by James Kelman
What?
Cause I’m blind?
Naw. It’s cause there’s a promotion on. It’s for yer own good fellow it’s gony get mobbed. It’s all young people.
Sammy cleared his throat. What’s yer name? Eh? What’s yer name?
Dont fucking act it, right.
I just want to know yer name.
How?
I’m interested.
Are ye.
Ye a hardman?
The bouncer muttered something.
Eh?
Dont push it.
Who’re ye working for?
The outside door opened again. A couple of people. One of them called hullo and continued through. When the door closed off the music Sammy said, Would I have got in if I’d said hullo like is that the way it works?
Dont push it I says.
Fucking push it! Sammy smiled. He shook his head. The inside door again, and the other bouncer said: Sorry mate she doesnay work here.
What is she chucked it?
Dont know.
What did the manager say I mean what was his words?
Ye heard, said the other bouncer. She doesnay work here. Cheerio.
Was it John Graham ye spoke to?
Ye heard the man, she doesnay work here.
I’m no talking to you sonny I’m talking to him.
John Graham’s no on the night.
So cheerio.
Sammy nodded. Aye, I’ll mind your voice.
You do that.
I will. He turned from them and pushed open the door. When it was closing behind him he heard the cheeky bastard muttering, Fucking arsehole. And he was back inside the lobby immediately, the stick in both hands and thrusting the heel of his right shoe back against the swing door, trapping it from pushing in behind him. Ye say something there pal? eh? ye want to discuss it ya fucking eedjit, eh? what ye saying! fucking bampot ya bastard I’ll ram this stick down yer fucking throat.
Just cool it! Cool it! said the other bouncer.
You wanting it as well ya cunt?
Silence. Then the music blared again so the inside door had been opened; maybe there was more of them, more of the bastards; he shook the stick, getting his wrists relaxed. Quiet voices quiet voices, he was gony have to move man he was gony have to fucking move, now, he stepped back, pushing out the door and out onto the pavement he went left, tapping as quick as he could, keeping into the wall. He hit against somebody but battered on, just to keep going, he was fine man he was okay except this feeling like any minute the wallop from behind, the blow in the back, the quick rush of air then thud, he kept going, head down, the shoulders hunched. There was a lane, he turned down it and went a way along then stopped. He was breathing hard. A fucking mug man that was what he was, that was all he was, a mug, a fucking mug. He walked on a few paces then stopped again. A fucking mug. He switched the stick to under his left elbow; obviously there was naybody chasing him. He walked on again. They were fucking laughing. Nay wonder, nay fucking wonder. Fucking crazy. People were coming towards him, from the other direction. A lassie’s voice, excited: But listen, she was saying, but listen…
He waited for them to pass. Ye hear these conversations. He took out the shades and stuck them on. That temper was gony get him into bother. He couldnay mind it being as bad as this. Right enough he should never have went to Quinn’s in the first place, fucking stupit. It was his own fault as well; he produced a bad reaction in cunts. Maybe it was something to do with his face. The beard, plus the auld fucking trainers. Wherever ye go man, fucking trouble, aggravation. He had to head, he couldnay stay here.
Glancy’s.
He tapped his way down to Argyle Street and headed east. What the fuck time was it? Who knows. All that was out the window.
Mutters and shouts. A Monday but it was still busy cause of where he was walking; the centre of the city. One thing in his favour, the wee squeaking noise at the traffic lights; it hadnay really dawned on him till now how it was operating, like they had specially designed it for blind people, it only seemed to come on when it was okay to cross. That was one thing. There was other things; he wasnay in control of them; a lot of things. Okay but what he was in control of he would use, he would have to. Cause he needed to get out. That was it man that was that. Time to move so he had to move; cause if he didnay it was all gony come crashing down, in one way or another, right on top of him. So alright. So he needed to be ready, so when the time came
But even that was wrong cause he couldnay sit about waiting I mean if he was fucking waiting what was he waiting for, it was here right now man know what I’m saying, if ye wait, it’s got to be for something. Naybody waits to get surrounded. He wasnay gony wait for that christ almighty if ye know ye’re gony get captured then ye get to fuck, ye get fucking out man know what I mean ye get to fuck, ye dont fucking wait; that’s the last thing. Ye get to fuck. Cause nothing went back to normal. There was nay fucking normal, whatever the fuck it meant, normal, stupit fucking word. Whatever the past was it was ower and done with. There wasnay gony be nay fucking big cuddles, nay kiss-and-make-up scenes; that was out the window, as far as that went, it was all washed up. So okay. So it was now. So he needed dough. He had to get squared up. And he didnay have the time to wait. That other wee bit of business, he could maybe push it through; he just needed a start, if he could punt the shirts; a knock-down price, it didnay matter, just something, he just needed something. Once he got that. But even without it.
He just had to get what he could and get it quick. Right now. Or else he was gony get surrounded he would get surrounded. There was nothing surer: nothing surer than that man he would be closed in very very quick and when it happened it would be unexpected, ye couldnay predict it, that was the one thing, ye couldnay predict it, cause there was no way, and that was the only certainty, that when they done him they would do it at their convenience, the time and the place, it was theirs and theirs alone. It was aye the same, they aye had that man the time and the fucking place; and he wouldnay know fuck all, no until they hit him, and then it was a hands-up situation. So he had to get to fuck man right now. And for that he needed dough. It wasnay just the shirts either; there was other stuff in the flat, stuff he had got and belonged to him – no to Helen – things like the VCR and the wee hi-fi, the cassettes; they were his. They werenay hers man they were his. Ah but fuck it, going to these games, petty, fucking petty. Except right enough if she wasnay coming back. If she wasnay coming back. If he didnay somebody else would.
But how could he say she wasnay coming back? That was impossible. He couldnay even imagine it, saying it, just actually fucking saying it, it was fucking
he couldnay even imagine it.
He was at Glancy’s. Here he was. He walked on past and went into the first close; he took off the shades then rolled a smoke.
Fine. Then he moved.
It was quiet inside; maybe this is how come he felt a wee bit nervous. No about people looking at him. The word would have been out a while now. And people aye look anyway, it’s no a problem, ye cope with it; or usually ye cope with it. It’s just sometimes man ye see these cunts and the look they give ye can be different. It isnay just a look in passing, ye could be sitting there
ye can imagine it, if okay ye’re blind, ye’re blind and ye’re sitting there, just minding yer own business, relaxed, ye’re enjoying a quiet pint. But cause ye’re blind ye dont know it but every cunt’s staring at ye, staring right into ye, like one of these terrible wee nightmare movies, the Twilight Zone or something. The only good thing is ye cannay see. That’s the only good thing about it. Ye dont know they’re doing it.
It being Glancy’s he didnay have too much bother finding his way to the bar and then to a chair at a table near the back wall. He was halfway through his first pint when a guy came up: How’s it going Sammy? I seen ye come in, the white stick and all that. I heard.
…
It’s me. Herbie.
Aw Herbie, aye, how ye doing?
; Okay, alright; I’m saying I heard…
Aye.
Desperate eh!
Aye. Sammy shrugged.
What ye drinking by the way? want a pint? a wee half?
Eh…a pint aye, ta.
Herbie went to the bar. A drinking buddy. When he brought the pint back he chatted on for a couple of minutes then went back to his company. If he had company. He said he had company. Ye couldnay be sure.
Fuck it but ye couldnay blame cunts, if that was the score.
About ten minutes later a whisky arrived, delivered by auld Morris from behind the bar; he muttered the name Alex then disappeared.
Alex Duncan it would be. Another drinking buddy. Interesting but, if it was Alex, no coming ower himself, just sending the half:
So ye see this guy walk in the door and ye’ve heard he’s went blind. That’s the rumour going about. But you know him. You know him as a guy that isnay blind, no usually, no for all the time you’ve known him, usually he’s a guy that can see the same as the next man. Then as well ye’ve heard he’s in a bit of bother with the sodjers. So much so ye’re no especially wanting to be seen in his company, no from what ye hear. At the same time ye’re no wanting to upset the guy, for whatever reason, it doesnay matter. Okay now, you know that he doesnay know that you’re here, that ye’re in the pub; no if he’s really blind – cause he cannay fucking see ye. Still and all but ye cannay be sure, ye cannay take the chance; so ye send him ower a drink. Just to be on the safe side. And then ye rely on the guy thinking: Ah well, Alex’s sent me a drink and no come ower himself so that must mean he’s tied up, otherwise he would have come ower, so everything’s the same as normal. But it isnay the same as normal. Know what I’m talking about? So ye wondered, ye wondered how he hadnay come ower and said hullo. Unless he was in other company or something.
Sammy sipped the whisky. He couldnay hear any dominoes getting played. The likes of a Friday night ye got as many as three games on the go. A couple of the guys were crazy gamblers. Ye’re playing yer end and then ye hear a whisper and ye find out some cunt’s backed ye for fifty quid. Sammy sat in quite a lot, he enjoyed it. Ye get to be no bad at these kind of games. Some guys were great at chess. The first stretch he done he learnt how to play it, but no more than that whereas with some of them! A different game all the gether. One of the things ye heard inside was how the real world champion wasnay one of these cunts ye see on the telly, it was a guy in the fucking poky. Nay danger about that. Which poky? Any fucking poky, take yer fucking pick.
Mind you, the auld doms, it was maybe a game he could still play. The spots made it like braille. He could maybe give it a go. No in here but! Ye would get fucking screwed man cheating bastards, they would be lining up to take potshots! Bullshit; it wasnay that bad.
But ye would be better just playing with other blind guys. Even then, how would ye check what was happening? who had played what? Every cunt’s fingers would be out feeling the spots. Ye would need special rules. Somebody would have to referee, then keep a record of what was played. But how the fuck could they keep a record unless they could see? Fuck sake man it would be a shambles. But maybe chess would be alright. Cause it was only the future moves ye worried about, the past yins were all there and above board and it didnay matter, just what was there and what was to come. So it wasnay just a thing for the memory. Maybe it was but. There was a conversation about boxing going on somewhere; it was irritating, no quite within earshot but near enough to hear snippets now and again. He tried to listen but it was just annoying and he gave it up. Then somebody was beside him. Sammy waited, he took his hand away from the pint and moved it to the edge of the table.
Hullo. Hullo Sammy.
Is that Tam?
Aye.
Right; christ I didnay know who ye were there…
Ye okay?
Aye Tam aye, no bad. Yerself?
Alright.
I was hoping ye’d be in; have a wee word with ye… No sitting down?
After a moment Tam sat down.
What ye drinking?
I’ll get it… Tam was onto his feet again. Sammy heard him walk off. It was a few minutes afore he came back; he kept his voice low when he spoke: What is it gony be permanent? he said; the eyes and that?
Couldnay tell ye Tam.
Can ye no see nothing?
Not a thing.
Fuck sake.
The news is got round eh!
Aye…
Ye wonder how the fuck it happens but know what I mean! Sammy smiled. Fucking carrier pigeons!
Aye I know. What ye been to a doctor?
Saw the cunt this morning… Sammy shrugged, swallowed the last of the first whisky, groped for the new yin and emptied in the drips. Cheers, he said.
Aye.
I’d have been as well staying in the house; fucking bampot man, wound up it was a battle. Just I needed to go, the DSS and all that. Otherwise I wouldnay have fucking bothered; waste of time. It’s all sewed up Tam ye know the way it operates.
Annoying but.
Ah ye’re fucking right it is. Sammy reached for his tobacco.
Here. Tam gave him a tailormade.
Seen the Leg recently?
Naw I have not, no since that time with yerself. How ye looking for him?
Naw, naw no particularly. Christ ye done the right thing getting out the door when ye did, me and him fucking battered it; crazy. I wound up blanking the Saturday. Fuck knows where we were. Wild. You didnay see us did ye?
Naw.
I thought we might have landit up in here.
Maybe yez did. Ask auld Morris.
Aye…mind you, ye’re sometimes better no finding out; know what I’m saying, let sleeping dogs lie.
May be, may be.
Disasters everywhere. Helen’s fuckt off too.
Helen?
Aye, she’s offski. Out the fucking door man I’ve no seen her for a week; fuck knows where she is. See my luck! Sammy shook his head; he drank some of the lager. Fucking wild, he said, the lost weekend right enough.
So ye dont think it’s gony be temporary, the eyes and that?
I dont fucking know.
Aye…
They dont tell ye fuck all.
When did they let ye out?
Wednesday.
Wednesday?
How?
Naw I was just wondering.
They lifted me again right enough; Saturday night. I got out this morning. Sammy sipped at the lager.
They paid me a visit too.
Did they?
Friday.
Right.
Half-five in the morning.
Hh.
Aye it was the wife answered. Nearly shat herself. Totally out the blue know, nay preparation.
Did they lift ye?
Naw.
…
Naw they didnay lift me, naw. Tam sniffed. They were angry but; know what I mean?
Sammy nodded.
The way they were talking, they were angry.
Aye.
…
So was it alright?
Naw, naw it wasnay alright, it wasnay alright.
What happened?
Aw they were just wanting to ask us a few questions Sammy know. I didnay tell them fuck all but; nothing. So that’s fine eh.
Sammy lifted the whisky, he put it down and tugged at the side of his lower lip.
Know what I mean?
…
Forget it. Sorry about yer eyes and all that.
Sammy had stubbed out the cigarette; he started rolling one. He said, What’s up?
Aw nothing.
Ye upset about something?
Doesnay matter.
What is it me? Have I said something?
Look just leave it.
Fuck sake Tam.
Leave it.
If I’ve said something tell us.
It doesnay matter.
It fucking does; ye’re angry about something.
A wee bit, aye.
Tell us then.
Tam sighed: Ye know what I’m talking about.
Naw I dont. I dont. Tell us.
I mean I didnay see yer mate so I couldnay say fuck all, so that’s fine, so just leave it.
Sammy was about to speak; he didnay, he got the roll-up lighted instead, then he lifted the lager and sipped at it.
Know what I mean I couldnay say fuck all, so I didnay.
There was fuck all to say.
Aye; aye that’s right.
What ye upset about?
The busies Sammy they were angry.
Aye ye’ve said that I know: these bastards, they’re aye angry, so what?
Dont say that to me.
Say what?
…
Sammy cleared his throat and whispered: Say what? I’m no saying fuck all!
They’re wanting information Sammy right.
Aye right, so what am I supposed to do, go and fucking give them it! Eh?
Ye could have gave me the fucking wire, that’s what ye could have done.
Gave ye the wire? What about?
Fucking hell. Look I’m sorry about yer eyes, right, let’s just leave it, just fucking leave it.
Leave what?
Uch.
What?
Bad patter Sammy it’s bad patter.
Tam I dont know what ye’re on about.
Aye well that’s the fucking problem.
It’s fucking true but.
Uch give us peace.
Sammy sat back on the chair; he sat forwards again and whispered: You’re no fucking involved man so I dont know what ye’re getting so fucking upset about, it’s fuck all to do with ye.
Sammy dont tell me I’m no involved; the wife getting dragged out her bed at half-five in the morning; ye kidding! give us a break: I’m no involved man that’s crap.
Ye’re no but.
So what’re these bastards at my door for? Eh?
What’re ye saying?
Uch get to fuck Sammy ye know what I’m saying.
Cause I bump into some guy in the boozer after you’ve went away; so it’s down to me – cause I bump into some cunt after ye’ve left; so it’s my fault.