Pedro Lenz - Naw Much of a Talker

Ah’ll ask then.

Make sure ye dae but!

Yeah, yeah. Yeah, okay, ah will. Ah’ll dae it. An’ you: dont be doin nuthin stupit.

You an’ aw, Marta. You an’ aw.

At hame, ah looked through ma post. Nuthin but advertisin an’ beggin letters. As if ah wis someone ye kid beg off. They hivnae a fuckin clue, any ae them! Then ah looked at a stupit competition an’ cos ah needed a bit ae fresh air afore ah went tae bed, ah filled it in an’ took it tae the post box beside the bakery. Ye got the solution by pittin thegither the first letter ae the answers tae aw the diffrint clues. STATUE OF LIBERTY. A mair stupiter solution ye kin hardly imagine. The first prize is wan ae they cars, a Ford summit-or-other. The second prize widda intristit me mair: a trip fur two tae New York. But try but daein a competition that a hunner thousand other jerks like me will dae an’ see if you kin win second fuckin prize.

When ah get tae Cobbles oan the Saturday, Pesche tells me tae go an’ take a fuckin hike. Ah wis barred. Ahd went too far this time. Definately.

Barred? How, Pesche, how ahm ah barred? Whit’s gi’en ye that idea? Hivin an off-day, ur ye? Naw sellt enough coffee or whit?

Ye know how, Goalie. Ahv tellt ye often enough. Nae drugs in here. Coont yirsel lucky ahm naw cawin the polis. Noo fuck off.

Wait a second, Pesche, wid ye. Jist a fuckin second. Calm doon an’ take a deep breath, man. There’s been a misunnerstaunin here. Must be. Ahv been hivin nuthin tae dae wi that crap. Ahm completely aff the stuff — ah swear. Word ae honour!

Ahm naw in the mood fur discussin it, Goalie. We found a stash oot in the toilet, jist eftir you wur here it wis. Dont try an’ tell me any diffrint. Noo leave afore ah caw the polis.

Okay, caw the cops then. Get them tae come. Least they willnae fuckin treat me like fuckin this.

Ahm warnin ye, Goalie.

Ye dont like me, dae ye? Ahv known that fur ages, Pesche, ages. Ahv nivver done nuthin tae ye but. An’ ahm naw guilty. An’ that’s how ahm naw leavin till the polis come an’ get me.

Ah carried oan like that till Pesche got hold ae me by the collar. He did actually chuck me oot. Ah tellt him it wis sick. That he wis a sad bastard. Nae idea how ah reacted like that. That is: course, ah know. Firstly, it dis yir nut in if yir naw allowed intae a pub ye want tae go tae. Secondly, it dis yir nut in when they try tae set ye up an’ ye urnae a dealer, it isnae fuckin true an’ it nivver wis, naw really — naw tae be too pedantic aboot it. Thirdly, it dis yir nut in when ye realise yir bein treated unjustly an’ there’s fuck-aw ye can dae aboot it.

At the place where ah done ma apprenticeship, money once went missin once. Wan ae the draughtsmen wis givin it: his wallet wis missin, a wallet wi god-knows how many hunner francs in it. Each an’ ivry wan ae us wis hauled up before the boss. It wisnae me. Wis me ivry cunt suspected but. They’d fuck-aw proof. Cos it wisnae me. See eftir that but, it wis nivver the same again. They nivver did find oot who nicked the money. So ah wis suspected fur years cos — fur some reason — ah seemed the maist suspicious tae them aw. Nae idea how. Ma long hair mibbe. Or cos ah wis aye skint.

Noo, wi Pesche, ahd the exact same feelin as back then. Yir accused ae summit ye didnae dae. An’ ye feel summit like a bad conscience. An’ it’s like: yir hivin it fur some ither cunt, ye dont even know who fur. It’s like the bad conscience ye hiv this time is staunin in fur wan ye shoulda hid anither time: fur crap ye wur responsible fur in the past. Or fur stuff yir sure tae dae in the future at some point. At the same time but, ye feel a kinda rage in yir stomach. It’s a kinda inhibited rage, wan ye can nivver let oot cos ye’d jist be makin yirsel even mair suspicious.

Ah jist went hame. An’ noo, tae make things worse, Pesche’s thinkin he’s the carin type cos he didnae report me tae the polis, cos he dealt wi it himsel. Ahm supposed tae feel grateful tae him an’ aw. Sayin that, Pesche’s naw totally kosher himsel. If yiv a guid nose, ye can smell it. Incredible, it is. At times like this, ah kid greet in despair. Whitivver ye dae, dont think aboot it, mate. Jist dont think aboot it.

So ah head hame, hiv some red wine, naw exactly a little. Then ah turned over an’ fell asleep oan the sofa. When ah wake up, it’s Sunday lunchtime an’ ahv a stiff neck like nivver afore in ma life. Take a few paracetamols, ah thought, hiv a cheese-ootae-a-packet sandwich, then hiv a shower, clean yir teeth an’ hiv a shave, ah thought. Whit ah did dae but wis phone Regula.

Hi Regi. Buddy oot flyin his planes?

Aye. How ye askin?

Kid ah come roon an’ see ye furra wee bit?

Naw, ah cannae. Ahv visitors. Ma sister’s here wi her weans.

Regi, hiv ye any idea whit happened tae make Pesche bar me fae Cobbles?

Ahm sure you know that better than ah dae.

Where wis this comin fae, aw ae a sudden — this omin-fuckin-ous under-fuckin-current in Regula’s voice?

Christ, Regula, dont tell me you believe aw that. That ahv — That ahv summit tae dae wi –

Ah hiv tae go, Goalie. Sorry, ahv visitors.

Hang oan, Regula, hang –

An’ that wis it.

Sometimes ye need tae get yir rear in fuckin gear. Even if the reason’s a mystery. An’ tae you an’ aw. That eftirnoon ah went back tae the hospital, tae see Uli. We’d a game ae backgammon an’ talked aboot the auld days. Guid, it wis. Done us baith guid.

Ye dont need tae fuckin cheat!

Whit d’ye mean: cheat? Five an’ four’s nine. It’s nivver been anythin else!

Wis that really a four?

Ur ye lookin at the dice or naw? Course, it wis a fuckin four.

Ah shut up. Uli’s got a grin oan his face like some cunt that’s proud ae shaftin his mate.

So it wis a four then?

Didnt ah tell ye.

As faur as ahm concerned, it wisnae.

Whit d’ye think, Goalie? Hiv ah a hope in hell?

A hope in hell ae whit?

Gettin ootae aw that. Givin them up.

Naw.

There’s a pause an’ Uli looks at me like some cunt ye hivnae seen fur ages.

How ur ye sayin that, Goalie? How ur ye jist gi’in it fuckin ‘naw’ like that? How ur ye naw sayin you managed an’ so ah kin manage an’ aw?

Ah dont know eether. Stop askin stuff like that! Get well again first. Then we’ll see whit happens.

But you managed but.

Give over. Ahv naw got anywhere yet. Disnae matter anyhow. Dont be goin oan aboot it. Ah dont want tae talk aboot it. Ahv a heidache.

Thanks fur comin.

Ah’ll come again themorrow.

See ye, Goalie.

See ye.

Ah feel sorry fur Uli. Course, it’s his ain fault. There’s naw a single junkie in the world ye need tae feel sorry fur, naw a single wan. At the same time but, if yiv grown up wi wan, kin tell the same stories, if ye discovered the same streets at the same time, made the same mistakes thegither, it gets ye wonderin. Okay, so Uli’s a junkie, there’s nae two ways aboot it, he’s an auld mate an’ aw but, a kinda friend, ye can’t jist ignore that either. Certainly naw, if ye think back tae oor schooldays when he wis the coolest cunt in the playgroon, hid the coolest hair, the coolest leather jaicket, the coolest moped. Nae other cunt kid pull like he did. If ye add aw that up an’ look at the wey he is theday, ye hiv tae feel sorry fur him, nearly.

Ah feel sorry fur masel an’ aw like. Sadly. Self-pity’s the lowest ye kin fuckin get. Start feelin sorry fur yersel an’ ye might as well fuckin give fuckin up.

A few days later, Gross, the plain-clothes cop turned up oan ma doorstep, in that same grey newspaper reporter’s jaicket he’s aye wearin, an’ they glasses that aye mind ye ae the communist block, ah mean: they secret agent films that aye hiv folk fae commie countries in them. The secret agents in they films — the commie wans — aye wear glasses like Gross. He looked as if he hidnae much sleep last night. He’s known me furra long time, this plain-clothes cop. Wiv helped each other occasionally. We’re a bit ae a double-act awready, jist aboot, Gross an’ me. Naw, it’s right enough, we work thegither pretty well, it’s jist: he gets a significant monthly wage fur whit he dis an’ ah get the occasional backhander if ahm lucky. He wisnae here cos ae oor teamwork this time but. This time, he wis totally fuckin fizzin.