That Was a Shiver, and Other Stories

by James Kelman

  But it wasnt her so much as me; I was worrying about her. I was exhausted. It was so draining. Everything. My energy. Intellectual energy. Did I have any? If so it was gone. Always having to think about it. Oh christ, I told her again and again to join the library. Never again would she have to involve me. All that information one can access. It was wonderful and can be even more wonderful just going online if one cannot access a book on the shelves one might find it there, depending on one’s tastes, given that one is a reader, and one does not have to be a genuine reader; those of us who only browse will find libraries a haven.

  She listened but didnay know what I meant. Maybe she couldnt read. I thought she could but maybe she couldnt. Maybe she lost it. So once inside the library lobby she wouldnt know what to do, where to go, whom to see. Watch me, I said, I’ll be there with you. Just watch me. See what I do and later you can try it on your own. Computers or books. Whatever. Computers are good. Sometimes ye switch one on and it is like a curtain getting drawn back. Then outside ye see everything. With a computer it is inside but it takes ye outside.

  She gaped at me, getting the image and amazed by it. She smiled, or seemed to – her face entered ‘smile’ mode. In this context I dont know if she knew how to smile. Not at first. But dont worry, I said, whatever ye do. You’ll see these other folk and see how they do it. You’ll work it out and you’ll get behind the smile instead of outside looking in at it. And ye’ll see this as progress. I know ye will, ye definitely will. The library is not only good as an end in itself, it offers a way ahead. The likes of you and me. Winter is deadly as ye know. Me as well as you.

  Yes, she said.

  When it is freezing cold, snowing, raining, dreich and miserable, you go into the library and get a heat, keep warm. Meet people. That is that. Most important of all is you get entertained. I always think that and so will you. When it happens you know for certain you are alive and living in a world of other people. That is the great thing.

  She was watching me.

  I knew yer feet would be cold, not wearing socks. I knew you would take off yer sandals.

  Did you?

  Of course. As long as you didnay feel it was blasphemous, I knew you would.

  Oh. She smiled, covering her mouth.

  So then ye dried them?

  They dried in.

  Dried themselves ye mean?

  Yes. Did you know?

  Of course.

  She smiled. I craned forwards to see her feet again but now she was self-conscious and raised one foot to cover the other. She was staring down at my feet. Comparing them. I watched her, ready to smile. Mine were bigger than hers by some way. Big clumsy things, I said, that’s my feet. Yours arent, yours are neat.

  Yes.

  Her hands were small too. I hadnay realised how small they were. Really, they were delicate-looking, soft. A man would have had a hang-up about this. Small feet, small hands, small penis. Not me. It didnay matter to me, small nose, small ears. To others it did. The way of the world. People I knew made a joke about it. In here they made jokes about anything. I thought it unforgiveable. A person’s dignity is to be preserved at all costs, I said.

  She didnt look at me. It was difficult for her. I was being totally honest with her but how did she know I was? Except through trust. I was advocating the library because I believed it the one place she could relax in the proper proper sense of what that is. People dont know what relaxing can mean to a person. They just dont know. I would want people to know. Come on, I said. I patted her on the shoulder. She closed her eyes and laid her head against my chest. I was not comfortable with this but pretended all was fine and okay. She remained with her head to my chest for several moments. Too long really, I didnt like her doing it for this length of time. But it was not self-consciously done and that made it easier. Things will improve, I said, one day you hope to marry and you will marry.

  She nodded but it was not a responsive nod, more absentminded. I doubt if she knew what I meant. She knew marriage but not in regard to herself. This form of relationship was new for us both and I was trying to put her at her ease but none was there for me, to help me, and in this sense maybe it was not working. But I was not going to blame myself. What else could I do? Nothing that I could think. She was used to defeat. Of course she was. Me too. Or what amounted to defeat. Maybe there was no defeat. Not for me not for her, in the sense I would have thought, and this did not sadden me although for some maybe it might have. But it didnt me. If I was so it was natural and I couldnay stop the feeling. Give me your arm, I said.

  She reacted cautiously.

  Let us walk, I said.

  I dont want to.

  It will be good. We need to walk, walking is moving. Come on, I said.

  Do I have to?

  This question brought a lump into my throat and I was not able to speak for a wee while. It made it worse that she could not understand my silence. Eventually I said, People need to move.

  Not everybody.

  Oh but this time of day, it is a time for moving, a time when we all, we all . . . we all move. I smiled. I reached my right hand to her and she grasped it. She sighed in the act. What courage. It was true. You underestimate yourself so much, I said, so so much. I touched her wrist: Another thing too; you think I know your life but I dont.

  Yes you do.

  Honestly, I dont.

  Her smile was one of relief.

  Are you weary? I asked.

  Yes.

  Hang on. I began pulling her onto her feet. She allowed this. Once upright she only stared at her feet. I waited for her to walk, or try to walk. She glanced at me, expecting a form of command. Where are your sandals? I asked.

  She nodded.

  No, I said, where are your sandals?

  Perhaps by the door.

  Good.

  May I go?

  Yes, that is what’s happening, we’re going to the library.

  May I?

  Yes.

  She smiled. You always think of me.

  No I dont.

  You do. You are a kind person.

  I was not kind and did not feel in the slightest that I was kind. There is expediency but that is not something, certainly not. I tugged at her wrists. She had become stubborn and would not move from the spot. I tugged again. No, she was not moving. She studied our hands. Yours are big, she said, expecting an explanation.

  People are different. Some are stubborn; others have big hands, some walk in sandals, others in their bare feet. I apply honesty in my dealings. Others dont. I desire it on the personal level and in every level too, of human engagement, levels of it, it is level.

  Oh, she said, gazing at me with great sympathy, while awaiting my reassurance. I found this not challenging but presumptuous. Blamelessly so. I could not have blamed her. I could not have blamed her. She closed her eyes, allowing me to tug her forwards. I did. She did not totter. I could leave her stand alone. I allowed it and stood threequarters onto her that she might also walk but that I could support her if necessary. She smiled but not sheepishly. Are we going to the library? she said.

  Of course.

  What is your part in it?

  What do you mean?

  Am I to trust you?

  Of course, I said.

  She chuckled and touched my hand, and trod forwards daintily, in a typical style, grasping the side of her dress.

  DID THE PIXIE

  SPEAK?

  The house was over the southside and it was to be quite a walk when I got off the bus. I missed the stop and that made it longer, then it was right down the end of the street. It turned out to be a wee backwater, a cul de sac; in other words, a dead end. But I could see how folk would like living here because of the privacy, the peace and quiet. People liked that and paid money for it. Back in those days the flats here were worth a fortune. Ivan Johnson was the name of the guy whose flat it was. As usual the top storey. The same everytime I went on a delivery. There were a few other names at the secure-en
try.

  It took ages for the security buzzer to be answered. Nobody spoke, it was just a different echo sound. I said, I’m here to see Gerry.

  Nothing happened. I waited a while then buzzed again. This time I heard a funny noise, like somebody going do do do do do do, as though mimicking an engaged tone on the telephone. I listened for a few moments: do do do do do do; then it stopped. Did I hear breathing? I’m here from the printers, I said, is Gerry there?

  Now somebody whistled but the door unlocked and I opened it and went in and on up. The stationery I carried was packed solid in three plastic bags and was heavy. Awkward too: I had to watch the bags didnay bust; I stopped a couple of times to change hands.

  But this building really was something. I had never been in a tenement like it before. People left potted plants out on the landings. Apparently nobody stole them. Fantastic. My Granny and Grandpa stayed in an auld yin but it was very different to this and didnay have the fancy trappings. Here were tiles all through the close and stained glass on the landing windows and ye got the feeling the people here were all quite old and rich. It looked like the design had been done by hand but how could it have been?

  There was only one door on the top landing but next to another buzzer it had five names, including Ivan Johnson. The door was ajar. I thought about going in. But no, that was a bad idea; I just had a feeling, and I hit the buzzer. Even doing it, I dont know, it didnay feel right, something about it, even if it was a kind of trap, but what could that have been, how come? I had to buzz a couple of times. Then the footsteps down a creaky staircase and the door opened and it was a guy. I made the mistake of asking him if Ivan Johnson was in. He gave me a total rigmarole. Who are ye, what is it ye want, is the business urgent, did ye say ye were coming – all that kind of stuff. It was sarcastic what he was doing and when I showed him the stationery bags and told him it was a message for Gerry he just about shouted at me. Oh Gerry! oh! oh! Gerry! Then he looked me up and down: And you are?

  I’m from Thomsons.

  Thomsons?

  The printer.

  The printer the printer the printer. Obviously you take precedence.

  What?

  What! he said, right into my face.

  I had never met this guy before. What was it all about? Total crap. He was supposed to be an artist. To me that was the last way he acted. Artists dont get involved in petty crap, not like this. It annoyed me too because not only was I in a hurry, I didnt even need to be there. I had volunteered to make the delivery. Somebody had to and I offered because it was Gerry. He needed stuff urgent for tonight. Flyers and leaflets for the march that was on tomorrow. It was an important one. A demo and a public meeting were to follow. I was going on it myself straight from work. Saturdays I finished at the back of twelve noon.

  But from the way this guy was talking I knew Gerry was there. I held up the stationery bags. Look, I said, I’m just delivering this, that’s all. Gerry phoned me at the printer to say he would be here. It was him gave me the address.

  Oh it was you, he gave you the address?

  What?

  What! he said.

  He stepped back and gave an exaggerated look at the three bags. He was waiting for me to show him what was inside. But it had nothing to do with him. We only finished the printing two hours ago and here it was, for Gerry and nobody else. Marie in the office had told me that but even if she hadnay it was what I would have done myself. Is Gerry there? I said.

  Oh are you in a hurry?

  The guy not only gazed at me here he started kind of rolling his head from side to side with this big kind of gaping maniac smile. I didnay know what to do. I thought he was crazy or else just being absolutely sarcastic. He was probably the same age as Gerry or even older. I dont know. I was nineteen so he could have been twice my age. I wasnt used to somebody acting like this. It was like he hated me.

  He was a total arsehole, plain and simple. And taking a chance the way he was carrying on. Some guys would have got angry and would have been entitled to get angry.

  He left the door ajar and I heard his footsteps on up the creaky stairs. I stood waiting. It went on a while. I felt like an idiot. He wasnay coming back. What was I supposed to do? I wasnay on overtime here. The owners didnay pay extra for stuff. It was just a favour I was doing on my way home from work, not only for Gerry but for them, the husband and wife that owned the business. They were committed to worthwhile causes. All different people and groups used them; community projects and campaigners, wee political groups, even political parties. Some thought the owners were too committed. It meant there was always ‘rush jobs’ and we were having to leave one order and jump to another. Then everything got rushed and last-minute. It was an irritation for the folk that worked there. It meant too that ye couldnay be too particular. Ye wanted to do a good job but ye didnt get the chance. Everything was here and now and rush rush rush, so inks were out and so on, and ye were supposed to not worry about it too much. Except if it didnay operate in a business-efficient way then there wouldnay be any business. That was my Dad’s opinion. He was a storekeeper. The same happened with ‘paying the bills’. The people who used the printer didnt always have money upfront. The owners were always harassed but coped with it. They seemed to cope with it anyway.

  But this was another thing wrong with Ivan Johnson’s attitude, acting as though it was some big global business enterprise. People like him annoyed me. They had no politics but pretended the opposite.

  Maybe as much as five minutes passed. I knew he wasnt coming back. I lifted the bags and walked in.

  Some place right enough. Huge big ceilings and a massive big hall. To the side was a door with a sign, The Ivan Johnson Suite. It was nicely done but, no doubt about it, he had a good touch, for what it was worth. More calligraphy than italic. Actually it was good, so at least he showed that.

  This door was open. Inside a wooden staircase led up to the attic. The bannister itself was a bit shoogly but nothing that couldnay have been put right. I didnay know ye got attics inside tenement buildings. Fantastic. Very elaborate the way the walls and the bannister were painted the same red and yellow colours.

  At the top the landing twisted round a corner. Up here the ceilings were much lower. In a wee room I saw furniture stacked. Ivan Johnson was either coming or going. Stuff was packed everywhere; binliners and cardboard boxes. The wood on the walls but it was real old-style panelling. Ye wouldnay have got wood like that nowadays. It was a very deep colour, almost a red – beautiful, ye wanted to smell it, run yer finger ower it. I would have taken a piece of that wood home with me just to have in the house. There was also a lot of pictures stacked back to front, oil on canvases and all sorts, and it would have been great seeing through them all. Art class was the one thing in school I ever liked.

  I found Gerry in a large room with a sloped roof, he was standing inside one of the window alcoves. This room was chokablok too, junk and piles of newspapers, more pictures. There was a weird clock on the wall. It looked like a handmade effort out of tin. There was something about it I didnay like, except ye wanted to look at it and see how things fitted. It didnay look that old. I doubted it was anything special.

  Gerry hardly looked at me, he just nodded his head when he saw the bags. Is that the rain on? he said.

  Surely he could have seen for himself if he was looking out the window? His head was away somewhere. I wanted to leave the stuff and go but I didnt. He stood there, whatever he was thinking, I dont know.

  Sometimes ye looked at him and it was the guy ye knew from the media. Ye had to remind yerself ye knew him personally and ye said his name if ye were talking to him, just like he said yours. He wasnay what ye would say good-looking, but maybe he was. He was different. He had a different type of head. He was quiet-mannered but could give certain looks. Ye didnay want to be on the receiving end of them. I suppose they were threatening. But what did they threaten? I couldnt imagine him punching anybody. I thought he was good. Other folk thought he w
as arrogant and only out for what he could get. They said he was ambitious for a career. That sounded crap because what age was he? He must have been thirty or like thirty-two or whatever. When do ye get careers? To me it was more how some criticise the ones that go out on the street and try to do something. Okay if things are bad in the world but ye have to try and change things, not just talk about it. Gerry was one that did go out. Ye would expect people to respect that. If they did they had a funny way of showing it.

  I dont think he had forgotten I was there. But it was getting that stupid way; maybe I was to speak or else just maybe go away, I wasnay sure, or else maybe if he had forgotten. I felt stupid and started getting myself up to say if he could check the stationery so I could leave, but then came a loud crash from another room. I jumped but I dont think Gerry budged an inch. Then footsteps and in came Ivan Johnson with a packet of binliners. He was wearing a different T-shirt, a red and yellow one with his name printed; his own actual name: I AM IVAN JOHNSON.

  He ripped off a couple of binliners and started filling them with stuff that was lying about. He was so nervy. Acting like he wasnay but ye could tell a mile away just by how he was packing it in; trying to do it properly but not able to make a job of it, but not letting it upset him. At the same time he was acting for effect. He definitely was. He was like a kid showing off. Never once did he look in my direction. Then he came right close to me and I had to step out the way. It was like he hadnt seen me. I was invisible. So stupid. He had this new binliner and couldnt find the right end to open. I thought he was goni rip it the way he was gripping it and pulling it, trying to get the thing open. Ye wanted to take it off him before he got too worked up. When he got it open he grabbed a stack of clothes from the top of the bed and dumped it all in. The clothes had been neatly folded to begin with but he didnt care about that.

  I had a cigarette out and was about to light up but he noticed. He looked astonished. Oh you just start smoking? he said. When you’re in somebody’s house? You dont ask, you just light up? Is that the way it works?