Pedro Lenz - Naw Much of a Talker

Speak tae Pesche aboot it.

Ah will, Uli, ah will. Ye kin be fuckin sure ae that.

Naw anither word wis spoke till we got tae ma bit. Ah didnae ask did he want tae come up furra drink. Bye, ah said jist. An’ that wis it.

The next yin oan ma list wis wee Stofer. Ah looked up his number an’ phoned him right away. He wisnae answerin so ah made masel a coffee an’ waited, jist. Ah started wonderin where the lanky fuckin cloon kid be, at this time o day. Hawf three in the eftirnoon. He’s hivin his first jar, fur sure. Question’s jist: where?

Ah employed ye olde probability model. Checked oot the waterin hole first. Bullseye. An’ who’s he at the table wi? Naw that it surprised me any mair. Hi, Pesche. Hi, wee Stofer, man. Take it yiv a spare seat fur me?

Whit ye wantin? Stofer asks.

Tae join ye. An’ ah join them.

Very funny, Pesche gives it.

Jesusfuck, lads, ah cannae always be funny. Naw even Charlie Chaplin always is. Why ahm ah tellin ye that but? Yis dont even know who Charlie fuckin Chaplin fuckin is cos there’s naw a lot yis dae know anyhow an’ yis only ivver watch they instantly forgettable shite films cars ur aye explodin in. The early Chaplin’s worth knowin. Yis shid gi’e it a go some time. Chaplin’s the kinda guy a loatae stuff happens tae. In a loatae the stories, it’s the kinda shit that happens tae me an’ aw, and the wans watchin think it’s dead funny even if Charlie’s hivin a shite time ae it. Tellin ye, that’s summit that happens often: ye laugh maist when summit’s actually sad-as-fuck. Disnae matter but, eh. Mibbe that’s the way it his tae be, even. It’s jist: it shid be possible fur ivrywan tae laugh thegither, insteid ae laughin at each ither. An’ the thing ah find maist anti-normal is that ahm the wan — me ae aw folk — that’s given the Chaplin role, the role ae the wan that falls oan his face — or gits bitten in the arse by a dug — so ithers hiv summit tae laugh at. Unlike Charlie fuckin Chaplin but, ah didnae fuckin audition.

Get tae the point, Goalie, wid ye? Yir haverin oan. Naw, really. Want tae know hoo normal ye ur? Zero, ya jerk, zero percent normal. So fuckin zip it or go an’ annoy some cunt else.

Anither drink, lads? Whit’ll we hiv? Hiv they a Spanish rid in here? Seein yis his pit me in the mood furra Spanish rid. Nae idea why that shid be. That’s the wey it is but. So lads, who’s pickin the tab up? Ahm happy enough tae dae the orderin.

Oot wi it, Goalie. Say whit the fuck it is yir wantin. Or get the hell ootae here!

Didnt ah awready say. Ah fancy a Spanish rid. A Spanish brandy wid be okay as well but. Or Spanish kidneys.

Ahm tellin ye wan last time, Goalie. Get tae the fuckin point. Stop ramblin oan an’ fuckin oan.

Ah like tae ramble oan but. Same as some other cunts like tae go oan big adventures. Same as ithers dream ae bein big drugs barons an’ shiftin mair an’ mair stuff. Me, ah like tae ramble oan.

Pesche grabs me by the collar so hard, ma two top buttons pop aff. He’s throttlin me. Ah kin hardly breathe.

Ahv hid enough, Goalie, Pesche says. Noo you listen tae me!

Stofer’s jist sittin there, sayin nuthin, starin at the table. He takes a toothpick fae the cruet stand an’ starts chewin it. Ah dont try tae defend masel against Pesche. Naw, ah try, best ah kin, tae ensure his grip stays tight.

Aw that’s great, Pesche, ah manage tae croak. Yir such a strong fucker. Yir scarin the shit ootae me, Peter boy. Champion wrestler, ma fuckin arse. Go on: squeeze a toty bit harder an’ ah’ll die ae fuckin fear.

Wid ye — jist fur fuckin wance — shut the fuck up furra minute? Ye haver oan an’ oan an’ oan an’ oan an’ hivnae a fuckin clue aboot fuck-aw. If ye’d zip it fur thirty seconds, ah kid tell ye whit happened.

If you’d let go a bit, ah could shut ma mooth. Way yir blockin ma air, ah hiv tae keep it open.

Pesche lets go an’ starts tae tell me. He talks mair than he tells but. Human nature, probably. Ah dae the same. Talkin’s summit ye kin aye dae. Any cunt kin talk. Actually tellin someone summit’s a loat harder.

Pesche maintains he didnae initiate the deal. The French painter did. He’d pressurised Uli, wee Stofer an’ him himsel. It wis also the French guy who’d hid the idea ae the hoose in Spain. He himself, i.e. the French guy, hid a pub in the region. An’ if ahd ended up in jail, ah wis responsible fur that masel. That hid only happened cos ah didnae haun the stuff over the Frenchman left in ma car. If ah hidnae been such an eejit, ahd’ve got the 5k they promised an’ that widda been it. Nae hassle. Nae Gross fae the drug squad. Nae fuck-aw An’ five thoo. Tax free.

Pesche, ye dont even realise whit kinda deep-fried dog-poo yir comin oot wi. Yis come up wi a beautiful deal that, aw in aw, brings in fuck-knows how much dough fur yis, enough anyhoo tae buy a shack in Spain. An’ noo yir describin it as if it wis jist a nasty trick, ya dick, that hid unpleasant consequences fur me, an’ nane fur yous. You cunts didnae go tae jail but. Yis also earned plenty ae fuckin dough. That’s the point, Peter boy: a hoose fur yous, jist pocket money fur me but, an’ a year behind bars. Ta very much, Pesche. An’ thanks fur the wine, even if it tastes like fuckin vinegar. An’ bye.

Tell me whit yir wantin, Goalie. Say whit ye want. Mibbe we kin agree on a figure.

Nuthin. Ah want fuck-aw fae yis. Ahv got ma pride still. Honestly, ah want fuck-aw. Ah want tae go hame.

Watch whit ye say tae folk, Goalie. Ahm warnin ye.

Ah hear whit yir sayin, Mr Onassis.

Ah didnae go hame. The evenin hid hardly started so ah stumbled through the fog haphazardly. Wis ah ragin? Oot fur revenge? Naw, nane a that, jist a kinda empty feelin in ma belly an’ a cravin fur broon sugar.

At some point, ah passed the cemetery an’ summit took me in. Ah stopped at the Bourbaki monument. Poor cunts, ah thought. First, an ugly war against the Germans. Then they flee here. Ur washed up — ae aw places — here where ah stay. They end up dyin here an’ aw. Switzerland saved the lives ae the Bourbaki sodjers back then. Ye cannae actually save lives but. Sooner or later, it’s bye-bye anyhoo. Nanetheless, fur they yins buried here, it wis a bitter pill tae swallow: hivin tae breathe their last sae faur fae hame. In a village like fuckin this yin an’ aw.

How ah aye think the same thing, mair or less, when ahm in a cemetery, ah dont know masel. Ah then went tae ma faither’s grave anyhoo. An’ ah thought ae Uli’s faither while ah wis there. Whereas next-tae-nuthin tae nuthin came intae ma heid aboot ma ain faither.

Eh — hello, Goalie.

Hello, Frau Balsiger. Hello tae you an’ aw.

Visitin yir faither’s grave?

Aye. His tae be fae time tae time.

Of course. It kin help, it kin. An’ how ur ye doin, Goalie?

Fine, ta. Yirsel?

Cant complain.

Excellent. That’s whit ah like tae hear.

How’s yir mother? Ahv naw seen her furra lang time. Since she stopped comin tae gymnastics, ah hardly see her — if at aw.

She’s fine, ta.

An’ you yirsel, Goalie. Hiv ye settled back in? Ye wur gone a lang time.

Aye — a year, jist aboot. Ye get back intae yir auld ways soon enough but.

Yir right there.

Exactly.

An’ ah hear yir noo workin in the print shop?

That’s right.

Oor Marlies used tae work there.

Really?

Aye, a while ago noo but. Tell me summit, Goalie — ah prefer tae ask directly, insteid ae askin aroon: is it true you served a prison sentence?

Summit like that, aye. Naw, yir right. Ivrythin’s okay again noo but.

Yeah? Sometimes that’s how life goes, an’ sometimes naw.

Correct.

Okay, hiv a nice evenin then.