Pedro Lenz - Naw Much of a Talker

Pedro Lenzwas born in 1965 in Langenthal and now lives in Olten, Switzerland. He studied Spanish literature at the University of Bern and has worked as a freelance writer for various newspapers and magazines since 2001. Lenz is very active on the spoken word scene, is one half of the performance duo Hohe Stirnen and a member of the spoken-word artists group Bern ist überall. He has won numerous awards and poetry slams, was nominated for the Swiss Book Prize and won the Berne Literature Prize in 2010 for this first novel, originally published as Der Goalie bin ig , which is also to be made into a film.

Donal McLaughlinspecialises in translating contemporary Swiss fiction. He has translated over 100 writers for the New Swiss Writing anthologies and is the English voice of Urs Widmer. An author in his own right, Donal frequently also interprets for visiting writers at readings and festivals. He features in Best European Fiction 2012 (Dalkey Archive Press) as both a writer and a translator. In 2013, he was shortlisted for the Best Translated Book Award in the United States for his translation of Urs Widmer’s My Father’s Book (Seagull).

It aw started long afore that. Ah kid jist as well make oot but: it aw started that wan evenin, a few days eftir they let me ootae the Joke.

Boot ten in the evenin, it wis. Hawf past, mibbe. An’ see the wind? The wind widda cut right through ye, fuckin freezin it wis. Fog Valley. It November an’ aw. Ma heart wis like a soakin-wet flair-cloth, it wis that heavy.

So ah takes masel intae Cobbles, fancied a wee coffee ah did, wi a guid shot ae schnapps in it.

The dosh they gi’e ye when ye leave the nick ahd awready blown awready, naw that ah kidda tellt ye whit oan.

So there ah wis: fuck aw dosh, desperate furra coffee but, wi schnapps in it, furra bit o company an’ aw, a cunt or two tae talk tae.

Ahm tellin ye, arent ah? Ma pockets wur empty, part fae a few fags, a few coins. Things wur a bit tight like. Tighter than tight, tae be honest. Waitin on money some cunt owed me, ah wis. Try sayin that but when yir fresh ootae the nick. Ahm owed a whack o money, jist dont hiv it yet.

Impresses nae cunt, that.

So ah goes intae Cobbles, like ah say, an’ order a coffee wi schnapps.

Regula asks hiv ah the money fur it?

Naw a bad question, ah admit.

Dae me a favour, Regi, ah gi’e it, spare me the patter, bring me o’er the coffee jist an’ we’ll take it fae there.

Total patter-merchant ur whit, she goes — an’ goes an’ fetches it.

She’s like that, when she comes back: Ah didnae pit it through, an’ she looks at me thon wey — ah dunno whit wey, masel. Diffrint, anyhoo, diffrint fae usual, wi a bit mair longin in her eyes, or summit. Ahv nae idea whit like it is fur ither guys, see me but? That kinda thing warms ma heart — toasts ma insides, it dis — a woman like Regi lookin at me like that.

Thanks, Regi, love. Ye’ll get yir reward in heaven. The money an’ aw some time.

Gi’e her peace wi that kinda patter, she gi’es it next, an’ ahm naw tae start gettin used tae it eether, cos if Pesche finds oot she didnae pit it through, aw hell’ll break loose so it will. Ah know masel whit like he can be.

She’s brilliant, Regula, ye hiv tae hand it tae her, she looks oot fur us, jist takes it intae her heid naw tae pit summit through, nae cunt’ll know, an’ anyhoo: Pesche, the gaffer’ll be the last wan tae notice. Goalie here, meanwhile, his his coffee an’ that’s aw that matters.

Ahd known furra long time she his a big heart, Regula. That evenin there but, ah started tae like her a loatae other ways too.

It’s strange, that. Dead strange. Yiv known a woman fur years an’ naw thought nuthin of it, an’ suddenly, christ, suddenly she’s got summit. She his : she’s suddenly got summit that’s got unner yir skin, suddenly ye like her like. Explain that yin tae me! That particular evenin, ahd a loatae questions tae answer, tae be honest. Suddenly but, wan single question, jist, intristit me — an’ that wis: wis there any chance at aw, in this here lifetime, that me an’ Regula kid become an item mibbe?

Regula, love, ah gave it, kin ah ask ye a wee favour? Kid ye slip me a fifty tae Monday? Whit it is is: ahm owed a load ae money, jist hivnae actually got it actually yet. A wee cash-flow problem. Ye ken hoo it is –

She looks at me like that. Then goes like that: so ah hidnae changed at aw in the Joke, eh? Ye widnae think, tae listen tae me, ahd done nearly a year in there, ah hidnae changed a bit, still full o the same auld shite ah wis.

Dont get yirsel worked up, Regi. Ye dont know whit yir on aboot. Ye know fuck aw aboot me, fuck aw aboot the Joke an’ aw. An’ it’s better that wey, believe me. Ye should coont yir blessins. As fur the dosh: ahm naw beggin, certainly naw goney beg fae you, it’s up tae you, eether yiv a fifty or ye hivnae an’ we kin talk aboot summit else. That’s aw there is tae it.

She gave me the fifty: folded it an’ pit in ma breast pocket, wi’oot a word. Ah took her haun, gi’ed the inside ae her arm a wee kiss an’ gave it: see if ye didnae hiv tae go tae work, ahd take ye straight hame so ah wid an’ blow ye away. Ah swear, Regi, ahd make ye a happy woman.

She wis like that tae me: ah wis a daft bastard, really wis, an’ she gave a wee laugh an’ ah gave a wee laugh an’ aw. It wis guid tae laugh again, it really wis. Ah hidnae hid much tae laugh aboot recently, ah really hidnae.

When there wis fuck-aw schnapps left in the coffee, ah went o’er tae the Spanish Club tae see wis there any grub left. An’ sure enough: there wis some, even if it wis late. Paco rustled up a bit ae fish. Re-heatit the rice fur me. Jist the joab it wis.

He wantit tae know where ahd been keepin masel. He hidnae seen me aroon fur ages.

Alcatraz, ah went, haudin ma fingers up tae ma face tae look like jail bars.

He shook his big heavy heid jist, winced a bit wi his mooth. They’re guid at that in the Spanish Club: they know when tae ask ye things an’ when it’s better naw tae.

Hey, Paco, tell me, hiv ye seen Uli or Marta in here at aw? Naw? Hiv they naw dropped in, naw? Naw, it disnae matter. Yir rice is guid, by the way, really guid. Ahv said it afore an’ ah’ll say it again: yis ur really guid cooks in here.

He’s like that: Gracias, Quiper. Quiper ’s the same as the English word, obviously, anither word fur Goalie , it’s whit they say in Spain but. He’s like that: thanks, he’ll pass it on tae the chef an’ he tops ma glass up, that big steady haun ae his that minds me o ma faither dis the pourin. He wisni aye the easiest o men, ma auld man, he’d a steady haun like that sometimes but. So ahv a rid wine in front ae me, a guid yin, a Navarra. If ahd any choice in the matter, it wid be brown sugar, hawf a spoonful, insteid. At the same time ah knew but: it hid tae stop, ah hid tae draw a fuckin line unner it, wance an’ fur fuckin aw, poison it wis, fur the riff-raff. Logical, intit: ye cannae spend yir hale life chasin that kinda kick, yir hale life waitin fur thon splash in yir brain. An’ a warmth tae coorse through yir veins like a hot summer’s breeze — in the middle ae fuckin winter but.

So ye hivnae seen Uli? Lookin fur him ah am. Need tae ask him summit, summit important.

Naw, Paco goes, naw, he hisnae seen him fur ages, o’er a week at least. Poor bastard. Guy’s in trouble, nae doot.