James Kelman - The Burn

The woman nodded but she took him by the elbow and he was powerless to refuse because how do you know it might well have been a chastisethment, something like that he was suffering and had to endure as a penance: but then he frowned at her a moment later and tried to pull himself clear because she could be a malevolent demon or something it seems stupid but who knows who knows the way things were and how life was turning against him, old-age pensioners plus her being a woman and maybe the wrath of a female because of what had just so lately taken place — he glanced down the stairs. I’m waiting for my fiancée, he said. He shrugged and smiled for a moment; We’re getting married, I’m just having to pass this wee test first, for my promotion, and then after that we’ll be putting the mortgage down for a house, a flat, a wee room and kitchen or something, a place of our own. . He grinned at her.

You’ll just be a minute, she said. Honestly. It’s because you see my husband gets agitated sometimes, he gets things on his mind and they’ll no let him go. She then made a brandishing motion with her right hand as if an indication of it, of how the things went inside her husband’s mind: He’s a worrier. He never used to be. Telling you son he was aye about the most relaxed man you could meet, but no now. Us being stuck in this lodging house just makes it worse.

Yeh. . He stared at his arm as she held it, leading him across the landing and up the stairs to the room directly above his own and therefore likely to have very similar walls and incisions; she held the door open for him to enter. The odour of something like ancient bodies filled the doorway. It wasnt a vile stench although he breathed in and out through his mouth to avoid it. The invalid husband was waiting. He had his three-angled contraption there which he was leaning on from the inside; he wore a dark-brown serge suit with outsize lapels and quite smartish-looking although it was creased as if he had been sitting in a certain way for too long, maybe like he had fallen asleep, dozed off, his bad leg resting maybe up on a stool, and further when you looked at the suit you could see it was greasy, shiny.

Here he is, said the woman.

What’s your name young fellow? asked the invalid.

My name’s eh. . He paused. He was wondering why he should be giving his name to a complete stranger. He couldnt remember helping him up the blasted stair last week with no blasted suitcases either — neither him nor his damn wife, this old woman and her quasi-humble politeness. Edward Pritchard, he said, emphasising the two ards as he used to do many years ago when he was in primary school, about eight years of age or something and thought such a remarkable poetic feature just had to be a personal and secret message from Jesus setting him apart from his fellows, it was pathetic, pathetic — as if he had any reason to be famous, because all he was cut out for was what he was about to receive for his sins, sent out on the road as a working sales for the rest of his days, whenever he could bloody get a damn job and lump it, just bloody lump it, he was never going to be anything special, nothing, he wasnt going to amount to anything really at all, these silly stupid dreams, none of it was worth a damn, because he had ruined it all, his entire life, and that was that, he was finished, it was over, he was never going to make it at all, you would be as well laughing at the very idea, because he was a malcontent who committed transgressions in the name of the Lord and was therefore doomed.

You go away Catherine, the invalid commanded.

His wife looked at him as if she was trying to figure out what he was thinking.

Go a message, he said. I want to have a word with the young fellow. The invalid had taken one of his hands off from the contraption now and was waving at her to leave and you felt you hoped he wouldnt fall down and hurt himself his hands were so shaky. What could he want maybe it was a male problem or something to discuss or else to give him a hand in some way, shave him or something the old guy because he needed a shave he looked like he hadnt shaved for a couple of days, and if his hands were suffering from too many twitches

The old woman was now pulling on her overcoat, a quite smart one for rainy weather, pink and grey and her legs were short. Some people had funny short legs thank the Lord it wasnt him he couldnt imagine it, walking down the road having to step over puddles, big puddles with your wee toty stride, how could you manage it it would be so bloody difficult you had to admire her, she was so strong in the face of the world, that was a trait though in old women he found, they were so brave, his grannie was like that; plus his other one who was now dead; they had come through the mill — this old woman especially with her invalid husband, having to take care of him what the hell did he bloody want! My God he didnt even look worried, no really. And when the door closed behind his wife he started gesticulating. Sit down! he commanded, imperious old bugger, glancing roundabout and then manoeuvring his way to a chair nearby the window. He got himself seated and sighed deeply. And he looked at Edward.

Edward wanted to have something to say but there was nothing, there was nothing at all and his brow became furrowed.

See young fellow what it is, I’ve got a confession to make and I dont want Catherine to know.

Edward felt his head go funny at this but he kept his eyes open and concentrated hard.

Poor old sowel she’s got enough on her plate, she works hard and she looks after me you see, she looks after me. The invalid breathed in sharply, then sighed. Edward had been watching him very attentively and he too breathed in sharply but via his nostrils and it was terrible. The smell was a fuisty one of dirt, and it was definitely coming from the old bloke. A fuisty smell of dirt — or excrement! Shit, old shit. God! Maybe he needed his bum cleaned and was too proud to tell his wife. Oh dear. Oh dear. Edward just couldnt cope with that, he couldnt, he just couldnt cope with it if he was maybe not able to attend to himself for heaven’s sake did they not have home-helps, had the government stopped home-helps now and strangers were getting called in to wipe folk’s bums, old invalid people who couldnt manage it theirselves and were wanting to hide it from their nearest and dearest so the neighbours, now having to get called in. He ran his hand across his forehead, opened his eyes widely.

You see young fellow I’ve got this confession to make. What’s your name? No, dont tell me, it’s best I dont know. Now pay attention: before they invalided me out my job of work I used to be involved in what some people would call malpractice; some other people would call it sabotage and other people again, well, they would call it something else all the gether. What I used to do you see was the spanner-in-the-works carry-on; I used to stop the line. Understand me? That was what I did, wherever it was I was working, I used to bring things to a halt — I tried to anyway. That’s the shape my politics took and that’s the shape they were; and I cant help it and nor did I ever want to help it, and I’ve never wanted to change things neither. But as a way of living my life so to speak what it means is I’ve aye had to do what my conscience tells me. There’s no an in-between. Now. .

The invalid stopped there and he studied Edward as if wanting to make sure who it was he was telling all this.

But Edward’s face was expressionless.

Now the last place I worked in was a firm by the name of eh Gross National Products which, as you probably guess, is a made-up name. I dont want to tell you the real one because you never know you might be a police informer.

Edward smiled after a moment, shaking his head.