Pedro Lenz - Naw Much of a Talker

Regula turned up wi a cake. Some bastard hid tellt her it wis ma birthday.

Dont talk crap, Regi, it isnae. Who said it wis?

The rumour’s daein the roons.

Whit d’ye mean: the rumour’s daein the roons? Someone musta said it. The rumour disnae jist spread itsel jist.

Then but ah thought: the main thing is, she’s here. So ah shut the fuck up, pit some tea oan an’ said ah wis pleased she wis here an’ hoped she wisnae in a hurry.

She wisnae. Buddy wis at the airfield. She wisnae as keen on goin there. Fur her, it wis mair: kinda borin. Model planes didnae dae it fur her. Okay, so she’d nuthin against it eether. It wisnae as if it wis the worst hobby oot. An’ it did Buddy guid. He wis aye a diffrint person when he came hame.

D’ye take sugar?

Aye, please.

She looks at me, watches me as ah let the sugar trickle fae the spoon, an’ ah get aw embarrassed.

Tell me summit, Goalie. Whit like wis it in jail? Ah dont know anyone else who’s been.

Is that how ye came?

Naw, naw at aw. Ah tellt ye, didnt ah, someone said it wis yir birthday. Ahm jist intristit, that’s aw.

It’s nowt special. Durin the day ye work ootside in the fields an’ in the evenin ye wait fur night tae faw. Some folk ur total swines an’ some ur awright. First, ye hiv tae look an’ see which is which. Then ye stick tae the wans that ur awright. That way, it’s awright. D’ye want some music oan?

Naw, jist leave the radio on. Ah feel fine.

Ah dont.

How naw?

Dont know masel. It’s strange. Two ae us at ma place, oan a Sunday eftirnoon. An’ cake an’ tea. Hard tae say how. It’s makin me a bit nervous but.

Carry oan tellin me. How’d ye tae go tae jail anyhow?

Ah wis convicted.

Ah know that. They musta tellt ye why they convicted ye but.

Fur hivin impure thoughts.

God, Goalie, yir a strange yin.

Ah know, ah know.

Then, eftir a pause: Tell me, Regi, is Buddy naw as strange as me?

Buddy’s diffrint. Buddy his baith feet on the groon. Strange things urnae always happenin tae him. Ah didnae come here but tae talk aboot Buddy.

How then? How ur ye here? ah thought tae masel an’ ah pit ma arm roon her an’ said ah wis pleased she’d come anyhoo an’ ahd the feelin things wur a bit brighter when she wis near me.

It didnae bother her, that bit wi the arm. She shuffled up closer, mair like, pit her heid oan ma shoulder an’ didnae say any mair. It wis strange takin Regula in ma arms while her man wis at the firin range, operatin the remote control ae wan ae they childish model planes. Wis strange, aye. But nice but. Very nice.

Ah get ma kick fae the present. Maist folk ah know aye focus on the future, sorta, eether their ain, or the prospects ae their spoilt-as-fuck weans. The word future covers a multitude ae sins but, specially if ye dont know whit’s in store.

Ahm naw hooked on the future. Naw me. Ah dont focus on the future like that. At maist, ah wonder wis that it awready wi Regula. Haud her a bit, listen a bit, chat a bit, a wee bit ae trembly-knees sydrome. An’ tae go wi aw that: a piece o cake an’ national radio. Course, that his its attractions an’ aw, tae begin wi, at least. Problem is: nae cunt knows how long the beginnin lasts fur. An’ whether it even is a beginnin.

Course, ah kid say tae her: naw, that’s naw on, she his tae decide, tell me whit she wants. She his tae choose, him or me, eether we dae it right or it’s jist a bit ae fun etc etc blah-blah. Whit’s the point but?

Whit’ll ah dae if eftir a while she gi’es it: she’s decided in favour ae me. Or worse still, gi’es it: mibbe it’s better if she nivver sees me again? The smarter thing tae dae, nae doot, is tae dae fuck-aw an’ wait an’ see jist. Ye cannae speed these things up. Itherwise, ivry cunt wid.

Uli’s noo in hospital. Ah tellt him mair than wance tae see a doctor. When he finally went, Dr Wydenmeyer sent him straight tae hospital. Hepatitis, he’s got. Ither stuff as well. An’ above aw, a high temperature.

Didnt ah tell him he’d a temperature? Didnt ah tell him he his the jaundice? Marta thought it wis better naw tae go oan aboot it an’ tae let him get some shut-eye.

Admit it, Marta! Ah knew, ah tellt Uli: yiv got the jaundice, man. Ye shid dae summit aboot it, man. Didnt ah say so? Didnt ah say he shid caw a doctor?

Marta waves tae say naw tae shout like that an’ leaves the room. Pointless anyhow, jist sittin there while the man himsel’s oot fur the coont.

In the hospital cafeteria, they’ve guid doughnuts. They wans wi icin sugar, insteid ae normal sugar. Yir fingers dont get as sticky. An’ they taste jist as sweet as the ither yins. If ah kid, that’s the only doughnuts ahd eat. Jist the hospital yins.

Marta asks his there been any developments wi Regula.

Ah got a bit nervous.

How? Did some cunt say summit?

Naw, naebody did. Ye said yersel but ye wur in love wi the lassie.

Did ah?

C’mon, dont be like that, Goalie. Ye went oan an’ oan aboot her. As if ye wur a teenager again. C’mon, tell me. Tell me whit’s happenin. Ah cannae wait.

There’s nowt tae tell but. An’ anyhow: Marta’s top lip’s covered in jam an’ icin sugar. It’s distractin me.

We talk a bit aboot Uli an’ how guid it wid be if he wis pit oan wan ae they programmes, wan ae they controlled distribution programmes, heroin distribution, or a methadone treatment, so some cunt wis keepin an eye oan him, jist naw too much jist.

Excuse me, it’s nae smokin here.

In visitin her man, she wis. Her man in a purple tracksuit wi white stripes, her in wan ae they gowns they anthroposophist-yins wear — an’ jist as purple — an’ she comes up tae oor table like that, sits doon, practically, turns her nose up an’ says in that perverse tone ae voice some folk use when they want tae pit fellow human beins right: Eh excuse me, yeah you, it’s nae smokin here.

Ah think yir mistaken. Ah think yiv confused things, cos this bit here, this bit very definitely isnae nae smokin. This bit here’s smokin, an’ o’er there — d’ye see over there — is nae smokin.

We’re sittin in nae smokin but, an’ yir smoke’s right in oor faces.

Ah’ll gi’e ye that, ah say tae her. Ah know, the smoke’s terrible. Thing is: the smoke isnae familiar wi the rulin ae the Office fur Public Health. The smoke, eejit that it is, cannae read an’ disnae know how tae obey. The smoke dis whit it wants. The smoke is freer than aw ae us, intit?

She disnae find that wan bit funny an’ looks furra seat elsewhere. While they’re changin tables, her husband gets caught on the tubes ae the stupit drip he’s draggin aroon. Nearly went flat oan his face, he did, together wi his drip. Then he goes an’ looks at me as if ahd stuck ma fuckin leg oot or summit, the cunt.

They kidda went tae that ither seat fae the start, couldnt they. Miles away fae the smoke. Fur some folk but, it’s naw aboot the smoke, it’s aboot the wee conversation. Disnae matter whit it’s aboot. That’s cos, nooadays, ivry cunt’s sae lonely. They turn up at yir fuckin door, even, tae gi’e ye grief. Cos a bike, allegedly, his been left somewhere it shidnae, or cos yiv pit the rubbish oot a day too early. It’s naw aboot the fuckin bike but or the rubbish. It’s aboot the goddam loneliness. Some folk probably say tae themsels: ahd rather go roon an’ gi’e a fellow human bein grief than hiv nae communication at aw.

Whit ye thinkin aboot, Goalie?

Nuthin that matters.

Ye thinkin ae Regula?

Ah hiv tae go noo. Ahv stuff tae dae still. Anither thing, Marta, if ye kid ask that doctor if Uli kid get ontae a heroin distribution programme, in Olten or Berne or summit, that wid be better fur sure than daein nuthin at aw. You hiv tae dae the askin but. Cos you’re his wife. They widnae listen tae me anyhow. Ahm jist a jerk that’s jist ootae jail. That wis in fur daein drugs, intae the bargain.