James Kelman - A Disaffection

Cockadoodledoo. Judas Iscariot.

What I mean is, he said, just having to watch so much television. I dont mean that eh they’re boring as people.

I was just kidding.

Aw I know, I know. He smiled, he stared at the road ahead, a rawish sort of taste at the back of his throat, a dryness; he licked his lips. It wasni a good thing to say. How come she had said it?

She smiled, clicking open her handbag and giving herself a cigarette. Pat shook his head. And he shook his head again: All I said was they were boring and you come in with that — Judas Iscariot. Christ sake Alison, know what I mean.

It was silly, it just came out, I didnt mean it the way it sounded.

Naw I know, it’s just, christ.

I was only kidding Pat. She smiled again, flicked the lighter and inhaled, puffed out the smoke and returned the lighter to her handbag.

He was shaking his head once again but he stopped it quickly and settled his head down rigidly on his neck, feeling the flesh maybe doubling up at the jowels; he relaxed, sighing. A brief glance across at her. There was this wee lump of glitterstuff on her cheek, you could have actually picked it off with your fingernail. She flipped open the ashtray cover, tapped in ash from her fag. What was wrong with her? She was so bloody beautiful as well. But yet there was that

there was something. But he liked her an awful lot. He wanted to shut his eyes and screw up his face; he gripped the steering wheel, his arms inflexible, inflexible. He relaxed. It’s too early for the Art Gallery, he said, it doesni open till two on Sundays.

She did not reply. She watched the road ahead.

Where do you want to go? he asked.

O.

After a couple of moments he added: Because otherwise, really I mean … he smiled, I dont know where I’m driving.

A cafe?

Aye but it’s just I mean which one?

Mm. She then looked at her wristwatch. He felt like jamming the brakes on immediately.

He said, I only mentioned the Art Gallery because they’ve got quite a good yin, a cafe. I’m no interested in seeing the paintings. I was actually up a couple of weeks ago, seeing an exhibition.

Mm.

Pat nodded. She was frowning at something. She maybe wanted to get out. That was probably it, she wanted to get out, just inside the fucking thing and she wanted out, to get away, because of him, the way he was carrying on, the usual. He was clenching the wheel of course. How come he was doing that? clenching the wheel. He was clenching the wheel because he was thingwi he was fucking bastard, he was thingwi.

At least she looked like she had relaxed. She was gazing out the window and she seemed to be comfortable and quite content. Maybe she wasni. But she seemed to be. What else can we do except infer. That’s all. She was gazing out the window, smoking. Did ye think I was going to kidnap you? he chuckled.

You never know.

Christ! Imagine being suspected of dishonourable intentions! It’s almost a compliment!

Is it — well it’s not meant to be.

Naw; right; I was actually meaning, just thinking, of myself I suppose, the act itself, the forceful sort of way. You’re right but it is sexist. Stupid. Sorry. Daft.

It’s okay.

Thanks for coming.

Och!

Naw I mean honest, really, thanks.

She nodded, twisting her body slightly to see more fully out of the side window. The car was stopped at a set of traffic lights. A pair of wee boys stood at the corner; one with newspapers under one arm, the other held a bottle of ginger. In the rearview mirror he saw the driver of the van parked behind picking his nose, an alsatian dog was sitting in the passenger sear. People have a different type of awareness in the presence of animals, and maybe even it all depends on the species of animal as well — if it had been a parrot for instance, he might have used a fucking hankie. Alison was still staring out the side window. It was stupid. Idiocy. Everything should have been straightforward. Having a woman beside you in the motor should be no big deal. When she came into the thing in the first place he should just have driven to some secluded niche where they could have conversed in intimate fashion, after which they each would have sought the other’s lips with their own lips, each’s own lips, his or hers for fuck sake even getting it into language is difficult.

She was definitely not at her ease.

But what had he been hoping for? Just what exactly? How could there be anything? There couldnt really be anything. She has suspected him of kidnapping! A joke of course but even so. If this had been East Anglia that would never have happened. In places like East Anglia there are certain events, a finite list of them, that may or may not occur and this was the event that would never occur. Plus also, if in East Anglia and further, a citizen of that fair shire, then his whole experientiality would differ. I am cracking up. In the presence of Alison Houston née Mirs whose right breast is noticeable, its bulge beneath her coat, I am cracking up. And in the offside wingmirror a driver signalling. These drivers who begin a whole carry on with you for no reason but that you have driving in common you’re supposed to be some sort of fucking soulmates! What was he signalling for?

Pat, where are we going?

Eh well I thought we would just go into town, up Glasgow Cross way, the Trongate, that area. There’s quite a few cafes there, near the Barrows, that open on a Sunday.

She tapped ash into the ashtray. She was nervous. It was him making her nervous. He was trying too hard and putting her off, getting her uncomfortable and so not able to assist the way she should, the way that was normal, when two people are alone together and attempting to communicate.

The driver who was signalling had just moved out into the opposite lane and was speeding past and giving an angry look. Well fuck him. A Sunday and you’re supposed to break the world all-comers landspeed record. Patrick cleared his throat. He said, What time are your parents coming then? I mean this afternoon.

4 o’clock.

Aw.

Actually they’re Drew’s parents, not mine.

O I see.

I get on fine with them though — better than Drew does; he’s always having rows with them.

What about?

Everything. It can be an ordeal at times, just being there in the same room. Ye never quite know what to do, what’s expected of ye.

Patrick nodded. He looked at her and started to blush when he met her gaze and he turned his head immediately as if to see out his side window. He wound down the window a fraction.

It’s too smoky, said Alison.

Uch naw it’s okay it’s just eh … He felt the blush now full on his face. It could only level out then decrease. He stared ahead. It was just that of their eyes meeting. It must have been the first such encounter since she had entered the motor. It was funny to think of somebody kissing her lips, touching her face, his fingertips maybe on her cheek just gently, it was funny to think that. There was a feeling in his chest or lungs, a rough sort of feeling — all that smoke from her fag right enough. Over the parapet of the bridge was the Carrick . Diving off into the Clyde. Catching a fish between your teeth. There was no rain in the sky. That dense white grey. They were going along to the Saltmarket. I dont even think the pubs are open yet, he said.

Alison made no answer.

Actually anyway I’m no even feeling like a pint, to be honest; are you?

No.

He grinned. Beer drinking’s overrated. That was how I suggested the Art Gallery, just for a change and that, keeping away from pubs.

It’s only that I have to watch the time Pat.

Of course, aye, I know — I just thought the surroundings, because they were different. I mean the Commodore Cafe! All these weans in for their Sunday brunch with the sherbet lollipops and coke etcetera, all giving us the eye!