The Road to Los Angeles by John Fante Read Free Book Online

denounce him with savage and relentless imprecations! I accept the universe godless. I am a monist!"

    "You're crazy," he said. "You're a maniac."

    "You don't understand me," I smiled. "But that's all right. I anticipate misunderstanding; nay, I look forward to the worst persecutions along the way. It's quite all right."

    He emptied his pipe and shook his finger under my nose. "The thing for you to do is stop reading all these damn books, stop stealing, make a man out of yourself, and go to work."

    I smashed out my cigarette. "Books!" I said. "And what do you know about books! You! An ignoramus, a Boobus Americanus, a donkey, a clod-hopping poltroon with no more sense than a polecat."

    He kept still and filled his pipe. I didn't say anything because it was his turn. He studied me awhile while he thought of something.

    "I've got a job for you," he said.

    "What doing?"

    "I don't know yet. I'll see."

    "It has to fit my talents. Don't forget that I'm a writer. I've metamorphosed."

    "I don't care what's happened to you. You're going to work. Maybe the fish canneries."

    "I don't know anything about fish canneries."

    "Good," he said. "The less you know the better. All it takes is a strong back and a weak mind. You've got both."

    "The job doesn't interest me," I told him. "I'd rather write prose."

    "Prose — what's prose?"

    "You're a bourgeois Babbitt. You'll never know good prose as long as you live."

    "I ought to knock your block off."

    "Try it."

    "You little bastard."

    "You American boor."

    He got up and left the table with his eyes flashing. Then he went into the next room and talked to Mother and Mona, telling them we had had an understanding and from now on I was turning over a new leaf. He gave them some money and told my mother not to worry about anything. I went to the door and nodded goodnight when he left. My mother and Mona looked at my eyes. They thought I'd come out of the kitchen with tears streaming down my face. My mother put her hands on my shoulders. She was sweet and soothing, thinking Uncle Frank had made me feel miserable.

    "He hurt your feelings," she said. "Didn't he, my poor boy."

    I pulled her arms off.

    "Who?" I said. "That cretin? Hell, no!"

    "You look like you've been crying."

    I walked into the bedroom and looked at my eyes in the mirror. They were as dry as ever. My mother followed and started to pat them with her handkerchief. I thought, what the heck.

    "May I ask what you're doing?" I said.

    "You poor boy! It's all right. You're embarrassed. I understand. Mother understands everything."

    "But I'm not crying!" She was disappointed and turned away.

    Chapter Six
    IT'S MORNING, TIME to get up, so get up, Arturo, and look for a job. Get out there and look for what you'll never find. You're a thief and you're a crab-killer and a lover of women in clothes closets. You'll never find a job!
    Every morning I got up feeling like that. Now I've got to find a job, damn it to hell. I ate breakfast, put a book under my arm, pencils in my pocket, and started out. Down the stairs I went, down the street, sometimes hot and sometimes cold, sometimes foggy and sometimes clear. It never mattered, with a book under my arm, looking for a job.

    What job, Arturo? Ho ho! A job for you? Think of what you are, my boy! A crab-killer. A thief. You look at naked women in clothes closets. And you expect to get a job! How funny! But there he goes, the idiot, with a big book. Where the devil are you going, Arturo? Why do you go up this street and not that? Why go east - why not go west? Answer me, you thief! Who'll give you a job, you swine - who? But there's a park across town, Arturo. It's called Banning Park. There are a lot of beautiful eucalyptus trees in it, and green lawns. What a place to read! Go there, Arturo. Read Nietzsche. Read Schopenhauer. Get into the company of the mighty. A job? fooey! Go sit under a eucalyptus tree reading a book looking for a job.

    And still a few times I did look for