James Kelman - If it is your life

But where was he? said Tim.

What ye talking about?

Him that odeed. I’ll tell ye where he was man he was sitting on the fucking chanty, that was where they found him. Odeed on the fucking chanty, poor cunt.

A common scenario, said Arthur.

Is it fuck.

It is.

Tim glared at him.

I’ll tell ye how.

Ye’ll no tell me how. Tim cleared his throat, spat in between his feet and took out his tobacco again.

Nicky Parkes squinted across at me. It was because the other two were at the argy-bargy; usually they were on the same side. I couldnay care less, edging the wood to the fire. But I raised my eyebrows a wee bit. No too much. I wasnay wanting involved. All these battles. I would have been as well sitting home with the wife. I listened to Arthur and Tim for another couple of minutes then I shook my head. Sitting on a chanty but, what a way to go! At least it was a relief, I said.

That stopped them and they laughed. Usually I was nay good at jokes. This time it worked. Even Nicky Parkes was laughing; a kind of laugh. Ye never knew with him. He wasnay huffy or fuck all he just — I dont know. It was a strange kind of laugh he had; all this talk about cludgies but the truth is the laugh he had sounded like constipation grunts.

It wasnay his fault. Ye just had to be careful with him; that was what I thought. He stepped away from the fire now, turned his back on the company and off he went. Soon he was out of sight. That was Nicky Parkes. Not a fucking word of explanation. I watched him go.

Arthur had been chipping bits of stuff into the fire. Now he started telling us about a dream he had had. Jesus christ man. I checked my watch. Still too early; the doors hadnay opened.

Dreams by fuck! That was scraping the barrel. All ye could do was sigh. Naw but it was really weird, said Arthur, I was up a high road and I bumped into somebody close to me, I cannay mind who. It might have been one of yous cunts.

Gie us a break, I said.

Naw Pat seriously. Whoever it was, we’re standing there and he’s talking but it is the way he’s talking, like he’s excited, know what I mean? and nervy, dead nervy. I couldnay quite get what he was saying.

Hang on a minute, what are ye talking about?

A dream I had. This guy, the way he was talking, it wasnay making any sense. No to my head anyway. It was like my ears heard what he said but no my head. It didnay make sense, it wasnay getting through.

Ye talking about yer brains? I said.

Arthur looked at me but he knew I was serious. I dont know, he said, it was like my head but no my brains, once it hit my head it still had a way to go, if it was gony reach my brains.

Me and Tim looked at each other.

Arthur muttered, Nay comments ya pair of bastards. Another thing about him, the guy I was talking to, he was not a likeable person.

So who was it? said Tim.

It’s difficult to say. It was all hazy.

Right.

Another thing was how he was trying no to laugh. I got that feeling about him, he was a nasty fucker.

Well that could be anybody, I said.

Arthur smiled.

I spat into the fire. There was something about him smiling that I did not appreciate. If there was a nasty fucker in the company it wasnay me or Tim. And Nicky Parkes had vanished.

Dreams are funny, said Arthur.

Oh are they? I said.

They can be.

I nodded, gieing Tim a look but Tim was all ears for the story. He was one of these guys ye could sell him anything. A good yarn and that was him. Where do I sign, show me the dotted line.

And Arthur could spin them, nay doubt about that. On he went: There was a wee lane going down the side, he said, like the one round the back of the shops along there, and the guy I’ve met is pointing to one of the back closes running along.

Round the back of the shops? said Tim.

Precisely. That’s where I’m talking about. The back closes came out onto the lane so the front must have been round on the main drag. I am only surmising that cause ye know what like it is when it’s a dream man ye dont fucking know I mean no for sure.

Hazy, I muttered.

Aye.

Ho man! Tim rubbed his hands, waggling his shoulders, enjoying the tale.

So anyway, says Arthur, along comes this other guy.

Other guy? I said.

Aye, and I know him, I know him well. So does the nasty fucker; in fact the two of them are mates, only I dont quite know who the first yin is.

What d’ye mean?

They get mixed up. I cannay mind who’s first and who’s second. That’s the funny thing about it, I cannay remember.

Sounds like a load of fucking keech.

Arthur shrugged.

How many guys again?

Just like I says.

What, three?

Aye.

Could it no have been four? I said.

Arthur frowned. It was three, there was two then the third man came along.

The Third Man! said Tim.

No the fourth? I said.

Naw, said Arthur. That’s the thing about dreams, everything gets slippery. One minute ye know the next ye dont. Weird.

Arthur smiled again and reached down to lift a stick from the ground. He used it as a poker, poking it into the fire. He dragged out half of something and kicked it ower onto its side, using the stick to shove it back in. I wished he would stop messing about. He didnay know about fires. Sometimes I get a daft feeling, like as if they know who it is made them; they will do what you want but if another cunt starts messing then who knows. Fires can be scary. I was about to speak when lo and behold Tim passed me a beer, a beer. A fucking magician! Where the hell did ye get that! I said.

Heh heh heh.

Ya cackling cunt ye!

You’re getting auld.

I looked at him and the can: How did ye open it without me noticing?

Tim winked.

Seriously? I said.

I am fucking seriously.

Did ye drink out it as well? Ye couldnay have, I would have noticed.

Tim laughed; Arthur with him.

Pair of bastards, I said, raising the can to my lips.

Sip it now Pat. I’ve only the one.

Sláinte. I swallied a long mouthful.

Gracias very much, muttered Tim.

I passed the can to Arthur. He was about to take a sip when the three of us spotted somebody in the distance: Peter Craig, he was cutting through the gap site at the other end of the waste ground. He waved ower to us. Arthur shifted the way he was standing to hide the can of beer. Know what I mean, he said, that could have been the polis; open-air drinking, a major act of criminal magnitude.

I was still looking ower to Peter Craig. He must have smelled the beer, I said, imagine smelling the beer.

Tim retrieved the can from Arthur and swigged a mouthful. He swigged another then passed the can to me. I took a long one and passed it to Arthur.

Finish it, said Tim.

Arthur did, then crushed it to death with his fist. He got the stick and scraped a space for it near the middle of the fire, chipped it in and poked stuff ower the top of it.

Ye wouldnay mind if it was a bottle of malt, I said, but one can of beer. A hunner fucking yards!

Tom sighed and gied a mournful look. I hope he doesnay tell Nicky Parkes.

Say ye found it, I said, it can happen.

Arthur winked: We’ll just deny it.

Right …

Aw man, I said, I feel pished. It’s all this excitement.

Tim was puffing smoke. I mean it’s no as if it was intentional. I just forgot. If Nicky Parkes says something, know what I mean, I wasnay keeping him out, I hope he wouldnay think that.

Not at all, I said, one can of beer and four mooths; one swally and ta ta.

Exactly, said Arthur. I wouldnay worry about it. Hey, I’ll finish the dream.

Dont bother.

Naw but it’s funny.

I’m no into dreams, I said.

Neither am I, but this one is different. Arthur winked at the two of us. It’s got sex in it.