And he did try. But when she asked, he went, as if magnetised. He went back — back to the free-fall pantomime of doom.
‘The main role of the semicolon’, he read in his Concise Oxford Dictionary, ‘is to mark a grammatical separation that is stronger in effect than a comma but less strong than a full stop.’
Des had the weight of the book on his lap. It was his prize possession. Its paper jacket was royal blue (‘deep, vivid’).
‘You can also use a semicolon as a stronger division in a sentence that already contains commas:
What has crippled me? Was it my grandmother, frowning on my childish affection and turning it to formality and cold courtesy; or was it my pious mother, with her pathological caution; or was it my spineless uncle, who, despite numerous affronts and wrongs, proved incapable of even …’
Des heard the dogs. They weren’t barking, he realised, not exactly: they were swearing (and the rooftop Rottweilers, faintly and almost plaintively, at this distance, were swearing back).
Fuckoff! yelled Joe (or Jeff). It was almost a monosyllable. Fuckoff! … Fuck! … Fuck! … Fuckoff!
Fuckoff! yelled Jeff (or Joe). Fuckoff! … Fuck! … Fuck! … Fuckoff!
4
‘DOGS,’ SAID LIONEL, ‘they descended from wolves. That’s they heritage. Now wolves,’ he went on, ‘they not man’s natural enemy. Oh no. You wolf won’t attack a human. That’s a myth, that is, Des. A total myth.’
Des listened. Lionel pronounced ‘myth’ miff. Full possessive pronouns — your, their, my — still made guest appearances in his English, and he didn’t invariably defy grammatical number (they was, and so on). But his verbal prose and his accent were in steep decline. Until a couple of years ago Lionel pronounced ‘Lionel’ Lionel. But these days he pronounced ‘Lionel’ Loyonel, or even Loyonoo.
‘Now I know you reckon I’m harsh with Jeff and Joe. But that’s for why. To make them attack humans — at me own bidding … It’s about time I got them pissed again.’
Every couple of weeks Lionel got the dogs pissed on Special Brews. Interesting, that, thought Des. In America, evidently, pissed meant angered, or pissed off; in England, pissed just meant drunk. After six cans each of potent malt lager, Jeff and Joe were pissed in both senses. Course, they useless when they actually pissed, said Lionel. They come on tough but they can’t hardly walk. It’s the next morning — ooh. That’s when they tasty … That ooh sounded more like où. Nor was this the only example of Lionel’s inadvertent French. He also used un — as a modest expletive, denoting frustration, effort, or even mild physical pain. Now Des said,
‘You got them pissed Saturday before last.’
‘Did I? What for?’
‘You had that meet with the shark from Redbridge. Sunday morning.’
Lionel said, ‘So I did, Des. So I did.’
They were enjoying their usual breakfast of sweet milky tea and Pop-Tarts (there were also a few tins of Cobra close to hand). Like Lionel’s room, the kitchen was spacious, but it was dominated by two items of furniture that made it feel cramped. First, the wall-wide TV, impressive in itself but almost impossible to watch. You couldn’t get far enough away from it, and the colours swam and everyone wore a wraithlike nimbus of white. Whatever was actually showing, Des always felt he was watching a documentary about the Ku Klux Klan. Item number two, known as the tank, was a cuboid gunmetal rubbish bin, its dimensions corresponding to those of an average dishwasher. It not only looks smart, said Lionel, as with Des’s help he dragged it out of the lift. It’s a fine piece of machine-tooled workmanship. German. Christ. Weighs enough. But this item, too, had its flaw.
Lionel now lit a cigarette and said, ‘You been sitting on it.’
‘I never.’
‘Then why won’t it open?’
‘It hardly ever opened, Uncle Li,’ said Des. ‘Right from the start.’ They had been through this many times before. ‘And when it does open, you can’t get it shut.’
‘It sometimes opens. It’s no fucking use to man or beast, is it. Shut.’
‘I lost half a nail trying to open it.’
Lionel leaned over and gave the lid a tug. ‘Un … You been sitting on it.’
They ate and drank in silence.
‘Ross Knowles.’
There followed a grave debate, or a grave disquisition, on the difference between ABH and GBH — between Actual Bodily Harm and its sterner older brother, Grievous. Like many career delinquents, Lionel was almost up to PhD level on questions of criminal law. Criminal law, after all, was the third element in his vocational trinity, the other two being villainy and prison. When Lionel talked about the law (reaching for a kind of high style), Des always paid close attention. Criminal law was in any case much on his mind.
‘In a nutshell, Des, in a nutshell, it’s the difference between the first-aid kit and the casualty ward.’
‘And this Ross Knowles, Uncle Li. How long’s he been in Diston General?’ asked Des (referring to the worst hospital in England).
‘Oy. Objection. That’s prejudicial.’
Panting and drooling, Jeff and Joe stared in through the glass door: brickfaced, with thuggish foreheads, and their little ears trying to point towards each other.
‘Why prejudicial?’
‘Hypothesis.’ Hypoffesis. ‘I give Ross Knowles a little tap in a fair fight, he comes out of the Hobgoblin — and walks under a truck.’ Truck: pronounced truc-kuh (with a glottal stop on the terminal plosive). ‘See? Prejudicial.’
Des nodded. It was in fact strongly rumoured that Ross Knowles came out of the Hobgoblin on a stretcher.
‘According to the Offences Against the Person Act,’ Lionel went on, ‘there’s Common Assault, ABH, and G. It’s decided, Des, by you level of intent and the seriousness of the injury. Offensive weapon, offensive weapon of any kind, you know, something like a beer glass — that’s G. If he needs a blood transfusion — that’s G. If you kick him in the bonce — that’s G.’
‘What did you use on him, Uncle Li?’
‘A beer glass.’
‘Did he need a blood transfusion?’
‘So they say.’
‘And did you kick him in the bonce?’
‘No. I jumped on it. In me trainers, mind … Uh, visible disfigurement or permanent disability — that’s the clincher, Des.’
‘And in this case, Uncle Li?’
‘Well I don’t know, do I. I don’t know what sort of nick he was in before.’
‘… Why d’you smash him up?’
‘Didn’t like the smile on his face.’ Lionel gave his laugh — a series of visceral grunts. ‘No. I’m not that thick.’ (Thic-kuh.) ‘I had two reasons, Des. Ross Knowles — I heard Ross Knowles saying something about buying a banger off Jayden Drago. And he’s got the same moustache as Marlon. Ross has. So I smashed him up.’
‘Hang on.’ Des tried to work it out (he went in search of the sequitur). Jayden Drago, the renowned used-car salesman, was Gina Drago’s father. And Marlon, Marlon Welkway, was Lionel’s first cousin (and closest associate). ‘I still don’t get it.’
‘Jesus. Haven’t you heard? Marlon’s pulled Gina! Yeah. Marlon’s pulled Gina … So all that come together in me mind. And it put me in a mood.’ For a while Lionel gnawed on his thumb. He looked up and said neutrally, ‘I’m still hoping for Common Assault. But me brief said the injuries were uh, more consistent with Attempted Manslaughter. So we’ll see. Are you going to school today?’