Unless she thought he was acting too forward or something because he was talking to her — though as far as pubs go surely no, it was just what comes under the heading of being sociable. And we have to live with one another. Come on, if we arent even allowed to talk! Nowadays right enough you cant even take that for granted; it’s as if you’re supposed to go about kicking everybody in the teeth; you’re no supposed to be friendly, if you’re friendly they go and tell the polis and you wind up getting huckled for indecent assault. There again but folk have had to get that wee bit tougher nowadays, just to survive. He said to the lassie: Do you know what the trouble is? I’m talking about how things have got harder and tougher these past couple of years.
She kept her head lowered. It made him smile. He glanced over the counter but the woman was off serving other folk. He smiled again: You obviously dont want to know what the trouble is! And that’s your privilege, that’s your right. But I’m going to tell you anyhow!
Naw but seriously, he said, the way things are — society I’m meaning — it’s just like auld Joxer says in that play by Sean O’Casey, the world’s in a state of chassis. I’m talking about how capitalism and the right wing has got it all cornered, so selfishness is running amok, everywhere you look, it’s rampant — no just here in Scotland but right across the whole of the western world. It’s bloody disgusting. Everybody clawing at one another. Nobody gives a shit. We just dont care anymore about what the neighbour next door might be suffering. It’s true. They can be suffering. That auld woman up the stair for example, take her, you’ve no seen her for how long? a week? a fortnight? a bloody month? So what do you do do you go up and keek through the letterbox? naw, do you hell; nothing as simple that, what you do is go and phone the bloody polis and get them to come and do it for you. That’s the way it is. So you come to rely on people like the polis as if they were angels of mercy — instead of what they are, the forces of law and order for the rich and the wealthy, the upper class.
The lassie frowned.
Sorry, he said, am I talking too loud? I know you’re no supposed to nowadays. When you talk about something you’re really interested in you’re supposed to bloody keep it down, the noise level I mean. So so much for your interest, if it happens to be bloody genuine. . He shook his head, sighing; he drank from his pint of lager, glancing at her over the rim of the glass, but she was managing not to look at him. Funny how that happened. He could never have managed it himself, to not speak to somebody who was speaking to you. He would have found it extremely difficult, to achieve, he would have found it really difficult. Maybe some folk were mentally equipped to carry that kind of thing off but he wasnt, he just didnt happen to be one of them — not that he would have wanted to be anyhow. Mind you, if he had been a lassie. . But lassies are trained for it, in a manner of speaking; it’s part of the growing-up process for them, young females. It doesnt happen with boys, just if you’re a lassie, you’ve got to learn how not to talk; plus how not to look, you get trained how not to look. How not to look and how not to talk. You get trained how not to do things.
My mother was a talker, he said, God rest her she was a good auld stick. I liked my father but I have to admit it I loved my mother. She used to sing too. She’s been dead for fifteen years. Fifteen years. A long time without your maw eh? I was just turned twenty-five when it happened. A long time ago.
The lassie smiled.
You’re smiling, he said, but it’s true. He tapped ash onto the floor and scraped the heel of his shoe over it, then inhaled deeply. He had loved his mother. It was funny to think that, but he had. And he missed her. Here he was a grown man, forty years of age, and he still missed his mammy. So what but? People do die. It’s the way things are. Nobody can change it. The march of progress.
I dont believe in after-lives, he said, and I dont bloody believe in before-lives. Being honest about it I dont believe in any of your bloody through-the-looking-glass-lives at all. And that includes whatever you call it, Buddhism or Mohammedism or whatever the hell. There’s the here and there’s the now. Mind you, I’m no saying there’s no a God, I’m just no saying there is one. What I will bloody say is I’m no very interested, one way or the other. What about yourself?
O. . She smiled for a moment then she frowned almost immediately; she dragged on her cigarette and let the smoke out in a cloud. Then she dragged on it again but this time inhaled.
He shrugged. It’s alright if you’re no wanting to speak, I know how things are. Dont worry about it. Anyway, I’m doing enough chattering for the two of us! One thing but I will say — correct me if I’m wrong — your politics, they’re like my own, we’re both to the left. Eh?
She nodded very slightly, giving a very quick smile. Probably she was a wee bit suspicious. And if she wasnt she should’ve been; especially nowadays. Because you just never know who you’re talking to. He gazed at her. There was something the. .
And then he felt like giving her a kiss. It was so sudden and what an urge he had to turn away.
And he felt so sorry for her. He really did. He felt so sorry for her. How come he felt so sorry for her? It was almost like he was going to burst out greeting! How come? How come it was happening? He gulped a couple of times and took a puff on the fag, then another one. God. He bit on his lower lip; he stared across the bar to where a conversation was on the go between some guys he knew — just from drinking in here but, he didnt know them from outside — and didnt really want to either. Nothing amazing, he just found it difficult being in their company, it was a bit boring, if he had to be honest, nothing against them, the guys themselves. What was up? What was wrong? He blinked, he kept his eyelids shut for several moments.
A tiny wee amount of gin and orangeade was left in her glass. She was obviously trying to make it last for as long as possible. And she wouldnt allow him to buy her another. That was for definite. It was a thing about females. She was looking at the clock. That was another thing about them! Women! God! Strange people! He grinned at the lassie: Yous women! Yous’re so different from us! Yous really are! Yous’re so different!
She gazed at him.
Yous are but honest.
In what way?
O Christ in every way.
She nodded.
I mind when my daughter started her period if you dont mind me saying — I felt dead sorry for her. No kidding. Know how? Because she wasnt going to be a boy! He shook his head, smiling.
That’s awful.
Naw, he said, what I mean. .
But she had looked away from him in such a style that he stopped what it was he was going to say. Along the counter the woman serving was setting pints up for a group of young blokes who had just come in. He said, I dont mean it the way it sounds. The exact same thing happens with a pet, a wee kitten or a wee puppy, when it’s newborn and it’s just like any baby. .
I dont want to hear this.
Naw but. .
She shook her head. I dont want to hear it.
Aye but you dont know what I’m going to say.
I dont want to hear it. She smiled, then set her face straight, stubbed her fag out in the ashtray.
He had just been wanting to tell her how the things he liked as a boy he had wanted his wee lassie to get involved in, because he knew she would enjoy them, that’s all; nothing else, things like football and climbing trees, jumping the burn; nothing special, the usual, the usual crap, just the things boys did. Of course she would go on and do the things lassies did and she would enjoy them. He knew that. That was what happened. And it was fine. But it wasnt the point. It was something else, to do with a feeling, an emotional thing. Surely you had to be allowed that?