by James Kelman
I am, he said, I was wanting to check them out.
Doesnay matter, she said.
Christ hen we’re entitled to check!
It’ll be okay. It will, it’ll be okay.
Robert nodded. Probably ye could have bought the same stuff in Argyle Street for half the price. But he didnay mention that.
There’s still curtains to get, she added.
Nay bother. We’ll have a bite to eat after.
If we dont get them the day when will we?
Will we what?
Get the curtains?
Naw I know hen I’m just saying once ye’ve got them we’ll go for a bite to eat.
Ye cannay keep putting things off.
I’m no trying to put anything off. We’ll get the curtains right now.
If we can find them.
Aye well if ye dont ye might find other stuff.
Tracy sighed. Is that sarcasm?
Not at all.
It sounded like it to me.
Well it wasnay.
I thought ye were going up to look at the tools?
I did but that was a while ago. I bought an LP . . . Robert indicated the polybag wrapped round his wrist, then gestured at the bags Tracy was carrying. Want me to carry them?
No.
Ye sure?
Give me yours.
It’s okay.
Robert, give me it. The dinner service is enough.
Ye sure?
Just give me it. Tracy unfankled the bag from his wrist. She smelled his breath. Did you go for a pint?
Just the one.
She nodded. Robert shrugged. He had to step out the way for a young woman with a roll of linoleum over her shoulder who was shoving a pram at the same time and had a wee girl clinging onto her wrist. How the hell did she manage it! And where was her husband? Probably in the fucking boozer. Unless he was working. Nowadays ye had to. Weekends went for nothing. Nay overtime and nay days off in lieu. It was like the whole world had changed. The older generation wouldnay have recognised it. Then politics. Nay politics. A young woman like that too, she shouldnay have been carrying a roll of linoleum. It was an offcut too, the price of linoleum these days, fucking extortionate. She was heading into one of the big covered areas, going quite quickly, and the way the wee girl clung onto the pram ye hoped she wouldnay fall. Wee kids werenay always quick, if they took a tumble and banged their chin or something, one time it happened to Robert’s young brother and his teeth came right through the lip, and the blood jesus christ beyond crying, he was in fucking agony. Robert helped him hame and Maw had to rush him up to the Sick Children’s Hospital. Robert went too. That was the young brother. When did they last have a pint the gether? Fucking months ago.
He followed Tracy along. This corner of the street was busy. It was awkward with the box. It had to be on his forearms; he couldnay get the shoodirs into it; no properly. So where was the power there? The same like throwing a punch if ye couldnay get some force behind it, it wasnay even a punch, if ye couldnay get yer shoodirs into it, that was basic man that was the whole fucking thing.
The box of crockery balanced in his arms. Something about it made him smile. Except the sun! Where was the sun? Clouds. The sun was there and now it wasnay. How come? It was supposed to be sunny all day then it wasnay. Imagine a downpour!
The cardboard box would get soaked. The plates would be fine, just a wash. Probably they needed a wash, so if the rain did come . . . It wasnay that bad anyhow. White clouds passing, that wasnay rain.
Anyway if it did ye just got on with it. That was life. Get on with it. People said that: Get on with it!
The curtain place was half a street away and ye could see the bloke there gieing his spiel. Behind there was another stall, a weer one selling some kind of contraption – a gadget. Some kind of thing. A new invention. Labour-saving. So they said. They aye said. Two women were there watching. Ages with him. Quite nice-looking too; one especially, and smiling, that smile. It was a nice smile. A lot of women had it. What was that smile? Women just smiled. The stallholder guy was in with the patter. Aw aye missis, I know, ye’ve already got a labour-saving device, yer man; he’s the one wears the trousers, unless it’s you wears the trousers. Ha ha ha.
Aw jesus christ embarrassing, that was a showing up. Stupid auld fucking jokes. The women laughing too. How come? That wasnay funny in the slightest. It was bloody sexist man it was shite. Robert didnay like that kind of thing. That was yer ‘nay politics’. Everywhere ye looked, ‘nay politics’ here, ‘nay politics’ there. Fucking tadger politicians man. Naybody knew what ye were talking about. Politics, I’m talking about politics! Robert shook his head.
The stallholder guy took something out a bag that looked like a hi-fi separate with two ends attached. Nay wires that ye could see. It maybe worked off wi-fi. Currents through the air. A funny-shaped thing aw the gether. It had wee feet, like castors, but not for moving, the opposite: for gripping! What would that be for? A slidey surface maybe. Some kind of biggish peeler or chopper with a strong vibration so if it didnay have the feet it would skite about the table. Robert wasnay that good with mechanical stuff. No bad, but no great.
Other women were there too. The stallholder was about to start the demonstration. Robert shuffled a bit nearer. The first thing he saw was a load of dirt spread across the stall table. Ye couldnay avoid seeing it. A right load of it there on the surface. What was that about? The guy with his stupid fucking contraption. Start with the basics for fuck sake. Clean tools, know what I’m talking about, a dirty worker man. Gie the table a wipe, he said.
The guy looked at him.
Gie the table a wipe. Robert snorted and glanced at the women.
The young guy winked at somebody. He’s my straight man!
Fucking straight man . . . Robert turned his head.
The guy stopped with the contraption and peered at Robert. What are ye interested in buying? he asked.
Robert held his gaze.
The guy said, Eh?
The women were watching. Robert said, Naw son.
How no?
Because I dont need it.
Need what? said the guy and he winked, he winked at the women.
So that was him and there was Robert the fucking daftie. Well well. Little cunt, nay idea, just nay idea. Robert smiled. That? he said, pointing at the thing. I dont even know what it is.
Then how come ye dont need it? if ye dont know what it is?
Robert smiled.
The guy kept looking at him, kidding on it was a serious question. Quite a cheeky thing to do; really, when ye thought about it. The women were waiting on Robert to say something. Another two women as well, they were there too, but they werent smiling. They would have seen the cheeky wee bastard for what he was worth. A good fucking smack on the jaw he needed. Nay wonder the stall was quiet. The guy wasnay smiling now. He said to Robert, Ye might surprise yerself and buy it.
Ye kidding!
I thought ye wanted to buy it. Eh, I thought ye wanted to buy it?
Robert smiled. Ye’re being cheeky now.
The young guy stopped and looked like he was taken by surprise. Who me? like it was the very last thing he wanted to be was cheeky.
What do ye think I’m a fucking idiot? said Robert.
What? said the guy. What ye talking about?
I cannay fight! Ye think I cannay fight? I’ll fucking batter you son any day of the week. I’m no some wee boy, ye want to take me on ye take me on, and I’ll take ye round that fucking corner and fucking . . . fucking batter fucking lumps ya little cunt, fucking lumps out ye. Robert gripped the cardboard box, stopping himself, stopping himself from going any further he would be across that fucking stall and grabbing the cunt and flinging bloody – jesus christ. People think ye’re a fucking nutter. Robert stared at the guy. The guy was watching Robert. Robert knew what he was doing. Some people watch and it doesnay count but this one was different. He was waiting for his chance and he was like, Who are you ya cun
t, that was how he was acting. Who are you! Robert. Who was Robert? Ha ha. Fucking bastard man after the life he had had? A little prick like that, no knowing fuck all but acting like everything, just everything. And he stood there no moving an inch, this young guy, stall-holder bastard, he wasnay moving an inch: till that wee sideways look. Robert saw it! And knew what it was. It was a signal to his fucking mates! If any of his mates were there, that was that. Fucking team-handed, that was how they would come at him. Ha ha fucking ha.
Robert smiled. Ye had to laugh at these bastards. Naybody was there anyway. Eh? he said to the guy. Where’s yer mates? They goni come and gie me a doing, eh, is that what it is? fucking little fucking, hoh! Robert shook his head, fucking chib the cunt man is that it, fucking chib me ya fucking halfwit bammy bastard, fucking life I’ve had ya fucking – stallholder cunts man all sticking the gether if one of ye gets a doing yez are all into it the gether, take on one ye take on the fleet, ya cunts ye, you and the fucking polis, fucking bastards.
Tracy was there, at his side, tugging his sleeve. Worried about him. Goni be a heart attack, what, a stroke. Nay stroke, he said, dont worry.
For Heaven sake, she said.
The young guy was standing there shaking his head. Take him away for christ sake, he said.
What? Robert smiled. Take me away?
The guy turned his back. There were other people there, just punters, just watching. That was Robert, it was him. Thinking there was goni be a fight. Nay fight. Ye dont fight cunts like that ye fucking batter them. Robert glanced at Tracy. Forget it, he said.
Tracy didnt respond here but just made sure Robert knew he was to come away and not get any further involved. Of course. Robert knew that. She was stating the obvious. Of course he wasnay getting involved. Nay need worrying about that. That was women just like worrying worrying, women worrying, how come they worry? worrying about shite, as if Robert was goni let a cunt like that, a young fucking stupid fucking idiot man a fucking numbskull fucking whippersnapper bastard.
Tracy said, Robert for God sake.
Robert shook his head, took the polybag from her, the vinyl album.
Robert!
I’ll go back there and batter fuck out him, he said, if he thinks I’m goni just like take shite – what, off him? I’ll take shite off him! Fucking kidding! Robert stopped walking, set to return any moment, any moment. Tracy. Tracy staring at him, she had stopped too, he saw her face.
Oh Robert . . .
Dont worry, he said.
Where’s the dinner service?
He frowned, looked about, then returned to the stall immediately. A few people were there, the guy demonstrating the contraption. Robert moved in without looking at him, not even glancing in his direction, just nothing, just bending to lift the big cardboard box off the ground under the table, from where he had laid it, he had laid it; this was where, out the road; just making it safe. He had forgot. Nay wonder.
The guy was watching him, had paused in the spiel. The wee smile. Who cares, the cunt. Robert ignored him but was awkward with the big cardboard box, still with the polybag, pulling the two ends ower his left wrist – nowadays his strongest. Another what-if scenario, ye fumble one and drop the other one trying to catch it. What if, what if – she had gied him her bags to carry? What if she had? He would have been struggling. He couldnay have managed it, and if he had left them under the stall they would have been fucking away. Some cunt would have lifted them. They would have been fucking gone and Tracy would have been up to high doh: what a nightmare. It was all mad. Everything. That was him but what a fool, just a fucking daftie. Tracy knew that. She caught him in time. If it wasnay for her. She stopped him. She stopped the process. It was a process and she halted it, she put the blocks on. She laughed about it too, she wasnay letting her man, something happen to her man, she wasnay letting that happen, nothing was goni happen to him.
It isnay that he was looking for gratitude off that guy. He had fuck all and Robert gave him haufers. He didnay regret it. Why should he?
It was just something in how the guy looked. Ye think of ‘gloating’. Just fucking gloating. Because Robert gave him the tobacco. Like maybe he had won, like it was a fucking fight or some damn stupid thing, he was out to screw Robert and there ye are he had done it, a fucking knockout man, kay-oh you nine ten fucking out, hauf a wad ya fucking dumpling.
What did he think Robert had never done time? Fucking halfwit fucking bastard. Never done time! Ha fucking ha. Robert would have battered the cunt.
Talk about survival. That’s the fittest. Robert was aye fit, the greatest athletes of all, that was boxers, better than any cunt; runners, fucking weightlifters man fitba players dont talk about fitba players, their fucking ham and eggs thingwi, the way they go about jack the fucking lad right enough, Robert would have whacked the bastards, any fucking one of them, ye’re a boxer man that’s a weapon, yer fists are weapons. That was auld Andra drumming it into them, get yer balance son yer balance, look at that, I’ll push ye ower, one pinky, ye’re off balance, wherrs yer shoodirs punch with yer shoodirs, ye were just proud, Robert was proud, ye were a fucking boxer and ye were fucking proud man and ye try telling these cunts, ye cannay, ye cannay fucking tell them. He knew Robert’s granda too, auld Andra knew him, Oh aye son, he said and he laughed because like granda, say hello to the General. Granda I’m only going to train, it isnay Franco.
It annoyed him but. Nay wonder. Making it a big deal, it wasnay a big deal. That was Micky too, him and his stupid fucking mate fucking doughball cunt making it a big deal. It wasnay a big deal. Just a guy down on his luck and ye gied him haufers. Ye’re in the grubber man that’s the story, we’ve all been there. In this day and age especially.
Micky had nay politics. Who did but these days? Nay cunt. Fucking nationalists and fucking what have ye, rightwing cunts. Fighting the good fight. Who fought that? No nowadays. That aulder generation man they were the goodies. No Robert. Fuck Robert. Robert wasnay. He just wasnay. He fucking knew he wasnay man fucking bastards, fuck that. He kept walking, holding onto the stuff, boxes and fucking fuck knows what. He was going along London Road and he could just have kept on walking. That was the wey he felt. Sun shining. Fuck the lot of them. Except he had to go back. He fancied a seat. He was bloody tired. All the stupidities, just stupidities. She would keep him right. That was Tracy. She knew these things. Woman do, they know, what is it they know? They know something. Or dont. A guy like Robert. Having to fight. He had to fight. He didnay fucking fight but how come? How come? He didnay batter that cunt, how come? He needed a battering. Robert was the boy would do it. Fucking taking shite off him! What is that a joke? Fucking comic cuts man ha ha ha. The guy took the tobacco and rolled a fag and never even looked at him. Not even a look. A stupit fucking look! He didnay even do that. Never mind a ‘thanks mate’. Nothing. Sure it rankled. It rankled. Somebody gies ye something be good enough to say thanks, it isnay much to ask. Fucking bastard man what did he think, Robert was auld? Aye he was auld but he wasnay too auld.
The kind of cunt that buys military medals and Nazi helmets, one of these cunts, fucking Nazi hero-worshippers, racist bastards fucking fuckpigs. Memorabilia. Soldiers dying meant nothing to them. It did to Robert. He might no believe in the patriotic shite but yer comrades dying was a different story. Okay ye’re opposed to the war and opposed to the army. Okay. Fine, the fucking capitalist enemy, we all know about that. But that was the auld days. Auld days is auld days.
People tell ye stuff and ye believe them. Boys believe stuff. Robert was a boy. Battalion champion man the age of eighteen. That was proud, attenshun ya fucking bastards. See if the enemy’s over the hill, there’s a good fellow.
His maw and da said fuck all. It was up to them and they said fuck all. So then if ye do join up whose fault is that?
Aye and it does rankle, ye go wrong and he gies ye a look. That was Da. That look he gied. People gie ye looks. Just their eyes. Do they even know they’re doing it? Maybe they dont. And ye wer
e just doing yer best. That was being a boy, ye just done yer best and ye got shat upon, time after time after time, the boy getting a doing, that stallholder cunt, ye were doing yer best, what happened? they gied ye a kicking. Behind the Naafi club, these cunts, ha ha, fucking three of them man that was what it took, two lance corporals and fucking fuckpig whatever the fuck he was who gives a fuck. Robert got sick of it, the fucking lot of them. Military fucking medals. Any auld shite and they sold it. Except honesty. Ye got fuck all for that. Other people, if ye thought about them, that was that. He wasnay ashamed of it. Fuck gratitude, these cunts, fuck them. The likes of the older generation, ye think of them, all it takes is once. Just once. Conned and cheated and ripped off. Except if ye started thinking about it ye would never leave the house. Except what happens in the house? The fucking washing machine goes on the blink. The fucking telly. Ye break a plate, doing the fucking dishes, there goes another tumbler and ye’ve cut yer wrist again, oh Robert that’s a deep one. Deep one fuck all. She didnay even know what a cut was. Robert bled. He wasnay a bleeder but he bled. Some guys are bleeders. Great fighters. One tap on the nose man that’s them. The outside aerial, he was going up to fix that. What if ye fall off? What if what if. But ye’ve got to go up because who else? No yer boy, he’s got his ayn fucking life, all his worries, worry worry. Only you. Get up there! The fucking roof too, a windy day man know what I’m talking about, nighttime. Okay ye do it. Okay backwards. That was auld Andra, lose yer balance son and kay-oh aff ye go, it is windy, ye have to balance, ye just balance. Ssshh, quiet, the weans are sleeping.