Post Office

I asked some of the others who had carried the route: “What’s wrong with that guy who stands there and holds his hand out?”

“What guy who stands there and holds his hand out?” they asked.

They all had the same voice too.

One day when I had the route, the man-who-holds-his-hand-out was a half a block up the street. He was talking to a neighbor, looked back at me more than a block away and knew he had time to walk back and meet me. When he turned his back to me, I began running. I don’t believe I ever delivered mail that fast, all stride and motion, never stopping or pausing, I was going to kill him. I had the letter half in the slot of his box when he turned and saw me.

“OH NO NO NO!” he screamed, “DON’T PUT IT IN THE BOX!” He ran down the street toward me. All I saw was the blur of his feet. He must have run a hundred yards in 9.2.

I put the letter in his hand. I watched him open it, walk across the porch, open the door and go into his house. What it meant somebody else will have to tell me.

14

Again I was on a new route. The Stone always put me on hard routes, but now and then, due to the circumstances of things, he was forced to place me on one less murderous. Route 511 was peeling off quite nicely, and there I was thinking about lunch again, the lunch that never came.

It was an average residential neighborhood. No apartment houses. Just house after house with well-kept lawns. But it was a new route and I walked along wondering where the trap was. Even the weather was nice.

By god, I thought, I’m going to make it! Lunch, and back in on schedule! Life, at last, was bearable.

These people didn’t even own dogs. Nobody stood outside waiting for their mail. I hadn’t heard a human voice in hours. Perhaps I had reached my postal maturity, whatever that was. I strolled along, efficient, almost dedicated.

I remembered one of the older carriers pointing to his heart and telling me, “Chinaski, someday it will get you, it will get you right here!”

“Heart attack?”

“Dedication to service. You’ll see. You’ll be proud of it.”

“Balls!”

But the man had been sincere.

I thought about him as I walked along.

Then I had a registered letter with return attached.

I walked up and rang the doorbell. A little window opened in the door. I couldn’t see the face. “Registered letter!”

“Stand back!” said a woman’s voice. “Stand back so I can see your face!”

Well, there it was, I thought, another nut.

“Look lady, you don’t have to see my face. I’ll just leave this slip in the mailbox and you can pick your letter up at the station. Bring proper identification.”

I put the slip in the mailbox and began to walk off the porch. The door opened and she ran out. She had on one of those see-through negligees and no brassiere. Just dark blue panties. Her hair was uncombed and stuck out as if it were trying to run away from her. There seemed to be some type of cream on her face, most of it under the eyes. The skin on her body was white as if it never saw sunlight and her face had an unhealthy look. Her mouth hung open. She had on a touch of lipstick, and she was built all the way…

I caught all this as she rushed at me. I was sliding the registered letter back into the pouch.

She screamed, “Give me my letter!”

I said, “Lady, you’ll have to…”

She grabbed the letter and ran to the door, opened it and ran in.

God damn! You couldn’t come back without either the registered letter or a signature! You even had to sign in and out with the things.

“HEY!”

I went after her and jammed my foot into the door just in time.

“HEY. GOD DAMN YOU!”

“Go away! Go away! You are an evil man!”

“Look, lady! Try to understand! You’ve got to sign for that letter! I can’t let you have it that way! You are robbing the United States mails!”

“Go away, evil man!”

I put all my weight against the door and pushed into the room. It was dark in there. All the shades were down. All the shades in the house were down.

“YOU HAVE NO RIGHT IN MY HOUSE! GET OUT!”

“And you have no right to rob the mails! Either give me the letter back or sign for it. Then I’ll leave.”

“All right! All right! I’ll sign.” I showed her where to sign and gave her a pen. I looked at her breasts and the rest of her and I thought, what a shame she’s crazy, what a shame, what a shame.

She handed back the pen and her signature—it was just scrawled. She opened the letter, began to read it as I turned to leave.

Then she was in front of the door, arms spread across. The letter was on the floor.

“Evil evil evil man! You came here to rape me!”

“Look lady, let me by.”

“THERE IS EVIL WRITTEN ALL OVER YOUR FACE!”

“Don’t you think I know that? Now let me out of here!”

With one hand I tried to push her aside. She clawed one side of my face, good. I dropped my bag, my cap fell off, and as I held a handkerchief to the blood she came up and raked the other side. “YOU CUNT! WHAT THE HELL’S WRONG WITH YOU!”

“See there? See there? You’re evil!”

She was right up against me. I grabbed her by the ass and got my mouth on hers. Those breasts were against me, she was all up against me. She pulled her head back, away from me—

“Rapist! Rapist! Evil rapist!”

I reached down with my mouth, got one of her tits, then switched to the other.

“Rape! Rape! I’m being raped!”

She was right. I got her pants down, unzipped my fly, got it in, then walked her backwards to the couch. We fell down on top of it.

She lifted her legs high.

“RAPE!” she screamed.

I finished her off, zipped my fly, picked up my mail pouch and walked out leaving her staring quietly at the ceiling…

I missed lunch but still couldn’t make the schedule.

“You’re 15 minutes late,” said The Stone. I didn’t say anything.

The Stone looked at me. “God o mighty, what happened to your face?” he asked.

“What happened to yours?” I asked him.

“Whadda you mean?”

“Forget it.”

15