James Kelman - A Disaffection

Yes.

I dont think so at all, called Evelyn Reilly.

So what, said Pat.

She glared at him. She was a lassie who took her fags out. Her packet lay on the desk and she was twiddling a box of matches in her hands.

So what’s too simple, replied Paul Moore.

Wrong.

Paul stared at Patrick, then shook his head.

Good … Patrick glanced at Evelyn Reilly: Not you Mirs Reilly.

Fuck off, she said.

If ye want to smoke smoke.

If I want to smoke I’m smoking.

What about Fiona Grindlay?

There’s nothing about Fiona Grindlay plus that and the baby.

Brian Nixon stood up. He put his hands into his jerkin pockets and shut his eyes, laughing; he shook his head and sat down again. And the bloke behind slapped him on the shoulder then stood up. The others looked to be waiting for him to speak. Danny Persse was his name.

Patrick said, Okay; if there’s nothing more on the referent it’s time, it’s that moment. And you’re the guy Mister Persse.

Evelyn Reilly struck a match suddenly, lighted her fag.

Fiona Grindlay called to her: That’s unfair!

Pat grinned. Your first tautology for a fortnight Mirs Grindlay. Well done.

Fiona smiled.

Patrick! said Evelyn Reilly.

Sir!

Wait till ye hear this! She pointed at Danny Persse who took a book from his inside jacket pocket and turned to a page he had marked:

I’ll read from the front, he said, strolling out and down to stand by the blackboard: It’s from a poem by Okot p’Bitek; okay:

Ten beautiful girls

Are walking in single file,

Along the pathway,

They carry axes

They are going to the bush

To split firewood,

In the grass lurks

The black mamba,

Its throat burning with venom.

The first three girls walk past,

Then the fourth and fifth,

And all nine girls go by,

And your daughter

Who is at the tail of the line

Is struck!

She stands there,

The reptile refuses to unhook its fangs,

She drinks a whole cup of death,

She gives a brief shriek

And mumbles some farewell

To her loving mother!

Then she drops

Dead!

Danny Persse shut the book immediately and added, I’ll just finish there. He glanced at Patrick and laughed, then he laughed to the class and particularly Evelyn Reilly who was chuckling away quietly, smoking her cigarette and blowing the smoke towards the window. When he returned to his desk he and Brian Nixon slapped their right hands together.

Well done, said Patrick.

And Danny Persse called: And all nine girls go by, except your daughter alone, who is fucking poisoned to death! Danny laughed again and shook his head.

Males! said Patrick Doyle MA (Hons), what about life?

It’s worth having: Danny Persse.

It’s better than nothing: Brian Nixon.

It doesnt belong to the bastards: Francis Connolly.

Sentimental tollie, said Evelyn Reilly.

Okay females … Pat said: A mate of my da’s who used to work in a carfactory down in Linwood before they got done in by the capitalists, he worked on the assemblyline and his job was to grease the insides of the doorpanels. And the poor fucker had this recurring nightmarish fantasy, that he would get wedged inside one of them — one of the doorpanels, and then he would get sealed in and flattened by the heavyduty punchgun process with his mouth twisted so unnaturally and badly awry that he wouldni be able to shout for help. Okay. Then one day he fucking disappeared. It was teabreak. The guys didni know where he had got to. He was never fucking seen again.

Silence.

Patrick said: But him and his missis had been having some difficult quarrels at the time so when he didni reappear she just put it down to that, the quarrels, and that he had just fucked off to start a new life in England or something. Instead of which he had got squashed.

That’s sickening, said Sheila Ramsay.

If it was the capitalists who done them in it was the capitalists who started them, said Ingrid Jones.

Wrong, replied Patrick. Males?

Ergo bibamus: Brian Nixon.

Laughter.

It’s a load of shite: Paul Moore.

Fiona Grindlay: What do you mean by ‘squashed’?

Sheila Ramsay: What is ‘a new life’?

Well done, said Patrick. Negation!

What is not a new life what is a new death not what is an old death, an old life, not the old life, not a rebirth, the same old renewal, that other way of not being, that unabsence … Sheila Ramsay raised her eyebrows, turned to Evelyn Reilly who handed her her cigarette; she grabbed a couple of long drags before continuing. She said: I just dont accept ‘new lives’. To me it’s a sign of floundering around. I think it’s not something to ever be proud of. I canni conceive of a person who can think of it.

Would it usually always be a man? said Ingrid Jones.

A male to answer! called Sheila; she returned the fag to Evelyn Reilly.

Silence.

Patrick! called Sheila.

He cleared his throat before replying: I would never think of ‘a new life’.

Booo! Francis Connolly.

Honest. I’m no kidding ye.

Paul Moore: How often do you consider suicide?

Daily.

Wrong.

Patrick nodded.

What about a synthesis! said Ingrid Jones.

Paul Moore smiled. Anybody that agrees with me and therefore nobody that can agree with me that agrees with me if nobody is agreeing with me, especially not our great teacher, Mister Patrick Doyle: and so forth.

You’re letting me down, said Patrick.

Pardon?

…

Paul Moore stared at Patrick and Patrick eventually looked away from the wee bastard who had gazed right into his heart and seen something rotten. Patrick could crawl into a corner. He could crawl under his desk. He could crawl into the wastepaper basket. He strolled to where Danny Persse had read from the poem and he said: I want some advice to do with my immediate plans. What I feel is I’m not enjoying being the person who teaches and if I canni do it here I dont want to do it anywhere. I’m saying to ye that there is a bit of a crisis in my life. I’m sick of being alone and being a teacher in a society that I say I detest all the time, to the extent that the term ‘detest’ isni really appropriate christ because it’s a form of obscenity.

Gary McGregor speaking for the first time since last week: You dont want to get transferred I take it?

That’s correct Mister McGregor.

And you dont want to leave either.

Yes.

But you canni stay?

Aye, that’s it.

Suicide?

Yep ya bastard ye, well done.

Laughter. And Gary McGregor was so pleased with himself and he grinned along at Fiona Grindlay. He was in love with her. He had been in love with her for quite a while. Patrick was now noticing this. Now that Patrick was noticing it he saw that he had been noticing this for ages without having registered the fact. Gary McGregor was in love with Fiona Grindlay. These things were aye happening right under your nose and you never ever bloody saw it, you never ever bloody saw them. Because of your total preoccupation with self. I think therefore I am: and the thing that I am is all of that which everything else isni.

Patrick said: Thanks for laughing one and all. You as well Fiona because you’re a hard nut to crack.

Thanks.

No sarcasm intended. Okay. I first considered suicide at the age of twelve, the same year I gave up believing in deities. It’s a good age for it. I suppose all my teachings are based on that. I regard the wee first-yearers as imminent suicides and if they areni they fucking should be, and I try to convey that to them. Did any of yous want to commit suicide at twelve years of age? Apart from Brian Nixon I mean.

Laughter.

Brian Nixon stood up and saluted; then he sat down again.