James Kelman - The Burn

Alan sighed in an exaggeratedly amused way; as if we had always been great mates and he understood me from top to bottom. You’re a failed scholar, he said, a failed trades-union organiser, plus you’re a failed socialist.

Dont be fucking cheeky.

More important, he said, you’re skint, and we know you’re skint. We bumped into Willie Donnelly yesterday morning and he told us.

Willie Donnelly told you. .

And anyway James, Sheila was saying, if that lassie who works behind the counter knows what ye do for a hobby, she’ll give you a good discount.

What d’ye mean what I do for a hobby, what ye talking about now?

Are ye no still writing your wee stories with a working-class theme?

My wee stories with a working-class theme. . Do you mean my plays?

I thought it was wee stories.

Well you thought wrong cause it’s plays, and it’s fucking realism I’m into as well if it makes any difference.

It’ll no matter, said Alan with a wink. As long as she knows ye write something plus if you give her a nice smile.

Do you know who you’re talking about, I said, you’re talking about Sharon! Sharon. . I glanced quickly across at the counter to see if she had heard. Lovely Sharon! Beautiful lovely Sharon who wears that tight black T-shirt!

Fucking joke man you’re crazy, the pair of yous. I stared at him: You must be a headcase, and I’m no kidding ye. That’s Sharon you’re talking about. A nice smile! What do ye think this is at all a fucking charity shop man this is a fucking classy bookstore and she’s a fucking classy woman. Christ! A nice smile! Give her a nice smile! A lovely lassie like that! Look, in the first place I dont want the bloody things. There isni a second place.

Rubbish, says Sheila, who are ye trying to kid? Then she smiled at Alan: He thinks we dont know!

Alan grinned. And he added, So that’s okay then James. .

Okay? It’s not fucking okay. It’s not fucking okay at all. Come on, take these fucking books out my arms and let me go. Christ almighty yous’ve landed me with at least fifteen here so it’s going to cost a bloody small fortune.

Aye but they’re a surprise, said Alan, plus you’ll like them. I know you’ll like them, because you always did.

I always did?

You were aye the same, back when we were weans the gether.

You’re actually mixing me up with somebody else I think. Unless you’re just trying to annoy me.

He’s no trying to annoy you at all, said Sheila, poking me on the side of the arm, and I had to step forward to balance the books and stop them falling:

Heh watch it, I said, careful.

Well he’s no trying to annoy you.

That’s a matter of bloody opinion because I think he is. And I dont know either how you wanted to butt in there and poke me Sheila because it’s no got fuck all to do with you there, that last sentence, the statement I made to him because if it had been intended for you I would’ve fucking done it like that, I would’ve addressed myself like that, to you I mean.

Sheila grinned. You’ve definitely no changed!

I stared at her. I’ve totally changed. Totally. I kept on staring at her because one of these funny wee mental things had happened in my nut where the word totally was sounding like it had changed its meaning or something and if I had been working at the typewriter I’d have probably knocked over the fucking Tipp-Ex bottle — and what was the name of the guy that sang the ‘I Belong To Glasgow’ song? Because for some reason this is what I wanted to know at that precise moment. Then I was speaking:

Since yous two knew me, I was saying, since yous two knew me. .

Sheila was nodding, encouraging me to speak on.

I breathed oxygen into my lungs to get myself ordered. Not only have I went totally baldy, I says, I’m divorced. Mary chucked me in for another man.

Mary chucked you in for another man. . said Sheila in a loud whisper. My God!

Who did she chuck you in for? asked Alan.

After a moment I told him: That eedjit McCulloch.

McCulloch! He laughed out loud then shook his head to put a check on himself. He calmed down and frowned man-to-man. James James James. But that’s serious eh? And he winked to destroy any semblance of genuine sympathy.

I dont really know what ye mean, serious. And to be honest with ye, and you as well. . I said to Sheila, I dont know how come yous are calling me James all the time; friends call me Jimmy and family call me Jim. Ye know what I’m talking about?

The pair of them looked like they were bewildered. I carried on speaking. Aside from that, being divorced and all the rest of it, I’ve given up all habits of the flesh; that includes alcohol, cannabis, marijuana, masturbation as well. I’m probably heading towards that strange state Charles Dickens mentions once or twice to get himself out of plotting problems, internal combustion.

Internal combustion? said Sheila.

Aye. He was a novelist but. I’m a playwright. Know what I mean, I’m involved in drama. Drama. Because according to yous pair I’m no, I’m a naval historian or some fucking thing, a compiler of Hollywood movie-star bio-pic photographs — mildly titillatory as well by the looks of these cover designs. But it’s the naval histories that are the worst, I’ve never been interested in them in all my entire puff. And in some ways I should take it as an insult that that’s what yous think of me because enormous tomes like this smack of an unhealthy fascination with the trammels of empire building and as you were so ready to point out a minute ago Alan, my concerns have aye been communistic at the very right of it, to put it fucking mildly.

Alan smiled. Ye aye had a good sense of humour as well.

Did I?

Aye.

You could’ve fooled me.

Well it must’ve been somebody else then.

Exactly.

Somebody awful like you.

Aye. Maybe the guy that saved up books on naval history for a hobby. And I stared at him so he knew I was not kidding. Behind him I could see Mr Moir who managed the bookshop gazing along at us. This was all I needed, my credibility destroyed completely. Look, I said, I would be grateful if yous took all these books out my arms and I’ll help yous return them to their proper places. Honest, this is like a bad dream.

I leaned closer to them both and whispered, It’s my favourite bookshop. I sometimes get reductions. . Aye, you’re right, the lassie at the desk does know that I write plays. I think she does honestly like me although I daresay she probably just expects me to die young or something and it’s romantic, like what she expects out of literature due to the influence of some totally fucking crazed teacher of English. She waits till Mister Moir goes off somewhere else and then I go up and get my purchases weighed in at maybe 33 and a third off.

Jammy bastard! whispered Alan. I knew that was how it’d be. You were exactly the same when you worked on the buses, that wee bird you were shagging over in Gartcraig Garage, mind?

I gaped at him.

I hate that word, Sheila was saying with her eyes closed, it’s really ugly.

I looked at her. Come on, my fucking arms are falling off. Get these fucking books off or else I’ll have sprained wrists — my tendons have been inflamed for years, fucking tynosinovitis.

Having sex with I meant to say. . said Alan to Sheila, Sorry love. . then he winked at me.

Everybody knew! said Sheila, smiling. When yous waited in the office for the last staff bus and then never sat the gether, and then yous aye got off two stops separate as if we didni know yous were going to run into a close as soon as our backs were turned and the bus was out of sight!

Randy buggers! winked Alan.

And then Sheila started that laugh she did — she was famous for it — a hoo a hoo a hoo, a hoo hoo hoo; that was the way she laughed, it would have drove you fucking potty.