The Big Hunger by John Fante

Author:John Fante
Language: eng
Format: epub, mobi
Publisher: HarperCollins
Published: 2010-03-13T16:00:00+00:00

The bus came to a stop before a combined café and filling station, and the driver announced a five-minute stopover. Outside the cold fog half-smothered the lights of the café, The groggy passengers rose and staggered down the aisle and out the door.

Julio Sal’s dry mouth said: water.

He followed the others, stepping down upon a graveled path beside the gasoline pumps. Bending over, he drank water from a short length of rubber hose. From inside the café came juke-box music and the voice of Bing Crosby. It was Julio’s first clear view of his fellow-travelers. The tam-o’-shanter girl and the proud young man sat at the counter, talking shyly as they drank hot coffee that steamed up before their faces. The college girl’s mouth was wide with laughter at something the bus driver was saying. The others sat around the counter sipping hot coffee, blowing into their cups with tired breaths.

Then he saw the other Pinoy.

Yes—another Filipino was among the passengers. He sat in the only booth in the café. The person with him was an American girl. The girl was holding a fragment of doughnut to the Filipino’s mouth. He snatched it with glistening teeth. The girl laughed and kissed his lips quickly.

Julio Sal frowned. Trouble ahead for that Pinoy. Nobody knew it better than Julio Sal. Shivering with the cold, he pulled the lapels of his topcoat tight around his neck and groped for a proverb: experience is a dear school but a rolling stone saves time. Once more he felt the knife of a dancer named Helen twisting within a wide expanse of his soul marked Los Angeles. The memory brought pain to his entire face. He turned from the window and went back to the water hydrant. As he drank, Julio Sal made up his mind: he would foil the girl in the café he would warn his fellow Pinoy before it was too late.

One passenger got off at the Grapevine stop. When the journey was resumed there were seats for all. In the seat ahead of Julio, the tassel of the tam-o’-shanter bounced happily on a leather-jacketed shoulder. Across the aisle sat the Filipino and his American girl. She half-lay upon him, her cheek against his neck.

It kept Julio Sal awake. Out of the corner of his eye he watched the twitch of the other Filipino’s shoulder, the restless sleepy searching of the girl’s head. In the rear, one of the Negroes began to snore. It was as effective as a lullaby, deep and soothing. Except for the driver and Julio Sal, everyone seemed asleep.

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