James Kelman - A Disaffection

Yeh but it’s about individuals, said Alison, so it cant help but be specific. It’s about individual teachers and it’s about individual children.

Well okay but you’re saying it in general plurals.

I dont know what ye mean.

Patrick nodded.

Could you explain it?

You’re trying to insist on the individuals and yet you’re doing it yourself with your pluralistic generalising.

After a moment she replied, I think you’re nitpicking.

I’m no.

I think you are.

He nodded. She continued watching him because she was expecting him to proceed with an attempted explanation, but he wasnt going on. He had lost the thread anyway, of the argument. Or maybe the actual truth is that he just couldni fucking be bothered. Which is a terrible thing to say. He stroked the brow of his head and he sighed, turned to the sink once more. She didnt want coffee though or tea because she was about to be going. The window was steamed up. The tobacco fug wasnt helping matters.

He was not going to get into her head at all. That was that. It didni matter what he said it was as if something was missing and what it was it was just that basic interest in him, she did not have it. That was it. And did he have it in her? So far no, it was as if he was only interested in himself, just going over and over about himself all the time, about what he was doing and what he was wanting out of life. But never a word about her. Had he even asked her a question? A true question I’m talking about; one that concerns the other person, one to shed some real spark of light on the subject. It was doubtful if he had. Otherwise he wouldnt have forgotten about it already. Being so bloody damn taken fucking up with his own problems. And he was fucking sick of it, his own problems for christ sake you get sick fucking hearing about them. The trouble being of course that they do not go away. The closer you get to them the likelihood of their disappearance does not diminish. You get surrounded by them. Everywhere ye look you see the same things, like the shadow-lines down in the back close, they’re always there no matter the time of day, the way the light hits, electric or otherwise, they are always there, like a greasy spot on the windscreen right in front of your fucking nose and everything you see is filtered through it, through the fucking grease, so there’s a greasy tree and there’s a greasy lorry and there’s a greasy pedestrian and so on and so forth.

Three years is it you’ve been married? he asked.

Just going on to it.

It’s a while.

Mm.

Patrick smiled. Tell me this, he said, seriously I mean: how come ye wanted to meet at that stupit bloody Commodore Cafe? Were ye actually I mean … suspicious?

You could say that.

Ah. Fine. Pat chuckled and collected his mug from the side of his chair. Mind you, okay, in your position, there’s a lot of headcases going about — when you’re a woman I mean. I dont fancy it myself.

I wasnt suspicious in that way Pat.

Aw. Glad to hear it! You just thought a place as public as that would be good?

I thought it might make things easier.

Do ye mean in general?

Yeh.

For talking?

She smiled.

Mirs Houston …?

What?

Nothing. Pat grinned. Thanks for coming.

Och!

Naw but it’s appreciated, I was feeling a bit low. And then of course you’ve got the pipes.

There was a slight smile on her face.

The trouble is Alison I take the bloody things seriously.

In what way? how do ye mean?

Ach I dont know! He glanced at his wristwatch. Just sometimes I suppose, when I sit down and play them. When I sit down. And once I actually start playing. Ye forget things. That’s what good about it.

Therapeutic?

Eh aye, I suppose … He cleared his throat. It was high time she went now, definitely; and he looked at his watch again. It wasnt good for her to remain much longer than this. He had objections to crying in company. He had objections to doing most things in company. Although there again, most of his decisions, they all seem to be arrived at in such circumstances. As if he had to force everything onto himself. He smiled, gesturing at the mugs. My Auntie bought me four of them; she thinks when you become a member of the teaching profession you become a member of the government. Mind you, she’s no far wrong.

Alison shut her eyes. She didni like hearing such things. Too close to the fucking bone. An arse of a statement. He chuckled. But it probably sounded sexist. Affectionate, but sexist. You had to be on the look-out at all times. But what’s wrong with that there’s nothing wrong with that. It’s good. And it’s healthy. It means your world’s continually shifting its base, the greasy bit becoming that bit wider.

I apologise Alison.

What for? She frowned: You dont have to apologise to me.

He nodded.

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He shook his head.

He got up from the bed and pulled down the blind, he undressed, got beneath the covers, because he had to try and sleep, life being exactly too much, that precise amount. His nerves were jangling. They began to settle. He was lying on the bed; the light was out and he was thinking and trying not to, he was trying to block out his brains from their eternal imaginings and maunderings. Definitely this being alone, this is what it was. He was not thinking about her, the woman, he was not. What he was doing was getting himself aware of it, of things. He knew better now. He knew more than he had done.

A while since she had gone. Okay. And funny that he wasnt going to be seeing her again. He would not be seeing her again except by chance. Nor the school! which was even more incredible. He felt strange and almost happy. Happy. But no; it was too easy, too straightforwards. Just not going back to school. It made you want to laugh aloud.

He was obviously going back. He smiled and turned onto his side, still with his face outside the covers. Imagine not going back. What would he do? What would he not do. He would not worry about the headmaster because he would not be going to see him. He wouldnt do this and he wouldnt do that. It wasnt what he would do it is what he would not do. All these things that he would not be having to do, he would not be having to do this and he would not be having to do that.

He would play the pipes. There was a positive move if ever I saw one. He would do that. What else? He would forget the past. He would go up and see his brother. What would he go up and see him about. You dont do that with brothers, you just go and see them and that’s enough, you just chat. What about politics, about politics and the nature of things in general — the Doyle family and revolution. How to negate the parents of the parents. The usual keech.

He would begin by staring the world firmly in the face. And with that to the fore he was now getting out of bed, and kicking his way into his shoes but he hasnt got his socks on so is kicking them off and getting back onto the bed to fucking look for them but there they were there just at the foot, at the fucking foot, of the bed. Because he was going to go out. He was going to go out for the night and that was that. High time he started enjoying life since here he was chucking it all in tomorrow morning. Christ that was a great holiday he had in West Yorkshire five years ago, on the coast at the seaside with the sun and the sand and having a laugh with the crowd. That was the Gillian Porter era. Ach Gillian was good. What had happened there? that was a pity. She was straightforwards as well, she wasni fussy about stupid things. Now here she was on the other side of Scotland. But christ almighty that was only sixty miles off. But she would be well away now, with other people. It was too late for him. As far as she was concerned. And why dwell on the past! But things did seem to be more straightforward then. People too. They seemed to be like that. But not now. Nowadays it was always as if everything was a big deal and you had to have or do something or something as if