James Kelman - The Burn

what was the time what was the time! Deborah had left her house she had left her house. She had been away seeing her parents today. She was now getting the train. She was at the station and getting the train. Her parents lived nearby a railway station, so it was good and convenient. The train let her off in the city centre and then she got a bus from behind St Enoch’s subway station straight to his place. Who in heaven’s name was St Enoch? Where had he come from? Was he even a man! She would be here in half an hour. Unless she was late oh please God make her late if she was just late for a little bit, to let him think straight and get his mind on things and how he was to handle what he would say to her because he had never been what you would call a good teller of tales, teller of lies, of fibs, i.e. never any good at it, at telling them, so he needed out of selling, out of the selling racket all together, he was no good at it, he wasnt, it wasnt his forte; he would be much better at training others, if he could just get onto that training course. He would be good at it. He would be good. He would try so bloody hard. Plus his memory was fine and it was a memory you needed.

The A4 folders spread out on the table. All the mumbo jumbo. Because frankly this is what it was, a load of mumbo jumbo, and high time somebody informed Head Office of the fact. He should actually just burn it all and run away. He had no chance of passing tomorrow with flying colours. He didnt, he just didnt have any chance. He was doomed to lead a life of terrible distaste, a guy for whom life will never ever be a time for fun, trying to survive on the road and failing failing failing thus back on the broo and having to face up to the people down at the DSS office, how they would just ignore him and humiliate him all day long because here he was seeking handouts from a decent Government agency like them. Why had he thought so badly of them! They were just doing a bloody job same as him if he was doing it, he would just be doing a job, it wasnt his bloody fault

Oh God, he just wasnt any good at it it was all his own fault, how in the name of heaven had he left college why had he been so bloody damn daft and absolutely stupid and damn stupid naive that’s what he was oh God, he just wasnt any good at it, he wasnt –

I’m not. I am not any bloody good at it. Please help me. I am having to face up to those who hate me. They dont mean to but they do. I do not blame them because they sin, because they sin against me. Please to help me overcome, amen.

He wasnt any good at it. He would be better if he was doing something different. Or else out of it altogether. It was best he resigned in advance. If only he could have made better use of his education and stuck it all out instead of leaving when he had, if he had stuck it through to the bitter end. But even if he had gone in to the Post Office bank like his dad had advised him to do: and so strongly. That was his experience talking. If he had just listened to him, but he hadnt, he just hadnt bloody listened because he had wanted bloody out, because he had hated the place and he just couldnt get his heart in it he just couldnt like it at all, what he was doing there, what they were asking him to do and all that stupid damn studying for no reason, it was all just bloody nonsense and difficult and even if it had been difficult and had a purpose but it didnt, it was just for nothing, graphs and statistical analysis, and nobody ever talking to you, it was like they all knew each other from years ago, except him, he was a sore thumb, he was a sore thumb, or else he would have done it properly, he would have stuck in and just managed it, he would have concentrated hard, hard.

How come he had not bloody done it when he had the chance! He was just a damn fool. He had always been a damn fool. His dad knew it, he knew it; you could tell by the way he looked. And probably mum secretly agreed although she made excuses for him. And Deborah knew it as well, she did, it was bloody obvious, he was just a damn bloody fool. She would maybe forgive him his trespass if he told her truthfully, if he explained it, all he had to do was explain it and then she would see because it was her sister, her own sister: it was her led him into the spider’s web and trapped him and it was just male sexuality and her breasts and stockings and her thighs.

And there was just no possibility of her staying the night for heaven’s sake that just wasnt on. How could it be it couldnt be it just was beyond anything, even having washed.

The thing about Deborah of course her character trait it wasnt so much her temper but her stubbornness, how stubborn she was. It was just so bad; she had to learn to control it, she really did — otherwise it would definitely cause her problems in life. Maybe that had something to do with Jeanette, the way Jeanette had acted with him, if she had maybe been upset by Deborah if they had had a fall-out, and this was her taking revenge, seducing him, her sister’s fiancée, the future brother-in-law. But had it been on the cards you could say it had been on the cards. Things had been

Well it was that selfsame very sister’s own fault. It was, it was her own damn fault, damn and bloody blast. Her own mother had even referred to that awful bloody stubbornness which was surely something because normally they stick together mothers and daughters

At that moment a loud chap-chap at the door just about gave him a heart attack, he nearly toppled over, having returned to the sink, the trousers still at the ankles but he very quickly got himself ready and glanced into the mirror to see he was okay, steadying himself, he closed his eyes for some moments because life, because

he wasnt good he just wasnt good, he wasnt, he felt so bloody, so damn

the chap-chap at the door again. He walked forwards and turned the handle. It was a small elderly old woman. It wasnt Deborah. His head craned over her. He felt like the Blackpool Tower and she was a wee midget. She spoke to him; what she said was something like, I’m your neighbour up the stairs if you mind son myself and my husband moved in last week.

Pardon?

You gave us a wee hand up with our suitcases and our bags.

Yeh, yeh.

If you mind the housing put us in after we got decanted out our own place.

Aye aye, that’s right that’s right, yeh. . He stared at her then stepped out and peered sideways. He said, Go on, the coast being clear. Go on, he said, yes, what is it?

The woman studied him, evidently thinking he was being uncalled-for abrupt and hostile to her.

Sorry. Sorry sorry sorry. He didnt mean it at all. He really didnt. I’ve got a sore head just now, he told her, I’m studying for a test tomorrow for my work. It’s an in-house thing and it’s really

He frowned at the woman: what the hell was he telling her for! He said: What is it you want, is it something you want?

My husband would like you to come up the stair a minute, he would like a word with you.

Pardon?

If you wouldnt mind. He’s just awful worried the now about something and he’ll no tell me. . And onto her face appeared a kind of — what look? a something look, it would have flummoxed you. He stared at her and then glanced away in case something bad happened. And she said, You know how he’s an invalid.

Aw aye, yeh, that’s right, an invalid — he’s got a walking stick or whatever it is one of these three-angled triangular frame things whatever you call them, sorry, I mean. . Is he wanting me to do something?

He’ll tell you himself.

Yeh but missis it’s just I’m so busy the now, I’m just so busy, I’ve got all this, God, stuff I’m studying and having to learn, to memorise, for the morrow morning, first thing. . And he was about to fling back the door and show her but no, no, she was the last person he wanted to see inside his room, the last person, somebody like her, unspotted, untainted, such a fresh old lady with her invalid husband who never had had a bad thought in her entire life, who had never ever periodically once upon a time ever felt or saw, thought or spoke an evil word, deed or action please the Lord.