James Kelman - A Disaffection

You’re no being fair, said Julie Stewart. It was a name he always loved. Women have better names than men. Patrick nodded:

Listen Julie Stewart, who is it gives names to women or do ye truly believe they give them to themselves and each other because you know full well what I’ve been telling yous all about the naming process and imperialism, colonisation of the subject, obliteration of the subject, you as object, even in your own eyes. What’ve ye got to say about that!

She waited a moment. Then she answered: It maybe used to be imperialism but I dont think it is now. I’m answering a question. But I want to say something else to you, to Mister Patrick Doyle, to you, I really dont think you’re being fair because what ye do ye start all these things and then ye dont finish them or even just in a way follow them through properly.

Properly.

She stared at him.

Aye okay but I’ve got to do that. It’s the teacher’s real job. It’s up to yous to get the things finished, or followed through properly. Think of Plato.

Yeh I know …

Patrick smiled.

What’re ye smiling for? Joan Murphy.

He frowned.

She was frowning.

Joan Murphy. To have come out and said such a thing to him.

I think it’s patronising, she said.

It is. It is patronising. Aye. Yeh; you’re right. But I’m no ashamed. Nor do I think it has to be essentially bad. I’m not ashamed.

About patronising people?

Fair enough. But in the case in question no. As far as I recall it was a true and straightforward smile to do with young people and older people. I think there are honest patrons of the young and these honest patrons can be those who are not young themselves, at least relatively. I will agree though that I’m fucking stretching a point. But points are there to be stretched. That’s what a point is, something that is not finite. Look what happened to motion when Zeno got that yin sorted out! Absolutely fuck all says you, but is that true? Ye might actually just say he was being a friend to auld Parmenides and it was a joint venture to capture the Pythagoreans. So what says you. Okay says me. But Plato came along as well and he went into the attack. His attack was a good yin. But I’ve got to wait a minute here … Patrick smiled falsely.

He was not giving them a chance. He couldnt do anything else. Could he do anything else. He couldnt, he couldnt do anything else. He turned from them, swivelling on the stool, he faced the blackboard though blackboard is stupid, the thing being a green canvas. They needed time to reflect, to get to his falsity. What was interesting was the hostility, almost an anger. Of course he was letting them down. Quite right. But he was only a man. What could he do? And it was not possible to withdraw the request. He certainly did not want to leave them. Not to put too fine a point on the matter, they were saving his very fucking existence, his life. Without them he was dead, a dead man. The pipes.

O the pipes.

He didni want to go to another school. I actually dont want to go to another school.

But you put in for the transfer, says William Moreland.

I did not put in for the transfer, says Patrick Doyle, at least as far as I can remember. I’m being honest. I dont fucking remember putting in for this fucking transfer. Maybe I did and I was mentally deranged at the time. Maybe I was drunk! But I honestly dont remember putting in for it.

Is it possible to do something like that and forget? Jaqueline Boal.

I dont know. I think it has to be otherwise here I am not. But: either I did it and then totally forgot; or else I didnt, and some folk are not telling the truth.

Pause.

What d’you mean by that? Sardar Ali.

I dont know. It probably sounds like a weird kind of paranoia. Maybe they just prefer me to get shifted from school to school!

But you’ve been here for three years.

I know. There again but and I’m being honest, putting in for a transfer and then going away and managing to forget about it: I can imagine myself doing that. It’s the kind of mischief I get up to. There are all sorts of flagellation. Mind these paintings by Goya I was telling yous to take a look at?

Hands aloft.

Great, said Patrick. He sniffed vigorously to clear the upper membranes, strolling out from behind the desk, hands in his trouser pockets. As the class of ye are very aware I’m not exactly a firm believer in the religious teachings of the great religious teachers; nor am I a believer in forms of tomorrow — nor any other fucking thing that manages to snatch folk away from the moment that is actually actual and right there under their very nostrils at this very next very this very gone a minute moment, yous know what I’m saying, the usual argument against the different ways of nullifying a person’s actions. Mind you, this past couple of days I would be a liar if I was to let yous all imagine things have not been more odd than is usually the case. The things that have been happening, to some extent I’m left with no option but to regard them as more odd than is usually the case. Patrick frowned and turned his head sideways, then sideways in the other direction. Ye see if I dont regard them like that then I’m gonni be forced into seeing myself as odd, distinctly odd in fact. But is that true? Probably no. Probably it’s a load of keech.

And by the way, pass all this on to whomsoever you want to pass it on to, I dont care, I dont care; because as well yous know there are people the same age as yourselves getting beaten up and tortured and killed in countries not all that far from here and I wont name them because if ye dont know what I’m talking about ye dont deserve to. People of twelve, thirteen, fourteen; they’re getting tortured and murdered. Okay, so yous’ve got to do something. There isni any fucking point looking at me. I’m a fucking no-user, because that is what teachers are, no-users. If I wasni a fucking no-user I wouldni be a fucking teacher in this stench of a society. It’s up to yous yourself. And now, is the best time to call a halt. Fine.

I’ve said before I’m away to play the pipes. Aye well I’m no kidding! Patrick grinned.

The class half smiled, half frowned. He felt very sweaty, very clammy. It was clammy in the room. He had his tie unloosened. He unknotted it and folded it away into his side jacket pocket.

Which wasnt at all symbolic; he only wore the tie to please himself anyway.

And here’s another odd thing it’s best no to lose sight of: I’ve been feeling happy. And I’ll tell ye something, I’ve no been feeling happy for years. I mean genuinely. I’m no talking about the false stuff. I tell lies to myself in the same way yous do. But I’ve just been catching myself out now and again and christ what I’m realising is right at this moment I’m feeling as happy as ever I’ve done since the student days. Patrick laughed. It was an abrupt kind of laugh. He closed his eyes. But when he opened them he started laughing again.

There was a head at the window.

Patrick cleared his throat. He winked and grinned, but the grin would not be noticeable to anyone beyond the four walls of the classroom. That’s the head back at the window, he said. There again but how do we know it’s the same head? Is it something we can verify ourselves, that that there is a head and it might be the same one, the same head.

Well fuck sake of course he says. Heads cannot float. Heads can float. There are heads that do not float and heads that cannot be said to not float. That over there behind the window is a head that is not floating.

How come you’re gonni go away and play the pipes if ye think the world’s in as bad a state as all that?

Pardon?

Joan Murphy: If ye think the world’s as bad as all that then how come you’re just gonni go away and play the pipes instead of doing something more useful?