Pedro Lenz - Naw Much of a Talker

D’ye know who wis workin oan the same counter as Stofer back then?

Oot wi it, Paule. Mon, oot wi it, ma son.

Paule looks roon the lounge, sees the landlord’s naw there any mair, lowers his eyes tae look at the table, then says sae quietly ah kin hardly hear him even if he’s whisperin straight in ma ear: Pesche.

Yir kiddin!

Tellin ye, Goalie. Ahm naw feedin ye a load ae shit. He wis part ae it an’ aw, back then. That scam. The two ae them thegither, Stofer an’ Pesche. They wur caught an’ thrown oot. Part fae that, nowt happened tae them but. The post office didnae want any scandal.

Pesche an’ aw? Ye sure, Paule?

Hunner percent.

Anither two coffees, Regula, wi a bloody guid dash in them. Be sae kind, eh?

We talked fur anither bit. Aboot nuthin at aw. Paule then left at some point an’ ah stood up tae go an’ aw.

Goalie, we goney see each ither at some point? Regula asks.

Any time ye want, ah said, pleased she wis askin whit ah wantit tae ask but didnae dare tae.

Whit ye daein themorra?

At ma work till lunchtime.

Ahm off in the evenin. Kin ah come tae yours? Aboot six?

Course ye can. That’ll be great.

Ah said ma goodbyes, pit ma jacket an’ scarf oan, pulled the zip right up an’ headed hame.

At hame, ah got the hoover oot an’ the cleanin stuff an’ freshened the place up a bit. Ah cleaned the bathroom an’ aw. That needed it maist. Then ah took a blank piece ae paper an’ wrote a few things doon. Nuthin spectacular. Ah jist wantit tae sort oot ma thoughts a bit. Whit’s goin oan wi Pesche? Where dis Pesche staun wi Uli? An’ wi Stofer? Who exactly dis the hoose in Spain belang tae? Whose money did wee Stofer use tae buy it? An’ whit his the French guy tae dae wi aw this? Those wur the kindae questions that came intae ma heid an’ that ah wrote doon jist. Wi’oot any idea ae when an’ how ah wis supposed tae answer them.

When Regula arrived the next evenin, the place looked brand new, jist aboot. She noticed an’ praised me. Ah wis glad she wis in a better mood wi me. Ah wis determined naw tae haver oan sae much. An’ tae gi’e her a bit ae space.

So c’mon, tell me, Regi, howz things?

Nuthin ootae the ordinary. Things ur awright. Ahm livin at ma sister’s place fur the mo. Ahv tellt her aboot you an’ oor Spanish trip, by the way.

Mibbe that wisnae such a guid idea.

How naw? She wis pleased fur me anyhow. An’ guess whit the best bit wis? When ah tellt her aboot you, ahd the feelin ah know ye much better than ah thought. Ah talked an’ talked an’ ma sister wis listenin, aw intristit, an’ suddenly she wantit tae know how folk call ye Goalie. That’s when ah realised ah didnae know masel.

Ahm asked that aw the time.

Yiv nivver tellt me. The only thing ah know is: yir real name’s Ernst. Naw that any wan oan this earth calls ye Ernst. Jist as well, by the way. The name Ernst totally disnae suit ye cos, firstly, yir almost nivver earnest. An’ secondly, absolutely nae way is Ernst the right name fur a member ae oor generation.

Hey, hang oan! Ernst isnae a bad name. Ernesto wis Che Guevara’s name, even.

Ernst disnae suit ye but.

So Goalie suits me better?

Obviously. It’s better than Ernst anyhow. Anythin wid be better than Ernst, tae tell the God’s honest truth. How dae they call ye that, Goalie?

It’s a long story.

Tell me it but. Please — Wiv plenty ae time.

It’s naw as intristin as ye mibbe hope.

Disnae matter. Ahm in the mood fur listenin.

Ye know Uli, right?

That wisnae the best way tae start, obviously. Regula screwed her mooth up as if she’d just eaten summit bitter. She didnae say anythin. Ye didnae hiv tae be an expert but tae notice she didnae think much ae Uli.

Ah know, Regi, ah know. Uli’s reputation isnae the best. An’ tae add tae that, he’s in some kinda temporary low at the mo. That disnae alter the fact but that he’s ma auldest friend. Uli an’ me grew up thegither. An’ that coonts. A loat.

Ah think yiv tellt me that before.

Then mibbe ahv tellt ye an’ aw that we often played fitba thegither. The nickname originates fae back then.

Wur ye always in goal?

Naw, naw at all. That’s the mistake ivryone makes.

How d’ye say then ye wur given the nickname back when yis wur playin?

Ye see, Regula, when schoolboys play fitba — ah mean: when they really play, pick teams first an’ that — naebody normally wants tae go in goal. Normal wee boys want tae score goals, naw stop them. That’s jist the way it is. In the nature ae things. Even when it comes tae real players, the wans who make it big, wans ye see on TV, the forwards ur normally much richer an’ much mair famous than the goalkeepers. That his its ain logic. A goal is always a goal. When a goalie makes a save but, ye cannae aye tell if the baw wid’ve gone in otherwise, or naw. Ye kin nivver tell fur sure, actually, whether a goalkeeper’s really guid or jist plain guid or mibbe naw sae guid. That’s how ivry fitballer, if he his any choice, prefers tae be up front. The wans that want it even mair badly, totally badly, but ur weans. As a wean, ye make sure you yirsel ur playin in a position that’ll let ye pit as many baws as possible in the net. An’ d’ye know how? Cos weans, wi’oot knowin it, ur the world’s maist stupidest optimists.

Naw, take it fae me, Regi: optimism is a children’s illness. Like the measles. An’ a keeper’s summit like insurance. If yir blinded by optimism an’ countin oan hivin nuthin but guid luck, ye dont need insurance. An’ that’s how, when weans play fitba, nae cunt wants tae go in goal. An’ wance, when we’d an important game, against the Italians fae the gasworks, nae cunt wantit tae be the goalie again so we pit wee Balsiger — the poorest an’ maist-harassed wee guy roon oor way — in goal.

But ah dont want tae be in goal!

Zip it, Balsiger, an’ jist get in!

But ahm naw very guid in goal.

Yir even worse oot. Now git in goal or ye kin go straight hame!

We got hammered. Oan the way hame, someone said the goalie wis tae blame. Wi a better goalie, we’d hiv won by a few clear goals, they said. The goalie wis worse than useless, they said, the guy shid be fired intae ooter space etc. Where’d he get tae anyhoo, the damn goalie, ma friends suddenly asked. How? ah asked back. We shid teach him a lesson he’ll nivver forget, they reckoned. They got themsels aw worked up. Someone hid the idea ae sendin oot a search party. When they found him, he’d get a right guid hidin.

Ah kidnae see the sense in that at aw cos, tae me, it wisnae at aw clear we’d lost cos ae the keeper. An’ anyhow: we’d forced the wee guy tae go in goal. That’s how a sudden need fur justice came over me an’ ah started givin it: it wisnae wee Balsiger’s fault. It wis awready too late but. Wance that kinda group dynamic kicks in, there’s nae reversin it. Apart fae me, they wur aw determined tae gi’e wee Balsiger a hidin. So ah stepped forward an’ said:

Ahm yir goalie, lads. If yir hell bent on gi’in a goalie a hammerin, oan ye come. Ahm yir goalie, ya bunch ae fuckin yella-bellies!

Naw yir naw, naw yir naw, they said, an’ ah must be bloody bonkers. Ahd awready decided but ah wis takin Balsiger’s thrashin. It wis time tae speed things up. Ah lashed oot at ma team-mates, givin it: Mon then, mon then, ya fuckin yella-bellies. Yis only want tae batter Balsiger cos yir aw fuckin yella-bellies. Fuckin yella-bellies is whit yis ur. Want a goalie? Here, yis hiv a goalie. Ahm yir goalie! Ahm yir goalie! Ah went oan an’ oan at them, punchin them noo an’ knockin them over. Soon, ahd provoked them sae much, they set upon me, right enough, first wi their fists an’ then their feet. Wis that it? ah asked when ma nose started bleedin. They wur a bunch ae fuckin pansies, ah tellt them. Ahd nivver seen such a crowd ae sissies, their punches didnae even hurt. That spurred them oan even mair, of course. Me an’ aw but: ah wis aw fired up. They hit oot at me again, harder an’ harder, rougher an’ rougher, mair an’ mair brutal they wur gettin. Ah went doon on the grun. They kept goin till ah kid hardly breathe. Shortly before the lights went oot, before ah fainted, ah wis croakin, apparently: Ahm yir goalie! Ahm yir… Then ivrythin went dark an’ eftir that, aw ah know is: ah woke up at hame, in ma ain bed. Ma faither wis goin ballistic an’ ma maw wis sayin she worried aboot me: whit wid become of me.