by Leon Rooke
Or. But. Who’s to know, this yin steps oot of the polis breeks maybe ye find the woman has a rearend put me and Mady baith to shame.
Now doon these stair, crossing the yard to the lockup aye the women’s shutdoon, ye can smell the poky coming like it’s a toilet bowl got wings. Aye a shite birdy gony fly right in ye face. Dear me, and me Hoover on the blink, as Mady would say, Mady the Tidy-up Queen. Pope minded of another time Mady saying, Must need take a broom to ye brain Pope me luv sweep away aw the rubbish ye got heapt up in there. Like Pope, she’d say, d’ye think in heaven a person will have to wash, will we have underarm odour up there will we wear lipstick I hope to God no at ten quid the pop. Auld Mady blethering away, ye dont need had to reply, come the next minute she’s answerit herself and gone on to explain scientific theories no yin else has thought aboot. A genius in the attic by god, that was auld Mady. Pope’s lifeline, Aye fucking
incredible incredible
hard to believe me second breath is ...
aye she were vowitly in love with that bookcase.
yer a magician Pope, auld Mady liked saying.
She’s telt a lie back there to the chief and Jack, that line aboot first hooking up with Mady at the Brideshead. No reason to the lie, no reason, it just comes to her the lie is to be telt, when what happent in the true life tale was the Service sez to her one morning Gae to such and such place as fill-in for the nasty wonker calling in sick, try no to displease the paying client. So she arrives at what turns oot to be Mady’s camp site, hears the hootchie beat of music, and once the door is open is struck mute by the owerwhelming sight of a nakit woman dancing, her diddies jouncing, herself at onct taking Pope’s hand in her own, saying No cleaning today hun today its workoot time.
Jane Fonda on the telly jumping and sweating.
Such feet auld Jane’s, ye can see she’s natchril, natural.
***
Time, says the chief into the tape machine mike, oh five hunnert twenty-yin hour, continuation of Pope interview matter of death by violent trauma tae the head by pipe yin Madeline Powr, twenty-yin Awfside Close age forty-two.
Blood aw ower, ye were nay the pristine intellect were ye Pope?
She were steamed up Jack. In murderous rage she’s no thinking gude.
We tae match that blood which we will ye’re a fuckt fucker.
Yer want yer fag now Pope? A cuppa? Me and Jack here having a nice cuppa.
Pope’s head is nodding towards what feels the final demise. She’s drowsy in the peapatch, her brain leaky haggis boilt in sheep’s belly. Sleep is a requirement to be dealt with soon. Aye a gude liedown. She’s nodding, nodding, fuck sake I cannay hold me head up yin more min. But the ring on chief’s finger has her periodic attention. It’s helt her. It’s got glitter, that finger. The diamond is small, it gies credit to a grain of sand, even so the stone has sparkle. Auld roundifaced thickset tree-thighed chief is aging, she’s naymore the midnight princess, a crucifying Stalinist menace but.
... how to account for it, how to account? Twixt oh five hunnert twenty-yin hour and something something hour earlier the auld shitekicker have got herself engaged to be marriet. So it seems so it seems.
... fucking uncanny. If this Facist shitkicker can find a taker then aw Pope can say is there’s nay such thing as a lost cause.
the last shot have come through for auld cryptface.
Thank ye Jack yer gude wishes aye me man have been on the precipice some months the now.
I’m thrilled for ye chief I’m smashed tae me outer kingdom.
Another screw tags in with bubbly in a bucket.
Cheers, cheers, ta, ye are princely folk, youse boys, ye behold here the chisley virtues of finest wimmenhood soon tae step up tae the alter.
***
Tea Pope? A nice cuppa?
Naw I donay.
A fag?
Naw I quit we baith quit.
It were the widrawal pangs made ye do it. A mish cant have her fag she gaes berzerk we seen it a thousand times eh Jack.
It were yer Mady’s idea yer quitting the fags ye work up a gude pong doing that bookcase ye want yer smoke, the lassie says Naw Pope we quit, nay fag for ye, so ye bong her sidiwise the head wi that pipe eh Pope?
What pipe?
Then ye has have yer fag the cool head of reason prevails and ye set tae removing the evidence, we got the whole picture Pope.
But ye neglects the pipe dont ye Pope?
What pipe?
Naybody’s blaming ye Pope it’s understandable I mean, yer brutal impromptu act. We’re no claiming culpable homicide, that’s yea strict reading the arbitrary if lawful text, naw we’re no saying yer vile aggression were advancitly premeditated in the cause of disappointit malice, rancour, envy, prior dispostion or the like, naw, what are we claiming Jack?
It were them books ower each inch of floor, ye cannay move, the lifetime works of who-was-it, that poet fella and aw that.
Right, that’s what tipped auld Pope’s scales, that poet fella.
Auld Mady sez tae ye Pope I cannay live like this, I warrant ye needs build me a monster bookcase holt aw me precious verse. Yin book atop the other, by the walls, on every chair, under the bed, piles on the table where ye eat yer grub.
That’s yer why int it Pope? Yer motivation like. Cause yer such a tidy nitpicking jampot queer mitherfucker.
And ye wasni reader were ye Pope it sez here yer schooling were largely nil.
Ye lassie’s high learning got ye goat, her high-minded ways, no fags allowt, yer whisky watert same as it’s dishwater, the now yer ladyship orders that bookcase, so ye bosht the lassie sidiways the napper, boiiing, boiing.
Wi that pipe.
Boiiinnng boiiinnng boiiinnng, goodbye lassie.
...
Ye see here Pope this precious ring, wi this ring I thee fucking wed and join ye till the poles us part, she were casting ye off, is that yer sad monkey-eyed tale?
...
Knees the gether Pope.
We got yer lassie’s blood on ye clothes, yer blood int her car, her hair on the pipe, yer fucking prints, we got yer footsteps on the floor int the blood when ye stash her body int the closet int her bedroom. Ye’re no the guvrnor, we’re on tae yer rep, yer a known workboot aboot town, first as town scavenger, next housekeeping yez’s avowed occupation, nay doubt high theft involved, yer former girlfriends telt us of yer violent nature, yer black disaccord wi authority, yer crookt disposition, yer rough hamelife aye we got ye coming and gaeing ye poncy mucker.
So yez scunts yer Mady politely on the noodle wi yer Stanley. Boing, boing, boing.
... Stanley?
We observed Stanley’s like yer fave tool-make Pope, we noticed.
You’re daft. I dont employ nay Stanley. Maybe a screwdriver, that’s aw.
Come on come on come on Pope lighten ye heinous load.
...
Eh jeez Pope show mercy on ye dragons, come on.
Have that fag the now Pope. Five butts we find int the bloody bedroom, yer brand.
***
A sausage in a wrapper is brought to Pope’s cell, the gether with a roll rock hard. Pope looks frae the sausage to the screw who has brought the grub. An auld gimpy nellie of sagging cheek and shoulder, the tired wayfaring eyes of a confirmed boozer.
Hullo Pope.
Pope has seen the nellie roundaboot the auld neighborhood dressed in civies and aye a blae cap on the back of the head, navy blae scarf wrapping the neck. The screw stands with her legs apart looking at Pope and shaking her head. I known yer lassie, she sez. She were an aright lassie she were. Nay many the like of yer kaput lassie.
That she were. I thank ye Pinkie Stevie.
Pinkie Stevie, that’s the screw’s name, it’s come to Pope.
She bought me a pint ye know on the night ... Pip’s Strongest Red Road Ale ... on the night agh ye know the night I mean. I sez, Where’s yer girlfriend and she laughs and I sez that bookcase I bet and she sez Yip and then she fixes her top, lays on th
e lip paint, telts me she’s got an appointment up the street and off she gaes, off she gaes. Int them pearly blae stockings, smart I’ll say! Eat yer heart out laddies, such is what the laddies be saying.
Pinkie, dear dear. Aw these days I no never squaked onto yer polis occupation.
Weil, it pays, it pays, Pope it pays. A woman does, weil a woman does, ye can forgive what a womas has tae stoop tae, a soft-hearted yin fitting my descripion I mean. Ye gony eat that sausage? Yer needs yer strength ye do. I saved it for ye. I’m sorry aboot yer lassie auld Mady, she took gude care of ye didnay she?
Aye oh aye she did.
No tae be cheekie but.
What’s on ye mind Pinkie?
It’s like we’ve got this pool, ye see.
Mmm.
Doon at The Element.
I’ve seen it, gude place the Element, yeh.
Eh yeh it’s gude, a gude wallowing hole.
Ye’ve a wager on ye’re saying?
Aye a sizeable lump.
And you want the inside scoop ye’re saying. As to my innocence.
Weil, ye can nod if ye did it, if ye bosht her, something like that I were thinking. Did yer bosh her Pope? I come wi the sausage ye’ll note ... That’s no a nod is it Pope? Sae to be clear.
She were my true luv Pinky. She were my heart’s each beat.
That’s no a nod? So as tae be clear.
Aye I’m no nodding Pinky.
Eh? Eh? ... Weil.
Speak up Pinky in here with these screams I’m bent largely deaf.
Fine fine. Another issue cannay I raise, begging ye pardon.
Hoky Doke, shoot.
Street word is Mady were carrying yin int the barn. No to be cheeky the now but were she?
Ye’ve got a second bet on eh.
Yeh, begging ye pardon. Wean int the barn?
Naw. We was blethering on it that’s aw.
She were seen wi a bloke. Yer Mady. No tae spoil yer day but. All matey they were.
We was scouting the scene. Looking a proper Jimmy to droppith the seed like.
Oosh. That’s hard. A bugger that is.
Aye.
I’m glad tae hear it. I’m relieved. I were bothert Mady were departing the lezzie life. It’s weight off me mind.
Donay worry ower it nay more then.
Whoosh. I’m glad ye telt me. It’s a relief.
Thank ye for the chat Pinkie. For the grub.
What else is pals for. Ye watch yeself aright?
Aright. See ye mate.
Umm.
Eh? Something else?
Herself had an earlier wean, word is. In the long ago. Or is that no but uninformed unverifiable rabble blether? No that I’m prying into ye intimate life I mean.
In the long ago as you say. In the far away.
That’s that then. It were a chap telt me, abiding ower on Argyle Quay. Said the baith of ye been rapping on doors.
***
Time, sez the chief into the winding spool, oh six hunnert nine teen hour, resumption Pope interview matter of death by pipe affixiation tae the head of yin Mady a.k.a. Madeline Powrs nee Kelmone year of our Lord – what fuck year is it Jack?
Of our Lord chief.
Year of our Lord as stated.
... Pope? Gae on Pope put us tae sleep.
Pope minds the chief’s engagement finger. Chief swishes the mite diamond round and round, Pope can detect the red undertone of flesh. That skin awready skint and flaky, the screw ought to know soapy fuck will ...
... balmy screws. Stupit thugs. Gae on Pope yer words is honey to us peacekeepers. Knees the gether, cover ye paps, lend an assist there Jack.
... ... ...
She’s aready the now chief. She’s orgiastic.
...
Let it be known tae the High Court suspect Pope have attemptit untoward mutilation of ... of – what’s the opportune word Jack?
Me crown jewels.
... of Jack’s Best Barley. Prop her up Jack.
***
We were in the slosh some, yeh some. Mady liked her drop same as me same as me. Two bottles we had, nay more, bubbly scud frae the off-sales. A pretty pee they cost us but. We was nearby Mad’s birthday, near enough. I couldnay get that bookshelf in the wall, it were I was fair skogged. Fair skogged, dampt oot ye could say. Baith of us. Laughing. A merry time, merry aye merry. A wee celebration. Jubilation, ye could say. The bubbly flowing. Yin, the near birthday, we’d settled on the Jimmy would have his poke at Mady, just the onct we’d baith agreed, it took or didnay take nay way Mady’d endure the ordeal a second time. I telt ye aboot that didnay I? The Jimmy nonce, his poke? The wean?
What Jimmy? What fuck she on aboot the now? Dont be coorse hun. Tell Pope tae thread the needle Jack.
Any grub intake during this gay holiday?
What?
Yez’re doing the guzzle alone or are yez swallowing dainty biscuits as well Jackielad is here inquiring.
Mady’s particular. She’s no eating anything yez’d throw ower the fence.
Her Ladyship, we’ve heard her called.
Yeh but no uppity as yez are supposing.
See Jack. Pope and her slash were merely in the bubble soon Pope here to gie Her Ladyship the doing.
Pitching us the red herring. We be throwing it back in ye face Pope. We’ll have nayn yer dirty blether aboot pokes, fer that matter.
...
Say what?
“Slash,” I were thinking. Ye mither and fayther, ye speak to their shame.
It were them Jane Fonda workoots drove Pope wild. There ye gae, motivation.
A sound theory Jack.
***
I cannay wait to shelf those books ... I drove in a nail, nail or two, to holt the mucker in place, line a few books up there we’re baith thinking, see what they’ll look like up there. Wilum Julius Mickle Collected Works he’s first to settle. Smart, he looked smart, auld Mickie up there. Laughing, me and Mady, a merry auld time. Mady luv she’s reciting auld Mickle, she’s revving full muckers, them arms flying:
For there’s nae luck aboot the house
There’s nae luck at a’
There’s little pleasure in the house
When our gudeman’s awa.
What the pish she saying Jack?
It’s verse chief, Mady has helt oot her favours til our scholar learnt the recitation.
Pope now Pope now Pope gie her face a wipe Jack, nayn of yer weeping.
I’ll put the tisshie box here in ye lap Pope skuzie I’ll tuck in ye jars ye dont mind.
That’s gude Jack that’s gude yez is a regular nanny, au pair is yer true calling. When ye’re ready Pope.
Smack her geggie Jack, me patience is wearing.
It were like them books was wee birds with wings just flying to get up there. Just begging. It would had been nice ken, nice, us there in the cook room, the sitting room of a morning, gude clean table, chomping on fine grub, none of that take-oot shite I mean. We can look up frae our chairs and read the rainbow spines, auld Mickle and McGonagall and Motherwell side by side, auld MacDiarmid, and the Lizzie, Lizzie Lochead, I’m meaning, ye’ve heard of Lizzie. Mady’s fave female, she’s up there, auld Alasdair Gray as well and Kelman like. Mady’s mates they were, frae her West End days doing tables at the Chip. Ye can say aye that’s the next yin for me, I’ll be reading that yin next, it would had been sweet. War and Peace, fuck, Shakespeare, fuck, Glasgow After Dark what the fuck, see what I’m saying? We were baith doing it, calling which yin we’d haul doon next. Days on this was ye see, I’d aye I’d painted those bookcases ye see, the unit were holding, wall to wall. They were beautiful, beautiful, pearly blae, I’m telling ye. A piece a work. It were lovely, lovely it were divine.
Her body wasni found in ni fucking cook room or library Pope we find ye smooch int the bedroom hole.
Yer footprints yer raving mucker, what, ye draggt her in there?
Bosht ye jam wi that pipe, slang her ower ye shoulder, haul Her Ladyship tae ye hole, aw
airy-pied from that bubbly.
I’ve telt ye no. I’ve telt ye. Sure frae time to time she had went in the bedroom that’s natchril, natural.
Bare scud nakit and dead Pope stem to stern.
Nakit? Something’s wrong here. Something amiss aye. Mady she were ... she had on them pearly blae stockings, that satin ... the same Brideshead gown worn ... ye hear where I’m coming frae? Ye’re dorks, ye cannay comprehend the simplest matter?
Spell it oot fer us Gestapo headmasters Pope we’re aw dinks here ...
...
Aw fuck ye folk arenay listening.
Mind ye obscenities Pope chief here is a bride-in-waiting.
Aye ye bastids aye keep ye smackers off me Jack ... First I’m saying Mady were fixing to gae oot, an appointment ye see an appointment like. Next she’s made a call, the telephone and the thingie has gony got rearranged, the bloke is coming ower, Mady’s nay going oot. A home visit like. It’s what she telt me, Pope I desires to be in my own domain when committing the repellant act, I want be so filt wi the anxiety but.
Ye see?
... so she were dressed for the public ooting, brolly, boots, the like. That smart hat. Afore she makes the new arrangement, the bloke coming ower instead and the now it’s me gony hit the cobbly byways, nay way I’m hanging by while the mate has his poke, voyeurism, what they call it, the voyeur role is no for Pope. I’m hard by merely to visualize the act, hard by, aye visualizing the ceremony is horrific. Terrifying. We can call it off luv, she says, call it off, it’s for ye to say. Nay luv we’ve went this far, it’s just I’m no watching but
that’s best hon, she says, I’d be in a twitch ye standing by ach
but ye do understand dont ye I’m gony look nice, me hair brusht, touch of perfume, the silk nightie, low cut, the yin ye like. To help the mate oot ye understand, he’ll no be the cocky stud thinks any woman is his due, naw he’ll be filt wi the identical anxiety, likely I must has to coax him along. Coax himself along with wee rubdoon, though no a thing x-rated ye have my assurance. And aw aw aw for our future ye see, yez and mine’s wean, our very own: such is me Mady’s tune. Wean to replace her doorstep wean, ye see. It were sacred to her, that wean. But nakit? Nakit no is possible.