Naw Much of a Talker (6 page)

Naw, jist leave the radio on. Ah feel fine.

Ah dont.

How naw?

Dont know masel. It’s strange. Two ae us at ma place, oan a Sunday eftirnoon. An’ cake an’ tea. Hard tae say how. It’s makin me a bit nervous but.

Carry oan tellin me. How’d ye tae go tae jail anyhow?

Ah wis convicted.

Ah know that. They musta tellt ye why they convicted ye but.

Fur hivin impure thoughts.

God, Goalie, yir a strange yin.

Ah know, ah know.

Then, eftir a pause: Tell me, Regi, is Buddy naw as strange as me?

Buddy’s diffrint. Buddy his baith feet on the groon. Strange things urnae always happenin tae him. Ah didnae come here but tae talk aboot Buddy.

How then? How ur ye here? ah thought tae masel an’ ah pit ma arm roon her an’ said ah wis pleased she’d come anyhoo an’ ahd the feelin things wur a bit brighter when she
wis near me.

It didnae bother her, that bit wi the arm. She shuffled up closer, mair like, pit her heid oan ma shoulder an’ didnae say any mair. It wis strange takin Regula in ma arms while her man wis
at the firin range, operatin the remote control ae wan ae they childish model planes. Wis strange, aye. But nice but. Very nice.

Ah get ma kick fae the present. Maist folk ah know aye focus on the future, sorta, eether their ain, or the prospects ae their spoilt-as-fuck weans. The word
future
covers a multitude ae sins but, specially if ye dont know whit’s in store.

Ahm naw hooked on the future. Naw me. Ah dont focus on the future like that. At maist, ah wonder wis that it awready wi Regula. Haud her a bit, listen a bit, chat a bit, a wee bit ae
trembly-knees sydrome. An’ tae go wi aw that: a piece o cake an’ national radio. Course, that his its attractions an’ aw, tae begin wi, at least. Problem is: nae cunt knows how
long the beginnin lasts fur. An’ whether it even
is
a beginnin.

Course, ah kid say tae her: naw, that’s naw on, she his tae decide, tell me whit she wants. She his tae choose, him or me, eether we dae it right or it’s jist a bit ae fun etc etc
blah-blah. Whit’s the point but?

Whit’ll ah dae if eftir a while she gi’es it: she’s decided in favour ae me. Or worse still, gi’es it: mibbe it’s better if she nivver sees me again? The smarter
thing tae dae, nae doot, is tae dae fuck-aw an’ wait an’ see jist. Ye cannae speed these things up. Itherwise, ivry cunt wid.

Uli’s noo in hospital. Ah tellt him mair than wance tae see a doctor. When he finally went, Dr Wydenmeyer sent him straight tae hospital. Hepatitis, he’s got. Ither stuff as well.
An’ above aw, a high temperature.

Didnt ah tell him he’d a temperature? Didnt ah tell him he his the jaundice? Marta thought it wis better naw tae go oan aboot it an’ tae let him get some shut-eye.

Admit it, Marta! Ah knew, ah tellt Uli: yiv got the jaundice, man. Ye shid dae summit aboot it, man. Didnt ah say so? Didnt ah say he shid caw a doctor?

Marta waves tae say naw tae shout like that an’ leaves the room. Pointless anyhow, jist sittin there while the man himsel’s oot fur the coont.

In the hospital cafeteria, they’ve guid doughnuts. They wans wi icin sugar, insteid ae normal sugar. Yir fingers dont get as sticky. An’ they taste jist as sweet as
the ither yins. If ah kid, that’s the only doughnuts ahd eat. Jist the hospital yins.

Marta asks his there been any developments wi Regula.

Ah got a bit nervous.

How? Did some cunt say summit?

Naw, naebody did. Ye said yersel but ye wur in love wi the lassie.

Did ah?

C’mon, dont be like that, Goalie. Ye went oan an’ oan aboot her. As if ye wur a teenager again. C’mon, tell me. Tell me whit’s happenin. Ah cannae wait.

There’s nowt tae tell but. An’ anyhow: Marta’s top lip’s covered in jam an’ icin sugar. It’s distractin me.

We talk a bit aboot Uli an’ how guid it wid be if he wis pit oan wan ae they programmes, wan ae they controlled distribution programmes, heroin distribution, or a methadone treatment, so
some cunt wis keepin an eye oan him, jist naw too much jist.

Excuse me, it’s nae smokin here.

In visitin her man, she wis. Her man in a purple tracksuit wi white stripes, her in wan ae they gowns they anthroposophist-yins wear – an’ jist as purple – an’ she comes
up tae oor table like that, sits doon, practically, turns her nose up an’ says in that perverse tone ae voice some folk use when they want tae pit fellow human beins right: Eh excuse me, yeah
you, it’s nae smokin here.

Ah think yir mistaken. Ah think yiv confused things, cos this bit here, this bit very definitely isnae nae smokin. This bit here’s smokin, an’ o’er there – d’ye see
over there – is nae smokin.

We’re sittin in nae smokin but, an’ yir smoke’s right in oor faces.

Ah’ll gi’e ye that, ah say tae her. Ah know, the smoke’s terrible. Thing is: the smoke isnae familiar wi the rulin ae the Office fur Public Health. The smoke, eejit that it is,
cannae read an’ disnae know how tae obey. The smoke dis whit it wants. The smoke is freer than aw ae us, intit?

She disnae find that wan bit funny an’ looks furra seat elsewhere. While they’re changin tables, her husband gets caught on the tubes ae the stupit drip he’s draggin aroon.
Nearly went flat oan his face, he did, together wi his drip. Then he goes an’ looks at me as if ahd stuck ma fuckin leg oot or summit, the cunt.

They kidda went tae that ither seat fae the start, couldnt they. Miles away fae the smoke. Fur some folk but, it’s naw aboot the smoke, it’s aboot the wee conversation. Disnae matter
whit it’s aboot. That’s cos, nooadays, ivry cunt’s sae lonely. They turn up at yir fuckin door, even, tae gi’e ye grief. Cos a bike, allegedly, his been left somewhere it
shidnae, or cos yiv pit the rubbish oot a day too early. It’s naw aboot the fuckin bike but or the rubbish. It’s aboot the goddam loneliness. Some folk probably say tae themsels: ahd
rather go roon an’ gi’e a fellow human bein grief than hiv nae communication at aw.

Whit ye thinkin aboot, Goalie?

Nuthin that matters.

Ye thinkin ae Regula?

Ah hiv tae go noo. Ahv stuff tae dae still. Anither thing, Marta, if ye kid ask that doctor if Uli kid get ontae a heroin distribution programme, in Olten or Berne or summit, that wid be better
fur sure than daein nuthin at aw.
You
hiv tae dae the askin but. Cos you’re his wife. They widnae listen tae me anyhow. Ahm jist a jerk that’s jist ootae jail. That wis in fur
daein drugs, intae the bargain.

Ah’ll ask then.

Make sure ye dae but!

Yeah, yeah. Yeah, okay, ah will. Ah’ll dae it. An’ you: dont be doin nuthin stupit.

You an’ aw, Marta. You an’ aw.

At hame, ah looked through ma post. Nuthin but advertisin an’ beggin letters. As if ah wis someone ye kid beg off. They hivnae a fuckin clue, any ae them! Then ah looked
at a stupit competition an’ cos ah needed a bit ae fresh air afore ah went tae bed, ah filled it in an’ took it tae the post box beside the bakery. Ye got the solution by pittin
thegither the first letter ae the answers tae aw the diffrint clues. S
TATUE OF
L
IBERTY
. A mair stupiter solution ye kin hardly imagine. The first
prize is wan ae they cars, a Ford summit-or-other. The second prize widda intristit me mair: a trip fur two tae New York. But try but daein a competition that a hunner thousand other jerks like me
will dae an’ see if you kin win second fuckin prize.

When ah get tae Cobbles oan the Saturday, Pesche tells me tae go an’ take a fuckin hike. Ah wis barred. Ahd went too far this time. Definately.

Barred? How, Pesche, how ahm ah barred? Whit’s gi’en ye that idea? Hivin an off-day, ur ye? Naw sellt enough coffee or whit?

Ye know how, Goalie. Ahv tellt ye often enough. Nae drugs in here. Coont yirsel lucky ahm naw cawin the polis. Noo fuck off.

Wait a second, Pesche, wid ye. Jist a fuckin second. Calm doon an’ take a deep breath, man. There’s been a misunnerstaunin here. Must be. Ahv been hivin nuthin tae dae wi that crap.
Ahm completely aff the stuff – ah swear. Word ae honour!

Ahm naw in the mood fur discussin it, Goalie. We found a stash oot in the toilet, jist eftir you wur here it wis. Dont try an’ tell me any diffrint. Noo leave afore ah caw the polis.

Okay, caw the cops then. Get them tae come. Least they willnae fuckin treat me like fuckin this.

Ahm warnin ye, Goalie.

Ye dont like me, dae ye? Ahv known that fur ages, Pesche, ages. Ahv nivver done nuthin tae ye but. An’ ahm naw guilty. An’ that’s how ahm naw leavin till the polis come
an’ get me.

Ah carried oan like that till Pesche got hold ae me by the collar. He did actually chuck me oot. Ah tellt him it wis sick. That he wis a sad bastard. Nae idea how ah reacted like that. That is:
course, ah know. Firstly, it dis yir nut in if yir naw allowed intae a pub ye want tae go tae. Secondly, it dis yir nut in when they try tae set ye up an’ ye urnae a dealer, it isnae fuckin
true an’ it nivver wis, naw really – naw tae be too pedantic aboot it. Thirdly, it dis yir nut in when ye realise yir bein treated unjustly an’ there’s fuck-aw ye can dae
aboot it.

At the place where ah done ma apprenticeship, money once went missin once. Wan ae the draughtsmen wis givin it: his wallet wis missin, a wallet wi god-knows how many hunner
francs in it. Each an’ ivry wan ae us wis hauled up before the boss. It wisnae me. Wis me ivry cunt suspected but. They’d fuck-aw proof. Cos it wisnae me. See eftir that but, it wis
nivver the same again. They nivver did find oot who nicked the money. So ah wis suspected fur years cos – fur some reason – ah seemed the maist suspicious tae them aw. Nae idea how. Ma
long hair mibbe. Or cos ah wis aye skint.

Noo, wi Pesche, ahd the exact same feelin as back then. Yir accused ae summit ye didnae dae. An’ ye feel summit like a bad conscience. An’ it’s like: yir hivin it fur some
ither cunt, ye dont even know who fur. It’s like the bad conscience ye hiv this time is staunin in fur wan ye shoulda hid anither time: fur crap ye wur responsible fur in the past. Or fur
stuff yir sure tae dae in the future at some point. At the same time but, ye feel a kinda rage in yir stomach. It’s a kinda inhibited rage, wan ye can nivver let oot cos ye’d jist be
makin yirsel even mair suspicious.

Ah jist went hame. An’ noo, tae make things worse, Pesche’s thinkin he’s the carin type cos he didnae report me tae the polis, cos he dealt wi it himsel. Ahm supposed tae feel
grateful tae him an’ aw. Sayin that, Pesche’s naw totally kosher himsel. If yiv a guid nose, ye can smell it. Incredible, it is. At times like this, ah kid greet in despair. Whitivver
ye dae, dont think aboot it, mate. Jist dont think aboot it.

So ah head hame, hiv some red wine, naw exactly a little. Then ah turned over an’ fell asleep oan the sofa. When ah wake up, it’s Sunday lunchtime an’ ahv a
stiff neck like nivver afore in ma life. Take a few paracetamols, ah thought, hiv a cheese-ootae-a-packet sandwich, then hiv a shower, clean yir teeth an’ hiv a shave, ah thought. Whit ah did
dae but wis phone Regula.

Hi Regi. Buddy oot flyin his planes?

Aye. How ye askin?

Kid ah come roon an’ see ye furra wee bit?

Naw, ah cannae. Ahv visitors. Ma sister’s here wi her weans.

Regi, hiv ye any idea whit happened tae make Pesche bar me fae Cobbles?

Ahm sure you know that better than ah dae.

Where wis this comin fae, aw ae a sudden – this omin-fuckin-ous under-fuckin-current in Regula’s voice?

Christ, Regula, dont tell me you believe aw that. That ahv – That ahv summit tae dae wi –

Ah hiv tae go, Goalie. Sorry, ahv visitors.

Hang oan, Regula, hang –

An’ that wis it.

Sometimes ye need tae get yir rear in fuckin gear. Even if the reason’s a mystery. An’ tae you an’ aw. That eftirnoon ah went back tae the hospital, tae see
Uli. We’d a game ae backgammon an’ talked aboot the auld days. Guid, it wis. Done us baith guid.

Ye dont need tae fuckin cheat!

Whit d’ye mean: cheat? Five an’ four’s nine. It’s nivver been anythin else!

Wis that really a four?

Ur ye lookin at the dice or naw? Course, it wis a fuckin four.

Ah shut up. Uli’s got a grin oan his face like some cunt that’s proud ae shaftin his mate.

So it wis a four then?

Didnt ah tell ye.

As faur as ahm concerned, it wisnae.

Whit d’ye think, Goalie? Hiv ah a hope in hell?

A hope in hell ae whit?

Gettin ootae aw that. Givin them up.

Naw.

There’s a pause an’ Uli looks at me like some cunt ye hivnae seen fur ages.

How ur ye sayin that, Goalie? How ur ye jist gi’in it fuckin ‘naw’ like that? How ur ye naw sayin you managed an’ so ah kin manage an’ aw?

Ah dont know eether. Stop askin stuff like that! Get well again first. Then we’ll see whit happens.

But you managed but.

Give over. Ahv naw got anywhere yet. Disnae matter anyhow. Dont be goin oan aboot it. Ah dont want tae talk aboot it. Ahv a heidache.

Thanks fur comin.

Ah’ll come again themorrow.

See ye, Goalie.

See ye.

Ah feel sorry fur Uli. Course, it’s his ain fault. There’s naw a single junkie in the world ye need tae feel sorry fur, naw a single wan. At the same time but, if yiv grown up wi
wan, kin tell the same stories, if ye discovered the same streets at the same time, made the same mistakes thegither, it gets ye wonderin. Okay, so Uli’s a junkie, there’s nae two ways
aboot it, he’s an auld mate an’ aw but, a kinda friend, ye can’t jist ignore that either. Certainly naw, if ye think back tae oor schooldays when he wis the coolest cunt in the
playgroon, hid the coolest hair, the coolest leather jaicket, the coolest moped. Nae other cunt kid pull like he did. If ye add aw that up an’ look at the wey he is theday, ye hiv tae feel
sorry fur him, nearly.

Ah feel sorry fur masel an’ aw like. Sadly. Self-pity’s the lowest ye kin fuckin get. Start feelin sorry fur yersel an’ ye might as well fuckin give fuckin up.

A few days later, Gross, the plain-clothes cop turned up oan ma doorstep, in that same grey newspaper reporter’s jaicket he’s aye wearin, an’ they glasses
that aye mind ye ae the communist block, ah mean: they secret agent films that aye hiv folk fae commie countries in them. The secret agents in they films – the commie wans – aye wear
glasses like Gross. He looked as if he hidnae much sleep last night. He’s known me furra long time, this plain-clothes cop. Wiv helped each other occasionally. We’re a bit ae a
double-act awready, jist aboot, Gross an’ me. Naw, it’s right enough, we work thegither pretty well, it’s jist: he gets a significant monthly wage fur whit he dis an’ ah get
the occasional backhander if ahm lucky. He wisnae here cos ae oor teamwork this time but. This time, he wis totally fuckin fizzin.