Naw Much of a Talker (15 page)

If you’d let go a bit, ah
could
shut ma mooth. Way yir blockin ma air, ah hiv tae keep it open.

Pesche lets go an’ starts tae tell me. He talks mair than he tells but. Human nature, probably. Ah dae the same. Talkin’s summit ye kin aye dae. Any cunt kin talk. Actually tellin
someone summit’s a loat harder.

Pesche maintains he didnae initiate the deal. The French painter did. He’d pressurised Uli, wee Stofer an’ him himsel. It wis also the French guy who’d hid the idea ae the
hoose in Spain. He himself, i.e. the French guy, hid a pub in the region. An’ if ahd ended up in jail, ah wis responsible fur that masel. That hid only happened cos ah didnae haun the stuff
over the Frenchman left in ma car. If ah hidnae been such an eejit, ahd’ve got the 5k they promised an’ that widda been it. Nae hassle. Nae Gross fae the drug squad. Nae fuck-aw
An’ five thoo. Tax free.

Pesche, ye dont even realise whit kinda deep-fried dog-poo yir comin oot wi. Yis come up wi a beautiful deal that, aw in aw, brings in fuck-knows how much dough fur yis, enough anyhoo tae buy a
shack in Spain. An’ noo yir describin it as if it wis jist a nasty trick, ya dick, that hid unpleasant consequences fur me, an’ nane fur yous. You cunts didnae go tae jail but. Yis also
earned plenty ae fuckin dough. That’s the point, Peter boy: a hoose fur yous, jist pocket money fur me but, an’ a year behind bars. Ta very much, Pesche. An’ thanks fur the wine,
even if it tastes like fuckin vinegar. An’ bye.

Tell me whit yir wantin, Goalie. Say whit ye want. Mibbe we kin agree on a figure.

Nuthin. Ah want fuck-aw fae yis. Ahv got ma pride still. Honestly, ah want fuck-aw. Ah want tae go hame.

Watch whit ye say tae folk, Goalie. Ahm warnin ye.

Ah hear whit yir sayin, Mr Onassis.

Ah didnae go hame. The evenin hid hardly started so ah stumbled through the fog haphazardly. Wis ah ragin? Oot fur revenge? Naw, nane a that, jist a kinda empty feelin in ma
belly an’ a cravin fur broon sugar.

At some point, ah passed the cemetery an’ summit took me in. Ah stopped at the Bourbaki monument. Poor cunts, ah thought. First, an ugly war against the Germans. Then they flee here. Ur
washed up – ae aw places – here where ah stay. They end up dyin here an’ aw. Switzerland saved the lives ae the Bourbaki sodjers back then. Ye cannae actually save lives but.
Sooner or later, it’s bye-bye anyhoo. Nanetheless, fur they yins buried here, it wis a bitter pill tae swallow: hivin tae breathe their last sae faur fae hame. In a village like fuckin this
yin an’ aw.

How ah aye think the same thing, mair or less, when ahm in a cemetery, ah dont know masel. Ah then went tae ma faither’s grave anyhoo. An’ ah thought ae Uli’s faither while ah
wis there. Whereas next-tae-nuthin tae nuthin came intae ma heid aboot ma ain faither.

Eh – hello, Goalie.

Hello, Frau Balsiger. Hello tae you an’ aw.

Visitin yir faither’s grave?

Aye. His tae be fae time tae time.

Of course. It kin help, it kin. An’ how ur ye doin, Goalie?

Fine, ta. Yirsel?

Cant complain.

Excellent. That’s whit ah like tae hear.

How’s yir mother? Ahv naw seen her furra lang time. Since she stopped comin tae gymnastics, ah hardly see her – if at aw.

She’s fine, ta.

An’ you yirsel, Goalie. Hiv ye settled back in? Ye wur gone a lang time.

Aye – a year, jist aboot. Ye get back intae yir auld ways soon enough but.

Yir right there.

Exactly.

An’ ah hear yir noo workin in the print shop?

That’s right.

Oor Marlies used tae work there.

Really?

Aye, a while ago noo but. Tell me summit, Goalie – ah prefer tae ask directly, insteid ae askin aroon: is it true you served a prison sentence?

Summit like that, aye. Naw, yir right. Ivrythin’s okay again noo but.

Yeah? Sometimes that’s how life goes, an’ sometimes naw.

Correct.

Okay, hiv a nice evenin then.

Thanks. You an’ aw. Oh – Frau Balsiger, summit’s jist come back intae ma heid. Is your Rudi still wi the bank?

Aye, he’s authorized tae act noo even.

Where’s he stayin these days?

They built a hoose in Thunstetten. Hiv ye heard he’s two weans awready?

Oan the grapevine, aye. Well – cheerio again, Frau Balsiger.

Cheerio, Goalie. An’ dont dae nuthin ah widnae.

Ah wont, naw.

Wee Balsiger’s maw’s actually really nice, ah mean: in comparison tae some folk ah kid name. The fact she asks directly when she wants tae know summit’s naw
bad eether.

In a phonebox near the cemetery, ah open the telephone directory at the Thunstetten bit an’ look fur wee Balsiger’s address. Then ah go – through the fog
– up tae where he stays. He’s in the middle ae his dinner when ah ring the doorbell, says it disnae matter but, jist tae come in. His wife is fae aroon Solothurn. She’s wan ae
they wimmen who – disnae matter hoo often yir introduced – ye kin nivver mind the name ae, or remember her face, cos there’s fuck-aw memorable aboot her. She’s friendly
enough, says tae sit doon, there’s still plenty o risotto. Ah lie but an’ say ahv awready eaten. Wee Balsiger says he’s done eatin anyhow an’ shows me intae the livin room
so she kin pit their brats tae bed.

In the livin room, there’s a leather sofa an’ two matchin armchairs. The bookshelves an’ the TV unit ur the same colour. Anthracite. If that actually
is
a colour, that is. It exists only in furniture catalogues, practically, an’ garage forecourts. Ah kid swear Balsiger’s car’s anthracite an’ aw. Ah look at the
big picture that’s hingin above the sofa, a Mediterranean evenin, water colours, beautiful, but a bit random but, like his wife. Wid ah like a coffee, Balsiger asks. Yeah, ah wid, ah say.
Then ask is it okay tae smoke.

It wid be better oot oan the terrace. Cos ae the weans, eh?

Course. Nae bother. Ah kin wait.

Whit brings ye tae me, Goalie?

Ahv a bank inquiry.

Is it a mortgage yir lookin fur?

The words ur hardly ootae his mooth, hardly, afore ye kin see he noo realises the question’s fuckin stupit. Ah dont answer right away an’ he goes tae get the coffee. Bet ye he his a
guid coffee machine, ah think tae masel, then ah look tae see whit books he his. Maist ae them ur probably his wife’s, a loatae true stories, a loatae life coaches. Ye hiv tae hope, at least,
she finds stuff in there that helps her.

Whit dae ye take in yir coffee? Sugar? Cream?

Naw, nuthin. At maist, a guid shot ae schnapps or summit.

Ah kin offer ye a cognac.

Better still.

So Goalie, ye wantit tae ask me summit tae dae wi the bank.

Aye, jist summit theoretical. Whit wid happen – jist assumin, of course – if fae wan day tae the next, ah suddenly hid a loatae-loatae money, hawf a million say, or whitivver. Kid ah
jist come tae yous an’ give it: Lads, ahv a loatae spandooley, open an account fur us, wid ye, jist dont ask where ah hiv it all fae.

In certain circumstances, that wid be possible, aye. It wid hiv us wonderin but, of course. Me personally, ahd hiv a bad feelin aboot it. Ah wid ask questions, specially if it wis someone who
wisnae a customer awready

Whit ye mean is: if someone awready his quite a loatae dough in his account an’ then suddenly his even mair, that’s less suspicious than if someone’s got fuck-aw an’ then suddenly loads?

Fur sure, aye.

An’ if that somebody – who awready his a loatae dough an’ turns up wi a hale lot mair fae somewhere – suddenly gi’es it he wants tae buy a hoose in Spain, wid ye
gi’e him a mortgage?

The minute ah mentioned Spain, wee Balsiger gulped several times. Ah
seen
it. He recovered but an’ said quite calmly:

Mibbe. That’s very possible. There ur different criteria, ye know, when we gi’e oot mortgages. Capital resources, value ae the property, income, interest rate trends etc. An’
if it aw looks okay, the guy gets the mortgage. Why ye askin?

Cos ah dae the fuckin lottery.

Ah now knew whit ah needed tae. So ah tried tae talk tae Balsiger aboot the past a bit. Like pullin fuckin teeth, it wis. It didnae surprise me but. You only hiv tae look at
the anthracite theme runnin through his hoose tae know the cunt wants fuck-aw tae dae wi his past. Wee Balsiger hid brushed any memories ae his past intae a corner, same way ye’d pit an auld
armchair up in the loft. The past, fur wee Balsiger, is a necessary evil jist. A past, in the guid sense ae the word, disnae exist fur him. So ah tellt him a bit aboot me, tellt him things wur
improvin ivry day, ah nae doot hid the worst ae it behind me noo, an’ hid learnt summit fae aw that, even if ah still didnae know whit exactly, ahd definately learnt summit. Balsiger wis
pleased tae hear it, an’ ah think he wis bein genuine when he wished me aw the best.

Ah waited till his wife came back fae pittin the weans tae bed. Then ah said thanks an’ cheerio an’ left.

Ootside, it wis dork, wet, an’ there wis a bit ae wind, aye, wind mair than anythin, the air wis cauld, thon way it goes straight fur yir fuckin lung. Disnae matter, ah thought, jist walk
a bit faster an’ ye’ll warm up. By the time ah rang the doorbell at Gross’s hawf an hoor later, ah wis feelin hot, jist aboot.

Sorry, Herr Gross, ye’ll hiv tae forgive me fur botherin ye at this time ae night.

Look who it is! Goalie! That’s naw bad as surprises go – really.

Guid evenin, Herr Gross. Kin ah come in?

Mon ahead, Goalie, c’mon ahead. Whit brings ye tae me?

Guid evenin, Frau Gross.

Guid evenin, Goalie.

Gross said tae his wife tae git anither glass. He wis jist havin a glass ae rid wine wi her in the kitchen, ye see. It wis a nice thought, that: the hunter, when he’s naw oot chasin some
petty crook or ither, sits of an evenin wi his wife in their kitchen, drinkin rid wine. Ah said that wis really nice ae him, ah didnae want tae mix ma drinks but, it wid be nice if he’d a wee
cognac insteid.

That’s whit ah like aboot you, Goalie, ye nivver come oan aw humble.

Know whit ah like aboot you, Herr Gross? Fact ye drink a bottle ae rid wi yir wife in the kitchen. Anywan else yir age an’ in your position wid probably be watchin telly noo an’
sayin only the bare minimum tae the missus. Naw you but. Naw, yous drink rid wine thegither an’ talk tae each ither.

Watchin telly’ll get ye naewhere, Goalie.

Exactly. Jist whit ah wis sayin. Guid honest work disnae get ye anywhere eether but. Listen, Herr Gross, fur mair

than a month noo, ahv hid a permanent joab. Believe me but, ahv still naw managed tae save anythin.

Ye hiv tae be patient, Goalie.
All things come to him who waits.

Know whit ah think, boss? Ah think ahv waited a loat awready, faur faur too much in fact – an’ faur too little his come tae me.

Whit ye sayin, Goalie?

Ahm sayin: that’s me offski. Ahv come tae say goodbye, Herr Gross. Yiv noo wan cunt less tae look oot fur.

Gross fae the Drug Squad looked at me, wide-eyed, while his wife poured a cognac wi’oot sayin nuthin.

First but, ye want tae get things straight, Goalie. Is that where ah come in?

Naw, ahv got things straight awready. Ah noo know who ma friends ur, an’ who – mair probably – urnae.

Tell me, Goalie. Tell me yir stories. Ye can tell
me.
An’ ahv time.

Ye know me well, Herr Gross, mibbe jist naw well enough. Ahd like tae tell ye a story. Aboot the piece ae business that kid interest ye but, ah’ll be tellin ye absolutely nuthin. The wan
thing ah kin say is: ah noo – mair or less – hiv a clear overview. An’ that’s how ahm packin ma bags. There’s nuthin tae keep me in this village, cept mibbe Regula.
She kin come wi me if she wants but.

Gross wantit tae know whit ahd found oot. Ah tellt him nuthin, nuthin aboot Pesche, nuthin aboot wee Stofer, nuthin aboot Uli, an’ nuthin aboot the strange Frenchman who looked like an
Arab. Naw: especially aboot they things, ah tellt him sweet fanny adams. When ah rang his doorbell, ah wis still thinkin ah might tell him ivrythin – so the shit wid hit the fan a bit fur
they guys, like it did fur me back then. Then but, ah realised: that wisnae whit this wis aw aboot, fur me, any mair. Let they over-the-hill jerks keep their fuckin shack by the sea. They’ve
achieved fuck-aw else so they hiv. An’ if Operation Villa went smoothly fur them, it shidnae fuckin fail noo an’ cos ae me. It’s naw as if they’re expected, up at the
Joke.

Hiv anither think, Goalie. If ye know summit, it’s better tae tell me than try tae pull some stunt – aff yir ain bat.

Ahm naw goney pull any stunt, Herr Gross. Ahm fuckin off jist. Movin. At the end ae the month.

Where tae?

Dont know yet. Naw that faur. Berne, Zurich, Basel – nae idea. A city but, that’s fur sure. Somewhere where ahm less famous.

He gave me a tired smile, like someone who means well by ye. Then signalled tae his wife an’ she poured me mair cognac.

Wance ah got hame, ah phoned Regula.

Ye sleepin awready?

Naw, whit ur you daein?

Callin you, Regi. Cos ahm missin ye.

Let’s take oor time wi this, Goalie. Ahm naw as quick as you, wi things like this. Ahv jist split up fae Buddy.

That’s okay, Regi. Take yir time. Take aw the time ye want. You’ve got time. Ah hivnae but. So ahm leavin.

Whit? Where ye gaun, Goalie?

Ah dont know yet.

Abroad?

Naw. Naw that faur, naw. Tae a city but.

Is that yir latest?

Aye. Ahv jist decided. Ahm goin through wi it but. Ahm naw like the hunchback at Cobbles who’s been hangin aroon fur years, tells ye ivry six months but aboot some big foreign project or
ither he’s aboot tae dae. He’s still sittin there, aye at the same wee table, drinkin the same wee beer, an’ naw movin a millimetre. Naw, ahm naw the hunchback. Ah say jist the
wance ahm goin an’ then ah go.

Whit dis that mean fur us?

Nuthin. Ah tellt ye, ahm givin you time. Ah’ll naw fall in love wi someone else, ye dont need tae worry aboot that. Yiv as much time as ye want. An’ if ye decide tae, ye kin come
an’ join me.

Know summit, Goalie, ahm findin this idea a bit difficult.