James Kelman - The Burn

Oh God God God. And it was like it was going to be as if the old guy with the bad legs had been sent down here to help him in his hour of need. That was what it had been like. Edward raised his head and glanced at Deborah’s wrists. Because there was something in how that old guy had looked, a sort of honesty, as if there were no clouds surrounding him at all. What like was it it was something

He didnt want to think, he didnt want to

The kind of thing that was difficult.

She wasnt the usual kind of woman how could you say she was, she wasnt. What like was she with her sister? Her smell. Deborah had a smell. It was a smell of skin, how her skin gave a smell that was different. His shoulders were now weak. How they were weak. He also felt cold. One time with the tennis league from school camp they were on this what they called ‘manoeuvre’, pretending to be commando troops and Bob Finlay had cheroots from Holland he had stolen off a prefect and they had all smoked them. My God was that bad! So terrible and bad and maybe the worst queasiness he had ever experienced. You had to grow up and get involved as an adult, a man, you had to get to be a man, like that old invalid and the troubles all over the world what a span of mind he had, somebody that kept going in spite of his handicap and did all the things he did. Edward just to be honest felt he would never have coped with being shut in, stuck in offices with crowds of folk in shirts and ties and smart outfits and all the pecking orders.

Your memories just come. We dont have any control. The good Lord made us with memory boxes. Inside each one of them as well is the Voice of Conscience. And the Voice isnt your own. As well as that it’s in touch with everybody else’s. It was part of how the Voice could say what was right and wrong. It had the insight because it had some sort of ghostly communication with everything.

The door opened and Deborah came in. She hadnt been holding him. She must have gone away when he wasnt looking. Now she was back again and holding a cup. Drink this, she said, it’s just water. He took the cup and she held it to his mouth as he turned his head to sip it, her face staring at him. You look bad. He closed his eyes.

I feel like a bad sinner he rushed on and gazing straight at her, It’s a feeling all day maybe I’m working too hard, no sleeping enough. He stared at her. I dont get on with Jeanette you know I was meaning to tell you that. She’s your sister but I dont. I just dont. And I cant help it.

What? What d’you mean?

I dont get on with her and dont want to see her again, that’s all. It’s like there’s something wrong, wrong. He sipped the water then lifted the nearest folder and flicked at a page. He said, D’you want to get something to eat?

But what are you saying about Jeanette?

Nothing.

Yes you are.

I’m not, honest.

You dont get on with her? You’re saying you dont get on with her.

It doesnt matter.

It does.

It doesnt.

But it does Edward, it matters, if you dont like my sister.

I dont, it’s just — I dont not like her at all, it’s just

Just what?

It’s just. . He sighed. I thought we were going for a curry.

Well I didn’t know what we were doing.

D’you not want to

Edward, for God sake!

She had taken her coat off. And the kettle was going. He stared into the cup of water. There was something wrong with him. He wasnt a good man. It was as plain as the nose on your face. He just hadnt seen it before. He hadnt seen . It had always been there but he just hadnt looked. Other people had seen but he hadnt. They all knew it. Except him.

Oh Christ

She had pushed him on the shoulder. What’s up with you! she cried.

I’m sorry. I’m sorry. I’m just no well, leave me alone.

What’s wrong?

There’s nothing wrong, I’m just

She was staring at him.

My head

She was so staring at him.

My head

Her mouth going what’s wrong, what’s wrong . It’s my head I’ve just got a sore head it’s so bloody sore and my insides, wracking and dry I’m just all dry inside and I need water. He gulped a mouthful from the cup and it shook in his hand and he put his other round it steadying it, getting it firm but his hands were shaking it maybe he needed food, maybe that’s what it was.

But was it him?

Fine

What?

Deborah smiling

What is it? he said, he smiled. It wasnt me, he said, it was her, it was her. If she claims about me, it was her — because

because it was her seduced him, it wasnt him, he didnt seduce her, that was the so bloody unlucky thing about it, the whole business, because he was the man, that’s how it went, that was the trials and tribulations of it, just being a man, the maleness; it was so unlucky it

he gestured at the A4 folders. I just dont know what to do with my life.

That’s fine but tell me?

I killed an insect earlier on

I dont want to hear about a bloody insect Edward I want to hear about what you’re saying about Jeanette!

But Deborah I just squashed the thing, the wee soul, I just actually killed it, in cold blood, just like you would I dont know I was going to say kill a beetle, that’s how bad it is for the poor wee creatures. It’s become a byword for it all, death and destruction and just wanton brutality, even the way you sell your equipment to people, how the guys just gyp people into buying rubbish they dont want. The whole thing, it’s just so awful, it’s terrible and wanton and just goes against everything God stands for. People dont want that sort of life. They dont. They dont want it. It shouldnt be forced on us.

You’re no listening!

I am

You’re not.

I am! It’s just the way things are. You take the way I live my life just as an ordinary man; this is an average day and I’ve committed awful sins. Just like wanton brutality. And I feel so awful. . just so bad just so awful bad.

God Edward what’s wrong with you?

Nothing. He stared at her. She had leaned to gaze into his face and she had placed each hand on his shoulders.

You’ve not been eating and now your stomach’s in knots because of the work you’ve been doing for tomorrow morning’s test.

Yeh, he smiled and laid his right hand on top of her left hand while it still lay on his shoulder. Aw Deborah, he said, aw Deborah.

For three long days and three long nights we drank together, me being there simply because I had nowhere else to go, nobody else to be with, not a soul, not in the whole world; and the other strictly because it was business, and the business lay in the undermining of the other, his crony, me. And not that he was going anywhere either as it happens, although this information is irrelevant, him being a sort of a businessman first but a human being second, and the business in hand was in being here with me, his crony, so-called.

The rest of the company found the thing a spectacle, an incident worthy of the greatest attention. On the one hand it was amusing but on the other there was this sordid undercurrent, them being in the know about the nature of the business. But me and him, as far as ordinary onlookers were concerned, we were the greatest of pals, even if it now seems likely we neither of us understood one word the other was saying.

There was something about it all made the rest of the company wax lyrical, a bad sweet kind of thing. You would have thought the one was not being undermined by the other, that this other was not in the business of undermining me. But the real reason for this false lyricism lay in the rest of the company wanting to consolidate their own fraternity. And meanwhile this barely disguised actual assault on fraternity was continuing right in front of their very eyes, it was quite disgusting, it just deserved contempt, the strong one seeking out the intimacy of the weaker, i.e. me. Plus over their bottles of beer and tumblers of whisky or vodka.