Charles Bukowski -Image- |
Sunday, April 02, 2006 |
Image Charles Bukowski (1920-1994)
he sits in the chair across from me. "you look healthy," he says in a voice that is almost disappointed. "I've given up beer and I drink only 3 bottles of white German wine each night," I tell him. "are you going to let your readers know you've reformed?" he asks. he walks to the refrigerator and opens the door. "all these vitamins!" "thiamine-hcl," I say, "b-2, choline, b-6, folic acid, zinc, e, b-12, niacin, calcium magnesium, a-e complex, papa... and 3 bottles of white German wine each night." "what's this stuff in the jars on the sink?" he asks. "herbs," I tell him, "goldenseal, sweet basil, alfalfa mind, mu, lemongrass, rose hips, papaya, gotu kola, clover, comfrey, fenugreek, sassafras and chamomile... and I drink only spring water, mineral water and my 3 bottles of white German wine." "are you going to tell your readers about all this?" he asks again. "should I tell them?" I ask. "should I tell them that I no longer eat anything that walks on 4 legs?" "that's what I mean," he says. "people think you are a tough guy!" "oh?" I say. "and what about your image?" he asks. "people don't expect you to live like this." "I know," I say, "I've lost my beer-gut. I've come down from a size 44 to a size 38, and I've lost 31 pounds." "I mean," he continues, "we all thought you were a man walking carelessly and bravely to his death, foolishly but with style, like Don Quixote and the windmills... all that." "we just won't tell anybody," I answer, "and maybe we can save my image or at least prolong it." "you'll be turning to God next," he says. "my god," I say, "is those 3 bottles of white German wine." "I'm disappointed in you," he says. "I still fuck," I reply, "and I still play the horses and I go to the boxing matches and I still love my daughter and I even love my present girlfriend. not that much has changed." "all right," he says, "we'll keep it quiet. can you give me a ride back to my place? my car is in the shop." "all right," I say, "I also still drive my car." I lock the door and we walk up the street to where I'm parked now.
Imagen
él se sienta en la silla a mi costado. "te ves saludable," dice con un tono que es casi de desilusión. "abandoné la cerveza y bebo sólo 3 botellas de vino blanco alemán cada noche," le digo. "¿vas a dejar que tus lectores sepan que te reformaste?" pregunta. va a la heladera y abre la puerta. "¡cuántas vitaminas!" "tiamina-hcl," digo, "b-2, colina, b-6, ácido fólico, zinc, e, b-12, niacina, calcio magnesio, complejo a-e, pp... y 3 botellas de vino blanco alemán cada noche." "¿qué son esas cosas en frascos sobre la pileta?" pregunta "hierbas," le digo, "hidrastis, albahaca dulce, germen de alfalfa, mu, hierba de limón, equinacea, papaya, gotu kola, trébol, consuelda, fenobreco, sasafrás y camomila... y bebo sólo agua de manantial, agua mineral y mis 3 botellas de vino blanco alemán." "¿les vas a contar sobre todo esto a tus lectores?" pregunta nuevamente. "¿debo contarles?" pregunto. "¿debo contarles que no como más nada que camine en 4 patas?" "¡eso es lo que quiero decir," dice. "la gente cree que sos un tipo duro!" "¿oh?" digo. "¿y qué pasará con tu imagen?" pregunta. "la gente no espera que vivas de esta manera." "lo sé," digo, "perdí mi panza de cerveza. me reduje de un talle 44 a un 38, y perdí 14 kilos." "quiero decir," continúa, "que todos nosotros pensamos que eras un hombre que caminaba valientemente y sin cuidado hacia su muerte, tontamente pero con estilo, como Don Quijote y los molinos de viento... esas cosas." "no se lo digamos a nadie," respondo, "y quizás podamos salvar mi imagen o al menos prolongarla." "lo que falta es que empieces a creer en Dios," dice. "mi dios," digo, "son esas 3 botellas de vino blanco alemán." "me desilusionás," dice. "sigo garchando," respondo, "y sigo apostando a los caballos y sigo yendo a las peleas de box y sigo amando a mi hija y hasta amo a mi novia actual. nada de eso ha cambiado." "está bien," dice, "no levantemos la perdiz. ¿podrías llevarme a casa? tengo el auto en el taller." "está bien," digo, "también sigo manejando mi auto." cierro la puerta y caminamos hasta la calle donde estaciono ahora.Labels: Charles Bukowski |
posted by Alfil @ 4:11 AM |
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