I walked down the street wondering about it. I felt she wanted to fuck but was afraid because I was too young for her and that my parents or the principal might find out. It had been exciting being in the room with her alone. This thing about.fucking was nice. It gave people extra things to think about.
There was one large boulevard to' cross on the way home. I entered the crosswalk. Suddenly there was a car coming right at me. It didn't slow down. It was weaving wildly. I tried to run out of its path but it appeared to follow me. I saw headlights, wheels, a bumper. The car hit me and then there was blackness.,.
14
Later in the hospital they were dabbing at my knees with pieces of cotton that had been soaked in something. It burned. My elbows burned too.
The doctor was bending over me with a nurse. I was in bed and the sun came through the window. It seemed very pleasant. The doctor smiled at me. The nurse straightened up and smiled at me. It was nice there.
"Do you have a name?" the doctor asked.
"Henry."
"Henry what?"
"Chinaski."
"Polish, eh?"
"German."
"How come nobody wants to be Polish?"
"I was born in Germany."
"Where do you live?" asked the nurse.
"With my parents."
"Really?" asked the doctor. "And where is that?"
"What happened to my elbows and knees?"
"A car ran you over. Luckily, the wheels missed you. Witnesses said he appeared to be drunk. Hit and run. But they got his license. They'll get him."
"You have a pretty nurse…" I said.
"Well, thank you," she said.
"Do you want a date with her?" asked the doctor.
"What's that?"
"Do you want to go out with her?" the doctor asked.
"I don't know if I could do it with her. I'm too young."
"Do what?"
"You know."
"Well," the nurse smiled, "come see me after your knees heal up and we'll see what we can do."
"Pardon me," said the doctor, "but I have to see another accident case." He left the room.
"Now," said the nurse, "what street do you live on?"
"Virginia Road."
"Give me the number, sweetie."
I told her the house number. She asked if there was a telephone.
I told her that I didn't know the number.
"That's all right," she said, "we'll get it. And don't worry. You were lucky. You just got a bump on the head and skinned up a little."
She was nice but I knew that after my knees healed, she wouldn't want to see me again.
"I want to stay here," I told her.
"What? You mean, you don't want to go home to your parents?"
"No. Let me stay here."
"We can't do that, sweetie. We need these beds for people who are really sick and injured."
She smiled and walked out of the room.
When my father came he walked straight into the room and without a word scooped me out of bed. He carried me out of the room and down the hallway.
"You little bastard! Didn't I teach you to look BOTH ways before you cross the street?"
He rushed me down the hall. We passed the nurse.
"Goodbye, Henry," she said.
"Goodbye."
We got into an elevator with an old man in a wheelchair. A nurse was standing behind him. The elevator began to descend.
"I think I'm going to die," the old man said. "I don't want to die.
I'm afraid to die…"
"You've lived long enough, you old fart!" muttered my father. The old man looked startled. The elevator stopped. The door remained closed. Then I noticed the elevator operator. He sat on a small stool. He was a dwarf dressed in a bright red uniform with a red cap.
The dwarf looked at my father. "Sir," he said, "you are a repugnant fool!"
"Shortcake," replied my father, "open the fucking door or it's your ass."
The door opened. We went out the entrance. My father carried me across the hospital lawn. I still had on a hospital gown. My father carried my clothes in a bag in one hand. The wind blew back my gown and I saw my skinned knees which were not bandaged and were painted with iodine. My father was almost running across the lawn.
"When they catch that son-of-a-bitch," he said, "I'll sue him! I'll sue him for his last penny! He'll support me the rest of his life! I'm sick of that god-damned milk truck! Golden State Creamery.' Golden State, my hairy ass! We'll move to the South Seas. We'll live on coconuts and pineapples!"
My father reached the car and put me in the front seat. Then he got in on his side. He started the car.
"I hate drunks! My father was a drunk. My brothers are drunks. Drunks are weak. Drunks are cowards. And hit-and-run drunks should be jailed for the rest of their lives!"
As we drove toward home he continued to talk to me.
"Do you know that in the South Seas the natives live in grass shacks? They get up in the morning and the food falls from the trees to the ground. They just pick it up and eat it, coconuts and pineapple. And the natives think that white men are gods! They catch fish and roast boar, and their girls dance and wear grass skirts and rub their men behind the ears. Golden State Creamery, my hairy ass."
But my father's dream was not to be. They caught the man who hit me and put him in jail. He had a wife and three children and didn't have a job. He was a penniless drunkard. The man sat in jail for some time but my father didn't press charges. As he said, "You can't get blood out of a fucking turnip!"
15
My father always ran the neighborhood kids away from our house. I was told not to play with them but I walked down the street and watched them anyhow.
"Hey, Heinie!" they yelled, "Why don't you go back to Germany?"
Somehow they had found out about my birthplace. The worst thing was that they were all about my age and they not only hung together because they lived in the same neighborhood but because they went to the same Catholic school. They were tough kids, they played tackle football for hours and almost every day a couple of them got into a fist fight. The four main guys were Chuck, Eddie, Gene and Frank.
"Hey, Heinie, go back to Krautland!"
There was no getting in with them…
Then a red-headed kid moved in next door to Chuck. He went to some kind of special school. I was sitting on the curb one day when he came out of his house. He sat on the curb next to me. "Hi, my name's Red."
"1m Henry."
We sat there and watched the guys play football. I looked at Red.
"How come you got a glove on your left hand?" I asked.
"I've only got one arm," he said.
"That hand looks real."
"It's fake. It's a fake arm. Touch it."
"What?"
"Touch it. It's fake."
I felt it. It was hard, rock hard.
"How'd that happen?"
"I was born that way. The arm's fake all the way up to the elbow. I've got to strap it on. I've got little fingers at the end of my elbow, fingernails and all, but the fingers aren't any good."
"You got any friends?" I asked.
"No."
"Me neither."
"Those guys won't play with you?"
"No."
"I got a football."
"Can you catch it?"
"Straight shit," said Red.
"Go get it."
"O.K…"
Red went back to his father's garage and came out with a football. He tossed it to me. Then he backed across his front lawn.
"Go on, throw it…"
I let it go. His good arm came around and his bad arm came around and he caught it. The arm made a slight squeaking sound as he caught the football.
"Nice catch," I said. "Now wing me one!"
He cocked his arm and let it fly; it came like a bullet and I managed to hold onto it as it dug into my stomach.
"You're standing too close," I told him. "Step back some more."
At last, I thought, some practice catching and throwing. It felt real good.
Then I was the quarterback. I rolled back, straight-armed an invisible tackier, and let go a spiral fly. It fell short. Red ran forward, leaped, caught the ball, rolled over three or four times and still held onto it.