TV only put you to sleep while you were watching it. But their dog, Redeye, was asleep. In fact, he was snoring. Down there on the rug. No bad memories of rotten TV for Redeye.

  The minutes rolled into a half-hour . . . then into almost an hour . . . and . . . at last Harry felt himself slowly easing into sleep. . . .

  Sleep . . . ah, sleep. . . .

  Then Ann was shaking him . . . “HARRY! HARRY!”

  “Huh? What is it?”

  “EYES!”

  “What?”

  “EYES! I SAW THESE EYES STARING THROUGH THE WINDOW!”

  “What window?”

  “THAT WINDOW! THE ONE TO THE RIGHT! THERE BY THE BUSH! THE EYES WERE LOOKING AT ME RIGHT OVER THE TOP OF THE BUSH!”

  “Are they gone now?”

  “Yes. . . .”

  “Then let’s go to sleep.”

  “HARRY, YOU FIND OUT WHAT THOSE EYES WERE! I’M TERRIFIED!”

  “All right, all right. . . .”

  Harry wandered through the yard in slippers, pjs and robe, along with a flashlight and the baseball bat. He could see Ann watching from the window. He poked through the brush with the bat, flashing the light.

  “O.K., Peep freak, come on out! I won’t hurt you too much! Come on out now, we’ll talk the whole thing over! I’m a recovered peep-freak myself. Come on out and we’ll talk about some of the good things I’ve seen!”

  “Harry,” Ann hissed from the window, “it’s not funny! Be careful!”

  Harry kept poking in the brush and flashing the light.

  “Come on out, baby! We’ll go inside and watch some porno movies!”

  There seemed to be nothing about. Harry turned to re-enter the house.

  It was then he heard something running behind him.

  “SHIT!” Harry yelled.

  He swung the bat at the thing and missed. The thing leaped high, quite high and landed on a small ledge that ran across the top of the back door. There wasn’t much space on that ledge but the thing managed to cling there.

  Harry walked closer and flashed the light upwards. And he saw the EYES. . . .

  THE WILD, FEARFUL CRAZY EYES.

  “Harry, Harry . . . what is it? Be careful! . . .”

  Harry flashed the light fully upon the thing.

  “Ann, it’s a goddamned MONKEY!”

  “A monkey?”

  “Yes, a monkey. . . .”

  “Oh, I’ll be right out . . .”

  “Don’t come out the back door . . . it’s hanging out there, over the top . . . on the little ledge. . . .”

  “I’m coming out the window. . . .”

  “Stay in there . . . it might bite. . . .”

  “No, I’m coming out. . . .”

  Harry heard the screen push open and there was Ann clambering out over the brush. . . .

  “Oh, I tore my nighty. . . .” she was at his side.

  “Where is he?”

  Harry flashed the light. “Up there . . . look. . . .”

  “Oh, the poor thing . . . he’s terrified!”

  Harry said, “I’m going to call the zoo or the fire department or Animal Control or somebody!”

  “Oh, Harry, not at this time of the night!”

  “I can’t think of a better time.”

  “Harry, he’s scared to death! Look at him!”

  “Yeah.”

  “He only wants understanding . . . love. . . .”

  “He needs the sanctuary of the cage . . . that will buck him up.”

  “No, wait, Harry, please . . . I’ll be right back. . . .”

  Ann was clambering through the window again.

  Harry kept the light on the monkey. Actually the thing scared him, a bit. It moved too fast and it looked weak in the brain. A fucker like that could do anything. It could turn on you in a flash.

  The EYES kept looking at him. There, they were red. Then a pale orange. Now they were lit by a long yellow inner glow, rather like an electric charge. All colors of danger.

  Then Ann was there again.

  “I’ve got some bananas. . . .”

  “Bananas?”

  “Yes, the poor thing is probably STARVING!”

  Ann moved forward. She had two bananas. She dropped one to the ground. Then she half-peeled the other and held it up to the monkey.

  “Come on down . . . Come on down, you poor thing . . . Come on down and get your banana!”

  “Ann, that goddamned thing isn’t going to come down! I’m going to phone the authorities!”

  “Come on down, Bozo, and get your nice banana! Come on down, Bozo!”

  “Bozo?”

  “Bozo loves bananas, don’t you, Bozo?”

  “Ann, that thing is never. . . .”

  Bozo leaped down in a forceful arc. He stood still there upon the ground. Then in a lightning flash movement he shot along the ground. But he didn’t take the banana from Ann’s hand. He grabbed the other one, ran off a short distance, peeled the banana, and gulped it down.

  “Poor Bozo, he’s starving!”

  “All right, Ann, let’s leave him the other banana and go on in.”

  “What? We can’t leave that poor thing out there all night!”

  “Why not? He’s from the jungle! They love the night!”

  “Harry, I won’t be able to sleep while thinking about him out here all night alone!”

  “And I sure as hell won�
�t be able to sleep with him inside our place!”

  The monkey just sat on the lawn, motionless, watching them.

  “Besides,” said Harry, “he won’t come in. He’s wild.”

  “Oh, the poor thing . . . he’ll come in . . . watch. . . .”

  Ann walked over, opened the back door, then moved toward Bozo, dangling the half-peeled banana before her.

  “Come on, Bozo, come on inside. Lots of bananas inside, Bozo. Come on. . . .”

  Bozo moved toward the banana. Ann backed up. Bozo followed. Ann moved up the steps of the house, going backwards. She dangled the banana. Bozo followed.

  “Come on, Bozo. Good old, Bozo. . . .”

  Ann backed into the house and the monkey followed her.

  As Harry got inside, Bozo was finishing off the banana. Then he looked down at the skins, made a nasty sound, and threw them over his head.

  Then he walked over to Redeye’s dogfood dish. There was some dogfood in there. Bozo bent over, stuck his head in there, and began eating. He had his rump up in the air and it was ugly, red, and full of bloody scratches.

  “I didn’t think they ate meat,” Harry stated.

  “He’s starving, poor thing. . . .”

  “In the morning I’m going to phone somebody. This thing belongs somewhere. . . .”

  “Harry, he belongs here. The Fates have sent him.”

  “Well, the Fates are out of luck. . . .”

  “Harry, I’ve always wanted a baby. . . .”

  “Oh, Christ! . . .”

  Bozo finished the dogfood, then slowly walked into the front room. Ann and Harry followed.

  “Look at him, Harry! He acts right at home!”

  “Stuffed with bananas and dogfood. . . .”

  Bozo leaped up on the back of the couch. There he slumped over and closed his eyes.

  “Look, Harry, he’s going to sleep!”

  Suddenly . . . Bozo let it go: he defecated on the back of the couch. It was diarrhea-like, a large wet splotch of stringy material. It smelled similar to burning rubber and ammonia.

  Bozo then reached down into it, got some on his fingers . . . then rubbed the fingers around his mouth.

  Then, he screeched in joy, leaped upon the rug.

  “That thing has got to go!” said Harry.

  “I’ll clean it up! Harry, the poor thing just couldn’t help himself!”

  Ann ran to the kitchen for her cleanup materials.

  Just then . . . Redeye walked into the room. The dog. Redeye was an old swayback mongrel in his last years. In the old days he had been tougher than love gone wrong but Time had no consciousness: when the dog saw the monkey, the dog slowly walked backwards, whimpering. He slowly walked, crept backwards, low-down, low-born at last, he retreated, he vanished from the game.

  Bozo gave a little Tarzan victory-call, beating his chest with one hand. Then he stopped, looked at the hand, sensed something in his fingers: a flea had exited in all the fury of this victory, got caught in a nail and Bozo bent down and ate one of his eternal enemies.

  Well, thought Harry, now it’s just me and the fucking monkey.

  The next day, a Sunday, Harry was watching a professional football game on TV and drinking beer. Ann and Bozo were in and out of the house, playing. Nothing too untoward had happened. . . . Well, Bozo had shit on top of the refrigerator.

  It was a good football game and Harry almost forgot about the monkey. Redeye was at his side, trembling but true, trying to gather in his lost past. Harry reached down, petted the old mongrel. . . .

  “Don’t worry, we’ll get rid of that son of a bitch. . . .”

  And he drained his beer can.

  At least Ann wasn’t trying to get him to take her to some movie. She had her movie: that red-assed subnormal hunk of fur.

  Harry left the TV to go take a piss.

  Then he had to come out fast to all the yelping and chattering: Bozo was dug into Redeye’s back, riding him. The dog was running about the room, crazed.

  Harry made a flying tackle and then they were all about the floor: dog, monkey, and man.

  Redeye shot off into the other room.

  The monkey leaped onto the coffee table, grabbed a banana, peeled it, and gulped it down. . . .

  Late that night, Harry and Ann were in bed together.

  They hadn’t made love for about three weeks. Somehow, they got into it.

  Harry worked away. For the first time in a long time he felt normal again. Sex wasn’t terrible at all. It was quite interesting.

  He had once been a hell of a lover. Or so it had seemed.

  For it all, it was going well.

  Then . . . Ann began giggling . . . wildly. . . .

  “What the fuck?” Harry asked.

  He fell out.

  “Look! Quick!” Ann said.

  Harry turned his head.

  Bozo had been watching.

  He was on top of the dresser, masturbating.

  He had a long thin red string of a thing and he was beating at it. His eyes had a dumb blank look.

  Bozo gave a little yelp. He was finished. He leaped off of the dresser and ran out of the room.

  Ann was still giggling.

  “That was really funny!”

  “Yeah?”

  “Baby, that fucking thing has got to go!”

  Upon awakening that A.M. Harry grabbed the phone, phoned in sick.

  “I’m not sure what it is,” he told them, “but I’m coming down with something and I think it’s something bad. . . .”

  He slowly hung the phone up.

  “What is it?” Ann asked. “What are you coming down with, Harry? What can I do?”

  “Nothing. Where’s that goddamned monkey?”

  “He’s in the house somewhere. I’ve got things locked up so he can’t get out.”

  “I’m getting his ass out of here! We’re harboring a wild animal! We’re not equipped to do that! He has to go!”

  “Oh, Harry, please! He’s so cute! All he needs is love!”

  “All he needs is a cage and a keeper!”

  Ann got up and went to the bathroom. She closed the door. After a while he could hear Ann sobbing.

  Harry walked to the door, spoke through it: “I’m sorry, Ann, I know that he has certain charming ways . . . but . . . he’s destroying our lives! I have to get rid of him. . . .”

  There was a wail from behind the door. It made Harry feel bad but he walked back to the bedroom, began dressing. First thing he had to do was find the monkey. Then he’d put him in that carrying-case they used when they took Redeye to the vet’s. After he got him in there he’d phone Animal Control.

  Harry went outside and got the carrying-case out of the garage. It was sturdy, built of plywood with large screen windows. It was big enough to carry Bozo. He brought it into the house, set it down in the kitchen.

  Bozo was nowhere to be seen.

  Harry found a couple of bananas.

  “Bozo, baby, come on out from wherever you are! Come on and have your breakfast! Bozo! Nice bananas! Nice ripe bananas!”

  Where was the son of a bitch?

  Then he found him. He was asleep on top of the TV. He was like a little man covered with fur. There was some charm there, and a certain low-grade type of innocence.

  Asleep like that, Bozo did score some points.

  Harry walked up to him, touched him on the ear. Bozo opened one eye, looked at Harry. The monkey almost seemed to smile.

  “How about a banana, boy?”

  Bozo slowly sat up, got his haunches under him, then dangled his feet over the TV screen. He was still half asleep.

  Harry peeled a banana.

  “Come on, boy, have a bite. . . .”

  Bozo took a small bite, chewed it down, scratched the back of his neck, and looked at Harry for more. Harry gave him the remainder of the banana. Then he peeled the second banana and fed it to him.

  The monkey appeared to be quite relaxed.

  “Bozo, come here to Papa
. . . .”

  Harry reached around and picked the animal up. Bozo’s arms went around Harry’s neck.

  Harry walked the monkey slowly toward the kitchen, toward the carrying case.

  Maybe we ought to keep him, Harry thought.

  No, I’ve got to be strong. This is like something that came in the night to tear our hearts out. It can destroy our lives. It doesn’t mean to, of course . . . but. . . .

  He placed Bozo on the floor in front of the case. The door was open.

  “Come on, Bozo . . . you just walk in there and look around. It’s a little playhouse for you. . . . And we’ll all be happier when you get in there . . . yeah. . . .”

  Bozo stood there and looked at the opening. He wasn’t moving. . . .

  Harry reached down to that red ugly ass and gave Bozo a gentle shove.

  The monkey was almost in. . . .

  “NO, NO, BOZO! DON’T GO IN THERE! BOZO, RUN! BOZO, LOOK OUT! RUN!”

  It was Ann, standing behind them.

  The monkey was startled. It twisted as if to leap away. . . .

  Harry grabbed Bozo hard, he had him in his grip. He held him there. Bozo wiggled, kicked, screeched but Harry had him in a good hold.

  Harry moved him gradually toward the door of the case. The monkey was strong and making a good fight of it but Harry was jamming him forward through the door. . . .

  Then Ann had her arms about Harry’s neck, pulling him backwards from Bozo. . . .

  “NO!” she screeched, “NO, NO, NO! HE’S NOT GOING IN THERE!”

  Then Harry was struggling with the monkey and with Ann.

  He encircled Bozo with his left arm and fought Ann off with his right.

  The monkey was wiggling free from his left arm and Harry relented from fighting Ann in order to get better control of Bozo.

  Harry brought his right arm around, took his right hand and pushed against the animal’s head, against the top of the head to push Bozo back down into the grip of his left arm which had been encircled about the waist but the monkey had wiggled upwards and almost out. . . .

  In the struggle, Harry’s right hand slipped from the top of Bozo’s head and down the face, down to the nose, the mouth. . . .

  The monkey bit through Harry’s index finger . . . completely ripping through the finger and the bone. It sheared the finger off just below the knuckle.

  Harry rolled to the floor . . . YOWLING IN WORLD-ENDING TERROR AND PAIN . . . as the monkey ran out through the back door which had been left open. . . .