Pedro Lenz - Naw Much of a Talker

Naw, he didnae know.

Did Marta naw say nuthin?

Naw. It’s new tae me.

So, in that case, ye dont know eether whose sugar it wis?

Naw.

Ye realise Gross, the plain-clothes guy, suspected me at first? Fortunately, he’s wan ae they guys that occasionally believe summit ye tell them or ahd be in even deeper fuckin shit.

Gross isnae clean himsel, ye know.

That’s naw true. He’s clean enough, Uli. There’s ither stuff ye kid accuse him ae, he’s definitely cleaner than you or fuckin me but.

Comin tae the defence ae a cop, Goalie, eh?

Ahm comin tae nae cunt’s defence. Ahm jist sayin it’s naw the drug squad officer’s fault if dimwits like Pesche start spreadin the rumour ah stashed sugar in his bog. That’s how ahm sayin whit ahm sayin. Nae fuckin cop on the planet widda believed someone like me when ah said ahd nowt tae dae wi it. Gross believed me but. He believed me.

And did ye naw like?

Furfucksake, Uli, ye testin ma fuckin nerves or whit? Ah didnae, naw, an’ ah widnae eether.

An’ whit wis Gross sayin? Who done it if it wisnae you?

Whit wis he supposed tae say? That he wis keepin a closer eye oan this wan or that wan? D’ye think the drugs squad’s goney haun me aw its intelligence oan a plate or whit? Dont fuckin rile me, Uli. Dont fuckin go there.

Ahm sorry, Goalie.

It’s awright.

Ah stayed anither fifteen minutes mibbe. Thought aboot how odd it wis, a hospital like this, a place like this, makin folk well again so they can get hame ASAP an’ catch new illnesses an’ hiv new accidents an’ so oan an’ so oan an’ it nivver endin. We aw die at some point anyhoo. Then the next loat come alang — Mother Nature sees tae that — wi their appendicitis, slipped discs, heart attacks, hepatitis etc. Naw that we’re intristit in any ae that: we’re deid eftir aw, as deid as ye can be, i.e. definitively, probably, even if ye kin hardly start tae imagine whit that involves. That’s the only reason aw they religions exist. An’ guys like Stofer — who wonder whit’s behind it aw, behind life, an’ cannae accept it’s mibbe absolutely nuthin that comes next, i.e. a vacuum, eternal fuck-aw, a big black hole.

Take that fuckin face aff, Goalie. Folk’ll think yiv grief at hame.

It’s awright. Ah wis jist thinkin aboot whit ahv still tae dae an’ that. Ah’ll need tae be goin. Ah’ll be back but.

Kin ye see if there’s anyone in the corridor who kid get me a coffee?

Yeah. Ah’ll look an’ see. Bye, mate.

Fur the next few oors ah wis full ae go, strangely. Wis almost as if ahd inherited a hoose in Spain masel.

Ah imagined whit like it wid be tae be sittin doon there, oot in the heat, in wan ae they white linen suits that lets the air in aboot ye, wi a panama hat on yir heid an’ a glass ae dry sherry in yir haun an’ a few olives as ye relax in wan ae they basket chairs ye sometimes see in they brochures, or in photies ae the holiday hoose ae some rich cunt. Imagine jist sittin there, in the shade ae a veranda. Nae stress. Imagine jist bein there, enjoyin the warmth an’ watchin the sun tracin its arc, an’ that’s aw yiv tae dae. Fuck, wouldn’t it be great tae dae aw that again.

Sometimes, fur days oan end, ah cant get the bastarn Joke ootae ma heid.

Why ah got the jail, ah hardly know masel, actually. Regula’s naw the only wan who asks. Sorry but: how ahm ah supposed tae explain it, if ah cannae explain it masel?

It wis aw pretty complicated back then. That kinda thing nearly always is. An’ that’s whit the judges nivver seem tae grasp — tae want tae grasp — an’ if they dae, they ignore it.

It wis tae dae wi money, quite a loatae money. An’ quite a loatae junk they claimed belanged tae me, that didnae but. It wis also tae dae wi a trip ah played a role in — true — a very diffrint yin but fae the role that judge in Aarwangen decided, in the end, ahd played.

It wis Uli, actually, who dug ma grave fur me. He wantit me tae go an’ collect a friend ae his in ma old banger. Guy’d be waitin in Pontarlier fur me, at the foot ae the Jura.

How dis he naw jist take a train, this friend.

He’s nae money.

Aha. An’ how wis he, Uli, naw goin tae collect him himsel?

Nae time.

Aha. Is there summit naw kosher aboot this?

Mibbe summit wisnae wan hunner percent kosher aboot it — ah kid be right there.

Did he naw mind me sayin wance that ahd dae ma thing an’ he’d dae his an’ it wis better if they stayed separate?

Aye, an’ that wis right enough, normally. But if ah did him this favour but an’ drove tae Pontarlier an’ brought this friend hame, there’d be summit in it fur me. Five thoosan. Cash. In ma haun.

5k? That’s a loat. Such a loat, yir better naw askin too many questions. An’ it’s naw as if ahm askin any!

So ah went an’ got him, stupit fuckin cunt that ah am. A Frenchman or Arab or summit. Hippie type. Naw a real hippie but. Awkward, it wis, right fae the start. So ah met him in Pontarlier. Only spoke French, the guy did. How wis Uli. An’ how wis wee Stofer. How wis Pesche.

Did he know wee Stofer? Did he know Pesche?

Only through Uli.

An’ as we talk, ah kin see he knows hawf the Fog. An artist, he wis, a painter. Then he spun me some kinda yarn. His wallet hid been nicked, his ID an’ cash, an’ as he totally needed tae get tae the Fog, he’d phoned Uli. It wis really crucial he got tae the Fog. An’ it wis fantastic ahd come fur him. His story mibbe seemed totally logical tae him, tae me it wisnae at aw. Ahv been hingin roon faur too lang wi folk that ur constantly tellin ye that kinda story tae believe them. It’s naw that ah dont want tae hear them any mair. Ah like tae hear folk reinventin their lives. The wan thing that bothers me is when some cunt also wants me tae believe it aw.

Why’d he sae many bags, ah asked the Frenchman. Wid it naw be easier tae take fewer — bigger — bags? It aw depended on whit ye wur usin them fur, he laughed. Fur him, it made mair sense jist tae transport his various diffrint things in various diffrint bags.

Ah pit aw his bags in the boot an’ we drove via Les Verrières, Neuchâtel an’ Berne tae the Fog. Ah wisnae in the mood fur talkin. He didnae seem tae be eether so we jist sat there, sayin nuthin. Ah pit a bit ae Dylan oan. We’d hardly reached the Fog when he wis thankin me an’ sayin ah kid drop him aff noo.

Where’d he want tae get tae exactly? It didnae matter, ah kid jist drop him aff at the station. He took his bags, left wan lyin in the boot but. Mustnt hiv seen it. Slipped unner summit, it hid.

When ah seen the next day he’d naw taken aw his belongins wi him, ah took the bag up tae ma flat. Still livin in Aarwangenstrasse, ah wis at the time. Anither day later, the Frenchman dropped by: he’d left wan ae his bags in the boot. New tae me, ah went, ah didnae notice nuthin. A spontaneous impulse, it wis. Ah kid jist as well hiv said tae come up wi me, the bag wis up in the flat an’ jist tae come an’ get it. Fur some reason but that hid fuck-aw tae dae wi ma heid an’ a loat tae dae wi ma stomach, ah wantit tae lie tae the cunt.

We went tae the car tae see. Nae bag. The French guy went aw serious, threatened me: if the stuff didnae turn up, ahd hiv an even worse problem oan ma hauns. Ah remained totally cool but, didnae bat an eyelash, gave it: ahd nae idea whit he wis oan aboot an’ wis that the fuckin thanks ah got fur pickin him up in Pontarlier. Ahm shite at lyin normally. Ahd started but, so ah finished. Lyin’s summit that sometimes works an’ sometimes disnae. Oan that occasion, it wis goin really well. Naw that it helped me any. The French guy gave it: ahd be seein a lot mair ae him, an’ ahd live tae regret it. Regretter wis the word he used an’ ah hiv tae say: in his ain language, it sounded fuckin dangerous. As bad as in the Edith Piaf song, nearly.