Alasdair Gray - A History Maker

And was shaken awake by Kittock saying, “Home to your aunties, Wat! Home to your aunts!”

There was a smile on her face giving it a youthful beauty he had never seen before. When he understood what she meant he yelled, “No!” and clung to the side of the bed.

“Help me men!” she cried gaily, “Up here, Tiger Tim. Stay below and catch him, Desperate Dan.”

She and the small man lifted him and dropped him screaming into the arms of the fat man who carried Wat to the door, pushed him out, slammed and locked and bolted it behind him. The night was warm, a full moon in the sky. He rushed at the door, banged it uselessly with his shoulder, kicked it, hammered with his fists and yelled furiously for minutes on end till he was suddenly drenched by a big cold lump of water. It had been tipped from a pail by the fat man who, looking down from the broken tower top, said, “Moderate your transports you misfortunate wee bastard! It’s a big bed but there’s only room for two men when Kitty goes wild.”

Then he was being led back to his first home by a mother who said softly, “Poor Wat, poor Wat, why did ye attach yourself to her? Tonight you’ll sleep with me.”

“No!”

“Well I’ll put you in with Joe — he likes you.”

“No!”

“Then where can I put ye, Wattie? Who in this great big house do you want to sleep with? I can arrange it with anyone for tonight, maybe for longer. Peggy is loving. She’s ten and plump and likes wee lads.”

Snatching his hand from hers he hardened every muscle till his body vibrated with tension and roared, “ Can a man not have a bed of his own? ” “O yes,” she said, smiling sadly down on him, “A man can have a bed of his own.”

A day later he saw Kittock at the morning service and glared at her. She smiled and shrugged back. His feelings then were exactly what he felt now for Delilah Puddock. Before returning from the stars he could not think of Kittock without pain; afterward he was as glad to see her as any of the rest.

Yes, he had come to this small room at the age of five. Most children were given a bigger room when they left their chosen granny at that age, sharing it with two or three others. They slept, played, squabbled together until puberty, when each wanted, and was given, a room of their own to entertain privately invited guests. Wat had never wanted another room. He wanted attractive nieces and young aunts to stand outside his little room and say timidly, “Wat, O Wattie, please let me in.”

He found cruel pleasure in imagining their sufferings when they heard him say very coldly and casually, “Leave me alone, I’m busy.”

Unluckily the only girl who had begged to enter his room was a tall awkward eleven-year-old lassie from Mountbenger who visited him when he was nine. She had been so awkward and unattractive — so like himself — that there was no satisfaction in keeping her out. She had sat for hours on his floor but eventually stopped coming because he answered her questions with monosyllables, said nothing else to her, never looked at her and went on reading or playing with his screen as if alone. Later he heard she had grown into a uniquely intelligent and attractive woman, so her dull remarks to him had been caused by shyness. He still fantasized about excluding women who loved him. When twelve he had refused an offer of a bigger room, saying he would soon be leaving for the satellites as soon as possible so must get used to cramped spaces. He bitterly enjoyed the sorrowing wonder with which the mother heard this crisp, quiet statement. It had proved he was cared for. But those he most wanted had never cared much for him. Kittock had not wanted him near her. Nan was more of a mother than an equal. Annie had talked to him as if she was an older sister. He had certainly loved them but none (except Kittock, perhaps) had occupied his mind as wholly as the woman in the tent who had treated him with absolute contempt.

“Why am I a perverse bugger?” he whispered then noticed someone on the veranda watching him.

It was Kittock. She nodded without smiling and turned and walked back to the tower. He put his shoes on and scribbled a note: A political matter — someone you do not know is listening to us .

His room lacked a door onto the veranda. He caught up with her in the living-room library he had not visited for over twenty years. She stood facing him, hands clasped before her in perfect silence. He said, “You’re angry?” She nodded.

“Why?”

She took his first note from her pocket, showed it to him, lifted a plate from the Aga and dropped it inside saying, “I never mothered you.”

He humbly shrugged his shoulders and handed her the second note. She read it, looked at him, smiled and burned that too. She said kindly,

“Sit down Wattie. If false folk are listening the truth cannae hurt you. You arenae false.” It was what he wanted to hear.

“Are ye sure?” he said, thankfully sitting, “I met a very bad woman last night, Kittock.”

“I think ye met a woman who was bad to you, Wattie.”

“If what she said is right she wants to be bad to everyone and I love her, Kittock!” said Wat with a wild chuckle, “There’s been naething like me since José fell for Carmen. I’m corrupted!”

She brewed and served camomile tea while he talked, then she sat opposite and gave him such full attention that he felt as safe at home with her as when he was three. She asked questions which helped him recall details, like the colour of Delilah’s eyes. He also told her the news he had gathered through the telecom, growing excited about it.

“Surely there’s more than one of her, Kittock? The public eye presenters and telecom gurus and commanders broadcasting just now all seem part of her conspiracy, but so do I — the worst part. An hour ago a veteran strategist called me the spearhead of a great new movement restoring manly courage to its ancient prestige — he predicted that in a year we’ll be battling in leagued armies as big as those of the defunct nations and based on the same territories. Weapons and war rules must be modified for larger areas of manoeuvre, he said, but only the commons will be seriously encroached upon . A woman asked if this meant future battles would not only be fought on the commons, but also for them. He said Why not? Territorial instincts will add zest to manly contests and in no way endanger our houses . Why are so many so sure of this? Why are only a few women worried about it? I must fight this daftness — ”

“Fight it?”

“Speak against it. Every commander in Scotland will be at a banquet after the circus tonight with nearly a hundred foreign champions. As guest of honour I’ll be expected to make a speech. What if I tell the world that there is a conspiracy against the safety of our homes?”

“You will sound like a quotation from a history book,” mused Kittock, “At first the whole audience will think you a fearmongering maniac from the worst period of human history. Then your sincerity will move folk who like you, and others who also fear the effect of the bigger armies, to start a crusade, a witch hunt, a police force to denounce or arrest plotters. The folk any such force arrested or threatened to arrest would mostly be innocent, of course. The new police force, like previous ones, would become the evil it was created to prevent and would provoke a resistance exactly like it. That would delight the puddock you met in the wood.”

“Shall I kill her and then myself, Kittock?”

“I believe she would like that too, Wattie. Finish your tea while I think.”