James Kelman - The Burn

He listened to her and all the things she told him. He listened to it all, everything. It was like he had never heard anything like what she could tell and never ever thought anybody he knew could know such things, especially her never mind it was back when she was a wee lassie, as if it was her to blame as well, them being true in reality. You could imagine him there with his hand on his forehead close to staggering under the news, the burden of that just. It was enough to make her smile but she kept it to herself and just carried on telling him all what she felt like, she just didnt care. And then as well was the time she never left the room but just stayed there for as long as she liked, and he was outside and she could hear him listening there, wondering, if she was sitting maybe on the side of the bed staring into the wallpaper and the shapes from the design, a thick wallpaper which caused shadows on itself and you could see the world there or part of it, the bits that hide underneath where folk are dead and dying, getting killed and there they are all bleeding with their bits and pieces oozing out there on the grass, the dirt, and nobody to see.

She could have worked in an office and had a career. That was what she should have done, if she had got the chance, a career-woman. She would have been better than him and she wouldnt only have had terrible folk to know because she would have been different. And she wouldnt have been with him. She wouldnt have been with anybody maybe, maybe no anybody at all. She would just have kept her own door. She would have had it nice, she wouldnt have had him. Not him and not nobody. If she had wanted one she would have took one, it was easy, men looking at you, that was easy But she just wouldnt want one, she wouldnt. She would just have had her own friends. She would have made a man up if she wanted one. That’s how she would have done it. All clumsy and sweating. Her man would have been small, small-boned; he wouldnt have made a noise, he would just have been there when she wanted, and when she didnt he wouldnt, because he would have known. And he would have respected her. And he would have admired her and maybe liked her and loved her. He wouldnt have thought things. He would have been good to her. You think of men who respect a woman. They would be there. That was what she always thought, she believed it.

When she told him she was going he stared at her, stupefied. Instead of shouting and bawling he asked her to repeat what she had just said. She did so, stepping back a yard, though by the set of her face and demeanour generally she wasnt at all scared for any physical reason. He looked at the carpet and frowned. Then while fumbling a cigarette to his mouth he offered her one but she declined, gesturing at the ashtray on the coffee table where she had one already, it lay smouldering; he stared at it, an Embassy Regal.

She was lifting a suitcase in the direction of the door, a grey suitcase. He was puzzled. Where the hell had she got it from? He had never seen it before. Dark grey it was, with green trimmings all round the edge.

And she was taking care not to meet his gaze. What did that mean?

But what was she playing at altogether?

She was at the door, hesitating but there, standing the suitcase upright between her feet.

Suddenly he knew what it was. They had turned her head. It’s them, he said, they’ve turned your head. But he was so aware of how doleful he sounded. But he battered on talking to her. I knew it would happen. You aye said it wouldnt but I knew it would. I knew it, right from the start. I did. I knew it. I mean did I or didnt I?

She nodded slowly. You were right, I was wrong.

Aye but I dont want to be right, I dont want to be right. .

It’s no your fault, dont think that — it’s me. I’m just. . I’m just. .

Naw, he said, dont go blaming yourself because it’s no you it’s them, it’s down to them.

She didnt answer. She was looking at him in a way hard to describe. It was probably a mixture of things, feeling sorry for him was one, feeling disloyal would be another. What else? Oh she was just fucking probably feeling sick, sick in the belly. He nodded and inhaled on his cigarette. He didnt care if he died of bronchitis, or cancer. If he was going to be alone he was as well dead anyway because he couldnt live on his own — he would be dead in a week, he would go mad, he had to have people, he needed them, he just needed them. Her. He needed her. So how could he just stand there staring at her leave, he couldnt, it just wasnt fucking a possibility.

I’ve been growing away from you, she was telling him.

God! She was sounding like she was bloody pleading! He felt like bursting into floods of tears. She was pleading. He could see it in her eyes.

I have been for a while, she said.

Jesus Christ she was going to break his heart at this rate because she was telling what was the whole truth and nothing but the truth and he sucked on his fag once again, getting the smoke and holding it and sucking on it again and shutting his eyes, clenching the lids shut there for Christ sake. She was talking to him:

I wanted to wait and tell you. . I could’ve went this afternoon but I decided I wanted to wait and see you face to face.

I appreciate it, he blurted out and meant it, he meant every word.

It wouldnt have been fair otherwise, she said.

Naw.

Just going I mean. .

How come she had tacked that bit on the end, just going I mean, what had she said it for? Could she no just have shut up? Why did she need to bloody add on these wee bits. Why did she no just shut up! Her fucking mouth! Why did she no just shut up!

Just going I mean, she said, it wouldnt have been fair to you, to us.

O God. To us! If he was to let her go on still she was going to make it worse and worse and worse and bloody fucking worse again. He shook his head and sighed. He stared at her: Do you expect me to take ye back if you decide you want to come back? Eh?

The suitcase there between her feet.

Eh? he said, his voice that bit louder.

She just stared at him and the implication was: Have we sunk to this? that you could accuse me of that?

Come on, he said, I’m just trying to be realistic. To be practical. You might want to. It happens. People split up, they walk out on their partners and then decide they want to come back — the grass turns out to be no so green as they thought. .

She was already shaking her head but he continued on, okay, a stubborn bastard: No but how do you know? he said, you cant know for sure. And I mean do you expect me to just take ye back if it does happen?

I dont think it will though.

Aye but how do ye know I mean I like the way you say that as if ye know for sure but how the hell can ye I mean ye bloody cant. He stared at her. Eh? Ye cant for sure.

God, she was getting impatient and he had to play for time Christ because otherwise she was right out the fucking door, she was just right out and away. Look, he said, it’s a simple question I’m asking.

What is?

It was lost. He stared at her. He couldnt think of it. His mind was blank. She was really truly, really truly, she was leaving. You’re leaving, he said. And he rushed on: All I’m saying is do you expect me to take ye back if you come back? If ye come back.

What do you mean? she said, and there was terrible sadness and worry all intermingled, he felt like sitting down, so tired right at that moment, the force of what she was doing, of what was happening right here and now between them for what now seemed to be forever, permanent separation, a permanent separation. .

The tears were there in her eyes.

But do you? he said loudly, getting angry with her for this and her fucking pity, pitying him. Dont fucking pity me, he said, just dont fucking pity me.