How Late It Was How Late

by James Kelman

  He got his legs and feet onto the settee, lay with his head on the side arm, trying to get comfortable.

  It’s like how ye get weary of it all. Everything. When that door fucking slams shut behind ye. I’m talking about when he went inside because when he came out he couldnay have telt ye if it slammed shut at all because he never fucking noticed, all he saw was the way ahead. But that second time he came out he was so fucking weary he didnay even make it to the end of the road. So fucking tired out man drained, he was so drained he just didnay want to know, telling you he was so fucking christ all he did was hit the first pub and fucking stayed there till he must have been well pissed but it was just cause he was knackt, totally knackt, he couldnay have cared less if the screws had come and got a grip of him and telt him there was some mistake, back ye go.

  Christ that surprises ye because it doesnay surprise ye. Know what I’m saying? and that makes ye smile.

  after twenty years of marriage

  It’s the first time you havent made the bed

  And the reason we’re not talking

  there’s so little to say we havent said

  Fuck ye.

  The feet needed a soak but. It was these stupit trainers being too wee. The toes were cramped and it felt like there was a jaggy nail digging into the side of one and it was probably bleeding for all he knew. It was these stupit wee things that were gony fuck him, cutting the toe nails and aw that. He was gony have to have a go but. What else?

  He did need a fucking wash. A bath, a real yin, a lie down and a steep. Ye couldnay do much damage there; surely to fuck.

  Mind you there was nothing wrong with going for a pint for christ sake it was a Friday night man know what I’m saying, he was fucking entitled. That was one thing ye did qualify for, a fucking pint on a Friday night.

  Ach it was too late. If he was going he should have went.

  He got up and shoved on a tin of soup, stuck two slices of bread under the grill. The music was playing. Okay:

  the things ye could do and the things ye couldnay do; that was what he was thinking about. Ye couldnay write things down. Well ye could but ye couldnay fucking read them back again; ye had to commit them to memory.

  Some fucking chance of that man he had a memory like a fucking sieve. Well he just had to learn. That was what it was down to, trial and error. There was a lot of bits and pieces, all needing attention. The stick as well, he had to get it painted, that was a fucking prifuckingority. He definitely had an auld 2½ litre tin of white gloss somewhere in the lobby press. But he would need some bastard to come in and fucking look it out for him because it was stuck in with a pile of other fucking tins and ye wouldnay be able to tell the difference.

  He shoved another cassette in and waited. Snap. He couldnay listen to this yin either. Helen had a liking for romantic love songs. She denied they were romantic love songs but they were. There again

  jesus christ he needed to concentrate to bloody concentrate. He needed to get things right, get them sortit. He lifted the grill pan out and felt the bread, just about ready. Another couple of minutes for the soup. She was probably away seeing her weans. Or else maybe away with that pal of hers from the pub. Sammy had forgot about her, the woman Helen palled about with. Probably she had went to stay with her for a couple of nights, cause she was fucking sick of him man who could fucking blame her, ye couldnay, she was dead right man dead right. People’s lives. What do they know? they know fuck all. They can do even less. Mind you it was funny bumping into Charlie. No that funny, it was in a boozer down near Glasgow Cross and he was just back from a meeting. Good guy Charlie, still throwing bombs. Nice to see he had lightened up a bit. At one time ye couldnay talk to the cunt. A change of tactics but that was all it was. Some folk just keep going man they push ahead. And that’s what the cunts dont like, they want ye to fucking do yerself in. See if ye dont but, see if ye go and fucking attack, then that’s them man they’re fuckt. Ye have to start looking on the bright side. Whatever: ye dont take it lying down – that’s an invitation to stick in the boot man that’s all that is.

  Sammy buttered the toast. He was hungry. He was gony have to do a real shop, get in some real grub, a stack of stuff. Afore he went skint.

  When Samuels went blind he was thirty-eight

  he was thirty eight years of age

  and the sun didnt shine

  no that old sun it didnt shine

  yeh he’s going back down the road one more time

  poor boy

  going back down that road one more time

  He sometimes did that, made up a song; the words came first then the music. Naw, that’s fucking wrong, they came the gether; they came the gether.

  The thing about Sammy, it isnay that he didnay like talking politics he just didnay want to feel guilty. Charlie aye made him feel guilty. In fact he didnay make him feel guilty at all, he tried to: he failed. So it was good seeing him more relaxed. Ye could actually fucking talk for a change. And they had some good stuff to talk about.

  When Samuels went blind he was thirty-eight

  he was thirty eight years of age

  and the sun didnt shine

  no that sun it didnt shine

  Fuck it man he switched on the radio, lifted out the cassette. Sometimes the voices drowned ye out. The incredible lives being led elsewhere in this poxy country, like a fucking fairy story. Ye couldnay believe yer ears at some of the stuff ye heard. Ye go about yer business, eating yer dinner and all that, washing the dishes; and ye listen to these voices. Ye think fucking christ almighty what the fuck’s going on. Sammy couldnay even see. He couldnay even fucking see man know what I’m talking about, and he still had to listen to them, these fucking bampot bastards. And ye get angrier and angrier, angrier and angrier, till ye feel like ramming yer fist through the fucking kitchen window and with a bit a luck ye’ll slice right through the main artery, that big yin man that yin right there in yer fucking wrist, the big yin.

  What does it matter. What does it matter.

  He woke up, the radio was still going. His hand touched the fireplace; he was lying on the floor between the fire and the settee. His neck was stiff and he was sweaty. His own fault, he had stretched out on the rug. There was a scratching, maybe somebody working in the house through the wall, or else mice fuck sake and he was up onto his elbows, wee bastards, he didnay fancy them running ower the top of his face. Maybe it was rats. The building was fucking riddled with them. One time him and Helen were coming home and they were waiting on the lift, and when the fucking door opened one of them strolled out. How d’ye like it. Telling ye man bold as fuck, if it had been raining the cunt would have carried a brolly.

  He got onto the settee and felt around for the tobacco. Some guy was on the radio, a caller answering questions on the phone-in line. What the hell time was it? Mice or rats; come near him and he’d fucking eat them, fur and all, bite their fucking heads off. They wouldnay come near him. Animals arenay daft, they twig it for themselves. Like these angry dogs ye see that try to intimidate ye with a look. Then when they look too long they see ye dont give a fuck, they sense it, so they leave ye alone. Cats as well, but they check the going’s clear and give ye a snarl first. They know ye dont give a fuck. So they leave ye alone. One thing about animals, they always play percentages. Maybe no. Maybe it’s a load of fucking shite. All these different ways ye have of kidding yerself on.

  Sammy got up off his arse and went to make a last cup of tea before hitting the sack.

  The Health & Welfare opened from 9.30 to 11 o’clock on Saturday mornings and there wasnay any quacks on the premises; receptionists and medics was all ye saw. Sammy went early to give himself a better chance of getting an appointment for Monday. Any bus from the main drag took him. At the corner of the street he tapped his way along. It was the second close. When he got near he kept his hand patacaking the tenement wall till he arrived inside. People queuing outside the door. He had the shades on, tapping forward slowly so if he did hit somebody
it wouldnay be hard. His foot kicked an empty can. A woman spoke to him. She sounded auld. Ye blind son? she says.

  Aye.

  Ye wanting the doctor?

  Aye well making an appointment.

  Here, she said, taking his arm and positioning him. They’ll be open in a wee minute.

  Sammy leaned against the wall, propped the stick, trapping it with his hip; he took the tobacco out and rolled a smoke. Other people came in behind him. A man had started talking. His voice came from the front of the queue but ye knew he was wanting everybody to hear. Some kind of rubbish about fuck knows what it just made ye irritated to listen to the cunt. Then a woman joined in to back him up. Fucking wild. Sammy coughed twice and a lump of catarrh landed between his teeth. He was gony move outside to get rid of it but changed his mind and swallowed it down. He had felt a slight pressure against his right arm, up near the shoulder. It was somebody in the queue leaning into him, from behind; his shoulder was actually pressing against Sammy’s and ye had to wonder if the guy had noticed he was doing it or was it just straight absentminded? it couldnay be a woman, that was fucking obvious.

  Then it stopped. Ye got a light mate?

  Sammy waited. It sounded like the guy was talking to him but ye couldnay be sure. He heard a low muttering and somebody chuckled. His fag had gone out, he dropped it to the ground and scraped his shoe ower where he thought it had landed, acting like everything was okay. There was more muttering. It would be great if they all introduced themselves instead of this fucking

  It was amazing how exposed ye felt: Sammy had flexed his shoulders automatically and he knew he had done it because of the idea he was set for a thump in the back. He tried to relax. It was fucking terrible but; nay wonder ye were tired all the time. I’m no saying it would have been an intentional thump, just that it was there, the idea of it man it was there, it was fucking – it wasnay good, it wasnay good, the feeling.

  When the door did open the auld woman took him by the wrist. He was gony ask if he could take her wrist instead but didnay want to create a fuss so he said fuck all except, Thanks missis.

  She guided him through two doorways and onto a seat. He took off the glasses, rubbed at his eyes. He touched the back of his ears where they had been hurting. He had bumps here, he had always had them, even as a boy; they were probably natural But the spoke bits of the specs aye seemed to rest on top of them and it got on yer fucking nerves. Unless the woman had selt him a pair that were too wee; her in the chemist shop, if she hadnay got him the right fucking fit. Folk dont always bother. The chair wasnay very comfortable either. A few months since he had been here last and unless things had changed all the chairs in the reception room were different; all shapes and sizes. Sometimes ye landed a good yin but more often than not ye didnay and ye were surprised the bastard didnay collapse under ye. There was even a couple of these crazy big ancient efforts with hand rests; other yins were just kitchen chairs and they were drawn in tight the gether so there was hardly any space between yours and the next yin, and yer knees were aye touching yer neighbour’s; it was like being on the subway when it was chokablok, all the usual formalities were out the window; even nice looking lassies man they had to give up the ghost and let their thighs touch yours.

  Ach it was good having a seat but who’s kidding who. All these business type chores, ye just had to knuckle down, they could all be solved if ye were patient. It’s no that Sammy was a patient guy by nature but he could be practical, and he was well used to getting the boring stuff attended to. If no he would be fucking dead. So getting a bus and all that, it was a fucking dawdle. Walking down the road? easy the peasie; on ye go, no fucking danger, the bold Sammy, how far, how fucking far, ye just take it

  to the limit

  one more tie-yime.

  Sammy shook his head slightly, smiling. Later the auld woman touched him on the arm: That’s you now son, she said. She led him to the counter.

  Thanks missis.

  Yes? It was the receptionist. She had one of these mental ding dong middle-class accents ye get in Glasgow that go up and down all the time and have these big long sounds. Eh just an appointment, said Sammy, for Monday morning.

  An appoiointment? For Monday mawwrning!

  That was the way she went; fucking wild.

  Yeh, said Sammy, I need to see the doctor eh I went blind last week. I’ve to get a form off him for the DSS. They telt me to come this morning to make sure, cause it was important.

  Wait a minute now would you, what’s your name?

  Eh Samuels.

  Initials?

  S.

  And are you registered here?

  Yeh.

  For how long have ye been registered?

  Eh

  More then a year or less then a year?

  Less.

  Oh. And could a medical officer not give you this form?

  No.

  You’re very sure.

  I’ll need to get examined first.

  Examined! by the doctor?

  Eh yeh, aye.

  Mmmm. And it’s the DSS who told you to come?

  Aye.

  Well could you tell me what you’re complaining of?

  Eh sightloss.

  And it’s from last week?

  Right, yeh.

  You havent been examined by a doctor?

  Naw no yet that’s how

  And you want to see the doctor on Monday morning?

  Yeh.

  For an examination?

  Yeh.

  Do you know it’s very short notice?

  Yeh, sorry.

  Because you see I’m not sure whether we can fit you in, I’m very sorry, but it’s emergencies only when you’re inside the three-day period.

  That’s how I’ve come in in person instead of phoning. I could only get to see the DSS yesterday afternoon, they’ve said it’s crucial I get it right away.

  Did they?

  They telt me I was to get it without fail.

  Without fail? I wonder what they meant by that?

  It’s because the police department are involved.

  The police department?

  It’s a matter between the two of them. If there’s any difficulty ye’ve to phone them.

  I’ve to phone them? Phone who?

  The police I suppose.

  She sighed. I’ll have to look up the book. You’re telling me it’s for a clinical examination?

  Aye I mean that’s how it needs an actual doctor… Sammy shrugged.

  Mmm.

  Aye fuck you too. Sammy heard her flipping over the pages. He hated these people. Naw he didnay, he just found them fucking stupit. He took off the shades and rubbed behind his ears, especially the right one which was sore, although it was the left yin giving him the noise problems; but there ye go.

  Ten forty-five, she said.

  Monday morning?

  Is that not what you asked for?

  Yeh, yeh that’s fine, aye. Sammy stood for a minute then turned to leave.

  Take your appointment card, she said.

  Where is it?

  The card was put into his hand.

  Out in the close he rolled a smoke. He had decided: he was going for a fucking pint. These wee victories; ye’ve got to celebrate them. Otherwise ye forget ye’ve won them. Saturday dinnertime man come on, ye didnay have to be a fucking alky to fancy a couple of beers. Alright he had been itching. So what? It wasnay a big deal christ if ye couldnay have a pint at Saturday dinnertime ye would be as well throwing in the towel aw the gether. Fucking life I’m talking about.

  But he wasnay going to Glancy’s he was going to the fucking local man the bokel, that was where he was going. Wee boys and would-be hardmen. But so what; he wasnay in the mood for a wander.

  He did have a hell of a drouth but being honest. Aye the same when ye’ve had official business and ye’ve went ahead and got it ower and done with. Usually ye’re fuckt. Same yesterday when he came out the DSS, he had wanted to hit the first
boozer. He didnay. He walked on past, gritting his teeth and breathing in. Mind you it wasnay hard to avoid; the pub was across the road from the entrance to the place and ye were never sure who ye were talking to, all these fucking spooks doing their assimilate-with-the-natives routine. Imagine getting drunk and blabbing in there man ye would wind up sindied, no more giros for you ya cunt.

  A week off the bevy but ye couldnay grumble with that. Plus the fact Saturdays were definitely different I mean it was a tradition; even down in England, they done the same down there. Yer couple of pints with the telly sport; the racing, the football previews, the snooker; the crack was aye good.

  Then on his way back home he would pick up some messages from the local minimarket.

  Okay.

  The sun. Sammy could feel it when he walked up the road. Nice time of year this, spring, especially late spring; when it came. The building trade wasnay a bad job then. If cunts left ye alone. But mainly they did. Unless yer ganger was an idiot they let ye get on with it. That was how Sammy quite liked it. The auld building game. He stopped to roll a fag but it was a bad idea with the breeze roundabout here.

  This being blind, one thing he was gony miss; how the fuck can ye wander? Cause ye dont go out unless ye’re going someplace, someplace in particular. Plus there’s nay point wandering if ye cannay see fuck all and Sammy liked looking about, watching the office lassies and the shop lassies, these yins that worked in the style-shops; fucking beautiful man no kidding ye christ almighty see once summer starts! every year it’s the same, surrounded by all these bodies; everywhere ye look there’s long legs and tits. What ye call beautiful agony! Beautiful agony. Was there no a movie called that? There fucking should have been if there wasnay.

  He had arrived at the top of the walkway and now tapped his way around between the building next to his and the wee line of shops inside the square. He needed a slash. Which was one more reason for hitting the pub. Except the hassle. It was gony be mobbed and as far as he could remember the toilet was down the left hand side. Maybe it wasnay. He would find it but, nay danger. Who was that blind guy in history again? Fuck me man there’s a million blind guys in history. Aye but some special one. Was he no an officer in some army or other? Sammy could mind reading about him once in a novel. A French novel maybe. Or Russian. He sat on this big white horse and led the troops. Well he didnay fucking lead the troops, he just sat there like Chief Crazy Horse sending the team down to capture Colonel Custer – nay wonder they scalped the cunt with all that yellow hair he had