James Kelman - If it is your life

The Council put up a new bus shelter yesterday morning. At five o’clock yesterday afternoon it was caved in, glass all ower the pavement. So how are dogs and cats meant to walk? They never think of that. Piles of shattered glass cutting into animals’ paws, or else weans. And what about elderly people? Some auld dears come out without their shoes, they just wear their slippers, slipping down the stair for a couple of rolls and a pint of milk, they dont bother putting on their shoes, so these slippers with soft soles, fucking glass goes right through them and cuts their fucking feet.

That is these fucking hooligan bastards. I have nay time for them.

I never saw the new bus shelter myself, before or after, it was Arthur telled us. I was gony go along the street to have a look. Wound up I didnay bother. I had somewhere to go. What interests me but is their fathers. Who is their fathers? the wee toerag cunts. Naybody knows. Ye hear guys talking in the betting shop or the boozer and they all shake their heads, all annoyed. If they could get a grip of the wee bastards! They say stuff like that. If they were my boys!

Well who the fucking hell’s boys are they? Know what I mean. Nay cunt owns up! Ye never hear anybody going, Oh him, that wee fucking toerag, my youngest!

Naybody says that.

They must all be orphans. It would be a different kettle of fish if it was getting signed for a football team. Oh my boy my boy! Kilmarnock just signed him on a full-time contract. The Hibs have offered him terms.

Then they would be rushing to claim them. Ye ask me it is hypocrisy. I have nay time for it. I hate that vandalist anti-social stuff. Ye try to keep a place as best ye can. It is us that use it. If ye want to vandalize the place go to Kelvinside or Newton Mearns, Bearsden — someplace the rich cunts live.

My own boy was past the stage. But he never done it anyway; no even when he was that age. Me and the guys were talking about it. No question. I would have punched fuck out him, that one of mine.

What about yer wife? said Arthur. Would she have let ye?

What ye talking about?

Does she no mind if ye hit him?

Well I dont hit him now Arthur he’s fucking thirty-seven.

Arthur nodded like he had scored a point. I looked at Nicky Parkes and Tim. They were listening. Tim was rolling a smoke.

Of course she minded, I said, she’s a woman int she!

Arthur shrugged, blew into his cupped hands and rubbed them in front of the fire. That annoyed me. He annoyed me.

Forget it.

I looked at the fire instead. It was going good. The last pile of burnables included a wooden cupboard thing that Nicky Parkes dragged ower from behind the shops. Me and Tim broke it up. If we had just pitched it on it wouldnay have lasted as long because of the draught catching in under the spars. Yer fire just goes up in smoke. An old story but a true one. Some people know about fires, other ones dont. Arthur for instance. Mind you he liked a heat. He never done nothing for the fire but loved heating his hands. He just stood there rubbing them. It grated on me. Then he made comments about yer family! What a cheek! Families are taboo. Naybody should interfere with that. What the hell did it matter to him what my wife said about my son? Sons are boys and boys are boys. Ye know what women are like about boys, I said.

Arthur squinted at me like he didnt know what I was talking about.

Sons, I said, they’re their pride and joy.

The fucking sun shines out their arse ye mean. Arthur shook his head and spat into the fire. A different story when ye’re merried to them, when the boy grows to a man. Fucking nag nag nag.

Discipline begins in the home, said Tim, looking directly at me. Or not at all. Tim was licking the gummed edge of his roll-up. He smiled. It was you said it.

Me?

Aye.

What did I say?

Ye would punch fuck out him. Yer boy, if he went to the hooligan games.

Well so I would. When he was that age. Know what I mean, it’s a long time since he was a teenager.

Tim smiled again, eyes closed and shaking his head. He had a habit of doing that. It was fucking annoying, like ye had said something daft. Why not come out and say it, if that was how he felt. I saw him gie a wee look to Arthur but I didnay say nothing. Him and Arthur could gang up on folk. We were all mates but some were matier than others. It was like that in this world. Since time immemorial. It gied ye a pain in the neck. If ye let it get to ye. I didnay. We cannay be everything to everybody. Nay point trying. I learned that a long time back. It was just that I talked too much. Sometimes I wished I didnay, I wished I could shut up, just shut my fucking mouth.

Nicky Parkes was like that. He hardly said fuck all and was the better for it.

Tim had made him a roll-up as well as one for himself. He got the light from the fire. He didnay have to because him and Tim both had lighters. But it was good using the fire. Same with me if I had smoked. It saved ye lighter fuel as well. But it was more than that. Ye just liked doing it. And then the smell, I aye liked the smell of fires, even auld yins; the smell on yer hands.

We watched Nicky Parkes getting the light. He tore a page out a newspaper and folded it lengthwise. Lengthwise! That made me smile. And it was very tight the way he folded it; ye might say crisp. Deep and crisp and even. When he had it burning he held it for Tim. Tim had to draw his head back in case the flame burnt up his nose and eyelashes. That was close! he said.

Once they had their lights Nicky Parkes dropped the paper on the fire and we watched it flare up then settle; burnt out, the ash blowing. There was a wee swirl of draught roundabout this place, and ye felt it. I did and so did the other three. Auld age; the blood gets thin. Too many fucking aspirin. Imagine the chemist firm that made them went bust, and they stopped manufacturing the cunts: half the male population of Glasgow would collapse with heart attacks. I was going to make a comment on the subject but couldnay be bothered. Tim started telling us about an auld cunt that froze to death. It was in the Evening Times . Nayn of the rest of us had read about it. Froze to death in Scotland! It was hard to believe. All kidding aside, he said. It was a gaff in Miller Street.

There’s nay gaffs in Miller Street, I said, nay cunt lives in Miller Street. No nowadays, it’s all shops and offices.

We’re no talking nowadays.

All I’m saying is naybody lives in Miller Street.

Right enough, said Arthur.

Tim sighed. I’m no gony argue the point. It isnay me saying, it, it was in the Times . They found the auld guy deid; they had to batter down the door and it was a tenement building down Miller Street

A tenement building down Miller Street … I shook my head at that. I thought they were all offices.

They are all offices. Was it upstairs or down? said Arthur

Tim glared at us. How the fuck do I know.

It matters.

Matters fuck all, yez are just being stupid.

It matters if ye’re trying to work it out, said Arthur, that’s all. I’m no trying to get at ye.

Tim sighed.

Did they say where they found him?

I dont fucking know, wait til I phone them.

Naw, said Arthur, likely it was a basement; down a dunny. They auld tenements are full of dunnies. That’s where the auld yin will have been staying. The same round the Clyde walkway. It’s all manholes and dunnies along there. The homeless go down at night; they’ve got saunas and fucking tv lounges down there. Know what I mean, they homeless cunts, they’ve got better conditions than us, better than Barlinnie. Maybe the auld yin done the same, climbed down a manhole and got lost!

Shoosh, I said, I cannay go this right-wing shite.

What d’ye mean? Arthur grinned. It might be shite but it isnay right-wing.