The Big Hunger: Stories 1932-1959
John Fante
Language: English
Pages: 315
ISBN: 1574231227
Format: PDF / Kindle (mobi) / ePub
Published here for the first time, this text presents a collection of recently-discovered stories by John Fante.
chair, but Uncle Mingo caught his glance, and he sat down again. The woman smiled, her teeth as white as a dog’s. Aunt Rosa slammed the door closed. Uncle Mingo put his arm around the woman and brought her close to the table. He introduced each man to her. They avoided her eyes, nodding coldly. To each she smiled and said, “Pleased to meet you.” To Uncle Clito she exclaimed, “Why I know you! My barber!” Clito blinked, said nothing. Uncle Mingo turned to us kids, crowded at the kitchen door.
and if she read Nietzsche. With such hips, I rambled, she had certainly not had children; but I would bet she was no virgin. “Come on,” Eddie said. “Let’s get goin’.” The stags were numerous. We fought our way through them to a small aisle that circled the floor, and walking along this aisle we watched the seated spectators at our right for unescorted women. “Oh boy,” Eddie said. Before us were two girls, solitary, and one was attractive, with red-brown hair; the other one was ugly. They
know plenty of dirty words, but they don’t use them in plain talk. “I shall never be a priest,” Pat said. “It seems I was mistaken in my vocation.” Dibber was disgusted. “Aw hell sakes!” he said. “And here I been telling all the guys you’d be the next pope!” Pat laughed. He got out some money and handed it to Dibber. “Forget it,” he said. “Take Arturo with you, and get yourselves a milkshake.” We went up the street. Dibber was feeling pretty low. I didn’t say anything for a long time. But
the desk, but I know what he did when he read the Keep Out: Sickness sign on my door. He came in. I looked up when I saw the door opening. There stood Valenti. The last time I’d seen him only his ear was bandaged. Now the top of his head was swathed in a thick turban of cotton and white adhesive. The low desk lamp was on the other side of the room and he couldn’t see me very well. “Jim!” His voice was worried. “What’s the matter?” I was feverish and irritated. I didn’t feel like taking on other
not going.” I turned and tramped back to the boys. The snowball fight resumed. She called. I didn’t answer. She called again. I shouted that her voice might be drowned out. Now it was darkness, and Mr. Craik’s windows bloomed in the night. My mother stood looking at the store door. The grocer was whacking a bone with a cleaver on the chopping-block when she entered. As the door squealed he looked up and saw her—a small, insignificant figure in an old black coat with a high fur collar, most of