Greyhound for Breakfast

by Kelman, James

  I nodded.

  Then there’s the weans.

  Aw. Aye.

  You know what I’m talking about?

  Aye.

  Two I’ve got; how about yourself?

  Four.

  Four! Christ, aye, you do know what I’m talking about!

  I shrugged.

  But my two, he says, my two – aye, they’re fine, they’re alright. He began chuckling: Aye, they’re alright.

  I nodded.

  Nice weans. I miss no seeing them. He frowned suddenly and leaned forwards. What was I talking about there?

  Eh . . .

  He carried on staring at me, waiting for me to remember. To be honest, I was kidding on I didnt know because I was hoping if he never found out he would get ahead with the job in hand. But he started getting fucking really strained and you could see he was really intent on finding out so I says: Look eh, I think it was something to do with women.

  Aw aye Christ aye so it was. He nodded . . . Naw, I was just going to say, this job man, the way you feel at the end of the day it’s well nigh fucking impossible I mean if you’re wanting to meet the fair sex. You’re just – you’re knackered, simple as that; you just dont want to go out anywhere. I mean I’ve got this colleague and he was telling me I should join one of these singles clubs. What he was saying, he was saying it would just save all the sweat of that initial carry on, the introductions and so forth.

  He paused there, looking at me, awaiting my reaction. Then he says: I’m no sure but, to be honest, whether I fancy the idea. You hear these stories . . .

  And he paused again, watching me. Eventually I nodded.

  Okay, he says, so it’s your back.

  Well aye, sometimes it gets really achy.

  Mmm . . . aches and pains, aches and pains . . . He lapsed into the sort of silence that lets you see he was miles away. There was one wee bit of bread left on his serviette and his fingers just picked it up and let it fall, picked it up and let it fall. Then he snorted and shook his head, he smiled at me: Kafka! From what I hear he was setting out to write this straightforward Chekhov type doctor yarn. And what happens! Naw, he laughed briefly. I’ve had my bellyful of country fucking doctors!

  Mm.

  Aye, Christ, I was down in Galloway for a bit of my time. And I’ll tell you something man I dont want to see another blade of grass. It was funny at first, all the gossip and the rest of it; then after a while you got used to it. Used to it! And I mean once you’re fucking used to it you’re . . . ! Hh!

  He shook his head and pursed his lips, dabbed at his mouth with the serviette, swallowed the last of his coffee. He gestured at the door: Many waiting?

  Eh, quite a few. There might be more now right enough.

  He sighed. To tell you straight, he says, they deserve better than me.

  I watched him when he said it but he seemed to have spoken without any trace of irony whatsoever so I decided to reply in the same way. Look, I says, it isnt that so much; what it is, I think, really, is just that you dont seem to have the interest, I mean no really, no the way you should.

  Mmm.

  Well, you dont – Christ!

  Naw you’re right, I know. He glanced at the electric kettle. Think I’ll have another coffee. What about yourself?

  Eh aye, okay, fine.

  Good. Heh I mean if you want a piece or something . . . ? He indicated the window.

  Naw, I says, it’s no that long since I ate my breakfast.

  I mean hh! He shook his head and laughed briefly, gazed away over my head to someplace, one hand balanced on the handle of the kettle and the other in his dustcoat pocket. To be frank with you, I only went to Uni to get involved in the ideas, metaphysics and so on, the history of the intellect, the past and the future and – aw Christ, fuck knows what else, no point talking, no point talking. Them out there in that waiting room man I mean, really, they dont understand, they dont, they dont understand. And it’s no fucking for me to tell them, is it!

  He patted himself on the chest to emphasize the point, then he came walking back round to sit down on his chair facing me. I nodded in reply to him but I was non-committal; there was a certain amount of elitism showing in his talk and I didnt appreciate it, not one little bit. And no just the thing itself but the way he was lumping me in the same boat as him. I felt like saying: What about them ben there man they’re fucking sitting suffering!

  And me and that lassie too, he was saying, me and that lassie. No kidding ye man we were just really interested in yapping on the gether – about all sorts of things, Kepler and Copernicus, and auld fucking Tycho! and we were relating it all to the painters of the period. Really interesting I mean, really. I was enjoying it Christ I’ve got to admit it. But that’s how I fucking went there in the first place I mean – hh! Hey . . . He frowned at me: You ever read that History of the Conflict Between Religion and Science by John William Draper?

  Eh aye, aye.

  Well I’ll tell you something for nothing, I think that’s a great book . . . And he jabbed his finger at me as if his suspicions had been confirmed but he was still saying it anyway and I could go and take a fuck to myself.

  I didnt respond except to nod vaguely. But I kept my gaze matching his. After a few moments there was a rap at the door and he went to answer it immediately. He was scowling. He said loudly: Yes?

  Eh, I was just wanting that prescription renewed . . . It was a male voice.

  Mm yes yes, yes, well I’m busy the now so you’ll just have to wait your turn like everybody else.

  Then he closed the door. He paused there for a wee while. And then he went over to the kettle and began examining it. He had forgotten to switch it on. This is why it hadnt boiled. He reached to the switch in such a way that I knew he was trying not to let me see. He gazed up at a pictorial calendar on the wall. After a moment he turned to me: You know something, he says, a few of them still act surprised because I’m weer than the average.

  Honest?

  Aye, he says, smiling.

  Well, I suppose that’s because they’re used to doctors being this and that, because they’ve got certain expectations about what doctors should and should not be.

  Exactly. Aye. They think doctors’re like the fucking polis, you’ve got to be 6 feet tall to get in!

  I laughed with him. I says, Aye but it’s probably a class thing.

  Probably, aye. He frowned and glanced back at the electric kettle. Then he sniffed. What d’you work at yourself?

  I’m on the broo the now.

  Aw are you!

  Nearly eighteen month.

  What! Jesus Christ! And he stared at me, a frown beginning to appear on his face.

  What’s up? I says.

  Pardon?

  Naw I mean how come you’re so surprised? Is it because I’ve read cunts like Kafka and John William Draper?

  Naw naw, not at all, not at all.

  I didnt believe him.

  Naw, he says again, not at all, not at all, it’s no that. It’s your suit.

  My suit! You kidding?

  Naw, I mean, the cloth.

  Ah well, aye, but I mean it’s an auld yin man Christ I mean . . . There’s a lot of cunts walking about with better yins than this and they’re on the broo as well.

  So?

  So! What d’you mean fucking so?

  He stared at me.

  Your fucking inference, I says after a few moments, it shows you’re no really in touch with what’s going on.

  He nodded and felt the kettle.

  Look, I says, if you want to know what I really think . . . I think you’re an elitist wee bastard – your attitudes.

  My attitudes!

  Aye your attitudes. Especially considering you were a mature student and the rest of it.

  Hh! He shook his head at me, grinning sarcastically. Well, he says, that’s a fucking good yin right enough. I mean dont tell me this is linked to that hoary auld fucking misconception that the vast majority of mature students ar
e all good fucking socialists.

  What?

  A load of shite that – Christ, you want to have seen the cunts I met up there! He made a face at me then laughed briefly: Tell me this, he says, how come you called me sir when you walked in that door? Was it because I’m a doctor?

  Naw it wasnt because you were a doctor.

  Are you sure?

  Naw I’m no fucking sure.

  Ah.

  Well how can I be I mean Christ – anyway, I was trying to figure that yin out myself, earlier on. And I dont know, I dont honestly know. I was figuring it was because you’re a doctor but that cant be right cause I’ve met stacks of yous in my time, stacks of yous. I mean I never call any cunt sir!

  Mm . . . The kettle began to boil at long last but he just switched it off and came back round to sit down on his chair, he was frowning at something and he looked at me, then smiled: Okay, he says, these folk ben the waiting room there, I dont see you rushing to let them in.

  Pardon?

  I said I dont see you rushing to let them in.

  Aw well that’s no fair, that’s just no fair. Fuck sake I mean you’ve no even seen me yet!

  Mmm . . . He nodded. Sore back you said?

  Aye, sore back. And it’s fucking genuine and all so it is.

  I didnt say it wasnt.

  Naw, I know, but look it really is sore I mean . . .

  Okay, he says, sorry. I apologize – for the wee dig and that.

  Ah well. I shrugged. Aye and fair enough, I says, I’m sitting here chatting to you when there’s a lot of folk waiting to be seen and eh . . . There again but, maybe that’s cause you’re a doctor after all, relating it for instance to the way I said sir.

  Expectations – aye, you’re right, what a doctor should and should not be. That was one of the things in ‘The Country Doctor’ I thought Kafka got terrific.

  Pardon?

  Ah, sorry, sorry, you’ll no really know.

  I nodded. Then I says, But what I was meaning there was you, being the doctor, holding the position of power, you’ve got to dismiss me, else I’ll wind up being here for the rest of my days!

  He laughed and stood up and came round to me. Just open your jacket, he says, and pull your shirt out your trousers, and your vest if you’ve got one on.

  I did as he said and I also leaned forwards a little so’s he could see properly. He used a stethoscope, and then began tapping about with something that felt like a steel mallet; and it was quite bloody sore when he kept it tapping on the same spot. Then he says, Have you got a lumpy mattress?

  Even though I couldnt see his face I knew he must have been smiling, that he had been cracking a wee joke. And he says: Naw, I dont want to disappoint you!

  I didnt say anything back for a minute. There was no point losing my temper. I heard him sniff and he began putting the stethoscope higher up my spine. Breathe in, he says.

  I did as he told me a couple of times and when he’d finished I says: Look, believe it or not, it is genuine; I did come in here to find out if there was anything up with my back.

  Aw I know, I know, it’s just . . . He came round from behind me and put the stethoscope on the side of the desk. In my experience there’s a lot of folk love to get told bad news about their health, it means they can lie down and die in peace, without being bothered by any cunt.

  Pardon?

  He only smiled in answer.

  Naw, what d’you say there?

  He shook his head but was still smiling. It was a really smug kind of smile and I didnt like it one little bit. I’ll tell you something, I says, you’re a smug wee bastard. I dont like the way you think you understand all.

  Ah I know. He nodded. It is a bad habit I’ve picked up. He yawned and stuck his hands into his trouser pockets and he strolled to the window, swaggering slightly; and he gazed out for some time. Then he glanced round at me and squinted at his wristwatch. It’s a digital, he says, you cant always see what time it is. Fucking useless as far as I’m concerned.

  He continued looking at me; till it dawned on me what he was after. O pardon me, I says, you’ve finished.

  Aye . . . He yawned again and turned back to the window.

  I was actually out the door before I realized the fucking situation, crossing the floor to the exit, tucking in my vest and shirt. Hey wait a minute, I says to myself, you’re no letting the cunt away with that are you? Back I went – and I was feeling as fucking annoyed as ever I did in a long time. He was standing there just inside his doorway, ushering in the next patient. Hey you, I says, wait a wee minute, I’ve got something to say.

  You’ve missed your turn, he whispers.

  I have not missed my turn.

  Aye you have.

  Naw I’ve no. You dismissed me before I was ready, playing your wee class games.

  I was not playing any wee class games.

  Aye you were.

  I was not. He frowned at me and then he glared to the side of where I was standing, as though he had spotted folk trying to peer in from the waiting-room.

  And the other person who was to go in to see him said: Eh doctor, excuse me . . .

  The doctor shook his head. Sorry, he says, sorry, you’ll just need to . . . And he grabbed me by the wrist and took me inside, shutting the door.

  I removed his hand.

  He was already halfway round to his seat. Okay, he was saying, I’ve got no time for this sort of carry on. Just state your problem.

  There isn’t any problem. There’s just facts, facts – statements of fact.

  He nodded. He placed his elbow on the edge of his desk and dropped his chin to rest on the palm of his hand.

  Okay, I says, it’s all hell of a fucking boring, I know, I know. But what I really object to is the way you’ve made your assumptions about me, about what I am and what I believe man that’s what I fucking object to, all these assumptions. But leave that aside; it’s the way you’ve acted, no like a doctor at all. Christ sake I mean I shouldnt’ve had to sit here listening to all that crap when these poor cunts ben the waiting-room are getting ignored, and for all you know are literally dying – literally, dying!

  He smiled and raised his head, straightened his shoulders and clasped his hands on the desk. Well, he says, you’re letting me down now. I didnt expect you to come away with a chestnut like that for fuck sake I mean we’re all literally dying.

  Aw aye, very good.

  Naw but . . . He grinned. I truly believed you had a genuine interest in the whys and wherefores of this game, that’s how I’ve been yapping on. I mean . . . He leaned forwards: D’you think I go about offering every cunt a coffee?

  You’ve no even fucking gave me it yet!

  He frowned slightly.

  I mean you offered me one two or three times but you never got round to actually fucking giving me it.

  O, sorry.

  It doesnt matter I mean I was only fucking taking it for politeness man Christ I wasnt even really bothered. Anyhow, I dont want this to detract from my main point and that is you, lumping me in the same boat as yourself. As far as I’m concerned you’re an elitist wee shite and I fucking resent getting linked to you, to your beliefs. Okay? And the sooner we get a new doctor here the better.

  Aye, and so say all of us.

  Ah well you would say that wouldnt ye.

  Maybe. He shrugged. It doesnt mean it’s no the case. Actually I only came back to this city out a sense of duty. I hate the fucking dump to be perfectly frank about it. It was some sort of filial obligation, I wanted to impress my father – and he’s fucking dead! That’s the joke!

  Pardon? What d’you mean?

  He was dead. I was wanting to impress him and he was dead. How do you impress somebody that’s dead?

  You mean you knew he was dead like?

  Aye. Just – one of these daft things you do. Too many fucking Hollywood movies! Naw, Christ . . . He got up and strolled to the window. Take a look out there, he says, it’s a fucking disgrace. Here I am trying t
o run a doctor’s surgery and I can hardly get fucking moving for dirt and dust and dods of garbage man blowing in the fucking door every time it gets opened for something I mean Christ sake man you’re talking about that lot ben there!

  And he was gesticulating at the door now with his voice raised quite high: Just tell me this, how come they dont go out there and build a fucking barricade!

  What?

  A barricade. They could fucking erect a barricade man to stop all the garbage blowing in the door.

  I stared at him, then added: You should go and join BUPA ya cunt!

  Aw thanks, thanks a lot.

  Well no wonder.

  Hh! He smiled. You know something? Chekhov didnt even practise medicine; I mean no really.

  Aye he did.

  Naw he never!

  He fucking did.

  He didnt, I’m telling you, no really. I mean I dont even envy him because he was a brilliant writer I just fucking envy him because he got engrossed in ideas.

  I dont believe you.

  You ever counted up the number of doctors who became writers and artists, and musicians? Well there’s been a hell of a lot, a hell of a lot.

  Okay, fine, so you think it’s better being one of them than the poor cunt who has to go about curing the sick.

  He was about to reply but stopped himself and he says instead: The question doesnt even interest me. At one time it did but no now, no any longer. The way I see it I have to survive as best I can and sometimes that’s bound to mean doing things that upset cunts like you.

  Things like sitting about gabbing when you’ve a waiting-room stowed out with patients.

  Pardon?

  You – when people’re waiting to see you man you dont even fucking bother acknowledging them hardly, their existence, you dont even bother, you’re quite happy just sitting here fucking complaining to me.

  Who’s complaining?

  You are ya cunt ye. Since I came in here, you’ve done nothing else. You hate your job and you hate the surgery and you hate the fucking city and you wish you could spend the rest of your days just farting about gabbing like a bourgeois fucking intellectual. Well I’ll tell you something, I think you’ve got a big chip on your shoulder and that’s it, end of story.

  Aw thanks, thanks a bit.

  Naw, no kidding but, you’re wee – at least, weer than the average – and you’re a bit older than your contemporaries, the ones you went to Uni with. And you wear the wrong clothes and you drink too fucking much and your hair’s prematurely white. And your wife’s fucking threw you out the house for messing about with a lassie and you dont get seeing the weans as much as you’d like. And aye, also, from what I read into the situation, your sex life is nil, absolutely nil.