by James Kelman
wee souls
Hey … Helllenn, Helenn …
Mo the smiler. His breathing too, the regularity, you listen to someone’s breathing. Breathing and voices, faces, distinguishing features, hear their breathing, people’s breathing.
You are very welcome to sleep m’dear, most very welcome … Mo was already out the bed, halfway, about to lower his feet to the floor.
I was hardly asleep at all.
You were snoring.
No I wasnt.
He was about to turn from her but she raised her hand. I’m sorry, she said, but what does it matter about the neighbours? That’s six months now and I still havent met your family. You talk about your community and how about tradition and everything, the culture and everything, but to me it’s like neighbours, that’s ‘the community’, that’s how it sounds to me. Oh heavens, what will the neighbours think? You tell one person and then everybody knows, the whole world. So it’s like oh she’s a white woman and got her own child. When your mother said ‘English woman’, that’s what she meant, just like white woman.
She waited for him to say something but he didnt. I’m not bothered, she said, only it would be good to know like I dont care about meeting them, not if you dont want me to but if it’s only the neighbours and worrying what they’ll say. If that is all it is.
Again she waited. She adjusted her pillow and smiled: Now you wont talk to me.
Yeh I will, I will, but make it later.
She settled down on her back.
You took me by surprise. I want it the best way, he said, like when things are good love not now like now, I mean, everything’s going on all the time, you know how it is. I want it to be right when it happens.
When what happens? Do you mean when I meet them? when we meet them, because Sophie will be there too.
Of course.
Things are never right Mo, not like that, because that isnt life. Not in families; there are too many people and too many lives, all different, and you cant wait for one because everybody else’s goes on, it doesnt stop just because of you, because of one person. People think that but it’s not true and like
Helen shut her eyes.
What is it?
Clenching her eyelids shut.
Hey love. Hey … We’ll talk later, you need a sleep.
Mo’s hand on her shoulder. He didnt smile when she looked at him. He would have wanted to but didnt, was not able to. She raised her hand to his face and smoothed his cheek, then pulled the sheet to her chin, turned onto her side. His hand touched her forehead. Thanks, she said. She heard him leave the room.
Anyway, she didnt care about it. Not really. And it was a bad time for his family because with Mo’s uncle and the cancer, it was true, his mother and father were up and down to the hospital most days of the week, so her being critical, it wasnt fair. It wasnt. She shouldnt have said it. Silly. Worse than silly. She was worse than silly. What was worse than silly? She was. Everything was going on for his mother and father and him too. She shouldnt have raised the matter, better telling him about Brian. Brian was who she
She should have told him. She meant to, she thought she was going to; she started off to, to tell him.
She didnt need Mo’s opinion. Because there was nothing else, only to find him, she had to find him, she knew she did. Brothers are brothers, that would have been Mo. You have to find him. If it is him it is him: he is your brother.
And a good brother. Only things had been tough for him, like they are for most people. One person cant do anything, something but not everything.
He had survived. He was not a weakling. However he managed, he did it, and was managing now, him and the other one, they were managing else they wouldnt have been there at the traffic lights, from wherever they had come, they had come from somewhere. Soup and bread. Shelters for the homeless. They would have been someplace.
Except if they had nowhere, people can have nowhere. So where do they go? Why one place and not another? If there is nothing there, so like no reason, if they have no reason, just walking about else sitting down. Or if they sold the Big Issue. But some arent allowed. They scare people too much. Nobody would buy the magazine, not if the ones selling it are scary-looking, too scary-looking, if it is like daylight, the police would move them on. They walk about and keep out the way until it is safe, using side streets, all the quiet places, the riverbank, and if there were benches to sit, him with the limp, he had to rest, then if it was raining, what if it was raining, and the toilet, where do people go?
Helen shifted her position and felt his side of the bed still warm. Had she been dozing? That was a while ago the outside door shut; how long? she couldnt remember. But it did shut, she heard it. Unless she had been dozing. That would have been good, and so needed, so so needed.
Over the grass and to the sand. She had been dreaming. Cutting grass. Sand grass is cutting grass. Grass-shoots out the sand, they cut your skin; draw one fast and you bled. That was Brian showing her how, cutting his own skin on purpose, making it bleed. Wee globules along the line, the red line. Blood. Was that a grown-up thing to do? A big brother? Of course not.
So much for Mum.
She wasnt in the dream except her presence, the idea of her and her arms outstretched like in a religious picture the woman with folded gowns and her hands out to you.
Helen could dream while dealing the cards. Times of the month and after sex. Men got relaxed, women the opposite. What is the opposite of relax?
Ha ha to men.
If Mum liked anybody it was males. You would have thought a granddaughter. No. How sad. Poor Mum. Because she was the loser, if she didnt know it. All wrapped up, a coat of chainmail, not letting anybody near, keep your distance keep your distance. If that is what you call it, chainmail; chains male. Chains were male; males locked you up, they locked you into them, they did it with their chains, chaining you. The wife chained to a wall and then he bricked it up and she was suffocated there, unable to move until her dying day, her screams never heard. So horrible. Imagine her agony. The husband had gone mad. He always was. But that poor woman: what had she done? nothing at all, except being married to him, I divorce you I divorce you I divorce you. So why had she to die in such horrible agony like if it was him gone mad? Not her. That was so unfair. No wonder you got haunted houses. People said it about buildings, bricks and mortar, how a house could have a presence. Because the spirits were restless. You could have thought it about this house, considering the countless people who had passed through the doors. How many since it was built? All that suffering. People living and dying, diseases and degenerative conditions. People died in the olden days. If it was appendicitis, they died, the doctors didnt know to remove the appendix. That was so so sad. Yet with the tonsils, they took them out but didnt have to; it made no difference if the doctor took them out or left them in. People were ignorant. But happy too. Sad and happy, through all the years, all the different people. And scared! Children especially. In this one building how many children had been terrified out their wits? How many! It was a terrifying thought and there was an excruciating thing about it like how they locked them up too, forced into cupboards and cages, homemade cages.
Cages for children my God that was so evil. Who would do it to them? What animals! Men did it. Women helped. That was the worst. Whoever would terrify a child? It was the most sickening thing. Imagine terrifying a child. Who would do that? What kind of monster? bestial. They would have to be sick. Mentally ill. And not just ordinary mentally ill. Ordinary mentally ill people wouldnt act in that way toward children; it needed a special type of mental illness, like Nazis and torturers. The men who tortured people were mentally ill, even those not classified as such and in ordinary jobs. Soldiers and policemen were like that; priests, schoolteachers too, some of them, and they terrified people, then paedophiles. Horrors, torturers; what else was a paedophile? They were torturers of children, they were just vile, coming in the night and coming to children, hearing the handle of
your door, just so so vile, and ill, if they were, or just torturers, are torturers ill
Oh but she was glad it wasnt Mo worked in the casino and her in the restaurant, being alone through the night. If she was she wouldnt cope; she wouldnt. The whole night long. Sophie would come into bed with her. She used to in Glasgow.
Then having to visit the loo my God you would think she was a child. She would have to leave the light on. She would. It was beyond silliness. She was such a foolish foolish female, just like so so foolish, she was, truly. Men didnt worry about such things. Unless if they didnt tell people. If they were scared too. If they were terrified! But Helen didnt believe it, not the ones she knew. They were strong; in their own ways they were, including Mo who seemed the weakest, but he wasnt, only for fighting, and she wasnt talking about fighting.
Anyway, Brian hadnt been a fighter and he wasnt small. The one at the traffic lights was angry-looking and dangerous and even like he wanted to fight. That wasnt Brian. Brian didnt fight and why should he have? It was nothing to be ashamed of. She remembered from childhood days and that time, she was with him, he was taking her someplace – where was he taking her? – they met boys and they were laughing at him. Brian could have thumped them so so easily and like if he had he would have hurt them. It was not nice. Helen was holding his hand, if they were laughing at her too, they didnt even know her and it was not fair how they could laugh at her, if they didnt know her. It should not have been her. Why were they laughing at her? What did it mean? Wee girls dont know. So much of what goes on, it passes over your head. Poor Brian. Boys had to stick up for themselves. They had to fight back. Helen would have. She would have slapped their faces. The cheek of them laughing at her. If she had been the boy. Dad said it too. Oh if it was your wee sister, she would have hit them back, she’s the fighter in this house!
It was fun, Dad meant it as fun when she told them. Mum called it tittle-tattle. It wasnt tittle-tattle; that was a horrible thing to say. Helen was only telling her. She was her mother for God sake she had a right to tell her; and she should have listened. That was her duty. She was a mother and mothers had a duty. It wasnt tittle-tattle it was only a wee girl telling her about something exciting.
As if it was Helen’s fault. It was not Helen’s fault. These boys were laughing at Brian. So it was not her. It was only because she was there they laughed at her, because she was with him. It was horrible and cruel. Boys were torturers. She would have slapped them. Brian could have punched them. Boys can punch. Because if you have to. Children learn to take care of themself: girls most of all. That was what Mum didnt understand, because she favoured Brian, or she only liked boys, but it wasnt Helen’s fault if she wasnt one. Dont blame the child. Why did Mum blame her? She seemed to, and it was not her fault. Girls shouldnt have to fight but people did things to you if you didnt. You couldnt hide anywhere; you couldnt find a place. People got you. They came and got you. Sophie had a picture book called The Book of Secret Places; it was a nice book but the title was a lie. There were no secret places. Sophie thought there were. What do you say to a child? They always find you.
School had been like that. And Marcelle Tierney.
Marcelle Tierney. Imagine thinking of her. She was just a bully. People thought she was marvellous but she wasnt. And taking the boys’ side against her. Some girls did that, if boys were getting you, they just laughed, they joined the boys against you. You had to stick up for yourself. So if Brian didnt. Dad picked on him too. ‘Picking on’ was not bullying. Dad was not a bully. He picked on Brian. It was not the same as ‘bullying’; and it was bullying Marcelle Tierney did to Helen which was worse than ‘picking on’ and especially she used the boys. That was what she did, it was horrible. The boys all liked her. They liked Helen too. They liked Marcelle because she was sporty but Helen was sporty. Everybody knew that. The worst was Ian Mathieson. It was just horrible and wouldnt have happened except for Marcelle and Marcelle was her friend – supposed to be, but friends dont act that way, not real friends, so she hadnt been a real friend, not like a real friend.
Silly nonsense, why was she thinking about it?
Anyway, she stuck up for herself, she had to. It wasnt always possible because how can it be? But for boys too. Imagine being a boy. Helen couldnt. Weak or strong, what would she have been? Weak. Or strong. She couldnt imagine.
It was survival. Children had to learn. People died or went mad.
Or not respecting you. Boys didnt. They could be animals. Not all animals, some were not like that. Sheep didnt hurt each other. Horses didnt, and cows; people worshipped cows. Human beings were worse. Only to respect another person, and they couldnt, they couldnt even do that. The human body is a ‘hallowed temple’ supposed to be but if it was not treated properly like only humiliated and made a thing to denigrate, if that was what happened, if they denigrated, girls too, they were the worst.
Helen dozed. Then was awake.
A blank period.
Not a doze. How long if it was? Half an hour. Half an hour is good. Even five minutes. Two. One and a half. Can people sleep for one and a half? Sleeping for one and a half minutes, not even the one with the limp, if that was a dream, but she didnt have any dream. Not unless it was longer. She hadnt checked the clock so it may only have been five, or ten, or even more although ten onto what she already had would have been good, and she was back to work at nine this evening. As soon as Azizah arrived she would be out the door, if Sophie allowed it. The crying fits had stopped thank God, thank God.
Nightshift didnt allow sleep. Perhaps if she lived in a castle or else the country, in a posh mansion with a hundred servants and finery and all furnishings, plush settees and beautiful soft cushions. But she needed bed, eyelids
A thickness too
But Brian
He wasnt a coward. He wasnt. They just were laughing. Why did they? It was horrible. He wasnt weak. Only with Dad, who was strong. Oh my God. Except with Mum. That was so strange. Take away Mum and he was the strongest. Who was stronger? Nobody. Nobody was stronger than Dad. Although not Helen, he didnt dominate her. He took her side in everything, even against Mum.
Although who did he dominate apart from Brian? That was a question too. But not a nice one. If it was Dad. Dad as a man. What like was he? If it was the company of men. That was a different question. If he was not strong, perhaps he wasnt. There was an arrogance in older men too, she saw them in the casino, ones who were loud and brash, showing off; that way they looked at you; you were just nothing to them, they rated you so low as a human being. They wouldnt think it was rape, you were so nothing, just like nothing. They didnt care about human beings. It was all twisted and perverted, it wasnt love, and not respect. And the women with them. Not them either. What were they for? What did they do? What did they care about? Zombies personified. You saw their eyes, they had no life, it was horrible and tragic. They took part in it, and it was so demeaning, and affected all women; little children too. What did these women think? Did they think of that? No, because these little girls were nothing to them with their expensive jewellery and piles and columns of chips, stacks of them. It was so so demeaning. Old-fashioned too. From an old-time Hollywood picture with all dumb blondes and gangsters. But these gangsters were not criminals in the ordinary sense, just men with loads of money. Mo’s question was where did they get their money but what did it matter except they had it and waved it around and laughed if they lost. How did they take losing? Could they take it? That was the big question for them. One guy lost eighteen thousand pounds in twenty minutes and then said goodnight. So cool. He was like a hero. The dealers too, they spoke about him.
Perhaps Brian was weak but what did that mean? ‘weak’. ‘Weak’ was not weakness. So if he had been ‘weak’, it wouldnt have been like a weakness, like it had always been there. How could it? He wouldnt have survived. Nobody would. Not if you were one person and all of them, all of them there, if it was only you, you were only one person. You wouldnt survive. Who could? Nobody. Girls
were begging and prostituting. Young girls too, people touching you and all what, it didnt bear thinking about, and gang rapes and beatings, actual beatings, just beating women. What cowards! Men were cowards. To treat women in such a way, they were cowards and bullies and you had to stand up to them.
Oh God, but it was true.
The rain was heavy, it was. Had he even taken the umbrella? At least he carried one, unlike her ex who was too macho, so he got soaked, ha ha. Sophie carried a wee one in her schoolbag which was just as well because she would not wear a hat. Put one on and she pulled it off. Even if it was raining. Some silliness to do with a girl in her class. Surely she didnt want her hair getting wet? Mo suggested pinning her hat to her coat collar. Imagine. So if the pin got loose and jammed there, the point sticking out beneath her chin, right at her neck. What if it did and she fell and the point sticking up oh God it was just so dangerous. It really was. You couldnt believe he would suggest such a thing. Trust a man, just so stupid. And like really thoughtless, it was.
She wouldnt sleep now.
Oh well, the television. The remote lay within reach. She pressed the power button, then the mute-setting on the volume-control. She didnt want people’s voices, that was the last thing.
Before the screen image appeared she pulled the sheet and duvet up to her chin, closed her eyes. Eventually she looked at the screen then pressed the guide-setting for the listed programmes. The one about house-decor improvements was watchable. She quite liked being able to see things for when she got a house, if ever she did. She used to think so; perhaps she wouldnt. Mo called it window-shopping. That was what these programmes were, virtual walking down the virtual High Street. But what was wrong with that? At least it was something. If you didnt have any money it kept you going, even to see the things, and if you ever did get the money, if you got enough, you could go and buy something. Then too you got basic tips for do-it-yourself and that was good for painting and decorating. Helen liked all that and if they did get a place she wanted to do it herself. In his situation Mo should have appreciated that. When would he ever have money? He didnt even go in for the lottery.
