A Disaffection (Vintage Classics)

by James Kelman

  Fifty-seven’s nothing, said Arthur. My auld man’s seventy-eight.

  My auld man’s deid and buried, said Davie, I killed him myself, with my own two hands.

  Arthur muttered, Your head’s wasted ya cunt.

  The da’s had eh three strokes … Gavin dragged on his cigarette and he didnt look at Davie. It’s no a joke.

  I saw them on Saturday, said Pat.

  Aye I know you did but we never knew it at the time, otherwise we wouldni have bothered, obviously. It was just with ye phoning on the Friday and that.

  Sorry.

  It doesnt matter.

  Patrick gazed at his brother. Gavin sipped the superlager, dragged on the cigarette and blew smoke into the fireplace. It’s because I was halfcut, said Patrick, I didni want the weans to see me in case I started gibbering.

  Gavin nodded.

  I didnt.

  Fine.

  Davie said to Arthur: Does Maureen make a good pot of soup?

  No bad. Her maw’s better. No great, but better.

  Davie nodded; he turned as though to speak to Gavin but Gavin held his gaze for a few moments and he said: I didni like your remark there Davie. That rubbish about your feyther, it’s stupid patter.

  Davie looked at him.

  Stupid patter Davie know what I mean.

  Davie smoothed the right side of his moustache. He lifted his whisky and drank what was left of it.

  It was unjust. Patrick had annoyed Gavin but now here it was Davie getting the row. He uncapped the whisky and gave an exaggerated sigh of appreciation, poured himself a small one and then topped up Arthur’s and poured Davie a fresh one; he handed them the jug of water and lifted away their empty bowls. He offered the whisky to Gavin but Gavin declined. I’ll have one in a minute, he said.

  Okay brother! Pat grinned although he didnt of course feel like grinning. In circumstances roughly similar to this one, in certain tribes of chimpanzees, individuals bare their arses to each other, a method of pacifying the aggressor. But this wasnt the place to display arses. This was family. Grimly and sternly. They set their faces grimly and looked sternly at one another. It was funny the way folk acted. Patrick laughed suddenly and he said: There’s this boy in one of my classes who’s in love with one of the lassies, and she’s got a wean already – no to him. They’re both about sixteen, seventeen. True love.

  Nobody spoke.

  Och! Tch! Pat laughed again. He put his hand to his forehead and shut his eyelids. Fuck it. It’s funny but, he said, you watch them for maybe a couple of years; you see things. How open they are. Kids. They’re so fucking open, the way they trust you. They think you can do anything when you’re a teacher. They think you’re the heavyweight champion of the fucking world. No kidding ye! They think everything you say has to be right and true.

  What like is your class? said Arthur.

  I’ve got a lot of different ones.

  Ragamuffins?

  Pardon?

  Are they ragamuffins?

  I dont understand your question. Could you define ragamuffins for me?

  Gavin said quickly: Dont. He’s trapping ye.

  Pat glanced at Gavin: You referring to me?

  Naw, I’m referring to him over there! Gavin gestured vaguely at the door and Patrick couldni stop himself from looking, and he replied:

  I think you’re trying to tell me something. Because in fact he was getting told to leave. His big brother was asking him to kindly vacate the premises. Which was really a bit much when you considered their relationship was blood-based, consanguineous. It’s not as if he was a stranger in off the street. Pat grinned and raised his tumbler of whisky. Am I allowed to finish my drink first?

  What?

  You obviously want me to vacate the premises?

  What you talking about?

  Do you want me to leave o brother?

  Do what you fucking like o brother.

  In other words I can finish my drink?

  You can do what you like. Gavin smiled briefly.

  Patrick raised the tumbler: Prosit brüder!

  Prosit brüder to you too.

  Patrick smiled. He swallowed the whisky and sipped beer. His brother was now saying something to Arthur and was maybe deliberately excluding Davie. Things were not alright. They were alright. Before I came. Before I came things were alright. Things were alright before I came. Now that I am here things are not alright. I should not have come and then things would still be fine; yous three neighbours would be fine. Instead of that in came myself and fucked up the proceedings, the atmosphere, clouded things over, making things go awry. Gavin was watching him. Gav was okay. Gav. That was from way back when. Heh Gav going to take me with you.

  The whole world is there. Where. In a family. The family grouping. Hegel was not wholly right about things. There again mind you

  but here is a truth that is axiomatic: the existence of 24 22. Och this fucking self-congratulatory pity it’s a load of fucking out the window with it away, away away away. Away where. Just away. Get to fuck. Into the nether regions with you of whom it must be said that Dante alone could have placed you. Dante alone. What is to be said of that. Is something to be said of that. Before something can be said about something, before anything can truly be said, we are dutybound to find a – sorry, we are dutybound

  this is the gibbers

  these are the gibbers

  Gavin is watching me

  And poor auld Davie Jordan who has a wee black moustache and is of this planet forty-two winters, having just had a row from one’s brother on behalf of one, a father of four weans, two boys and two girls: Davie is looking.

  When I get pissed I start gibbering, said Patrick. The gibbers descend upon me. No kidding ye Davie, the gibbers.

  Davie nodded. I was thinking there about this uncle of mine’s, a snobby bastard, he’s retired now, used to work for the Forestry. He’s a Wee Free. His best mate’s a big bloody polis sergeant. There’s this place they go fishing up by the Kyle, out near Plockton. And it’s poaching. They’ll no tell anybody where it is either. I was up there once and I was with my auld man and he wouldni take us with them. Eh! Christ. Hell of a cunt that sergeant, he was supposed to be shagging the manageress of the hotel and she gave him free bevy. The word was too that her man knew it was happening … Davie reached for his can of superlager.

  Maybe he was shagging somebody else, said Arthur.

  Davie shrugged. I dont know. He was a snobby bastard the uncle, didnt like our side of the family. Him and my da hated each other.

  After a moment Gavin said, He was a snob and a poacher. Unusual. Then as well the polis sergeant.

  How do ye mean? Davie asked.

  I dont know; it just sounds unusual.

  He thought my maw had married beneath her, the uncle. Davie lifted a half-smoked cigarette out of an ashtray and he set it alight via flame ignition. He struck a match and the flame appeared, the flame appears; he places the end of the fag into the centre of the flame and then breaks the match into two pieces, the flame going out. He sits back on the settee and then sits forwards again, balancing on the very edge of the seat, staring at the floor.

  Hegel, the German philosopher who influenced Marx a lot, Pat said; he had things in common with Heraclitus, the auld Greek philosopher who was a frosty auld bastard funnily enough whereas when Hegel was a student he really enjoyed life. But the both of them believed the individual has to succumb to reason in a sense – but Heraclitus, what I’m saying about him, he believed fire was at the root of life, that everything was composed of fire – everything comes from fire, or rather is of fire. Unlike Thales for instance, the old Milesian, he thought everything comes from water, everything is water.

  Water-based? asked Davie.

  Aye, more or less, and he wasni far wrong when you come to think about it.

  Ninety percent of the body’s water.

  Is it? asked Pat.

  You’re the teacher!

  Hahaha. That’s right! But
what I’m really on about is fucking eh see when a match goes out, when the flame vanishes, leaving the smoke … It’s like your life. It’s like your existence. The spirit departing from your body – you could even think of it as the soul if ye were into theology and worshipping deities. Plus think of the Arabian Nights for instance, the genie of the lamp, the smoke issues from the spout and then whoof! the genie appears, called into existence, I’m here to do your bidding o master.

  Sounds like the bloody working-class, said Arthur to Gavin.

  Aye you’re fucking right, replied Gavin.

  Aye but where’s there’s smoke there’s fire! said Davie.

  The eternal optimist, said Gavin.

  You’ve got to be. Eh Pat?

  I dont know.

  What do you think of Marx? asked Arthur.

  Fucking great.

  Aye. Arthur smiled.

  Some things ye just cannot take away from him. No matter how hard they fucking try!

  Gavin said, I’ll always agree with ye there brother. He was for the workers and that’s that, end of story.

  I’m drinking to that, said Arthur and raised his whisky.

  The others followed. Afterwards Davie said, There was this auld guy used to hang about with my feyther; he was a good auld cunt, a bit crabbit I mind – course I was a boy just, a snapper. Him and the feyther used to go for long walks; they’d meet up with their cronies down at Partick Cross subway station and then they’d all set off.

  Where to? asked Pat.

  I’m no sure. I dont think it was anywhere special but. Sometimes they just walked it to Whiteinch Park to watch the boys playing football … Davie nodded, he looked at the carpet.

  After a brief silence Arthur said, What you telling us this for Davie?

  I dont know, it’s got bloody lost somewhere. Davie chuckled: It must be the homebrew!

  Dont fucking blame the homebrew! Arthur laughed and called to Gavin: Hear him! Blaming the homebrew because he’s getting fucking doty!

  I am getting doty, Davie said, it’s that house of mine it’s like living in a bloody mental asylum. No kidding ye Paddy four teenagers I’ve got fuck sometimes ye wait an hour and a half to get to the bloody toilet!

  Four teenagers! Horrendous.

  Fucking worries! Ho! Davie shook his head, swallowed a mouthful of superlager.

  After a moment Gavin said: What game did you go to on Saturday?

  The Yoker, they were playing Perthshire. It was alright; no outstanding but alright. Heh what do ye make of this, there was only one goal scored and I missed it!

  Gavin replied, Were ye gabbing?

  Gabbing. Naw.

  That makes a change!

  Ha ha, said Pat.

  Gavin laughed. He signalled for the whisky bottle and Pat got up to hand it across to him. But when Gavin made to take it Patrick snatched it away and laughed: Too slow brother, the reflexes are definitely going!

  Aw aye? Anytime you want to prove it son. The table-tennis table is aye available down the road.

  I’ll maybe take you up on that.

  Last time he challenged me I thrashed him, said Gavin to the others. He thought he would beat me as well! What was it the first game again? Was it 21–6?

  For fuck sake, cried Pat, imagine minding the score from a game of table-tennis ye played a fucking year ago!

  It wasni a year ago.

  Near enough.

  Six fucking month ya lying bastard.

  Imagine calling your brother a bastard!

  Strange statement! said Arthur.

  It is indeed.

  Pat grinned, returning to his chair. And Arthur said to him: Tell me this, you being a teacher and all that I mean, do kids the day still get homework? The reason I ask, as far as I can make out my two never do anything, I mean fuck all Paddy, nothing. Where’s your homework I say to them. They just look at me as if I’m a fucking eejit.

  The days of homework have gone forever, said Pat.

  How come?

  Times have changed.

  Aye well it’s the weans that’re suffering.

  So what?

  Arthur continued to gaze at him, then he frowned, puzzled; uncertain as to the nature of fighting talk apparently because if one thing was sure it was the following: a glove had just smacked him on the gub. Maybe Pat should have flung a glass of beer over him instead, then he would have twigged what was what. But there’s only so much one person can do and that includes that great arbiter in the sky the teacher, s/he can teach the weans but no the fucking parents.

  Patrick said: Do you know what I tell parents Arthur? I tell them to go and fuck themselves. Patrick held both hands up in a gesture of peace, he smiled for a moment; I’m no trying to get at you personally but I just fucking feel that you cant expect the teacher to be the everything, the heavyweight boxing champion of the world.

  Arthur stared at him.

  Know what I mean, I’m just being honest with ye. I dont think ye should expect the teacher to do everything. If you want your weans to get homework then give it to them your fucking self.

  Gavin said: That actually sounds quite right-wing ye know.

  Well it’s meant to be the fucking opposite and it is the fucking opposite.

  Gavin nodded.

  I’m just sick of folk getting at teachers all the time, said Pat to Arthur directly.

  I wasnt getting at you.

  I thought you were, sorry.

  Well I wasnt. Arthur looked from him to Gavin, then he frowned, he started rolling another fag.

  No think some of them deserve to get criticised? said Davie.

  Aye but that’s the same in any job.

  Some of them dont fucking teach at all, said Arthur. Let’s face it. They just sit at their desk and read a fucking book!

  Pat didnt answer.

  And then they expect these long holidays all the time!

  Aye, I agree with ye there! Gavin glanced at Pat: Ye canni deny that.

  Of course I can.

  Ye mean ye do deny it?

  Of course.

  Gavin gazed at him, then laughed briefly. He looked at Pat but Pat looked away. Nor was Pat going to say anything further because he was fucking off home as soon as he swallowed what he had lying. There was no point sitting here yapping to a bunch of fucking prejudiced rightwing bastards. And Gavin turned on him once more: What d’you mean ye deny ye get long holidays?

  I deny I get long holidays, that’s what I mean.

  Back it up.

  What d’you mean back it up?

  Show me what you’re talking about?

  Naw. You show me what you’re talking about.

  I think I know what Paddy means, said Davie.

  Good, tell me, replied Gavin.

  I think I know what you mean Paddy.

  Pat nodded.

  Ye dont think ye get long holidays because when you’re off from the school you’re still doing other things connected with it, making up timetables and all that.

  Patrick nodded.

  I still say it’s the weans that suffer, muttered Arthur.

  Patrick cleared his throat; he glanced at Gavin then sat forwards, hands on his knees, gazing at the carpet. He turned and lifted his whisky, sipped at it. He also had a bottle of homebrew lying now which Arthur had opened for him. It was too much. He was going to screw the head as far as this all was concerned. And the last thing was to get into fights, especially with guys that were twice your size. Arthur could just fucking sit on him and be able to carry on rolling one of his fags while Pat would be floundering beneath him trying to wriggle free. Although most of the weight he was carrying consisted of lard, lard. Gavin was speaking. Nicola’s name had cropped up and he was saying he had forgotten to go and pay an outstanding electricity bill. He called to Pat: She’ll no be too pleased brother!

  Pat gazed at the carpet another couple of moments before raising his head. What did ye say?

  Nicola, she’ll no be too pleased with me.

 
Cause of all the bevy?

  Naw I dont mean that it’s because I had the electricity to pay this morning, and I never made it into town.

  Aw aye … Patrick added: I’m no wanting to drink that much anyway cause of the driving and all that.

  The driving and all that! Gavin grinned briefly, then he frowned: You’re no driving.

  Naw I suppose I better no.

  Drunk driving’s fucking mental, muttered Arthur.

  A very bad habit, said Pat.

  A very bad habit? It’s fucking death, Gavin said, I thought you had chucked that.

  I have.

  Well you fucking better.

  I’ve been hitting the tomato juice. I have a couple of pints and then I stop. In fact I might fucking stop it all the gether, never mind the driving. It is a fucking rut. The bevy; it makes ye do things that are so totally absurd you feel as if fuck like you’re enclosed in a wad of plastic sheeting. That’s the only thing to describe it, plastic sheeting. Patrick chuckled.

  Sounds more like dope, replied Arthur.

  What I mean is if you’re really guttered and looking out at the world but without being actually crawling on all fours.

  That is more like dope! Arthur smiled.

  Davie said, That’s what we were talking about before you came in.

  Gavin laughed and he drank a quick mouthful of homebrew … Christ I mind fine the first time I smoked a joint … I was just a boy at the time, about seventeen.

  You never telt me, said Patrick.

  What would I tell you for?

  I’m your fucking brother.

  Gavin-laughed again.

  Tell us the yarn, said Davie.

  Naw it was just … Gavin grinned: I mind I was walking down the street and it was like I had discovered myself there, I just came to my senses. It was the big tree on Argyle Street. And this big fire was raging up a close. And the fire-brigade was there. Two or three of them. Lights flashing and all the noise. Big crowds of folk. And the polis as well, everywhere ye looked, polis. So then, for some fucking stupid reason, I started going up and asking them all sorts of questions, daft yins; how much of a wage they got, what like was the O.T.; that kind of stuff.

  To the polis? asked Pat.

  Aye. They were fucking looking at me too, they didni know if I was taking the piss or what. Do ye like shift work; what age is it you retire.