six inches

• bir charles bukowski öyküsü. hatta kadını öldürmeyi başaramasa tek sevdiğim bukowski öyküsü de olabilirdi. şöyle ki:
  
  six inches
  the first three months of my marriage to sarah were acceptable but i'd say a little after that our troubles began. she was a good cook, and for the first time in years i was eating well. i began to put on weight. and sarah began to make remarks.
  "ah, henry, you're beginning to look like a turkey they're plumping for thanksgiving."
  "ats right, baby," i told her.
  
  i was a shipping clerk in an auto parts warehouse and the pay was hardly sufficient.
  my only joys were eating, drinking beer and going to bed with sarah. not exactly a
  rounded life but a man had to take what he could get. sarah was plenty.
  everything about her spelled s-e-x. i had really gotten to know her at a christmas
  party for the employees at the warehouse. sarah was a secretary there. i noticed none
  of the fellows got near her at the party and i couldn't understand it. i had
  never seen a sexier woman and she didn't act the fool either. i got close to
  her and we drank and talked. she was beautiful. there was something odd
  about her eyes, though. they just kept looking into you and the eyelids
  didn't seem to blink. when she went to the restroom i walked over to harry
  the truckdriver.
  "listen, harry," i asked, "how come none of the boys make a play for
  sarah?"
  "she's a witch, man, a real witch. stay away."
  "there's no such thing as witches, harry. all that has been disproven.
  all those women they burned at the stake in the old days, it was a cruel and
  a horrible mistake. there's no such thing as a witch."
  "well, maybe they did burn a lot of women wrongly, i can't say. but
  this bitch is a witch, take it from me."
  "all she needs, harry, is understanding."
  "all she needs," said harry, "is a victim."
  "how do you know?"
  "facts," said harry. "two guys here, manny, a salesman. and lincoln, a
  clerk." "what happened?"
  "they just kind of disappeared in front of our eyes, only so slowly---
  you could see them going, vanishng..."
  "what do you mean?"
  "i don't want to talk about it. you'd think i was crazy."
  
  harry walked off. then sarah came out of the lady's room. she looked
  beautiful.
  
  "what did harry tell you about me?" she asked.
  "how did you know i was talking to harry?"
  "i know," she said.
  "he didn't say much."
  "whatever he said, forget it. it's bullshit. i won't let him have any
  and he's jealous. he
  likes to badmouth people."
  "i'm not concerned with harry's opinions," i told her.
  "you and i are going to make it, henry," she said.
  
  she went to my apartment with me after the party and i'm telling you
  i've never been laid like that. she was the woman of all women. it was a
  month or so later that we were married. she quit her job right off, but i
  didn't say anything because i was so glad to have her. sarah made her own
  clothes, did her own hair. she was a remarkable woman. very remarkable.
  
  but, as i said, it was after about 3 months that she began making these
  remarks about my weight. at first they were just genial little remarks, then
  she began to get scornful about it. i came home one night and she said,
  "take off your damned clothes!"
  "what, my darling?"
  "you heard me, bastard! strip!"
  
  sarah was a little different then than i had ever seen her. i took off
  my clothes and underwear and threw them on the couch. she stared at me.
  
  "awful," she said, "what a lot of shit!"
  "what, dear?"
  "i said you look just like a big tub of shit!"
  "listen, honey, what's wrong? you got the rag on tonight?"
  "shut up! look at that stuff hanging at your sides!"
  
  she was right. there seemed to be a little pouch of fat on each side,
  hanging just above the hips. then she doubled up her fists and hit me hard
  several times on each of the pouches.
  
  "we've got to punch that shit! break up the fat tissues, the cells..."
  she punched me again, several times.
  "ow! baby, that hurts!"
  "good! now, hit yourself!"
  "hit myself?"
  "go ahead, damn you!"
  
  i hit myself several times, quite hard. when i was finished the things
  were still there, though now they looked quite red.
  
  "we're going to get that shit off of you," she told me.
  
  i figured that is was love and decided to cooperate...
  sarah began counting my calories. she took away my fried foods, bread
  and potatoes, salad dressing, but i kept my beer. i had to show her who was
  wearing the pants in our family.
  
  "no, damn it," i said, "i won't give up my beer. i love you very much
  but the beer stays!"
  "all right," said sarah, "we'll make it work anyway."
  "make what work?"
  "i mean, get that shit off you, get you down to a desirable size."
  "and what's a desirable size?" i asked.
  "you'll see."
  
  each night when i got home she'd ask me the same questionl
  
  "did you punch your sides today?"
  "oh, hell yes!"
  "how many times?"
  "400 punches on both sides, hard."
  
  i would walk down the streets punching at my sides. people looked at me
  but it didn't matter after a while because i knew that i was accomplishing
  something and they weren't."
  
  things were working, marvelously. i came down from 225 to 197. then
  from 197 to 184. i felt ten years younger. people remarked about how good i
  looked. everybody except harry the truck driver. of course, he was just
  jealous because he never got into sarah's panties. his tough shit.
  one night on the scales i was down to 179.
  i said to sarah, "don't you think we've come down enough? look at me!"
  the things on my sides were long gone. my belly hung in. my cheeks looked as
  if i were sucking them in.
  "according to the charts," said sarah, "according to my charts, you've
  not yet reached a desirable size."
  "look," i told her, "i'm six feet tall. what is the desireable weight?"
  and then sarah answered me quite strangely.
  "i didn't say 'desirable weight'," i said, 'desireable size'. this is
  the new age, the atomic age, and most important the age of overpopulation. i
  am the saviour of the world. i have the answer to the overpopulation
  explosion. explosion. let others work on pollution. solving overpopulation
  is the root; it will solve pollution and many other things too."
  "what the hell are you talking about?" i asked, ripping the cap off a
  bottle of beer.
  "don't worry about it," she answered, "you'll find out."
  
  then i began to notice, as i stepped on the scales, that although i was
  still losing weight i didn't seem to be getting any thinner. it was strange.
  and then i noticed that my pantscuffs were hanging down over my shoes---ever
  so slightly, and that my shirtcuffs were hanging down a bit over my wrists.
  when i drove to work i notcied that the steering wheel seemed further away.
  i had to pull the car seat up a notch.
  one night i got on the scales.
  155.
  "look here, sarah."
  "yes, darling?"
  "there's something i don't understand."
  "what?"
  "i seem to be shrinking."
  "shrinking?"
  "oh, you fool! that's incredible! how can a man shrink? do you really
  think that your diet is shinking your bones? bones melt! rduction of
  calories only reduces fat. don't be an idiot! shrinking? impossible!"
  then she laughed.
  "all right," i said, "come here. here's a pencil. now i'm gonna stand
  against this wall. my mother used to do this with me as a kid when i was
  growing. now put a line right there on the wall where the pencil hits after
  you place it straight across the top of my head."
  "all right, silly," she said.
  she drew the line.
  
  a week later i was down to 131. it was happening faster and faster.
  "come here, sarah."
  "yes, silly boy."
  "now, draw the line."
  she drew the line, i turned around.
  "now see here, i've lost 24 pounds and 8 inches in the last week. i'm
  melting away! i'm now five feet two. this is madness! madness! i've had
  enough. i've caught you cutting my pants legs, my shirt sleeves. it won't
  work. i'm going to begin eating again. i think that you are some kind of
  witch!"
  
  it was soon after that the boss called me into the office
  i climbed into the chair across from his desk.
  "henry markson jones ii?"
  "of course, sir."
  "well, jones, we've been watching you carefully. i'm afraid you just
  don't fit this job anymore. we hate to see you go like this...i mean , we
  hate to let you go like this, but..."
  "look, sir, i always do my best."
  "we know you do, jones, but you're just not doing a man's job back
  there anymore."
  he let me go. of course, i knew that i would get my unemployment
  compensation.
  but i thought it was small of him to let me go like that...
  
  i stayed home with sarah. which made it worse---she fed me. it got so i
  couldn't reach the refrigerator door anymore. and then she put me on a small
  silver chain.
  soon i was two feet tall. i had to use a potty chair to shit. but she
  still let me have my beer, as promised.
  "ah, my little pet," she said, "you're so small and cute!"
  "i'm not a duck, i'm a man!"
  "oh my little sweet man-y-man!"
  she picked me up and kissed me with her red lips...
  
  sarah got me down to being 6 inches tall. she carried me to the store
  in her purse. i could look out at the people through the little air holes
  she had poked in her purse. i will say one thing for the woman. she still
  allowed me to have my beer. i drank it by the thimble. a quart would last me
  a month. in the old days it was gone in 45 minutes. i was resigned. i knew
  that if she wished to do so she could make me vanish entirely. better 6
  inches than nothing. even a little life becomes very dear when you near the
  end of life. so, i amused sarah. it was all i could do. she made me little
  clothes and shoes and put me on top of the radio and turned on the music and
  said, "dance, little one! dance, my dunce! dance, my fool!"
  well, i couldn't collect my unemployment compensation so i danced on
  top of the radio while she clapped her hands and laughed.
  you know, spiders frightened me terribly and flies were the size of
  giant eagles, and if a cat ever caught me it would torture me like a small
  mouse. but life was still dear to me. i danced and sang and hung on. no
  matter how little a man has he will find that he will always settle for
  less. when i shit on the rug i would get spanked. sarah put little pieces of
  paper around and i shit on them. and i ripped off little pieces of that
  paper to wipe my butt with. it felt like cardboard. i got hemorrhoids.
  couldn't sleep nights. feelings of inferiority, of being trapped. paranoia?
  anyhow, i felt good when i sang and danced and sarah let me have my beer.
  she kept me at an exact six inches for some reason. what the reason was, it
  was beyond me. as almost everything else was beyond me.
  i made up songs for sarah, that's what i called them: songs for sarah:
  
  "o, i'm just a little snot,
  that's all right until i get hot,
  then there's nothing to stick it in
  except the fucking head of a pin!
  
  sarah would clap her hands and laugh.
  
  "if ya wanna be an admir in the queen's navy
  just be a clark for the fuckin' nark,
  grow 6 inches tall and when the queen goes to pee
  you can peek up inter drippin' pussy..."
  
  and sarah would clap her hands and laugh. well, that was all right. it
  had to be...
  
  but one night something very disgusting happened. i was singing and
  dancing and sarah was on the bed, naked, clapping her hands, drinking wine
  and laughing. i was putting on a good show. one of my best. but, as always,
  the top of the radio got hot and started burning my feet. i couldn't stand
  it anymore.
  "look, baby," i said, "i've had it. take me down. gimme a beer. no
  wine. you drink that cheapass wine. gimme a thimble of that good beer."
  "sure, sweetie," she said, "you put on a wonderful show tonight. if
  manny and lincoln had acted as nice as you, they'd be here tonight. but they
  didn't sing or dance, the brooded. and worst of all, they objected to the
  final act."
  "and what was the final act?" i asked.
  "now, sweetie, just drink your beer and relax. i want you to enjoy the
  final act. you are evidently a much more talented person than manny or
  lincoln. i do believe that we can have the culmination of the opposites."
  "o, hell yes," i said, draining my beer. "now give me a refill. and
  just what is the culmination of the opposites?"
  "enjoy your beer, little sweetie, you'll know soon enough."
  i finished my beer and then the disgusting thing happened, a most
  disgusting thing. sarah picked me up and placed me down between her legs,
  which she spread open just a bit. then i was facing a forest of hair. i
  hardened my back and neck muscles, sensing what was to come. i was jammed
  into darkness and stench. i heard sarah moan. then sarah began to move me
  slowly back and forth. as i said, the stench was unbearable, and it was
  difficult to breathe, but somehow there was air in there---various side-
  pockets and drafts of oxygen. now and then my head, the top of my head
  bumped the man in the boat and then sarah would let out an extra-illuminated
  moan.
  sarah began moving me faster and faster. my skin began to burn, it
  became harder to breathe; the stench became worse. i could hear her panting.
  it occured to me that the sooner i ended the thing the less i would suffer.
  each time i was rammed forward i would arch my back and neck, tilt
  everything of me into this hooking curve of a thing, bumping the man in the
  boat.
  suddenly i was ripped out of that terrible tunnel. sarah held me up to
  her face.
  "come, you damned fiend of a thing! come!" she demanded.
  sarah was totally drunk on wine and passion. i felt myself being rushed
  back into the tunnel. she worked me rapidly back and forth. then suddenly i
  sucked air into my lungs to increase my size and then i gathered saliva
  intlo my jaws and spit it out---once, twice, 3 times, 4, 5, six times, then
  i stopped...the stench increased beyond all imagination and then, at last, i
  was lifted out into the air.
  sarah lifted me into the lamplight and began kissing me all over my
  head and shoulders.
  "o, my darling! o, my precious little cock! i love you!"
  then she kissed me with those horrible red and painted lips. i vomited.
  then, spent in a swoon of wine and passion, she placed me between her
  breasts. i rested there and listened to her heart beat. she had taken me off
  of her damnd leash, that silver chain, but it didn't matter. i was hardly
  free. one of her massive breasts had fallen to one side and i seemed to be
  right over the heart. the heart of the witch. if i were the answer to the
  population explosion then why hadn't she used me as more than a thing of
  entertainment, a sexual toy? i stretched out there and listened to that
  heart. i decided that she was a witch. then i glanced up. do you know what i
  saw? a most amazing thing. up in that little crevice below the headboard. a
  hat pin. yes, a hat pin, long with one of those round purple glass things at
  the end of it. i walked up between her breasts, climbed her throat, got up
  on her chin(after much trouble), then walked quietly across her lips, and
  then she stirred a bit as i almost fell and had to grab to a nostril for
  support. very slowly i got up by the right eye--- her head was tilted
  slightly to the left---and then i was up on the forehead, having gone past
  the temple, and i was up into the hair---very difficult, wading through.
  then i stood and stretched---reached up and just managed to grab the hat
  pin. coming down was faster but more treacherous. i almost lost my balance
  several times, carrying that hat pin. one fall and it was over. i laughed
  several times because it was so ridiculous. the outcome of an office party
  for the gang, merry christmas.
  then i was down under that massive breast again. i laid the hat pin
  down and listened again. i listened for the exact sound of the heart. i
  determined it to be at a spot exactly below a small brown birthmark. then i
  stood up. i picked up the hat pin with its purple glass end, beautiful in
  the lamplight. and i thought, will it work? i was 6 inches tall and i judged
  the hat pin to be half again longer than 1.9 inches. the heart seemed closer
  than that.
  i lifted the pin and plunged it in. just below the birthmark.
  sarah rolled and convulsed. i held onto the hat pin. she almost threw
  me to the floor---which by comparative size seemed a thousand feet or more
  and would have killed me. i hung on. her lips formed an odd sound.
  then she seemed to quiver all over like a woman freezing.
  i reached up and jammed the remaining 3 inches of the pin down into her
  chest until the beautiful purple glass head of the pin was up against her
  skin.
  then sarah was still, i listened.
  i heard the heart, one two, one two, one two, one two, one...
  it stopped.
  and then with my little killer's hands, i clutched and gripped the
  bedsheet and made my way to the floor. i was 6 inches tall and real and
  frightened and hungry. i found a hole in one of the bedroom screens which
  faced east and ran from ceiling to floor. i grabbed at the branch of a bush,
  climbed on, clambered along the branch to the inside of the bush. nobody
  knew that sarah was dead but i. but that had no realistic good. if i were to
  go on, i would have to have something to eat. but i couldn't help wondering
  how my case would be evolved in a court of law? was i guilty? i ripped off a
  leaf and tried to eat it. no good. hardly. then i saw the lady in the court
  to the south set out a plate of catfood for her cat. i crawled out of the
  bush and worked my way toward the catfood, watching for animals and
  movements. it tasted worse than anything i had ever eaten but i had no
  choice. i ate all the catfood i could---death tasted worse. then i walked
  over to the bush and climbed back into it.
  there i was, 6 inches tall, the answer to the population explosionm
  hanging in a bush with a bellyful of catfood.
  there are details i don't want to bore you with. escapes from cats and
  dogs and rats. feeling myself growing bit by bit. watching them carry
  sarah's body out of there. going in there and finding myself too small,
  still, to open the refrigerator door.
  the day the cat almost caught me as i ate at his bowl. i had to break
  away.
  i was then 8 or 10 inches tall, i was growing. i even scared pigeons.
  when you scare pigeons you know that you are getting there. i simply ran
  down the street one day, hiding along the shadows of buildings and down
  beneath hedges and the like. i kept running and hiding until i got outside a
  supermarket and i hid under a newspaper stand just outside the entrance to
  the store. then, as a big woman walked up and the electric door opened, i
  walked in behind her. one of the clerks at a checkstand looked up as i
  walked in behind the woman:
  "hey, what the hell's that?"
  "what?" a customer asked him.
  "i thought i saw something," said the clerk, "maybe not. i hope not."
  i somehow sneaked back to the storeroom without being seen. i hid
  behind some cartons of baked beans. that night i came out and had a fine
  feed. potato salad, pickles, ham on rye, potato chips and beer, plenty of
  beer. it became about the same routine. each day, all day, i hid in the
  storeroom and at night i'd come out and have a party. but i was growing and
  hiding was becoming more difficult. i got to watching the manager put the
  money in the safe each night. he was the last to leave. i counted the pauses
  as he put the money away each night. it seemed to be---7 right, 6 left, 4
  right, 6 left, 3 right, open. i went over to the safe each night and tried
  the numbers. i had to make a kind of stairway out of empty cartons in order
  to get up to the dial. it didn't seem to work but i kept trying. each night,
  i mean. meanwhile i was growing fast. perhaps i was 3 feet tall. the store
  had a small clothing section and i had to keep going into the larger sizes.
  the population problem was returning. then one night the safe opened. i had
  23 thousand dollars in cash. i must have hit them the night before banking
  time. i took the key the manager used in order to get out without the
  burglar alarm ringing. then i walked down the street and got a week's worth
  of lodging at the sunset motel. i told the lady i worked as a midget in the
  movies. it just seemed to bore her.
  "no television or loud noises after ten p. m. that's our rule here."
  she took my money, gave me a receipt and closed her door.
  they key said room 103. i hadn't even looked at the room. the doors
  said 98, 99, 100, 101, i was walking north toward the hollywood hills,
  toward those mountains behind them, with the great and golden light of the
  lord shining upon me, growing.
• six inch^*:
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  ikinç,
  sikinç.
  at at at,
  al al al,
  çek çek çek.
• 15.24cm