by James Kelman
sorry. Sorry sorry sorry. Really and truly. How could anybody even think such a thing. He definitely doesnt mean it. Not at all, honest to christ he doesnt, he just has a bad tongue, things come out, they do sir sorry sir please sir – although the problem is one a body becomes accustomed to over the years, the past 5 sir, the through thick and thin yins you see sir him and the Sandra lassie and the Paul fellow – that’s the wee man – the 3 of them, the trio of persons sir the 1, the unit, that impetus for continued survival viz the bastarn grub in the pot, howsomever it be better known as the loaves and the fishes sir the poor auld starving multitudes you see they are gathering about the plates of meat sir I mean your fucking tootsies and what is to be done what is to be done you see they are to be pulling the house down about his ears sir the poor auld fucking lugs I mean you’ve got it being shattered all round them sir the falling bricks and mortar, the layers and layers of wallpaper for christ sake right onto their very heads sir, the respectable blooming classes sir I do beg your pardon though it should be said at this stage of the game that, yes, that eh
Although predisposed toward speculative musings the Busconductor Hines cannot be described as a dreamer. Yet certain items do not always register. That itchiness for example: the material of standard issue uniform breeks is thick and reminiscent of wool; it probably isnt wool a 100% but it seems as if this is all it can be, because of the itchiness – the coarseness of the cloth somehow making you think of the fleecy coat of a wee sheep, the straggly bits left on the barbed wire fence you can picture as hell of an itchy if dangled against the skin. Now: towards the latter stages of his last spell on the broo a certain husband and father’s marked aversion to nought led him into what can authentically be called a pragmatic assessment of life, the outcome of which was his renewed determination to become a the Busdriver Hines.
Upon fulfilment of particular conditions of a positive nature the Department of Transport will allow the busconductor/busconductress to take up a position within its Training School for Busdrivers. It was the intention of Hines Robert to fulfil those conditions. Besides acquiring a licence to drive he was also expecting to realise a certain sum of money which while of unknown extension was nevertheless fixed inasmuch as he appears to have thought to recognise the sum once it had accrued.
Beyond all of that lay a future. But hazy visions of distant travel did recur. Upon receipt of his twofold objective the wild blue yonder could be vanished into, the sunbaked shores of Australasia perhaps for an open outlook, bright scapes; where one can stand on one’s tiptoes and glimpse at a stretch, unlike bloody dumps where one can be lucky to get glimpsing such a thing from the topdeck of an omnibus. Take weans for instance: plant them down under and one can watch them sprout, plenty of milk and apples, vigorous limbs and sturdy bodies; where one can send them out to play and forget about everything else, unlike certain squares wherein one is obliged to think twice in case of dire imaginings one cannot hardly name lest one’s head caves in.
It can scarcely be wondered at that some mothers remain so staunchly opposed to allowing their children alone out of doors – although one’s upbringing can be a major factor, plenty of grass and the rest of it. The District of D. was bad enough, especially during warmer weather, seeing the green hills faraway in the knowledge one could go a lengthy walk right out to them with maybe an invigorating dip in a brackeny loch to follow. Hines knows the place inside out. During the formative years he resided there with his grey but gold family. It is a district where vacancies readily occur in most sections whereas in other sections they always occur. But Hines would flit to there. He would flit to anyfuckingwhere. Yet he will not advise Sandra of this, at least not outright, for it is of consequence to her where they flit. Her faith in specific vagaries is deeply rooted. Her parents have much to answer for.
It was their expectation she should one day meet her match in the Higher Realms. Their only son, having secured a fine situation within an established group of civil engineers and married an upstanding young lady, has now contrived to appropriate a variety of snug objects. Little wonder they should be so dumbfounded to learn of their only daughter’s curious infatuation with a lowly member of the transport experience. Here they had been having a lovely young wench of a golden-haired lass whose space they assumed as a logical second step on a nailed-to-the-floor ladder. Not only was she not now moving forwards, she was falling backwards, into the lusting arms of a uniformed ne’er-do-well.
Arguments there were plenty.
But finally the day was saved by the prospective young suitor himself. And the girl had had faith in this. She knew it would happen! How in the name of christ could her parents fail to pay heed to such a vision! Did he not have a great way with Planets! Was not his perception of the Universe of an expanding and technicoloured Insistence!
If truth be told he was displaying the manifold characteristics of the Imminent Go-gettor. On subjects of a metaphysical nature he provided the family with a few stimulating evenings. Sandra had already informed them of the plethora of books to be found in his rectangle. Little wonder, therefore, that they soon gained an impression of a youth whose sights were fixed on the World of Higher Education. Having shucked off his adolescent excesses he would no doubt be buckling down to serious studies thence picking up on a rung of a not unparallel ladder to that of the Civil Engineer. All would indeed be well. And education was, after all, the Scottish Way. Surely this erstwhile nation had once been the forerunner of the concept of Equal Opportunity at a Spiritual Level. And did this spiritual levelling not include the possibility of Social Transport! Ding ding. Why, throughout the length and the breadth of this grey but gold country toty wee mites were being befriended by the Sons of the Laird and going on to become steely-eyed village dominies or gruff but kindly members of the medical profession, and even preachers of the gospel in far-flung imperial establishments.
Thus did the engagement take effect, the marriage go ahead; and soon a wean was to be born – although signs of advancement were yet to be discerned in the youth. And was he not getting a bit old to be described as a youth. At his age the girl’s father (and his own father for that matter) was a serving member of the Majestic Indisputables. Little wonder, therefore, that tensions were to arise, that Sunday visits for tea became a strain. And to be fair: was a bedsitter the ideal situation in which to rear one’s firstborn. Fuck them all. The young couple conceded the point while unable to immediately rectify the problem. But at length it did transpire that through the machinations of a certain middle-aged busconductress (now retired) a dwelling place appropriate to their needs became available. It was, to be sure, as a particular father (his own) laconically remarked “a nobedroomed flat” but it was fine for the time being. It got them out a hole. And Evelyn didnt have to go to all the bother she did. And nobody else rushed to fucking help. It wasnt a bloody dump then. You could still look out the window and see the kids in the backcourt, playing okay. It wasnt good right enough. It could not be described as good, not really, not in relation to certain grassy areas it couldnt, not at all, be described as good. But at the time. At the time it was fucking great. Shut the door and that was always that. Coming home off a late backshift, the kitchen really warm, and Sandra there with some grub in the pot, and sometimes even a bottle of fucking beer, that beautiful innocence for christ sake the gesture to the two of them, on behalf of them – the three of them for fuck sake, the unit, on behalf of them, the young marrieds and the baby
When the food had reheated he roused Paul and sat him at the table, telling him not to worry too much about finishing every last thing on the plate. His mother’s absence was not bothering him too much. Weans can be unperturbed by astounding events while the slightest exaggeration can terrify them. Hines told him she was late and this he accepted as the natural order. And once the meal was over he returned to her armchair and quickly became engrossed in a TV programme relating to Concrete Manifestations of Good and Evil in a Large American City.
The ut
ensils washed he left them drying on the draining board: he lifted Paul onto his knee, sat down on her chair. It was pointless worrying over foolish items. She had merely gone a message and forgotten to advise him beforehand.
She could have phoned Mrs Montgomery. She could have forgotten to phone in her rush to go the message. What message? She could have required to see her parents. Even his parents maybe about the New Year or something. Or just gone to see a friend. Did she have friends. Of course she had friends. She had more than he. Is that right. It is precisely right. As far as friends are concerned his is an unlucky personality.
He rose from the chair, to pour himself another cup of tea, then gazed through the blind; the street parallel to this one was clearly visible between the tenement ends. Until recently 2 dairies and a launderette and a not too bad newsagent shop had been open for business within a couple of minutes walk. Now only the one dairy whose owner no longer appeared to be restocking on anything other than perishable goods. A scandal. What did Hines intend doing about it all. Did he intend doing anything. Of course. He would burst out greeting. Tears are a fine response. They can wipe away the film.
The loss of Sandra is such an extraordinary notion that he is not able to consider it without an accompanying sense of guilt almost as of the pleasure to be had from tackling the extraordinary.
Hear the clock tick.
If she does not return the outlook is entirely bleak. If she does return the outlook is of a bleakness he can handle.
Hines can encounter problems. He can and cannot cope with many but with some the coping takes precedence. You’ve got the pair of them, the young married couple, the way they are to be going on ahead, into the rest of it. This is fucking a baffling thing in itself. It calls for wide heads. Think of him even, how he
wait a minute. Here you have a Busconductor Hines. How he must have been walking about in a trance and that. What he used to do was. He really didnt do. He had an idea. He conducted himself in a manner such that, his method of being, it accorded to certain factors. Certain factors appear to have governed his movements. What we know is mainly average. His goal was twofold: to obtain a PSV licence, to acquire a sum of money – a sum of money which while of unknown extension was nevertheless taken for granted as settled in some unshadowy region as for example consider the striving to a goal where the goal lies in between the lines while the lines themselves are the striving and can produce the goal seemingly in themselves but not really in themselves for the goal lies in between and though some daft cunts have no knowledge of this they assume its existence in accordance with the existence of the lines. Now this is fucking nonsense of course because there doesnt have to be any in between at all, there can be nothing whatsoever. This is what has happened to Hines. A classic case, striving for the fucking nonexistent goal. It is a strange thing. And Sandra makes it stranger – she was always a brainy bastard; and sensible. What does she do. This is a hard yin right enough.
The problem is the surrounding i.e. the flitting from here to there. Things may not be too bad.
They remain the same as before. What is not the same as before. Important side issues. He just requires help. What Hines actually requires is help.
Now: let us take it slowly, slowly and calmly. One might start off by too late it is too late, too fucking late, it is too fucking late for the shite, for this imbecilic carry on; it is too late. The problem is that it is too late. 5 years is not 10 minutes. This is the problem. Hines really does know it now, at long last, he is in full realisation of it, as he has been before right enough it has to be admitted at this stage of the game that eh he has known it before. He used to know it. He gets jolts. Jolts come along. Hines gets jolted. Certain items transpire. It is just that eh he can touch her hand, the soft bits between the joints on each finger, she has three such bits on each finger, and two on the thumb, the soft bits, and what he does is press gently his fingertips there on the soft bits, seeing the skin dimple out and whiten as flattening. Ah christ; poor auld Hines. He really is a poor soul. There he goes: see him. He’s about to take care of things. He is going to get a gun. He has connections with gungettors. He can banish the problems. Give him an A and give him a B. Bang.
And yet the prevailing climate is not only unsound it is stabley so. Let us expand:
The position in which he is to be finding himself is no worse than that of countless others whose efforts are no longer negotiable but that that position, that position might yet have become tranquil that they could have multiplied inasmuch, inasmuch as Hines could eventually, he could have become
He was wanting that becoming.
This is what it’s about. Now then: just remember the way she jumped aboard the bus. She knew as well as he did that her and the wee man, the pair of them, along with him – although to be honest, it was probably just the two of them, her and Paul, it was probably just them. And yet the presence of such as a Hines Robert could have proved a boon for all that contemporaneous conditions would appear to have rammed home a wedge that he, that he from the pair of them, Paul and herself, Sandra, that eh
A cup of coffee would certainly go down well if she was making it; a nice cup of coffee and a doughnut. Sandra likes doughnuts. So does Hines, especially if they arent snowed under by cream or something cause that can spoil it and nothing should be spoiling, a spoilsport, we dont want their kind, we need to try and get along, to face things out, consider her breasts, how soft they are, that fullness, how his lips can work upon them so well.
Out of hand it’s getting. Certain factors must be brought to light. These factors are not to be being neglected. But the manner in which: what is the manner in which a gun acts. A deafening blackness by all accounts a gun goes in 1 ear and out the other. Quickly quickly quickly, the pure on the pure; 1 question and 1 question only. Give us an aye or give us a naw – because in betweens no longer exist in any scheme of the world that Hines, that he might be said to be participating within, in any intentional sense. Now, if he. He has little more to say, to be honest. The final finitos and so on. That’s if he’s being honest I mean if she really wants a bit of honesty from yours truly Hines, the husband, the father, of the wean by christ if she really does want an answer. And that’s an actual answer, a genuine answer, none of the fucking rubbish, just a genuine answer to a genuine question being asked from an entire world. An Entire World. None of the fucking rubbish. Hines has never been Reilly. Sandra hasnt always understood this. Maybe she does. But if so there was never any point in just confining herself to those wee smiling kind of looks in the off chance what lay behind would be comprehended, as well as its contingency. Contingency by fuck – dependence on a possible future event which is not very likely. Hines would be true under certain conditions and is false under others. If certain conditions had come to pass that they were at large then he would have been being true. He would have been true under such conditions. Their recognition – such conditions. Let us consider absent
A gun right enough. It is so blatant – christ he’s been playing, he’s been playing.
Wait a minute. One wee fucking minute. To get it straight – just to get it straight. Right then, now: here he is in conditions, certain conditions, the astounding circumstances of which is the eh o jesus jesus dont let it be lost dont let it be lost dont he is true, he is true, he is true under certain conditions that can have come to pass, that they would be being at large. He is dependent. He is a thing that comes to life under certain conditions for if they do not obtain then he is to be being false i.e. unalive. He would be an unalive bastard, for whom death is the probable second step.
Well well well, I mean he was fucking knowing that, the Busconductor Hines, he has always been knowing that, for years; years are not fucking minutes.
He had been getting himself into a state; and it is daft getting yourself into a state. You sit there getting worse and worse. What is the unnameable. That which is not to be articulated. Some things are not articulately. A horror of rodents is articulately. But
the things that are not unable to be not said. What about them. They are not good. They are not good but must also be good.
A taxi entered the street. He heard it while coming out of the lavatory but returned to the kitchen instead of dashing to the front room window. If it was stopping outside the close it would stop there. He shut the door firmly though gently, Paul being asleep on the chair. And with the volume of the television down to its lowest he knelt on the floor, gazing at the images flash, a programme Concerning Topical Interests within the Halls of Planetary Finance. Often, when alone, he could experience joy from their lips, chin and neck flesh. An issue debating. Each exponent an individual method, the hearty the wry the earnest. It was interesting to see. He moved closer, mouth wide and eyes staring, and ruffling his hair till it was on end, out and in stretching his fingers into fists, clawing manoeuvres. Here you got this yin and here another. The representatives. They could all look as though choking.