James Kelman - A Disaffection

I am gibbering why am I gibbering, I am gibbering why am I gibbering. Poor old fucking Hölderlin. The headmaster is speaking what is he speaking about? Hush and let us hear hush and let us hear.

But my brains willni let me my brains willni let me. That’s what happened to old Hölderlin. And what I want to know is, concerning your man, Georg Wilhelm Friedrich, his boyhood friend,

What is the headmaster talking about.

I cannot hear. My brains have been silenced. In silenso. Dear o dear, maybe I should give him a kiss. I shall give my headmaster a kiss. I shall plant a smacker on his greasy heid. My dear fellow, the trials and tribulations of being the praetor of praetors

a mistake it’s yours or else you’ve forgotten about it.

What do you mean?

If the department had simply wanted to transfer you on their own account they would have gone ahead and done it.

I’m not eh … I dont know what you mean.

Milne sighed. He looked at the clock.

Look, it’s just there’s a certain hypocrisy going on here that I dont appreciate.

…

Being a teacher on behalf of a society like this yin, where the very last thing wanted is honesty or truth.

O! The headmaster shook his head and that was definitely that and it was best to just sign his name and leave now immediately because Patrick could never win here and there was something in the air told him that, that here he was and he was being humiliated right under his very nose, he was being humiliated for christ sake, right under his own very nose. And he signed his name because it was best to leave. He put his left hand into his trouser pocket, opening the door with his right, an attempted coolness; and he walked from the office without acknowledging Ms Thompson though it wasnt her fault and had nothing whatsoever to do with her.

And what to do what to do should he go to the registration class or just fuck off. More brave to go the registration. Or was it? It didni matter; he was walking towards the staircase, heading for his own corridor, to his own classroom. He didnt want to leave this school. He really didnt. He quite liked it. It was terrible that here he was having to leave. And not fair to the pupils either who were used to his particular style of teaching and were well on their way to a proper grounding in reality, the ways of the world, honesty and so on.

He had stopped walking. He smiled and leant against the wall at the alcove next to the staircase. What a fucking pong! The science labs. It was the smell he aye associated with the entire profession, rotten eggs. But that sounded ominous. Maybe he was on his way out altogether. But how could that ever happen unless he himself instigated it? And he wasnt about to do any such thing. Let it be done, okay. But not by his own hand. He would never allow them that kind of satisfaction. Suicide fine but not fucking resignation.

Down below in the assembly hall Margaret McNally the gym teacher was rigging up the stanchions for netball.

He was into his own corridor and he stopped again. He did not know why he felt as bad as he did. It was actually crossing his mind to vault the rail and leap to his fucking death! He probably wouldni get killed but for christ sake how come he should be feeling as bad as that anyway I mean it’s daft. It’s no as if he was gonni get his bollocks cut off. And here he was by the railing and pausing a few moments as if he was looking down at Maggie who was quite a nice woman but just didnt move in the same circle as he did thus they didnt really know each other although she was a single party and would maybe be interested in going out for a meal or just to the Citz Theatre for a night for christ sake without any strings and not at all pressurised, without any worries about the future, just a night out together for a bit of company. She moved well Margaret, she was wearing a dark blue short skirt and her pair of trainer shoes and a thingwi top, one of these whatdyoucallits that you wear if you’re out training for fuck sake. Her whistle round the neck. It was always a nice sound, that harsh shrieking of rubber soles on the floor and the thumping of running feet, the whistle blowing and whatever christ. Gym teachers are divorced from the problems. Nonsense. They’ve got their own bloody problems, that’s all; and they’re every bit as fucking depressing in their own way.

But for christ sake, is it actually conceivable that he could have applied for a transfer and forgotten all about it? Just is it conceivable. That is all. That is all he would like to know. Nothing more than that. Christ! But it seemed so amazing. Are there any quotations to help? What can be said if not done to alleviate matters. Some great wee witty saying that can allow Pat to ease himself out from under. Jesus Christ for example, what happened to him? Or Empedocles, did he have any sort of aphorisms to help?

Patrick had continued walking. It would soon be time for 2e to depart the room. Ach well. Poor wee fuckers. He would be there in a second and that would be that. One solitary unique second. A momentous second. And the loud voices coming from the classroom. Patrick half expected to find MI6 lurking in the shadows, just to give due warning that he too was aware of the loud voices. O what a scandal. Loud voices in the classroom. O dear. A Monday as well for fuck sake when you’re supposed to be stuffing theological musings in beside the registrationatus. He clasped the handle of the door. Nostalgia. He shook his head, smiling. The sense of it, the nostalgia, being so acute it was almost a strange déjà vu.

He stood in the doorway a moment, before shutting the door firmly behind himself.

Good morning Mister Doyle.

Good morning one and all. Okay, no time for denying the deities this morning. I’ve just been for an interview with Mister Big. So … Patrick clasped his hands together, then he unclasped them and clapped them twice … first question: What’s this fucking load of drivel all about?

The hands of half a dozen.

Kenneth!

Eh is what this fucking load of drivel is all about is what this fucking load of drivel is all about?

Fine, no bad — but mind that ‘eh’ ye shoved in and then missed out for christ sake. But fair enough, this time of the morning and it being a Monday and all that, okay, a good start to the week getting something like that because it means you’re on the road to understanding a very crucial aspect of this existence insofar as this existence takes place in a country like ours I mean for instance it’s something your parents’ll no understand because on the whole they’re a bunch of fucking idiots whose esteem of the ostrich is a byword in the corridors of high finance. Yous know what I’m talking about. Michelle!

Please Mister Doyle it’s just Audrey’s started her period.

Aw, okay.

Michelle had risen and she went to the wall cupboard where the pillow and blankets were kept. She and Caroline assisted Audrey to the back of the room. They helped her stretch out along the bench, hidden from the view of the others.

Is she gonni be sick? asked Patrick.

She doesni know, said Michelle.

What does she reckon?

She should go home to bed and get two hot water bottles.

Ah, fine, aye. Patrick glanced around the class; the pupils mainly stared to the front, apart from a couple of boys. Patrick nodded. The trouble with us, he said, we know almost nothing about bodies, especially female bodies. He focused his attention on the lassies generally: I mean we dont really know a damn thing about this pain yous all go through once a month, except that we can tell it’s really really painful. I know it just by looking, just by using my eyes. And I dont need to know anything more. All I have to do is look. I just look truly and in doing that I see Audrey’s in pain. Okay. You just fucking bear witness to things, that’s how ye know what they are.