The Busconductor Hines (20 page)

His mother was uneasy in his presence. He was bothered and not bothered. Always when he spoke to her he had to underline everything in sarcasm. Terrible. He was not able to get free of it. Even now as she asked after Paul he was having to let her perceive how he regarded the boy's existence as a total waste of time. A silence developed and lengthened. He became
embarrassed and annoyed with himself for getting her into the situation. He got up and went to the window, to gaze at the high-rise flats across the way. Before they had been erected the auld man used to sit here in the evening, the main light switched off, witnessing the shades of grey. Hines got held there by the elbow, a desperate attempt by the father to instil some peace unto him. He must have reckoned the view capable of curious tricks, tossing off rays of solace during the long hot summer evenings as the sun went down, that much needed glimpse of the indefinite for those who dwelled up the hill.

The contact was an embarrassment. Yet Hines cannot be certain the auld man was being totally serious – he always had a peculiar sense of humour – sitting there with the cutains pulled right back and making a great metaphysical issue out of this seeing and not talking.

This business of the evening window sitting was treated by the mother in the following manner: she gave the weans to understand that their daddy had to have his moment of contemplation daily in order that he might continue after the fashion in which he had allowed them to have him become accustomed.

What an auld man! Hines could jump for joy right out the fucking window. Instead of which he returned to his seat to await tea. When she had brought it she kept on the move tidying odds and ends, unable to remain still lest conversation became primary. Hines mentioned the Festive Season, confirming the presence of himself and family on the night of the New Year, the Holy Bells of Hogmanay. My my my he was really looking forwards to the celebratory practices. How's it going mammy. Give us a kiss for the morrow.

A sandwiched lurked on a plate. He had told her not to bother but there it lurked, and he was to eat it as one of many, as one for whom alternatives did and did not exist in the true scheme of things. He bit a large mouthful of the bread, and
cheese, as though by blocking his mouth and respiratory system his digestive system would be forced into taking action; he sipped the tea to aid its progress. O christ he felt like chucking it. A good greet could solve everything. She would settle his head against her breasts, pat his back rhythmically, crooning an auld scotch sang till he toppled off the edge to go crashing on the jaggy boulders below. A mother's love is that which is required. Thrust me back in out the road for fuck sake mammy I need to hide away, away. It was awful the way she could look at him. Hard to tell whether she was allowing him to see she was looking – maybe she was being caught in the act. Or maybe she wasnt doing anything at all, just gazing in abstraction, this gaze chancing to alight on him while moving around on nothing whatsoever in particular for christ sake. No; she looked at him; and knew he was not now ever going to hit the High Spots. Too late. Even a mother's dreams will have faded.

And if he had spoken aloud: that strain on her face.

Downstairs a vacuum cleaner roared. New folk. In the past decade only one family has moved from the close. This is reason for pride. In other closes a constant toing and froing and general mutability but not here; here are permanent folk, the good tenants. He mentioned Griff's mother earlier on but the conversation had petered out because of Griff whom Mrs Hines did not care for, or rather his father, she didn't like Griff because she hadn't liked his father who used to be the talk of the immediate vicinity, some 15 years ago.

She had asked him where he was going. Having at last sat down, probably arriving at some sort of decision – she could be firm at times. That defensiveness. Hines made a point of looking at her eyes while saying: I dont know mum, Sandra hopes Knightswood or someplace but . . .

What a fucking lie! Sandra hopes nothing of the kind! She'll go to K. instead of D. but she has never actually wanted to go there at all. She would take the place if ever it was offered because it is the best available out from the situation but she never bothered about things like that, not really. All she wanted was – something or other.

Knightswood's nice, said Mrs Hines; not so much the new parts.

Aye.

D'you think there's much of a chance?

Hh! He was rolling a cigarette, knowing she would follow his movements with the rice-paper and tobacco. Her sadness. Not on account of the smoking habit. In fact she no doubt assumed he only smoked through perversity. The sadness was for the things coming to such a pass. Here you have a woman in middle age, then then, a nice looking lassie with mysterious dreams, who has always been enjoying seascapes. She marries a young fellow. They wind up in the District of D. And the first baby is to arrive, then the next two and they are all leaving school and now a grandmother, the eldest son sitting facing one, lighting his cigarette.

Getting a house in Knightswood isnt always easy.

For god sake mum.

Well it isnt Rab, she replied, as though he had been refuting the proposition. Obviously she knew they both knew it to be almost impossible for him to get going there. It was pointless talking. He exhaled smoke at the ceiling then inhaled another lungful. Sandra's mum and dad were lucky, she was saying, It was easier when they got married, not like when me and dad were trying. Well, you know, we were living with his sister at the time and it was a terrible squeeze so with you coming along we really had to find somewhere – and we were lucky getting here.

Hines nodded politely as she manoeuvred her tangent.

Why in the name of christ had he come up. He could have
continued down the hill. He could have waited on and maybe gone to the broo with Griff. No. He was to be here and staying to listen to rumours concerning the housing situation in Glasgow of more than quarter of a century ago.

Come on mammy get to the present. No. She is to ramble. People need to reiterate their facts. It makes them feel agents of a verified set, whose clear-eyed vision of the world is justly recognised by one and all. On you go hen, your wee first-born's listening quite the thing, an ever-increasing belief in your continued integrity. No.

Stop the shite.

Who knows what she believes in. Most probably she believes in nothing, that her secret desire is death as eternal sleep. Perfectly sound. Anything else would be nonsense. It is true that she has no faith in external entities in the guise of benign personage. But what she may still retain faith in is absolute justice. What a fucking imbecile. Here you have an intelligent being such that she knows the earth as earthly but since justice is nowhere to be found it might simply be out of sight.

Come on mum: out with those mysterious dreams immediately.

Quite a good looking woman; she doesnt take great pains over her appearance but always looks okay. Sandra is a bit like this. Sons and their identikit mothers.

Hines grinned at her. She had stopped speaking. He leaned to rub his hands at the fire. Any word from Andy?

Not since the last time.

Ach well, it's no that long.

It's nearly 6 months, July.

O aye, still . . .

You havent heard?

Me! I've no had a letter off him for 43 years; brothers dont count nowadays.

She smiled for a moment.

You're no still worrying surely?

She smiled.

I'd have done exactly the same as him. Australia's a big place mum I mean, really massive; what a country! Hh; surely you didnt expect him to stay with Uncle Vic for the rest of his life?

Well at least he could write.

Ach!

She smiled.

Any tea left?

She was up from the chair at once. He hadnt meant her to go for it. But he should've known she would. It was the way she acted. Maybe he had known she would do it, and was giving her an escape. Jesus, it breaks your heart the way she carries on sometimes. There isnt any need for it. There is no need for it. He half rose to take the cup from her . . . How's dad?

O, he misses not seeing Paul I think.

Right enough, it's a wee while since we've been up.

She didnt comment which was irritating, but without inducing guilt. There was no reason for guilt. Obviously she thought there was but there wasnt. He remained silent as though implying he also did. That poor auld auld man, there he goes, making his way wearily through life with this eldest son who doesnt bring the one and only grandwean up on regular visits.

Does he still sit at the window?

O for fuck sake why did he ask that. He should never have asked her that. God forgive you Hines.

He prised the lid off the tin. He glanced at her. It's no the same with the high-rise though eh? spoils the view.

O you get used to it; anyway if you stand to the side you can see right through. At first it was awful but sometimes I
think it's better, the wind's not as bad now – remember what like it used to be . . . She had lifted a biscuit, she broke it in two and ate one.

Aye, well, I hope we get a view.

She had gone on to ask what time he started that afternoon. He compounded the earlier lie with another couple. She probably wouldnt bother about him taking a day off except insofar as it threatened his continued employment. The job meant nothing to her. All she worried about was him being stuck on the broo with the likes of Mr Griffin down the street. She rarely seemed to think things out very clearly otherwise she may have asked more awkward questions. And yet she wouldnt ask any question she thought might be awkward. It was something she didnt do. And anyway, he would just have told her more lies. Maybe this is what she was avoiding.

She was now asking after Sandra's parents as though some sort of bond existed between both sides. It was nonsense. She got on okay with them but his auld man couldnt stand them. Why bother. What was the point in such carry-ons. Life is too brief. This carefree lass with the mysterious dreams. And now look at her: fucked again, after her own parents. What is the answer. Not the weans. That had never been true for her. It took Hines a while to discover this but he knew it now. She had never set her life at the feet of the next generation. She wanted to fucking live. It was the auld man who made a cunt of everything.

How's the job? he said.

Busy. They're wanting me in full-time for the Christmas rush.

Dont fall for it.

She smiled.

Heh by the way, I saw Mrs Noonan down at the shopping
centre. She was looking well. What was the name of that boy again? the one who played the bagpipes for the B.B. band . . . Hines grinned.

Donald.

Aye, Donald.

Donald Noonan! And then she laughed that peculiar laugh, almost smothered before it could be heard.

It was an ancient joke. At one time he thought it was only a joke between his mother and father, but it wasnt; almost every Protestant home in the area shared it. Mr Noonan was an Irish Catholic who had married a Scottish Protestant, but all the offspring had names like Donald, Angus, Morag or Fiona, and attended the Protestant School, and were led to the Protestant Church.

Mr Noonan was a Catholic?

Still is, she smiled. He was a nice boy though Donald, so were the others.

Hines shook his head with a grin, and then yawned. This set her to asking about the sleep he was getting on shiftwork and developed into the need for the correct clothes during wintry December weather. Eventually she left the room and came back with a brown paper parcel which she gave him. They're too small for your dad.

He shook his head.

No Rab they are, he's put on a bit of weight; you might as well take them and get the wear – it's just two vests.

He sniffed. Thanks . . . He laid the parcel on the floor; lifted the tin and opened it but closed it again, and made to rise from the chair.

How's Paul getting on at the nursery?

Fine.

He's clever.

Well, he's good at concentrating.

He's clever all the same.

He's on his own so much. Hines shrugged: It means he finds it that bit easier to concentrate.

The mother said nothing, gazed at the carpet. In this at least she obviously knew better than Hines. She would just say no more about it. But she knew all the same. Then she moved on her chair. That peculiar attempt to not say what she knew she was going to have to say anyway, and Hines would have to listen.

I didnt, he said, I could never sit still.

She wasnt hearing him. Maybe he hadnt spoken aloud. Had he spoken aloud there! Christ sake, maybe he was no longer able to tell when he was speaking or thinking! She was speaking herself of course, she was on about the possibility of things to come he had always shown signs of during his schooldays. All had been there for the grabbing. He had let himself down. He had never tried! Why had he never tried!

What? What did I not try?

Her smile.

Hines shook his head and took the lid off the tin.

But after a moment she had to continue: The Report Card, and that teacher saying you found things too easy.

But that was rubbish.

She smiled.

But it really was. It just wasnt true.

Well that's what he said.

I know he did but he was wrong. He might've thought it was true but it wasnt. I just couldnt do a lot of the stuff. Then I kidded on I wasnt interested.

She shook her head.

Mum, it . . . he sighed.

She didnt look at him while saying, You could've stayed on at school if you'd wanted.

I couldnt.

You could've. You could've if you'd tried. You know you could've Rab, you could've got your Highers.

Aw christ.

She was staring at the carpet.

Once he was smoking he said, Heh – that driver of mine; he's doing them at Nightschool. English and History. He wants to become a Shop Steward into the bargain. He's going to stretch the world the right way up.