I went after my manuscripts first. That was the lowest of the blows, doing that to me. They were the one thing he had no right to touch. As I picked up each page from the gutter, from the lawn and from the street, I began to feel better. I found every page I could, placed them in the suitcase under the weight of a shoe, then rescued the typewriter. It had broken out of its case but it looked all right. I looked at my rags scattered about. I left the dirty laundry, I left the pajamas, which were only a handed-down pair of his discards. There wasn't much else to pack. I closed the suitcase, picked it up with the typewriter and started to walk away. I could see two faces peering after me from behind the drapes. But I quickly forgot that, walked up Longwood, across 21st and up old Westview hill. I didn't feel much different than I had always felt. I was neither elated nor dejected; it all seemed to be just a continuation. I was going to take the "W" streetcar, get a transfer, and go somewhere downtown.
54
I found a room on Temple Street in the Filipino district. It was $3.50 a week, upstairs on the second floor. I paid the landlady - a middle-aged blond - a week's rent. The toilet and tub were down the hall but there was a wash basin to piss in.
My first night there I discovered a bar downstairs just to the right of the entrance. I liked that. All I had to do was climb the stairway and I was home. The bar was full of little dark men but they didn't bother me. I'd heard all the stories about Filipinos - that they liked white girls, blonds in particular, that they carried stilettoes, that since they were all the same size, seven of them would chip in and buy one expensive suit, with all the accessories, and they would take turns wearing the suit one night a week. George Raft had said somewhere that Filipinos set the style trends. They stood on street corners and swung golden chains around and around, thin golden chains, seven or eight inches long, each man's chain-length indicating the length of his penis.
The bartender was Filipino.
"You're new, hub?" he asked.
"I live upstairs. I'm a student."
"No credit."
I put some coins down.
"Give me an Eastside."
He came back with the bottle.
"Where can a fellow get a girl?" I asked. He picked up some of the coins.
"I don't know anything," he said and walked to the register.
That first night I closed the bar. Nobody bothered me. A few blond women left with the Filipinos. The men were quiet drinkers. They sat in little groups with their heads close together, talking, now and then laughing in a very quiet manner. I liked them. When the bar closed and I got up to leave the bartender said, "Thank you." That was never done in American bars, not to me anyhow. I liked my new situation. All I needed was money.
I decided to keep going to college. It would give me some place to be during the daytime. My friend Becker had dropped out. There wasn't anybody that I much cared for there except maybe the instructor in Anthropology, a known Communist. He didn't teach much Anthropology. He was a large man, casual and likeable.
"Now the way you fry a porterhouse steak," he told the class,
"you get the pan red hot, you drink a shot of whiskey and then you pour a thin layer of salt in the pan. You drop the steak in and sear it but not for too long. Then you flip it, sear the other side, drink another shot of whiskey, take the steak out and eat it immediately."
Once when I was stretched out on the campus lawn he had come walking by and had stopped and stretched out beside me.
"Chinaski, you don't believe all that Nazi hokum you're spreading around, do you?"
"I'm not saying. Do you believe your crap?"
"Of course I do."
"Good luck."
"Chinaski, you're nothing but a wienerschnitzel."
He got up, brushed off the grass and leaves and walked away…
I had been at the Temple Street place only for a couple of days when Jimmy Hatcher found me. He knocked on the door one night and I opened it and there he was with two other guys, fellow aircraft workers, one called Delmore, the other, Fastshoes.
"How come he's called 'Fastshoes'?"
"You ever lend him money, you'll know."
"Come on in… How in Christ's name did you find me?"
"Your folks had you traced by a private dick."
"Damn, they know how to take the boy out of a man's life."
"Maybe they're worried?"
"If they're worried all they have to do is send money."
"They claim you'll drink it up."
"Then let them worry…"
The three of them came in and sat around on the bed and the floor. They had a fifth of whiskey and some paper cups. Jimmy poured all around.
"Nice place you've got. here."
"It's great. I can see the City Hall every time I stick my head out the window."
Fastshoes pulled a deck of cards from his pocket. He was sitting on the rug. He looked up at me.
"You gamble?"
"Every day. You got a marked deck?"
"Hey, you son-of-a-bitch!"
"Don't curse me or I'll hang your wig on my mantlepiece."
"Honest, man, these cards are straight!"
"All I play is poker and 21. What's the limit?"
"Two bucks."
"We'll split for the deal."
I got the deal and called for draw poker, regular. I didn't like wild cards, too much luck was needed that way. Two bits for the kitty. As I dealt, Jimmy poured another round.
"How are you making it. Hank?"
"I'm writing term papers for the other people."
"Brilliant."
"Yeah…"
"Hey, you guys," said Jimmy, "I told you this guy was a genius."
"Yeah," said Delmore. He was to my right. He opened.
"Two bits," he said. We followed him in.
"Three cards," said Delmore.
"One," said Jimmy.
"Three," said Fastshoes.
"I'll stand," I said.
"Two bits," said Delmore.
We all stayed in and then I said, "I'll see your two bits and raise you two bucks."
Delmore dropped out, Jimmy dropped out. Fastshoes looked at me. "What else do you see besides City Hall when you stick your head out the window?"
"Just play your hand. I'm not here to chat about gymnastics or the scenery."
"All right," he said, "I'm out."
I scooped up the pot and gathered in their cards, leaving mine face down.
"What did ya have?" asked Fastshoes.
"Pay to see or weep forever," I said sweeping my cards into the deck and mixing them together, shuffling them, feeling like Gable before he got weakened by God at the time of the San Francisco earthquake.
The deck changed hands but my luck held, most of the time. It had been payday at the aircraft plant. Never bring a lot of money to where a poor man lives. He can only lose what little he has. On the other hand it is mathematically possible that he might win whatever you bring with you. What you must do, with money and the poor, is never let them get too close to one another.
Somehow I felt that the night was to be mine. Delmore soon tapped out and left.
"Fellows," I said, "I've got an idea. Cards are too slow. Let's just match coins, ten bucks a toss, odd man wins."
"O.K.," said Jimmy.
"O.K.," said Fastshoes.
The whiskey was gone. We were into a bottle of my cheap wine.
"All right," I said, "flip the coins high! Catch them on your palms. And when I say lift,' we'll check the result."
We flipped them high. Caught them.
"Lift!" I said.
I was odd man. Shit. Twenty bucks, just like that. I jammed the tens into my pocket.
"Flip!" I said. We did.
"Lift!" I said. I won again.