James Kelman - The Burn

Derek smiled.

Honest. Listen to this too: fucking mate of mine, right, a guy I go climbing with, he went to Uni; know what they told him the very first day he arrived? I’m talking about a first-year student, seventeen poxy fucking years of age: know what they told him?

What?

You’re the cream. You’re the cream son, that’s what they told him; you’re the top eight percent in this country. The other fucking ninety two’s a bunch of fucking headbangers, that’s what they told him; some fucking lecturer, so-called Marxist — specialist in the lumpen proletariat — that’s what he fucking telt them! Well I’ll tell you something man, I want to fucking go up fucking University Avenue and fucking strangle the bastard, that’s what I fucking want to do.

Mm.

No fucking kidding ye; it’s pathetic, just pathetic. And then they all go about gawking at each other; they do! Fucking gawking at each other! Total wonder and amazement at their own fucking uniqueness. Whatever crap the lecturers dish them out too ye know they all listen to it, they all fucking listen to it. We were the same man. We all went about with this wee smile on our fucking faces. Predestination. The chosen few. Bound for Glory.

Woody Guthrie.

Woody Guthrie.

No everybody falls for it.

No everybody falls for it, okay. Okay; no everybody falls for it. Fin had lifted his pint tumbler, he paused before drinking from it: But see cunts like McAllister Derek they’re the worst. The so-called radicals. They’re just Sammys dressed up.

Derek laughed.

They are but. See if Sammy ever became a lecturer up there that’s what he’d be, another Joe McAllister, getting all the students following him about like wee puppy dogs, screwing all the first-year lassies, getting all the boys thinking he was the greatest rebel in the world — genuine revolutionary and all that, Che Guevara on twenty grand a year plus perks for a twenty six hour week. Ah for christ sake. Fin snorted, then began chuckling. Fucking crazy. They’re the worst but, it’s them keeps the system going; straight dialectics; they inject the new energy, they give it the power, the fucking life, the weltenschang whatever ye call it. In fact they dont, they dont, they actually stop it; they stop it; they fucking crush it at birth. You’re just lucky ye missed it. I had it for four years.

After a moment Derek said, So what’s my part?

Fin nodded.

Ye started off gonni tell me something, I wasni to take it the wrong way ye said.

Aye. . Fin sighed, smiling: You went too soon man that’s your trouble.

I had nay choice.

Och I know, I know. .

So what is it?

Uch nothing. I mean I’ve more or less said it. It’s no a big thing — although it is, in a way, it is; ye see ye left a lasting impression.

Yeh well.

Ye did. Ye fucking spurred me anyway. No at first but gradually, ye know, I’m dead serious, it’s a good kick up the arse I was needing. I mean. . that’s what I was needing, a good kick up the arse. Fin chuckled. They fucking hated what you did. Oh they did man dont fucking kid yerself. The unnameable. Whenever some cunt like McAllister started on with all that crap about how any real artist will aye beat the system, there you were, with the swag bag, getting the boot, artist or no it doesni fucking matter. First it’s the economics, then after that it’s the economics again.

Derek shrugged.

Dont underestimate it.

I dont.

It got in the way of the propaganda.

That means my life hasni been in vain.

Dont underestimate it.

I dont.

Fin nodded.

Ye just have a habit of sounding as if ye dont think I know fuck all.

Rubbish.

Is it?

Fuck sake Derek.

Ye’ve been patronising me all night.

I’ve no.

Ye fucking have.

It was a lesson ye see. For all the would-be revolutionaries; artist as rebel and all that, as long as ye dont interfere with the property.

Yeh.

I’m no patronising ye at all.

That’s good.

Christ that’s the last thing I’d do.

Anyway, let’s change the subject.

Ye keep saying I’m patronising ye man, and I’m no.

Just let’s change the subject.

Fuck sake. Fin shook his head.

Just the now, ye know, cause of my mother and that.

I’m sorry.

Derek nodded. Want a whisky or something?

No really, naw.

I feel like one. . Look Fin it was a fucking brainstorm what I did. Just fucking stupidity, right. That’s all it was. The stuff was lying there and it was an empty room. I’m no even sure now if it wasni a prank. A prank, know what I mean. Maybe it was. I canni even remember. Total stupidity.

But what are mothers for eh! I left it for her to sort out. Derek smiled. When I didni know what to do next, I left it for her; the stuff Fin, I left it on the bed. I got off my mark. I couldni handle it. But it didni break her heart. In fact she was quite a wise auld dame. Quite shrewd. Quite shrewd. . Derek stopped to breathe in. He smiled again, took off the hat and footered with the brim. After she returned them the stuff Peterson went up to see her.

I heard that.

He told her I was a silly boy but they wereni gonni press charges.

Cheeky bastard.

Wish to fuck I’d just dumped the stuff.

That woulda really done it, they only had it on loan.

Yeh! I woulda taken that into consideration! Derek shook his head: Fucking indignity but eh fucking indignity — the whole thing.

Fin was silent for a moment, then he said: Some of them probably still hate ye for it ye know, stealing their thunder as potential rebels.

A legend in my own lifetime eh, Sydney Devine.

Fin chuckled.

Imagine influencing a generation but, think I’ll go and impress that lassie in the black tights. Derek put the hat back on his head: Sure ye dont want a short?

Uch okay, if ye’re having one.

Whisky?

Aye.

As Derek walked to the bar he could see the phone being used, a guy talking into it. Once it was free he would try Audrey’s number again — better now before the drink started hitting. He put both hands on the edge of the bar, shifting his stance; maybe go for a curry after, he was bloody hungry as well.

The barmaid came past and he called for two whiskies. Glenmorangies, he said, would ye make it doubles. . She turned to the gantry without acknowledging him, sticking the first glass up under the optic.

The phone was now available. He knew the Plymouth code. Would she be home! Of course. Unless she was out. He scratched at his ear, his finger nudging the brim of the hat. For some reason the woman was off serving somebody else. She had the second Glenmorangie poured but she had left it on the gantry shelf.

It was a pint of Guinness she was attending to, she must have been waiting for it to settle before topping it up, at which point he had come in with his order for the two whiskies. So now she was finishing the previous customer. Nothing wrong with that. He reached for the jug of water, poured a fair amount into the tumbler. It looked sickly. He wasni a whisky drinker. That was just that. He shouldni have ordered it. Impressing Fin. Doubles as well. Fucking typical. Foolish. But he was foolish. That’s exactly what he was. A foolish young man. Not a boy. A man. At his age and in his situation he was no longer entitled to call himself a boy, not even a foolish one, not even in his own head, especially in his own head. That was another fact of life.

Five pound sixty, said the barmaid, the second Glenmorangie in front of him.

Five pound sixty. . wwh! He got the money out, gave her a tenner. He raised the whisky to his lips while she was getting him the change. But he didnt drink any. It wouldnt be refreshing. Refreshing is the last thing it would be. There wasnt any drink that would be refreshing now, except tea, a cup of tea. With two sugars. He closed his eyes, smiling, but not at anything in particular.