Naw Much of a Talker (7 page)

So yir back in business again, Goalie. Didnae take ye long, eh?

Forgive me fur sayin so, Herr Gross, ah dont want tae make nae fuss – if ye compare whit ah get oan payday tae whit you get but, an’ if ye add yir pension oan an’ aw the paid
holidays, ye’ll see which ae us two is in business an’ who isnae.

If ah wis you, Goalie, ahd keep ma patter in check so ah wid.

An’ whit if ah tell ye ah hivnae done nuthin? Look at me, Herr Gross, dae ah look like a gangster? You’ve a guid nose fur folk. You’re a guid judge ae stuff like that.

Ah’ll be expectin ye at the station at hawf eleven themorrow.

So Pesche fuckin squeaked. Fuckin rat. How dis the cunt hiv tae bring ma name intae play, jist cos some cunt stashed some drugs in his shitin pub an’ the cops heard aboot
it? Cunt mentions ma name jist so he kin say he’s answered their question. Total fuckin tube.

Ahd tae make a statement at the station an’ sign it. Gross, the plain-clothes guy, wis furious: thought ah wis lyin through ma teeth. When ah held ma haun oot but as ah
wis leavin, he took it, shook it an’ gave it: guidbye an’ thanks an’ aw that.

Mibbe Gross wisnae furious at me at aw, but at himself – cos he’d the kinda joab he his: gets tae spend long eftirnoons wi the likes ae me discussin a few fuckin
grams. Tae think ae aw that talent! He kid be daein summit mair meaninful wi his life.

Okay, so if yiv hid enough run-ins wi the polis an’ the judges an’ the authorities an’ the like, it disnae fuckin matter any mair whether yir tellin the truth or naw. Nae
cunt’s goney believe ye any mair anyhoo, cept mibbe yir cat – if yiv got wan, that is. Cats ur the only fuckers that still believe ye: believe that ivry time ye come hame, yir goney
feed them.

Anyway: ah lied tae nae fuckin cunt. Ah tellt Gross that an’ aw. The truth’s always relative, ah went. An’ if some cunt says: Goalie, be honest tae me noo, ahm bein honest tae
you arent ah, ah aye ask first whit exactly he means by that.

Whit’s honest? Is it honest if ye say tae some cunt who his a really ugly rash oan his face, eh excuse me, yiv got a really ugly rash oan yir face. Is that bein honest? Lookin at it
objectively, it mibbe is. At the same time but, it’s totally fuckin unnecessary. If some cunt assures me, afore he gets tae the point, that he wants tae be honest wi me, that he’s aye
fuckin honest, summit goes
ping
in ma brain, an’ ah tell masel, watch oot, Goalie, it’s wan ae they honest cunts, get ready, mate, all hell’s aboot tae break loose.

It’s the same thing wi the truth. If ah tell Gross, the plain-clothes guy, that ah personally hiv fuck-aw tae dae wi the few grams they found at Cobbles, then that’s ma truth.
Course, there’s mibbe anither truth an’ aw: course, ah fuckin know whose they kid be an’ who – in the Fog – is a drug dealer an’ how much business they dae
an’ whit the street value is an’ where they get it fae an’ aw that. That much wis clear, it wisnae whit we wur talkin aboot but. Course Gross knew that an’ aw, whit wis he
goney dae aboot it but? Stuff dis get shifted here, aye – an’ he’s chasin the crumbs an’ if he dis actually catch some cunt, it’s probably jist some layaboot who wisni
smart enough. See even the wans, the wans jist wan level higher than the tubes oan the bottom rung but – Gross cannae get near them, even.

Ye know summit, Goalie.

Ah know less than nuthin, Herr Gross. Ahm extremely sorry, that’s the wey it is but.

Dont gi’e me any ae yir crap, Goalie. Ah know ye know summit.

Ah know ah kid kill a coffee an’ a smoke.

If ye tell me whit ye know, ah’ll get them tae fetch ye a coffee. An’ mibbe ah’ll make an exception an’ let ye smoke in ma office.

If ah knew summit, ahd hiv tellt ye it long ago, Herr Gross. Ah widnae want ye hivin tae dae overtime cos ae me, whit wi yir wife awready waitin fur ye, wi the dinner ready. Ahm naw comfortable
eether wi the thought ae ye bein late an’ disappointin yir wife cos ae me. Bet ye, she’s an amazin cook an’ aw.

Gross his tae stop himself smilin. Mon, Goalie, go fur it, jist tell me the truth jist. Cannae be that hard, can it?

Which truth dae ye want tae hear?

There’s only wan truth.

That’s a bold proposition, Herr Gross. Will ah tell ye summit? See when we played fitba as schoolboys, back in the day, o’er at the Reitplatz, we used tae use oor schoolbags as
goal-posts. How often dae ye think – when a shot wis waist-high, say -we didnae know hid the baw went in or naw?

That wis in! the guy whose shot it wis wid say.

Naw, it hit the post, whoivver wis in goal wid answer.

Aye, the inside ae the post an’ then it went in, the first guy wid make oot.

Naw, it hit the post an’ went oot furra bye-kick, the keeper wid say.

Baith o them wur tellin the truth as they seen it. Yet they accused each ither ae bein bare-faced liars. Untruthmongers. It wis a problem wi the truth, that. It wisnae their fault but. Naw, it
wis the fault ae the council that widnae think ae pittin up a couple ae real goal-posts fur us weans back then. That’s how oor generation nivver achieved fuck-aw. When it came tae sport, at
least. That’s a truth an’ aw. Know whit ahm sayin?

Wance again, Gross hid tae stop himself laughin, ah reckoned. Then he got aw serious but again. Ye talked nuthin but shite the last time ye wur here an’ aw. It didnae get ye anywhere but.
If yid at least behave normally when ye wur in wi me – at least a bit, at least – ah kid mibbe help you. Honestly, Goalie. Know summit? Wi you, ah aye hiv the impression yir coverin fur
someone else. Ye think yir morally obliged tae or summit. There’s wan thing ye hivnae unnerstood but, an’ that’s: the guys yir coverin fur hiv nae morals. They’re laughin up
their sleeves at ye.

Oho, Herr Gross, that’s Manitou speakin noo. Lord hiv mercy. If we want tae discuss morals but, we first need tae think aboot whose morals we mean. Ur we talkin aboot the morals ae the
wans that invented the bloody things in the first place, or the morals ae the wans who end up payin fur ither folk’s morals?

At that point, he lost his patience wi me an’ said ah wis tae sign the statement an’ go. We’d be hearin fae each ither.

Okay: guidbye, in that case, Herr Gross. Thanks fur yir patience.

Bye.

Here’s anither truth while we’re at it: try leavin the police station in the Fog in daylight wi’oot any cunt seein ye who knows ye. Naw, yir right:
for-fuckin-get it.

Hello, Frau Hofstetter.

Hello, Goalie, how’s things?

Guid, thanks. Things ur guid. Always on the go. Ahv jist been pressin charges.

Ye dont say! You? – Yiv filed a charge?

Aye, that’s whit ah done, ah filed it.

Course, nae cunt’ll believe ye when ye say that. That Hofstetter wan definitely willnae. She’s the last person who’d think anythin guid aboot me. Whit kin ye dae. Whit will ah
dae? Nowt. Jist dont think aboot it.

Aw that shite meant ahd tae leave ma work an hoor an’ a hawf early an’ aw. Sorry, but nae cunt’s goney pay me fur that time, ur they? An’ goin back in thenoo, tae show ma
face like, is fuckin pointless. So ah jist leave it jist.

Ah hitch-hike tae Olten insteid. Olten’s a sad toon, a really sad toon. It’s a bit better than the Fog but cos in Olten naw ivry cunt knows me. It disnae bother me if a toon’s
sad. Oan the contrary. Toons ur like stories, the sad yins urnae always the worst.

Eftir aboot hawf an hoor, a Renault finally stops tae gi’e me a lift. Guy looks like a teacher. Later but, when ahv been talkin tae him a bit, it turns oot he isnae. He’s a rep furra
watch-makin company in the French-speakin pairt. Someone who says he occasionally gi’es folk lifts cos it’s borin aye bein oan yir ain in the car.

Ah kin take ye as faur as Rothrist. Then ah hiv tae take the motorway.

Great. Merci buccups. As faur as Rothrist is magic. Then ah’ll take it fae there.

It’s guid craic, listenin tae a French-speaker tryin tae speak German.

In Rothrist, ah wait ten minutes, max, then a jeep gi’es me a lift, a Cherokee. The woman drivin it his quite a few jewels oan her fingers an’ is pickin her
daughter up fae ballet in Olten. Wisnae much aulder than me, her in the Cherokee, mibbe even younger. She babbled oan a bit, ah wisnae listenin but, wis jist givin it ‘aye’ aw the time
an’ thinkin ma ain thoughts. When ah looked at her, ye see, wi aw her expensive jewellery an’ her fine claes, ah realised ahm auld enough tae hiv daughters an’ aw that wid go tae
ballet an’ hiv tae be taxied to an’ fro. An’ that ahd mibbe then hiv a jeep like this an’ aw an’ a very smart wife who’d hiv time tae chauffeur oor daughters
aroon an’ tae give lifts tae hitch-hikers an’ who wid babble oan as much as this yin did. The thought ae aw that wisnae pleasant but.

Ye kin let me oot here. That’s perfect.

Ahm naw allowed tae stop here. It’s nae waitin ivrywhere. Whit’s that aw aboot? Soon aw car drivers’ll be allowed tae dae is pay fines an’ taxes. An’ godknows: the
polis hiv better things tae dae. Jist think ae whit ye see oan TV. But naw but: it’s only ivver the drivers they’re eftir.

Yeah, naw ah jist meant: fae here oan in, ye kin drap me aff anywhere. Great, thanks a lot, ta very much, bye.

Where she drapped me aff, they’re aw oot even this early in the evenin. Women fae here. Women fae countries further east: Austria, Russia an’ the like. Women fae
Africa. Women fae ah-don’t-know-where.

Course, it disnae matter sae much whether yir fae here, or elsewhere, dependin oan yir joab. Yir foreign anyhoo. Ahv known mair than wan woman who’s been active in this business. Ah dont
want tae go oan aboot it. If yir oan drugs, there’s stuff yir prepared tae dae. Course, they’re naw aw addicts. A few dae it fur ither reasons. There’s nae shortage ae reasons.
There’s nae shortage ae guys eether that’ll pay money even tae get a sniff ae a woman. The joab widnae exist itherwise. Ye shouldnae judge that kinda thing. Presumably that’s
honest an’ aw. An’ there’s mibbe even worse ways ae bein honest. Whit ah want tae say but is: suddenly yir oan this street in Olten an’ ye see the women an’ ye see the
limos that pull up an’ a woman gets in or disnae, an’ it gets ye thinkin, thinkin aboot aw the women yiv hid an’ the wans ye hivnae an’ the wans yir nivver fuckin goney.
Then ye think ae the women who’ve tellt ye aboot bein oan the street. An’ then ye clock aw the things that kin happen in an evenin oan a patch like this. An’ then ye wish
ye’d nivver left yir hame village an’ it wis still yir childhood an’ ivrythin wis still the wey it aye used tae be when yir maw sang ye tae sleep or yir faither tellt ye a bedtime
story an’ then turned the light oot, an’ ivrythin ye knew aboot life, the hale fuckin loat, still fitted in yir heid still, yir beddin smelt ae fresh soap an’ mibbe a bit ae you
an’ fuck-aw else.

Olten his better bits than this. Ah got masel away fae there. Ah went tae play pinball wi some ae the cash ahd saved oan the train ticket.

Nae idea whit like it is fur ither folk, see me but: ah kin pit a two-franc bit in, then keep playin till ma wrists faw aff. Staun me in front ae any machine an’ eftir
the first three baws ahv it sussed an’ ah’ll guarantee ye that wi the second three ah’ll win a free go.

Ma favourites ur the auld machines that talk tae ye.
Hit Gate One! Hit the Multiball Target! Well Done, Player One! Go for the Jackpot!

Wi they yins, ah aye imagine a wee man inside, a cute wee dwarf sittin there who kin speak dead-good English an’ who likes ye an’ wants tae help ye, jist cos he dis.

There’s nae cunt tae help me but. Nae wee cunt an’ nae big cunt eether. Naw even me masel kin help me.

Ah take the train hame an’ at the station in the Fog, ah hiv a few mair beers wi the jerks who ur aye sittin there, hivin a beer an’ waitin fur time tae pass. They’re probably
quite happy at that cos, sooner or later, time always dis pass.

By the time ah hit the sheets, ahm feelin guid-tae-really-guid again.

It wis a fortnight, jist aboot, afore Regula started speakin tae me again.

Ah called her a few times an’ talked tae her, swore ahd nowt tae dae wi aw that crap at Cobbles an’ that ahd left anythin even remotely tae dae wi drugs behind me, part fae the fact
ah know Uli an’ Marta, ye cannae dae anythin aboot that but can ye, cos friends ur friends an’ they two wur the only two ah hid, ahd known them since nursery, an’ wid she, Regula,
please fur-fuckin-chrissake believe me please, even the fuckin polis believed me, an’ it wisnae as if that didnae tell ye summit if ye stopped tae think aboot it etc.

An’ then she said awright then an’ that she wis goin iceskatin oan Saturday wi her wee godchild an’ ah kid come alang if ah wantit, that wey we kid skate a bit an’ talk
an’ she’d treat me tae a hot punch, it wid dae me guid.

It wisnae bad tae start wi. Ah hired a pair ae skates an’ kid tell right away ah wis still naw bad at it. Like smokin, it is: if, at some point, yiv learnt how tae dae it, ye nivver really
forget. Then but, when we let her wee godchild skate aroon oan her ain a bit an’ we jist stood at the side jist, she wis suddenly wantin tae know again, Regula, how it wis ahd done time.

Know summit, Regi, ah dont like talkin aboot it. Mibbe but, at some point, in Religion or at Sunday school, someone tellt ye whit a scapegoat is. The auld Israelites piled aw the junk that wis
burdenin them ontae a goat – symbolically, of course – then chased it oot intae the wilderness. So the goat’s oot in the wilderness, wi aw the sins an’ lies an’ crimes
ae humanity oan its shooders, cannae find anythin tae drink an’ so it dies ae thirst an’ nivver comes back of course, dis it, an’ the people aw rejoice, gi’in it: this is
guid, noo it’s guid, noo aw that junk’s been left behind in the wilderness. As fur us, wiv been liberated. Guid oan ye, scapegoat!

That’s roughly whit happened tae me an’ aw, cept ah ended up bein the goat though ahm naw an effin goat an’ ma wilderness wis in among the lakes – the
Joke, tae be precise – an’ nae cunt ivver gave it ‘guid oan ye’. The opposite, in fact.

Wis ah suggestin ahd done time fur ither folk an’ if so, how hid ah? An’ fur who?

Ye see, Regi, those ur the very questions nae cunt’s intristit in any mair. That’s how ah tend naw tae talk aboot it.