James Kelman - A Disaffection

… with these two pipes you found?

Pardon.

I was just wondering if you’d made use of them yet, I meant to ask ye … said the bloke.

Patrick lifted his pint of beer and sipped at it. Naw, he said, no really. Sometimes I just pick things up and take them home with me and then I keep them for a wee while. Usually but I just end up dumping them.

Aw I see.

He would have been a gold prospector in the old days, chuckled Alison.

Pat grinned. Actually my favourite job amongst all else would be … He raised his right forefinger and wagged it at her: Guess!

O god Pat I’m always hopeless at this kind of thing.

No you’re no.

I am! Maybe Norman.

Norman?

Eh … Norman was grinning; he tilted his head to one side, his eyelids shutting momentarily; his face became all screwed up, and then he said: Is it to do with motor cars?

Motor cars?

Alison was smiling.

You fucking kidding! said Pat.

Well you did ask him to guess, said Alison.

Patrick gazed at the floor.

What job was it? the temporary English teacher asked.

After a moment Patrick smiled; he was still gazing in the direction of the floor. Beachcomber, he said, as a matter of interest.

Beachcomber.

God yes, said Alison. Yes, I could see you doing that. And you’d be content for the rest of your life.

Of course. It’d be wonderful.

No me, said the other bloke.

Patrick replied, You’re only saying that because you’re new to the teaching racket. You’re still keen to get involved in the whole carry on, all its different aspects, the whole fucking kit and caboodle.

Alison chuckled.

Kit and caboodle! muttered Patrick. What in the name of christ does that actually mean!

Alison was saying to the temporary English teacher: He’s the staffroom cynic Norman pay no attention.

Norman grinned.

Patrick frowned. Thanks Alison, thanks a lot … He reached for his beer and swallowed a large mouthful. Then without further comment he went to the lavatory. The way things were going he would have had a better time of it in with Old Milne. Whose name alongside that of Norman ended in ‘n’ sounds. As did Alison’s. Maybe if you wanted to be content in this world you needed that. Look at poor auld Desmond: a fucking sad case with a ‘d’. And Patrick with a ‘k’. A ‘k’ was terrible. Both it and ‘d’ had a similar sort of feel to it.

In some ways initials and letters were as interesting as numbers, but not quite. The Pythagoreans called numbers ‘figures’. The whole of matter could be reduced to them. Numbers or figures were the elemental parts, the constituents. And of course you have bodies still being called figures. Plus ‘soh’ ‘lah’ ‘te’ ‘doh’ etcetera being scales, numbers. Everything went together and could be reduced to numbers, even names of course. The initials P: D for instance, they could be reduced to 16: 4 based on the twenty-six-letter roman alphabet; 4 2: 2 2, or even 2 4: 2 2. Numbers are great. You can do anything you like with them. Plus it gets you away from objects and entities, always allowing for the fact that neither objects nor entities exist to which these numbers correspond, because some folk believe there must be a ‘1’ and a ‘2’ somewhere out there, if only they or it can be found, discovered or come upon.

Back at the table Norman and Alison were yapping away together and when Patrick sat down Norman said to him, Alison was saying ye wouldni mind if I asked ye something. When you were at the toilet there I was eh saying to Alison if ye would mind if eh I asked you something.

What?

It was just something I was wanting to ask ye. About in the staffroom this morning, it was something …

Patrick frowned, then he rubbed his eyes with the fingers of his left hand.

What it was, it was just eh …

Patrick glanced at Alison, he smiled slightly.

I was just wondering.

Patrick looked at him. What did ye say?

It was something in the staffroom this morning.

Aw.

Patrick for god sake, said Alison.

Naw it doesni matter if he doesni want to say. Norman said, It doesni matter.

Patrick nodded.

It was just it was interesting.

That’s good.

Pat! Alison glared at him.

Well for christ sake have I got to bloody fucking … he shook his head and exhaled breath studying the ceiling.

You’re so damn aggressive.

Patrick looked at her.

If you have to blame somebody then blame me. Norman just wanted to ask you something that’s all, because he thought it was an interesting point, and I told him it’d be alright, I told him ye wouldnt mind.

Thanks.

Alison glanced at her wristwatch. And Patrick lifted his beer and swallowed most of what was left. He laid the glass on the table and said, Come on we’ll go to the arts centre and talk about Christmas Pantomimes.

Alison stared at him.

Sorry, would ye prefer to stay here? Or have ye got to go home or what?

After a few moments she answered: I wish you would calm down.

And he nodded at once. She was dead right. There was no question about that. It would have been better said when they were alone but. When it was just the two of them. Not like this, with this other bloke. It wasni the sort of statement you liked hearing about yourself in front of strangers. And Norman wasnt exactly a close friend although having said that, it should be admitted that Patrick had met a lot worse guys. His openness for a start; that was good — not being afraid to ask the awkward question. Usually only Desmond could be relied upon for that. Patrick nodded. Aye. He said, Do yous fancy another before we hit the road? Eh Norman I mean you’ve bought the last couple so it’s definitely me on the bell!

Him on the bell, said Alison. In his reckoning women dont count … And rising from her seat she had opened her handbag and she walked to the bar without another word.

Norman smiled. I like her, she’s nice.

Patrick didnt answer. Not only was Alison nice she was beautiful. She was beautiful and she was honest and gentle and truthful and she was sympathetic as well, she could listen to folk when they were down and out and didni fucking … Christ. He shook his head and shut his eyes. Then he shrugged, glanced at Norman: The guy she’s married to, he’s a bit of a dickie, to be honest; I mean I’m no being eh …

Norman nodded.

Patrick sniffed. He shouldnt have said what he had. He shouldnt have said it it was daft, totally daft. It was the kind of thing

He just shouldnt have said it.

Norman was smiling now. And he leaned his elbows on the edge of the table, glancing swiftly towards the bar, and whispering, Hey Patrick, you dont mind me asking and aw that, about Alison, I’m no being cheeky or anything

Patrick had his eyelids shut fast and there was this roaring noise like a fucking crescendo in the eardrums, an eruption or something, a cacophonic roar of the blood in the head.

He smiled. He was going to answer but Alison had returned. He smiled. He was going to say something to the guy but she had returned. She beckoned to him, at his empty pint glass: Is it beer or lager Pat or what is it?

Tomato juice.

Honestly?

Yeh, thanks. He laughed. What had he laughed at. He laughed again. Alison had returned to the bar. It was a girl serving and Alison and she were talking together. They were probably talking about — what? what would they be talking about?

He glanced at the temporary English teacher who smiled but looked away immediately. He was not at his ease with Patrick. That was for definite. It was as if he was just — as if he was maybe thinking he was not really able to say what might happen in the next couple of minutes. As if maybe he was worried Patrick might break down or something maybe and end up