James Kelman - If it is your life

She smiled. I also smiled. I saw her hand now on the table and imagined it reaching to mine in that measured way she had.

I thought you might have changed, she said,

Jees, you really know how to hurt people!

That is what I am talking about. You are so sarcastic.

I nodded.

So sarcastic. You are.

What can I say? Do you not think the very act of coming to tell me your troubles is sarcastic? I mean if that is not sarcastic I dont know what is, coming to my place like that, my home, and knowing what I’ll do is anything, anything, I’ll do anything, just whatever. Whatever. God, life is so fucking horrible fucking crap Jenny, so crap.

She could never have believed how much crap, never never, only just the worst, how life takes charge, takes a grip, and Jenny had a napkin in her hand. She was twisting it, looking at me. It was like a wetness about her eyes, dabbing the napkin there. Did I make her feel that way? No, it was mister married bastard.

Is that guy really hurting you? I said. Eh? Jees oh Jenny dont let him get you like that, a guy like him, it’s not like you to let that happen. It really is not like you, know what I mean, a fucking shit like that, goddam rat.

She shook her head. I reached to touch her on the shoulder. She moved her shoulder slightly. He isnt a rat, she said.

Of course he is. Otherwise you wouldnt be here at all, never mind

Are you crying? You’re not crying are you? Are you crying?

She shook her head. She didnt knock my hand from her shoulder. I left it there. Then she got up to go for a smoke. I went to the bar. Thirty-eight bellies waited. I saw your empty glass, he said, I wondered how long!

I smiled. He also smiled. I asked for two teas.

Teas?

Okay?

Sure.

One with milk and sugar and the other without, un solo.

I got some cookies, you want some cookies? English digestives.

Great, that’s exactly it. Could I have a brandy as well please, and a glass of water on the side.

With ice?

I shrugged. Brandy was a good afternoon drink in my opinion. Neither one thing nor the other. It would go down well today. When I got the brandy I returned to the table. He would bring across the teas. Mr and Mrs Duponzer were looking across. I exchanged waves with them. They were a good old couple. So what if they were nosy? People were entitled to be nosy.

Anyway, they werent all that nosy. I have known nosier.

And what else is life? Life is nosy, nosiness. Everybody is nosy. I sat down. I felt very relaxed although she could have gone for good. If she had, okay, if not, still okay. Life was like that, okay, an okay life. Soon enough the big guy brought us the teas and the English digestives. It was a time for English digestives. They lay on a small plate next to the jug of milk and bowl of sugar. Better than okay. Thanks man, I said, that is it.

Later Jenny returned. I could smell the smoke. When she was seated she smiled at the tea and so forth. I proffered the small plate: Have an English digestive.

She grinned.

Go ahead, I said and could not stop smiling. That was big fucking thirty-nine bellies. What a wonderful goddam bartender!

Jenny lifted one and bit into it, nudged a crumb from the corner of her mouth. She saw me watching. Tasty, she said and chuckled.

English digestives are no laughing matter. And tell me this, I said, while we’re on the subject, how come you are now the sort of woman who dons a yellow cardigan to visit her ex-lover, sharer of your bed and all the passions, and so on and so forth?

Jenny smiled.

Do you realize I get erections just taking part in this sort of what-do-you-call-it, conversation?

Ssh.

I do.

Dont say that.

But I do. Jenny …

Dont say it.

I stopped, I had been smiling but no longer. I saw the wetness round her eyes again and wanted to kiss them, only on her eyelids, where the fragility

Oh no, I said, you’re going to make me cry.

Her head was bowed.

You are. Because here am I but it is him your tears are for. You’re crying over him and here you are with me.

When I said this last she was blowing her nose into the napkin. I dreaded looking at her.

No I didnt.

That guy eh — what d’ye call him, I can never remember his name. He was giving her a row right in the middle of the floor. Ranting and raving. Her sitting there with the head bowed, maybe embarrassed or what, I dont know, ashamed maybe. She knew folk there and they were hearing it all. How come they were letting it happen, all just standing there? No just the barstaff. Everybody. Me too, I was one of them, what I mean, cowards, we were just I suppose well cowards really, we were cowards. So yeh, ashamed, she must have been.

But I felt like getting a grip of him, know what I mean, dirty bastard. But the best one to do it was another woman. See if she had done it! That really would have been the best. But there was nay other woman there.

There were women but no for that, taking on a guy like him I mean, fucking hell, ye wouldnay want to take on him. No even the likes of — well, no me anyway. Naw, I wouldnay.

Unless just batter him with something, that is what ye would have to do. Dont wait. Pick up something. Fucking heavy ashtray or what. A chair man know what I mean, a solid effort, fucking hit him with it.

On and on he went jesus christ and my hand started shaking. I was holding my pint, and so tight man gripping it, I had to let go. Breaking the glass, know what I mean, we’re stronger than we think.

Dont tell me he is gony hit her, dont tell me. That is what I was thinking. Because if he hit her man see if he hit her …

I shut my eyes.

Then guys near me, I heard them talking, about the Celtic and Hearts game. What was it a draw or some fucking thing, a disputed penalty? They were talking loud, loud. No just to drown out the angry guy’s ranting. It wasnay just that.

What it was, to make it seem like it didnay mean nothing, no anything special. It was normal behaviour.

I noticed that before about guys, how when something awful was happening they started talking. Even just the telly, Ulster or Palestine or what, Iraq. Away they go about the football. Oh aye Celtic’s got a hard game on Saturday, Rangers have it easy, what about the Liverpool game. Meanwhile it is carnage. No everybody. Some watch or else dont watch. Maybe they listen.

And it all goes on roundabout. Ye cannay shut up yer ears.

Dreams and hallucinations. I even get them when I’m sitting myself. Other folk will be the same although I havenay asked anybody, no even the wife. If I said it to her she would tell me to stop talking shite — well, rubbish; she doesnay swear, no that shite is swearing.

But fair enough, ye dont want to end up a babbler. Ye see these poor auld sods. In the pub they sit out the road. People leave them alone. They babble away to themself like somebody else is there and taking part in the conversation.

Well in a way there is somebody else. Them. They talk to themself as if they are another person, an actual other person. So there they are. So fair enough, one equals two; two parts make a whole and ye cant have the one and not the other. So then they give the answers to their own questions.

We all do that. But inside wur own head. That is the difference. Imagine we done it out loud! The guys in the white coats would come and take us away ha ha. Senile, an advanced case. Or just plain ordinary mad.

Human beings are near the surface. Just scratch and that is us.

Ranting and raving. It was excruciating, it really was. Ye felt like stuffing up the ears. I was gripping that pint of mine, so tight, jesus, needing to quell the thoughts quell the thoughts and all that racket going on it drove ye fucking nuts man it drove ye fucking nuts, that male-female fandango.