James Kelman - A Disaffection

Hullo? 3836.

Eh hullo eh is that eh can I speak to Alison Houston please?

Ah, who shall I say?

Eh is that Mister Houston?

Yes.

O hullo eh it’s Pat Doyle, from school — we’ve actually met twice eh, at the Halloween Party and eh, I was wondering if I could just have a word with Alison a minute

(ya fucking bastard ye because my heart’s fucking exploding)

Right.

…

Pat?

Hullo Alison I need to see you a minute if ye dont mind, just for a quick word, if that’s alright.

Alison didni reply. She didni say anything. She was thinking things over. Mulling. Alison, mulling.

Pat?

Aye?

I see ye about nine o’clock?

Nine o’clock?

Will that be okay?

Aye.

Nine o’clock.

Aye. Alison, were you looking for me today?

It was nothing really. Alright then, nine o’clock.

Okay eh …

Miller’s.

Miller’s aye; fine.

Bye.

Bye.

But he had to be careful he had to be careful; otherwise the very worst could befall. Of course there were temptations there were always temptations, these tempting things always exist, will-o-the-wisp affairs, you’ve got to be careful from, wary, you have to be wary, of.

And Alison could not help him. She would want to help him but she couldnt. He didnt want her help anyway. If he wanted to do things like perform on the pipes then he had to do them alone. And not tell folk either. He was to carry on alone. He was not to think; thinking was death. And that was odd, how thought became death. That’s probably why the rationalists need other worlds all the time.

There is the basic fact that he has produced sound and space that are precise. He has achieved it on different occasions. He has had to push hard, hard. Above the mantelpiece was a print with a glazed frame and in this he could see his reflection, his face being reflected, his eyes gazing at him, his eyes gazing at him.

What is the point of certain stuff.

He stared out the window, keeping to the side, in by the curtain. The lassie had gone of course. The night. The North Star. The North Star in a mirror. An ocean.

Down in the street the tar and the flagstone paving and the concrete and the bonnet of a no-longer-good vehicle if ever the fuck it was, the kids playing and the teenagers yapping, and the adults getting by getting by.

Suicide is never that good a solution. Suicide is a great temptation but it is not that good a solution because it is only two-dimensional. It should go three deep and then have a lassoo thrown round that. Beg pardon? Sorry, it should be three, and then have a fourth as a sort of lassoo. Aw, I see. Fuck off. Nah, only kidding, back ye come. What about me, can I come back? Okay, you as well. And me? The fucking lot of yous, I dont care, yous can all do what yous fucking like.

As long as ye keep quiet. I like the pipes because they induce peace. The few times I ever smoked dope I was told I would get peace but I never ever got peace I just got fucking trouble in one way or another. One time it was at this party when the brother and the sister-in-law were present and what happens but trouble, trouble trouble trouble. We’ve aye had these problems: I have never been able to understand him and he has never been able to understand me. We fight about this and we fight about that. Fraternal battles, they’re the worst kind. Then there is the poor auld fucking maw and da. Mind you, I dont have that much sympathy for the pair of them. So I canni be bothered either, with them I mean, on their behalf. But fuck it, there is a sadness about this existence, these existences. Patrick always, he feels, there is a sympathy, there is a sensation, there

there must be more than that. That cannot be enough. There must be something more. Well there isnt. There must be. There isnt. Yes there is. What. Plenty. Plenty. If there wasnt something more than that

Aye?

If there was not something more than that

More than what?

…

…

One must retain the grip on one’s lugs.

What about the crazy flagellants?

What about them, they’re just particular Christians and Muslims and whatever, the same as all the rest, the Jews and the Hindus, they’re all the same. I dont know other worlds. I just know my numbers and my figures. What do you mean by that? Is this you returning to some sort of nonexistent creed of the ancients that you’ve just fucking invented, some bastardized offshoot from the school of post-Pythagoreans. Yes. Of course. Fine. It’s true. Fine, I was just asking, just making certain. Making certain — does that mean you had some inkling before the statement.

A blast of music.

Patrick strolled to the radio, switched it on, turned up the volume, just loud enough to be loud, without overwhelming the neighbours. Pianos. Pianos are okay.

The lavatory. He needed a shite, a tollie. And then he needed to see to the toilette; he had to prepare, what he was to don for the evening, a pair of trousers and a fucking shirt and jersey and jacket. Another bath and he would evaporate.

So:

so grasp the lugs and get the head battened down. And maybe she will sleep with you. Maybe she will return here, home, maybe. Maybe she will quite the thing go to bed with ye, exorcising the demons, ridding the place of its cold, its lack of human something or other — worth, value, bodily and mental togetherandatoneness for fuck sake god give the boy a break he is in fucking dreadful danger, his only recourse to a pair of electrician’s pipes which he is truly thankful for amen; he is, and it truly is a blessing because most folk dont even have that, he is well aware of this and truly thankful amen lord please look down on your son and spare him, spare him, allow him to be a fellow amongst fellows and a father amongst fathers, a lover amongst lovers poor auld fucking Hölderlin I mean look at him, your man there, poor old for fuck sake and then he goes off his head, succumbs to that insanity the bastards maintain he was only just always managing to survive from, and what about Hegel, did he help? of course he must have helped, Hegel was fucking good, good, a good ordinary man amongst men who enjoyed a bevy and a screw and a good laugh and carousing singsong with all his cronies, and at 1770 look at the fucking cronies! Beethoven for christ sake! So okay, fine, right. Fine, smashing, quite the thing. A cup of strong coffee. Patrick should have bought the fucking steak pie supper, instead of just scoring another goal against himself. He at least should have eaten something. And he did not eat that something. He should have eaten it. He did not.

But he does have a packet of potato crisps which he can stuff between two slices of margarined bread. A piece on crisps. Aye beautiful. Crunchy and munchy. And a cup of good strong coffee.

The best thing was to close the eyes. Patrick laid his elbows on the mantelpiece, cradled his head. The possibility of relaxing was so acutely great that he withdrew at once and sank back down onto the settee, the only problem being sleep, sweet soporifimus, which he better not go to, sleep, sopor, aahh, life somehow sleep, sleep, its actuality, sleep, how it could always render the world a better place, just the idea of it, sleep, its soothing nature; what the hell is its origin? renewal; the time for renewal; how come such a thing could exist? the vales of strife vales of strife, what he could do was just get the alarm clock and set it for half-eight, so’s he could sleep.

He did that and he snoozed as planned, so that was good. He wakened on the first peal and got ready, drank a coffee and ate the potato-crisp sandwich. He would have to shave again but that was okay that was okay. He felt good. He smiled, aware of the nature of it, of how it was he was feeling: he was truly relaxed and he felt as if he hadnt been truly relaxed for years — years! away before he ever fucking got lumbered with teachers’ fucking training colleges and all the rest of the carry on, fucking university and all the shit. Fifteen minutes until nine o’clock and here he was so relaxed he was sipping a coffee. He reached to switch off the fire. Being here in the parlour had been a comforting experience. He tended to use the kitchen 99 % of the time and it was a mistake. Perhaps he should shift the bed back into here again, and maybe begin work on erecting the platform. Gavin had once offered to assist on the project: so let him do so, let him help, the way big brothers are supposed to.