The Busconductor Hines

by James Kelman

First week, added Reilly. Conductors used to sign off sick when they knew they were on with him.

  Aw aye, aye. Hines yawned. He grinned suddenly at Colin. Great being on with him man, a shift went by in a matter of moments; no kidding you . . . He stopped, looked from Colin to Reilly.

  Naw, said one of the two other men, I was just saying there, he’s dead – a head-on out near Rutherglen.

  Taxi, said McCulloch.

  Private-hire, went on the man. Cortina I think he was driving – he wasnt carrying any punters at the time.

  Hines shook his head.

  How long since he chucked the buses? said Reilly.

  Och a good while, the other man replied.

  Terrible, muttered Hines.

  Aye, never knew what hit him.

  Killed instantly.

  Aye, we’ve all got to go. The man raised his beer and sipped at it. I could think of better ways right enough.

  Well at least he never knew. Reilly said: Imagine lingering on a vegetable or something?

  Hh; at least it’s better than being dead.

  Come off it Rab!

  Naw I mean, what happens if they come up with a new wonder drug? the day after they’ve cremated you? Fuck sake.

  Aye, said one of the men.

  Where there’s life etcetera. Hines drank a mouthful of beer. He gave a vague toast: It’s alright for you christians but what about the rest of us man? no after-life or fuck all.

  True, said Colin Brown. End of story.

  Reilly shrugged.

  But a vegetable . . . added one of the men; his nose wrinkled; he reached for his drink.

  See yous mob! McCulloch smiled and leaned back on his seat. What a conversation! To the two other men he said: That’s what happens when you go for a night out with the cunts in this garage!

  Ach I dont know though George, I like a good discussion.

  Makes you thirsty but, added his mate with a grin.

  Aye. Come on George, you’re supposed to be organising the bevy.

  I’m getting put off with yous mob . . . He stretched over to the next table to get the women’s order.

  On the platform the two entertainers in red trousers, tartan waistcoats and red bowties, singing a song and accompanying themselves on accordion and rhythm guitar. At the next table Sandra was smiling at something being said by McCulloch’s wife; and she smiled at Hines when she noticed him watching. He prised the lid off the tin. The waitress had arrived again, her face perspired; quickly she transferred the drinks from tray to table and collected the empties. Why dont you join the Foreign Legion, he grinned. Either she failed to hear or she ignored him. He reached for the water jug and added a measure to his whisky.

  Reilly was talking. He was saying, No chance, they’ll never give in without a fight. Look at that last bother we had over the rise; I mean after the autumn agreement it was supposed to be a formality, but was it? was it fuck!

  Aye and we’re still waiting for the backpay, said Colin.

  What they’ll do is toss it into us at Christmas week then every cunt’ll think they’ve had a fucking bonus!

  Hines laughed with the others.

  McCulloch shook his head at Stewart. You’re just encouraging them.

  Ah you cant escape politics.

  Dead right Stewart, but it’s no good telling this yin.

  What you want to do is get a transfer down to our garage, said Hines, then you’ll find out: bunch of fucking houdinis so they are.

  They laughed again. Rab’s right but, continued Reilly. It’s murder polis. You’ve just got to mention the word strike and no cunt’ll speak to you for six months.

  No wonder. Union union union, muttered McCulloch.

  See what I mean!

  Aye well fuck sake if I started talking about the job yous mob’d soon be shooting me down in flames.

  Hines frowned. That’s actually true.

  I know it’s fucking true!

  And this big forward we had . . . the driver named Donnie was saying: Eight goals in three games before he does a vanishing trick. Fuck knows what happened to him. One day he’s there the next nobody’s seen him. Same thing with another yin we had, a full-back – just a young cunt but he was big as well, a rare header of a ball; it was like having an extra striker at corner kicks. Caught by a plain clothes.

  Aye, went on Stewart, the bastard jumped onto his bus a couple of stops from George Square and told him to keep the ticket. The daft cunt did and that was that; a 10 o’clock line waiting for him when he paid in his money. Bumped out the door right away, no messing.

  Heh wait a minute, began Colin Brown.

  Agent provocateur, said Reilly. You trying to tell us the plain-clothes told him to keep the ticket and then done him for fiddling? I mean what was your Shop Steward doing?

  Fuck all he could do. The boy never told any cunt. And his driver was a Paki – one of them that never speaks to a white face.

  Aye but surely there was a case for reinstatement?

  Stewart shrugged. One of the lads went up to the place he stayed but the landlord told him he’d fucked off down south or something.

  Rare player too. Donnie shook his head: So all in we lost half a team in about three weeks. Next thing you know we’re losing five games on the trot. Then the shield: knocked out in the first fucking round.

  Aye, said Reilly, when something like that happens you’ve got to act fast.

  Colin muttered, Your branch sounds as bad as ours.

  Salt of the earth. Our branch is the salt of the earth; especially during the long hot summers . . . Hines lighted his cigarette, reached for a drink.

  I thought you were asleep, said McCulloch.

  Wish to christ I was man, that’s the trouble with nowadays, you yawn and then you yawn and what fucking happens?

  Dont worry, grinned Colin to the other two drivers, he’s always like this.

  Handy to know, replied Donnie.

  Reilly was calling to Sandra: Did you and him have a drink before you got here!

  She smiled. Hines winked. One of the women said something to her and she smiled again, and then was involved in a conversation there.

  The men had laughed at something.

  Donnie was saying: I’m telling you – and when I ask for a fucking omelette I get a hard-boiled egg!

  I heard that! called his wife. To the others at her table she added: Just because they’re sitting over there they think they can say what they like.

  Away and give us peace! grinned Donnie.

  Stewart winked: I knew it was a mistake to bring them. We should’ve dumped them out the road somewhere.

  Aye, said McCulloch, and we could’ve nicked into the bar and had a game of dominoes.

  Colin snorted. Chauvinist bastards.

  Just wait till you’re married, said Reilly with a grin. Then you can start telling us!

  Heh that reminds me . . . Stewart leaned forwards. I’m on backshift last week, second run of the day – picking up the workers and that

  Hines had risen. Sorry I’ve got to miss this. Take notes Willie, I’ll get the punchline when I get back.

  Something up with the way I talk? Stewart smiled.

  Naw, said McCulloch, just ignore the cunt – he’ll go away.

  Hines grinned, he moved his chair back to leave.

  Approaching 10.30 p.m. the waitress cleared the table of the empties while the round was being taken by McCulloch; and he was advising everybody to order doubles in case they couldnt get one later. For the past half hour members of the audience had been singing along with the duo. Hines unbuttoned the top of his shirt and stuffed the tie into his inside jacket pocket. Reilly was pointing to him. Aye, he said, I’m no kidding you!

  What’s he fucking on about? said Hines.

  You ya cunt ye – turning it on at the football; when we used to have a team. Aye George, you want to have been in the garage then.

  The driver named Donnie was looking at Hines then he cried: Now I fucking know you! I’ve
been sitting here all night wondering where it was – I forgot yous used to have a team. Aye! He snorted. About six years ago, we beat yous 5–0. You were playing.

  Me! What a load of keech.

  Queen’s Park it was, said Donnie to the others. Right in the middle of a fucking snowstorm.

  You’ve got the wrong man. I was injured in those days.

  McCulloch and Colin were hooting along with Reilly.

  You’re a liar, said Donnie. You were playing in the forward line.

  Rubbish.

  Eh? roared Colin. To think of all the patter we’ve had to take off the cunt!

  Galloping down the wing. That’s it, I knew I knew you, cried Donnie.

  I cant mind of galloping down any wings! Anyhow Reilly, if I was there you must’ve been there.

  Not guilty. No six years ago I wasnt.

  Aye, laughed Donnie, no wonder your garage chucked it!

  The laughter was cut short by urgings from the next table. A general hush throughout the lounge while the entertainers announced names and dedications for those in the audience with particular cause for celebration. After a bout of applause for one the accordionist held up his arm then continued: And I want to say a special good evening to a couple spending their . . . he paused to glance at the bit of paper in his hand; to a couple spending their 20th wedding anniversary with us. It’s no very often you come upon that these days! He glanced at the paper again. Mr and Mrs Reilly – Willie and Isobel. On your feet and give us a wave now; dont be shy!

  The guitarist was strumming Happy Anniversary and several in the audience were humming the melody with him. Suddenly McCulloch nudged Reilly: It’s you man. Heh! Here’s one of them here! he shouted.

  Cheers and scattered applause.

  20 years married by christ you wouldnt credit it! Hines shook his head.

  Reilly stared at him. Then he glanced to the other table where Colin’s fiancée was laughing while attempting to hoist Isobel’s hand above her head. Isobel resisted; her face was bright red. Sandra was studying the table. From the raised platform the accordionist was announcing something more in connection with this coming song, that it was especially for all those whose name had been mentioned. The song began. One of the women was speaking to Isobel now and Sandra was sitting there listening though she was still looking at the table.

  Reilly’s face was red; he sipped at his beer; he glanced at Hines and shook his head.

  Convinced it was me eh!

  Course it was you: laughed McCulloch.

  Aw that’s no fair man; how come I’m always the guilty party: fuck sake. Hines smiled. He got the lid off the tin to roll a smoke; he swallowed some whisky. Sandra was pulling her coat across her shoulders. Hines swallowed the rest of the whisky. He finished rolling the cigarette and lighted it. Anyway, he said, that’s us . . . He had stood up.

  What?

  You’re joking? said Colin.

  Fucking babysitter man, couldnt get an allnighter.

  But I’ve bought in the carry-out, said McCulloch. Christ sake Rab, and she’s got all the sandwiches done I mean . . . all waiting.

  Hines shook his head. Naw, the woman we were supposed to be getting let us down at the last minute; had to make do with a neighbour, and she’ll no stay later than 11.

  I know the feeling, said Donnie.

  Ah that’s a bastard, said McCulloch.

  Sandra was standing, pausing to say something to Isobel; and when she started walking Hines said, Right, see yous later. He followed her out from the lounge. On the pavement he waved to halt a taxi, held the door open for her and before getting in beside her he gave the driver the address.

  They gazed out opposite windows.

  He walked up the stairs behind her, passed her just prior to reaching the second-storey landing, and unlocked the door. In the kitchen he fixed a kettle of water for tea. She had gone straight into the front room. He switched on the gas-fire and used the light to get his cigarette burning. When she came in he went ben the front room to take off his suit.

  He was standing at the sink, whistling quietly, gazing through the slats in the blind; in the backcourt opposite the rear of the tenement building which was not yet demolished, the sky with that reddish glow, light reflecting on the ripples of the enormous puddle that stretched from the middens to the mouth of the back close; a smell of smouldering rubbish from somewhere, but vague.

  The television had been switched on by Sandra; a late film was scheduled.

  When the tea had infused he poured the two cupfuls; he carried hers over, laying it on the floor next to her armchair. Back at the cabinet he lifted his own to his lips but once the steam met his lips he lowered the cup then emptied it into the sink and ran the tap to clear the tea down the drain. I’m just going to bed, he muttered.

  His hands and head came out of the blankets. And he was breathing in gasps, his eyelids parted quite widely. At first he gaped in the direction of the sink then resting his head on the pillow he stared at the ceiling. Sandra was on her side, facing into the recess wall, her breathing scarcely audible. He turned and moved to press the front of his body against her; and he laid his forehead at her hair, his right forearm across her hip. But an instant later he had reverted to the old position; then he shifted even further from her, to the edge of the bed, from where he began to study the rubbish bin and its surrounding area. Eventually he was on his back and staring at the ceiling again, his left arm outside the blankets and his right arm beneath them. He remained still. Then his left leg was moving towards Sandra. When it touched he brought it back. And then he slid out of bed altogether, he had an erection, he went to the lavatory. On his return he noted the time on the alarm clock. Across at the sink he gulped water straight from the tap, he went back to bed afterwards.

  Along the footbridge he stopped to chip the dowp of the cigarette over into the river. He peered down. Not too far off was a bend in the river, the driftwood flowing towards him, passing below; he went to the other side to watch it reappear. Pools of rainwater on the flat rail where his forearms rested, the wind rustled the higher branches of the trees. On the opposite bank the grass also being rustled on the steep slope up to the street, a kind of shimmer. He struck a match but the flame didnt burn for long. The sound of wheels needing to be oiled. A high-pram, being pushed by a girl maybe as old as Sandra but probably younger a couple of years. She was wearing a thick anorak and jeans, and thick boots. He cleared his throat; then he moved to allow the pram to pass more easily. She had long hair. The pram bumped down the short flight of steps: and along the path, behind its canopy, the girl’s head and shoulders could be seen above the big weeds.

  For a while he tidied the house, before making a slice of toast and cheese, and coffee. Carrying it ben the front room he laid it on the floor beside the settee. He put an L.P. record on the music-centre, setting the arm so that it played continuously. He closed the curtains. When he sat down he bit a mouthful of the food and shut his mouth on it. But within moments he emptied it onto the plate, then stretched along the settee, resting his heels on its arm. He got up and switched off the light. He lifted the cup but put it down without tasting the coffee. He made a cigarette. When it burned he laid it on the ashtray on the floor.

  The wallpaper peeled at the corner of the room nearest the front of the building, on the same side as the boy’s cot. Beneath the peeling section were several air-pockets. He was reaching to press his right indexfinger into one of the larger ones, to make contact with the wall; he continued to press when the contact was made.

  Back on the settee he raised the cup to his lips and allowed the coffee to enter his mouth; but he was restricting the gap so that it could only trickle through. He pushed a finger against the skin beneath his bottom lip, to the point where the coffee would have been parallel on the other side. Fuck sake. He drank most of the rest at once.

  Toys and books were among the fankled blankets on Paul’s cot. Hines hadnt tidied there. He got up from the settee but he went ben th
e kitchen and got the quilt from the bed and back on the settee he stretched along it, drawing the quilt over himself, right over his face, and turning in to face the rear of the settee. He closed his eyelids, he stuck his indexfingers into each ear.

  Paul – bouncing on the edge of the settee and grinning at him. Hines sat up, shielding the light from his eyes. The music was no longer being played. Paul was laughing . . . Granpa gave me 50 pence and we got trifle and crisps.

  Good.

  Sandra came in, her coat off; she walked to the cot and straightened out the bedclothes. Your record was blaring, she said, I dont know how you can sleep with it like that. I’m surprised nobody was in complaining.

  He nodded; he lifted the unsmoked cigarette from the ashtray on the floor and lit it. Sandra was now tugging on the sleeves of Paul’s coat and she got it off then knelt to help him with the rest of his clothes but he twisted about and she told him to stand at peace. He continued to twist, not letting her get ahead with it all.

  How was your mum and dad? okay?

  For God sake Paul. Yes. She pulled the jumper over his head and shoulders then he jerked out of her grasp and she smacked him on the wrist. Just stand still this minute!

  I dont want to go to bed.

  O for heaven sake.

  I dont want to!

  Hines reached over and whacked him on the bottom and his knees caved in; and he fell so that his chin could have landed with some force on the floor but it was avoided, his hands arriving first and taking the impact. A moment’s shock before the greeting fit. Hines got off the settee then Sandra sat down on it. She murmured. He’s dead beat, he’s been on the go all evening; dad had him out in the garden after tea.

  Hines had knelt on the floor, one knee raised, and he sat the boy there and continued undressing him, then helped him on with his pyjamas. He told him to go to the lavatory and began folding the clothes onto a chair next to his cot. Paul was no longer crying when he returned. Hines put him into the cot and he pulled the blankets up to his chin. Good night son . . . He gazed at him; he leaned to kiss him on the forehead. See you the morrow eh!