A Disaffection (Vintage Classics)

by James Kelman

  Please sir!

  Yes sir?

  Do you think that we shouldnt be here?

  Aye and naw. Sometimes I do and sometimes I dont. I think your question’s fine. I think for example in Pythagoras you’ll find ways of looking at things, at flitting from one thing to the other. And oddly enough it really does have to do with transmigration and maybe even with certain taboos. It makes things fucking really interesting.

  Patrick glanced at his watch. The weans didnt notice him doing it thank god. But he had taken great care for just that reason.

  When the bell rang he was sitting on his stool with his elbows on the edge of the desk. He didnt look at the kids as they headed toward the door. He didnt feel like a terrible hypocrite. But nor did his stomach feel in as great a condition as it could be. A couple of the kids looked as if they considered lingering. Sometimes they did that in order to ask a question. There was nothing wrong with this in first-year classes. Patrick inclined his head in the direction opposite them and they soon departed.

  When Patrick’s parents forced him into going to university because let us face it they hadnt done that at all although having said this of course he had in no sense desired to attend that institution, especially because he had or had not wanted to go in the first fucking place.

  So that’s that then.

  Out in the corridor he walked to the banister and leant his elbows there. All the weans marching about below. He continued along towards the staircase in a slow manner, his hands in his trouser pockets, jacket buttoned. His shoulders were hunched in an effort to retain body heat, this being a situation wherein attempting just that seemed necessary to the following second’s survival. The following second’s survival. An insulation. When Patrick’s parents had forced him into going to uni

  ah shut up; who the fuck cares, who the fuck cares. Patrick swung his shoulders from side to side, it was all so fucking stupid, daft, plain daft, just fucking crazy, crazily diabolic, crazy in diabolic fashion, in the style of Goya’s black period. He stopped his shoulders from swinging.

  He could have become involved with prostitutes, or at least have obtained sex on that basis. What basis? Nothing. What basis? Nothing, just that sort of basis. But what sort of basis are you talking about? I’m not talking about any basis. The children filing past him here at the head of the stairs, filing past him o so respectfully filing past him, so respectfully. Patrick nodded, smiling at the one or two he recognised more than others. Insulation. That insulation. Protecting oneself against the encroachments, the encroachments. There was Old Milne below, stalking the ground floor in his MA gown. What a man! What a chap! He was a curious fellow. A Congregationalist Protestant Christian. A believer in the teachings of the Congregationalist Protestant Christian teachers. In his absent-minded quandary

  he was aye in this absent-minded quandary. Prowling the corridors lost in thought. A contradiction, to absent-mindedly prowl – no doubt he was just wandering the place in a kind of limbo. Pat could see the man as a fellow sufferer, the sort of headmaster he himself

  he himself!! What was he talking about he himself; he himself? what did that mean he himself. He himself! In the name of fuck.

  Mister Doyle …

  Mister Doyle …

  Yes aye …

  It was Isabel and Shenaz. What were they up to. Plus another couple hovering to their rear, all with these cheeky wee looks on their faces. Ach no really cheeky, just fucking happy, in some unfathomable way.

  Your shoelaces are undone sir.

  Lassies dont call men sir!

  Your shoelaces are undone Mister Doyle.

  O christ. Such an old fucking carry on, these merry pranks of the innocent they were so fucking horrendous. Aye eh … he smiled, glancing at the kids to the rear and it included Catriona. He didnt bother checking his shoelaces; he did know this particular pair of shoes and shoelaces however and strange as it may seem the laces did have a habit of working their way undone, it was as if they had faulty fucking eyes or tongues or insteps or something. It was himself to blame for buying the cheaper efforts; why did he not buy dearer goods. There were shops selling shoes right at this very moment. He could just rush out and buy a pair. Why didnt he. Because he had to go and be with another class of weans for christ sake why else. He would make a point of this tomorrow morning, Saturday. Saturday is the day to go shopping. The lassies were still there. What were they still there for. He winked and grinned and walked on quickly. The main purpose was often just to make such contact with a teacher beyond the classroom, to let him see they thought funny things about him. Funny things. Unclear things. Could it be sexual? Of course. And they were well aware of his marital status. What age were they at all? Wee first-yearers! Twelve or thirteen. The stirrings. No doubt about it. Isabel had probably been dared to speak and only agreed if Shenaz would stand by her, plus Catriona in the near vicinity, her being thought to be the teacher’s pet. But she wasnt the teacher’s pet. He occasionally used her because she had a good memory and he would have to stop it because just it was not fucking fair, poor wee lassie christ it was just not fair. In fact she reminded him of Louise McGilvaray. That was a name from the past! Louise McGilvaray, god. She was a nice looking lassie. Probably married with a couple of kids by this time. If he hadni’ve gone to fucking uni that would’ve been him, married to Louise and living the life of Reilly. But if he really meant it he wouldni be so fucking flippant.

  Eh ah …

  it was Old Milne. Pardon?

  Eh ah …

  And the weans had vanished. Old Milne, with his hands clasped behind his back, tucked beneath the gown.

  I had been wanting to have a word with you Mister Doyle.

  Well I was actually in a hurry the now.

  Old Milne’s baffled look!!! That somebody could be in a hurry when he was wanting to talk!

  I was supposed to be meeting somebody … Patrick stopped; he glanced at his wristwatch. He was gibbering. If he had been supposed to be meeting somebody it would mean he was either going to be late or else miss the next period altogether. The headmaster was gazing at him. Pat smiled. He pointed at his watch. In fact I thought it was later than this. I was actually thinking of the interval.

  Mm … Old Milne relaxed, the roles being re-redefined.

  And the two continued to stand there. It was a crucial factor about the headmaster, this failure he had of clinching matters; these conversational pauses he seemed to introduce so that the other person became dutybound to blurt something out. Patrick was not fucking falling for it. It was incredible the arrogance the old dickie had. He was almost lounging there, slightly rocking on the balls of his fucking feet! How inferior he must have regarded Pat. Christ almighty. And now that nice actor’s speaking voice which had come into existence courtesy of a few thousand ounces of thick black pipe tobacco or so he liked to confide to folk at the annual licensed functions. At ten minutes to four then Mister Doyle … in my eh ah …

  And he continued to fucking stand there as if he was muttering internally! What the fuck could he be muttering about internally in the name of god what on earth was up!

  He was being carpeted. Doyle was on the carpet! Ten to four in the heidie’s office he was going to get a punishment exercise. Auld fucking fart. Well if Pat was about to get carpeted then he wouldni find out till Monday morning because one thing was definite, fuck him and his office.

  And leaving such an event cloaked in mystery was only good sense. How foolish he would be to attend and discover. Definitely much better to postpone matters. Even going on sick-leave for a fortnight, and playing the pipes. Playing the pipes for fuck sake! And maybe Alison’s thighs!

  Ten to four in his office but what a joke. What an actual joke. Poor auld Old Milne; his absolute certainty that everybody will stick to the rules of the game. He was probably an edwardian aristocrat in disguise. And still standing there! Maybe Pat was supposed to end the interview! Gazing straight at him. Maybe he was trying to form some kind of tacit relations
hip – convert him into a Congregationalist Protestant Christian! In the name of the holies! Patrick gestured in the direction of the corridor. He said: I’ve got to go to the toilet Mister Milne.

  O I see. Old Milne was gaping but moving aside with a swirl of the gown, to allow him by.

  At ten minutes to four Patrick was back in the corridor but outside the door to Alison’s classroom. Some fourth-years were in with her. All boys of course; trying to get her to bow her head so they could see down her blouse. His entrance allowed her escape; she smiled, waiting for the boys to leave before she did. Pat held the door for her and they walked down the stairs together. He left her at the foot, she to go to the staffroom while he strode out and into the carpark. He went swiftly. Old Milne had many spies; and from his secretary’s office window it was possible to see the driveway to the main schoolgates.

  The engine started first time. As he approached the gates a couple of youths from the sixth year were chatting to the two polis, about career prospects no doubt – it was either that or the fucking army. More pupils loitered outside. Then Alison was coming. He leaned to open the passenger side for her, but the temporary English teacher was also there, he appeared suddenly from behind her, walking a standard pace; and he frowned at Patrick. What the hell was he wanting? And how come he was frowning. Patrick wound down the window and called: Okay?

  Eh yeh eh I was just wondering if you were going along the road?

  Going along the road?

  The guy stared at Patrick.

  Patrick nodded.

  Alison said, Pat …

  Aye, said Pat, we’re going along the road. We’re actually going for a quick pint. D’you want a lift?

  The temporary English teacher grinned: I wouldni say no.

  On the pavement across the street the pupils were all spectating. It was amazing how they could find the likes of this interchange so fascinating – especially it being a Friday and tomorrow the weekend. When he was a boy he would have shot off home and would have got there before the bell had stopped ringing. Changed days right enough. Unless of course they were spying for the heidie! In fact it was a good thing this bloke was accompanying the pair of them: it would offset any gossip. And weans were notorious gossips. Another batch of them stood along by the Commodore Cafe and they also appeared to be totally intrigued by the encounter at the gates. The temporary English teacher made a sort of joke to do with being celebrities. Alison had had to get back out her seat and raise it for the bloke to climb in but then she seemed to hesitate and she got into the rear seat and allowed the fucking male to take up the responsible domain in the front. Unless she was just being polite. Patrick stared at her via the rearview mirror, then he said to the temporary English teacher: Dont slam the door, the hinges are rusty.

  The bloke nodded, adjusting the seatbelt round his waist and shoulder, and pulling the door shut gently. Thanks for the lift, he said.

  Aw no bother. Patrick glanced over his right side, eased his foot off the accelerator pedal, edging the motor out into the street. And there were the wee lassies from his first year of that afternoon – no doubt hating Alison because she was sitting near Sir Doyle. There again mind you they might well have hated him because he was with another woman. The Commodore Cafe was down by the corner into the main road. Patrick braked there to await the change at the traffic lights. He said to the temporary English teacher: What’s your name by the way?

  Norman.

  Norman?

  Yeh.

  Cause I just realised there I dont think I’ve heard it before.

  Norman’s an English teacher, said Alison.

  Yeh but I’m only temporary.

  You’ll be permanent soon enough, Patrick replied.

  I dont know if it’s desirable!

  Ah you’ll be okay.

  Yeh, I was being facetious.

  Norman specialises in the Renascence, said Alison.

  The Renascence?

  Yeh. He had taken his cigarette papers and a small tobacco packet from his overcoat pocket and he gestured with it: Alright if I smoke?

  Whatever you like. Alison smokes as well.

  Far too much, said Alison who had brought out a magazine and was leafing through it.

  They crossed the Kingston Bridge, taking the first exit down onto the road west and he drove on as far as Yoker to the pub called Miller’s. The temporary English teacher made a display of puzzlement which Patrick ignored until having parked the car. You were probably expecting to go to the lounge bar in the arts centre, he said, smiling at Alison over his shoulder; and here we are well off the beaten track.

  Yeh …

  We come here once or twice.

  It keeps us out of sight of the pupils, grinned Alison. And it isnt only us two that come!

  Patrick glanced at her; there was no need to have said that, why had she said that.

  And she continued: We may find Diana and Joe here already, and Desmond.

  It’s just sometimes nice to get a bit of peace and quiet, said Patrick, before everybody meets up together.

  Good idea, the temporary English teacher was muttering while assisting Alison out of the motor car.

  Patrick waited then pulled shut the door for her. He wondered whether to go home. It would not be difficult to just drive off, to just leave the two of them standing there on the pavement, in a cloud of dirty exhaust fumes. Maybe that was what they were seeking. It didnt require an enormous leap of imagination to make something of the guy’s sudden emergence at the schoolgates. This type of thing happened with Alison. Exactly the same in pubs and places where you could spot the eyes all following her when she strolled to the Ladies – like a pack of wee dogs. Patrick was also a wee dog, a lap dog. He wanted onto her lap. Maybe this is where he would sit in the pub.

  The temporary English teacher was at the bar ordering. Patrick walked with Alison to one of the many empty tables. The place was usually quiet at this time. When they sat down he quickly told her of the headmaster’s invitation, and here he was instead.

  Alison was exasperated. She lighted a cigarette. She said, You should’ve gone; that’s just being silly.

  It’s not being silly.

  Yes it is.

  It isni.

  It is because it’ll just irritate him. He’s a petty man and he doesnt like being irritated by people. He bears grudges, you know that.

  Pat grinned. It wont matter.

  It will matter.

  No it wont. He smiled, he closed his eyes. He was right and she was wrong. It would not matter. It would all be forgotten about once he had gone on sick-leave. He would phone for an appointment tomorrow morning. And when Old Milne heard he would simply make allowances. Nothing was more certain: sick folk always get the benefit of the doubt.

  The temporary English teacher arrived with the drinks on a tray. The Renascence! He was obviously fired with spirit. The Spirit of the Great Teachers and Educators. Yet he looked too old for that. He looked in his early thirties. Patrick had been fired by the Spirit of the Great Teachers as well but that was fucking years ago. That is not true. It is only at the moment he required a bit of a rest. He needed peace. That was it. He needed peace. Some peace – nothing startling, just a wee rest, a bit of time away from the onslaught. He also believed in teaching, he also believed in being a teacher, the spirit of that, of what it was – what was it? A wee rest but, that was the thing, definitely. Even stopping these thoughts of Alison all the time. Because they were unhealthy, it was becoming unhealthy, the whole thing. He was just doing too much of it, the thinking, her being on his brain all the time, seeing her or something, the image or sensation maybe it was a feeling of her. And really unhealthy. Too pervasive. It was too pervasive, too forcible or something. The temporary English teacher was looking at him. Patrick nodded. And he smiled at Alison who was also looking at him and he said to the temporary English teacher: Usually a couple of us come to the likes of this place and then later on … He shrugged. That’s what us two would’ve b
een doing, if you hadni come along, if it had just been the two of us – eh Alison?

  Yes, we’d have gone on to the arts centre a bit later.

  So I mean … Patrick shrugged. If you want to tag along you’re welcome.

  Aw ta, ta, if you dont mind.

  Of course Norman dont be silly, Alison replied.

  Norman. He was a quite good bloke by the looks of it. No sense in denying such clear-cut realities. He was just being friendly, glad to be part of the company of a bunch of teachers with whom he wished to spend the rest of his working life. Fair enough. Plus he had bought Pat a nice whisky at dinnertime and here he had bought him a nice big pint of heavy beer which would have to be his last since he was driving. And it had been Patrick’s round of course. It was he who should have bought it. And he had forgotten. His memory was definitely not as it was. This had become noticeable on other occasions. Maybe it ran in the family. His maw was inclined to be absent-minded too, she forgot the most stupit kind of things. The last time he was up visiting she had forgotten where she’d put the fucking teapot. Now that was really stupit and daft and really in fact quite worrying. And they had discovered the thing sitting on top of the cistern in the bathroom. And so bloody fucking embarrassing – excrutiating for christ sake. And then he had forgotten her birthday of a week past. He could just have dropped her a card and she would have been pleased. And his sister-in-law had phoned him to remind him. Nicola, his beautiful sister-in-law whom he regarded more as a sister than sister-in-law, he just liked her so much. But enough of that enough of that. And of course his da, there was the fucking da to worry about as well for fuck sake what a life. Existence could have been much better, much better indeed. But that’s the way existence is, you canni fucking ask for this that and the next thing, you’ve just got to take whatever they fucking throw at you. Aye but you dont have to take it. You dont have to accept it. It’s this age. This age. This age was getting on his nerves. No it wasnt. Even that wasnt true. He didni really care. People said twenty-nine was a landmark but he didni really care one way or the other. Gavin was fucking three-and-a-half years older than him. And you never heard him grumbling – at least no about his fucking age, he grumbled about everything else! He was smiling and Alison was smiling as a reply. She thought he was smiling at what the temporary English teacher was saying, old Norman there, who was in rare animation about something that had happened to him at the teachers’ trainers. It was obviously funny because Alison was genuinely smiling. And she could put on the false yins when she wanted to but this smile was definitely genuine. Patrick inclined his head as though to listen all the better. Something seemed to be wrong with his ears though. He couldni fucking hear a damn thing the guy was saying and yet Alison seemed so damn pleased with it and now taking a puff at her fag, her pale lips.