63
" The bartender put a notepad and a pencil before me. Breathing hard, the pencil trembling, I wrote:
Dear Sinclair Lewis:
You were once a god, but now you are a swine. I once reverenced you, admired you, and now you are nothing. I came to shake your hand in adoration, you, Lewis, a giant among American writers, and you rejected it. I swear I shall never read another line of yours again. You are an ill-mannered boor. You have betrayed me. I shall tell H. L. Muller about you, and how you have shamed me. I shall tell the world.
Arturo Bandini
P.S. I hope you choke on your steak. "
― John Fante , Dreams from Bunker Hill (The Saga of Arturo Bandini, #4)
64
" She was a hunchback with a sweet smile. She smiled sweetly at anything; she couldn't help it; the trees, me, the grass, anything. The basket pulled her down, dragging her toward the ground. She was such a tiny woman, with a hurt face, as if slapped forever. She wore a funny old hat, an absurd hat, a maddening hat, a hat to make me cry, a hat with faded red berries on the brim. And there she was, smiling at everything, struggling across the carpet with a heavy basket containing Lord knew what, wearing a plumed hat with red berries.
I got up. It was so mysterious. There I was, like magic, standing up, my two feet on the ground, my eyes drenched.
I said, "Let me help."
She smiled again and gave me the basket. We began to walk. She led the way. Beyond the trees it was stifling. And she smiled. It was so sweet it nearly tore my head off. She talked, she told me things I never remembered. It didn't matter. In a« dream she held me, in a dream I followed under the blinding sun. For blocks we went forward. I hoped it would never end. Always she talked in a low voice made of human music. What words! What she said! I remembered nothing. I was only happy. But in my heart I was dying. It should have been so. We stepped from so many curbs, I wondered why she did not sit upon one and hold my head while I drifted away. It was the chance that never came again.
That old woman with the bent back! Old woman, I feel so joyfully your pain. Ask me a favor, you old woman you! Anything. To die is easy. Make it that. To cry is easy, lift your skirt and let me cry and let my tears wash your feet to let you know I know what life has been for you, because my back is bent too, but my heart is whole, my tears are delicious, my love is yours, to give you joy where God has failed. To die is so easy and you may have my life if you wish it, you old woman, you hurt me so, you did, I will do anything for you, to die for you, the blood of my eighteen years flowing in the gutters of Wilmington and down to the sea for you, for you that you might find such joy as is now mine and stand erect without the horror of that twist.
I left the old woman at her door.
The trees shimmered. The clouds laughed. The blue sky took me up. Where am I? Is this Wilmington, California? Haven't I been here before? A melody moved my feet. The air soared with Arturo in it, puffing him in and out and making him something and nothing. My heart laughed and laughed. Goodbye to Nietzsche and Schopenhauer and all of you, you fools, I am much greater than all of you! Through my veins ran music of blood. Would it last? It could not last. I must hurry. But where? And I ran toward home. Now I am home. I left the book in the park. To hell with it. No more books for me. I kissed my mother. I clung to her passionately. On my knees I fell at her feet to kiss her feet and cling to her ankles until it must have hurt her and amazed her that it was I. "
― John Fante , The Road to Los Angeles (The Saga of Arturo Bandini, #2)
70
" Vicdan azabı içerisinde bağışlanmayı düşündü. İyi de, kimden? Hangi Tanrı'dan? O bir zamanlar inandığı bir mitken, mit olduklarını hissettiğim inançlara dönüşmüşlerdi.
Bu "Deniz" bu da "İnsan", deniz gerçek ve İnsan Denizin gerçek olduğuna inanıyor. Sonra başını başka tarafa; Denizden öteye çeviriyor İnsan ve her yer Kara. Yürüyor, yürüyor her yer uçsuz bucaksız Kara. Bir yıl, beş yıl, on yıl geçiyor Deniz'i hiç göremiyor. Denize ne oldu, diye soruyor kendine. Geride kaldı, diye yanıtlıyor İnsan, hafızamda saklı. Deniz bir mit. Hiç yoktu! Ama Deniz vardı! Deniz kıyısında doğdun ey İnsan! Yüzdün o Denizin sularında! Doyurdu, huzur verdi sana. Büyüleyici uzaklıkları ile düşleri besledi.
Hayır belki de Deniz hiç olmadı. Düş gördü İnsan, olmasını diledi sadece, baksana Karada yürüyor yıllardır. Gördü mü bir birikinti dahi. Denizi göremeyecek artık İnsan. Bir zamanlar var olduğunu sandığı o mit.
Ama diyor İnsan gülümseyerek, hala Denizin tuzu ağzında: Binlerce Karayolu dahi olsa da kafam karışmaz çünkü yüreğimdeki kan o harikulade kaynağına; Denize, geri dönecektir."
│ John Fante - Toza Sor "
― John Fante , Ask the Dust (The Saga of Arturo Bandini, #3)
71
" I will drink wine now, for I must prepare myself for the question which my mother will now ask. She will say: “Do you go to Mass every Sunday, my Jimmy?” I will answer: “Sometimes, Ma. Sometimes.” I will be lying. She will ask: “Do you still read books against God?” I will say, lying again: “Not any more, Ma.” And I will look at the face of my mother, and I will remember a night when we lived in the South, and I came home, and I saw my mother in tears, and sick unto death, and the doctor was called, and he saved my mother, and he came out of the room wherein my mother lay, and he held a book in his hand, and he handed it to me, and he said: “This is the cause. If you must read such stuff as this, do it where your mother can’t see you.” When I looked at the book, I saw that it was the The Anti-Christ. Now I will be home soon, and my mother will ask if I read books against God, and I will answer that I do not. "
― John Fante , The Wine of Youth
73
" I hate you," she said.
I felt her hatred. I could smell it, even hear it coming out of her, but I sneered again. "I hope so," I said. "Because there must be something pretty fine about a guy who rates your hatred."
Then she said a strange thing; I remember it clearly. "I hope you die of heart failure," she said. "Right there in that chair."
It gave her keen satisfaction, even though I laughed. She walked away smiling. She stood at the bar again, waiting for more beer, and her eyes were fastened on me, brilliant with her strange wish, and I was unconfortable but still laughing. Now she was dancing again, gliding from table to table with her tray, and every time I looked at her she smiled her wish, until it had a mysterious effect on me, and I became conscious of my inner organism, of the beat of my heart and the flutter of my stomach. I felt that she would not come back to my table again, and I remember that I was glad of it, and that a strange restlessness came over me, so that I was anxious to get away from that place, and away from the range of her persistent smile. "
― John Fante , Ask the Dust (The Saga of Arturo Bandini, #3)
