If it is your life

by James Kelman

  It was me and Nicky Parkes made the fires. Tim helped but no that much. But it didnay matter. I liked making them anyway. I am no saying ye have to be special to make them. But what I will say is: some folk are good at it.

  Same when I was a boy. We used to set fire to fields and all sorts, middens and what have ye. We set fires everywhere. There was a rubbish pit no far from our street and we dragged stuff from it. I am talking childhood days, the bygone era. Ye learned about fires. Leather furniture for instance, ye learned about that. Some stuff is dangerous. Motor-car tyres. Rubber. If that lands on yer wrist ye know all about it. Burning rubber; I once got it on my legs. There is more to fires than people think. Nicky Parkes was the same. I knew it the way he built them. And ye have to build them. Fires, I said.

  The other three looked at me.

  Ye’ve got to build them. I’m talking if ye want them to last.

  Oh aye … Tim glanced ower at Arthur.

  Nicky Parkes was shaking his head. No at me. He was away thinking about something else. He was even staring in another direction. He was a rude cunt at times. Ye were standing with him but he was away someplace else. How come he palled about with ye? Ye wondered. I liked him but. I dont know why. But I did. He drifted in and out of company. Now ye see him now ye dont.

  Like the auld guy, him that died; freezing to death inside a cold tenement building, nay heating or fuck all. What a life. Ye thought ye were doing okay and then ye werenay, ye woke up fucking dead, a block of ice. Poor bastard. Probably he had grandkids too.

  The auld yin? said Arthur.

  Aye.

  Arthur nodded. That’s what I was thinking.

  Poor auld cunt.

  Heh Tim, what did the headline say?

  Man found dead.

  Man found dead, it hardly fits the bill. No for something like that, said Arthur, fucking tragedy.

  Tragedy’s right, said Tim.

  I said: Scandalous. Scandalous is the word I would use.

  Nicky Parkes was watching me, he was expecting me to say something more. What? What was I supposed to say? There wasnay a single solitary word. Poor auld cunt, what a way to go. It just wasnay fair. That was the world for ye.

  I stepped sideways and edged some burnables into the fire. At least we had a fire. Unlike the auld yin. The truth is I didnay like Tim’s story. I was even half-prepared to know his name. Almost like I knew I would. I asked Tim. Did they gie ye his name?

  Him that died?

  Aye.

  Tim thought about it. Naw, he said.

  I shook my head. There was just something about it, some familiar thing.

  What do ye think ye knew him?

  Naw I mean, nay reason to think that, nay reason at all. Except just

  What?

  I dont know …

  Arthur started speaking about something. The other two listened. I didnay. I rubbed my hands at the fire. Thank fuck it was going good. Sometimes they didnay.

  Arthur was on about the time he did in Barlinnie. Ye were sick hearing about it. Some asbestos scare. Burst pipes in the cludgie ceiling. Or Gents’ pisshouse as he called it. Gents’ pisshouse! As if there was another one for Ladies! Barlinnie fucking Prison, know what I mean. The pisshouse was down the back of the block and down a step, and there was a slope there. The plumbers were in working. Ye went for a piss and came out looking like Santa Claus. It was all clouds of asbestos dust, that white fibre stuff. All the bears went on strike, said Arthur. A couple of laggers were in with us, they knew all about it. The screws were feared, they werenay gony do fuck all until we telled them! They were going, Dont worry about white it’s blue that’s the killer! A load of fucking keech. White’s every bit a killer.

  Too true, I said, there’s brown, white and blue; each one of them’s deadly.

  That was what we said, go for a shite and ye’re a goner. Know what I mean, ye’re in for Breach and wind up it’s a death sentence, mesotheli-whatever-the-fuck.

  Christ! said Nicky Parkes.

  Stories about the jail aye interested Nicky Parkes. It was obvious he had done time. He wasnay the brightest of cunts but he was crafty. I yawned. It wasnay that jail stories bored me but I had heard this one afore: no just from Arthur.

  I stopped listening. He was in full flight. Governors and ministers and priests and fucking royal princes or some shite. What next man the three fucking stooges.

  The thing about the asbestos story, I didnay know what it meant. It must have meant something. Otherwise how come guys telled ye about it so much? Was it like solidarity between screws and bears? There was something like that the way Arthur telled it. Fucking shite.

  I drifted, looking for stuff.

  Ye done time in there ye wanted to forget about it, ye didnay go yapping about it every ten minutes. That was what I thought.

  I found a wooden contraption, like a wean’s playpen or an old-fashioned chute for toddlers maybe. I propped it up on a couple of bricks and stuck the heel on the uprights, snapped them easy. I kicked them ower to the side. It definitely wasnay a chute. Nicky Parkes came ower to help and we kicked it nearer the fire. Good wood, I said. All we need is a carton of coffee and we’ll be well away.

  What about a wee brandy?

  Exactly, smoked salmon and a pound of grapes.

  Now Nicky Parkes gave a look in the direction of Arthur. I just shrugged. These two never saw eye to eye. I stayed out it. I didnay get on too well with Arthur either. There wasnay many cunts I did get on with. The wife said that. I was a crabbit auld cunt. That was what she called me. Well, she didnay say cunt, she didnay like swearie-words.

  The word for Nicky Parkes was moody. Ye didnay want to do him a bad turn. It was him and me kept the home fires burning.

  He had the touch. Ye notice that with fires. Same as a boy, when you and yer mates are building a fire, when it comes to lighting it, getting the thing going, it is usually just the one or two that does that. The other boys stand back. I was quite good. I have to say but something tells me I wasnay in the Nicky Parkes league. Just something about him.

  And oily cloots werenay needed either. It wouldnay matter if a galeforce wind was blowing. One match, that was all he needed. He would burn down an entire leisure complex, hotels, fucking restaurants. He was yer man. He was smiling at something. Hey Pat, he said.

  What? I said.

  A large brandy would be better than a wee yin.

  Yeh.

  He laughed: A large brandy waiter!

  I laughed too. Plus a salmon sandwich!

  Arthur looked across at us, wondering what we were laughing about. Meanwhile Tim yakked on about something.

  It was about a guy had odeed. Who gives a fuck: that was what I thought. Drugs and dope, I cannay be arsed with it. That many problems in the world. Get us a winner at Cheltenham, that was what I was looking for.

  But where was he? said Tim.

  What ye talking about?

  Him that odeed. I’ll tell ye where he was man he was sitting on the fucking chanty, that was where they found him. Odeed on the fucking chanty, poor cunt.

  A common scenario, said Arthur.

  Is it fuck.

  It is.

  Tim glared at him.

  I’ll tell ye how.

  Ye’ll no tell me how. Tim cleared his throat, spat in between his feet and took out his tobacco again.

  Nicky Parkes squinted across at me. It was because the other two were at the argy-bargy; usually they were on the same side. I couldnay care less, edging the wood to the fire. But I raised my eyebrows a wee bit. No too much. I wasnay wanting involved. All these battles. I would have been as well sitting home with the wife. I listened to Arthur and Tim for another couple of minutes then I shook my head. Sitting on a chanty but, what a way to go! At least it was a relief, I said.

  That stopped them and they laughed. Usually I was nay good at jokes. This time it worked. Even Nicky Parkes was laughing; a kind of laugh. Ye never knew with him. He wasnay huffy or fuck all he just –
I dont know. It was a strange kind of laugh he had; all this talk about cludgies but the truth is the laugh he had sounded like constipation grunts.

  It wasnay his fault. Ye just had to be careful with him; that was what I thought. He stepped away from the fire now, turned his back on the company and off he went. Soon he was out of sight. That was Nicky Parkes. Not a fucking word of explanation. I watched him go.

  Arthur had been chipping bits of stuff into the fire. Now he started telling us about a dream he had had. Jesus christ man. I checked my watch. Still too early; the doors hadnay opened.

  Dreams by fuck! That was scraping the barrel. All ye could do was sigh. Naw but it was really weird, said Arthur, I was up a high road and I bumped into somebody close to me, I cannay mind who. It might have been one of yous cunts.

  Gie us a break, I said.

  Naw Pat seriously. Whoever it was, we’re standing there and he’s talking but it is the way he’s talking, like he’s excited, know what I mean? and nervy, dead nervy. I couldnay quite get what he was saying.

  Hang on a minute, what are ye talking about?

  A dream I had. This guy, the way he was talking, it wasnay making any sense. No to my head anyway. It was like my ears heard what he said but no my head. It didnay make sense, it wasnay getting through.

  Ye talking about yer brains? I said.

  Arthur looked at me but he knew I was serious. I dont know, he said, it was like my head but no my brains, once it hit my head it still had a way to go, if it was gony reach my brains.

  Me and Tim looked at each other.

  Arthur muttered, Nay comments ya pair of bastards. Another thing about him, the guy I was talking to, he was not a likeable person.

  So who was it? said Tim.

  It’s difficult to say. It was all hazy.

  Right.

  Another thing was how he was trying no to laugh. I got that feeling about him, he was a nasty fucker.

  Well that could be anybody, I said.

  Arthur smiled.

  I spat into the fire. There was something about him smiling that I did not appreciate. If there was a nasty fucker in the company it wasnay me or Tim. And Nicky Parkes had vanished.

  Dreams are funny, said Arthur.

  Oh are they? I said.

  They can be.

  I nodded, gieing Tim a look but Tim was all ears for the story. He was one of these guys ye could sell him anything. A good yarn and that was him. Where do I sign, show me the dotted line.

  And Arthur could spin them, nay doubt about that. On he went: There was a wee lane going down the side, he said, like the one round the back of the shops along there, and the guy I’ve met is pointing to one of the back closes running along.

  Round the back of the shops? said Tim.

  Precisely. That’s where I’m talking about. The back closes came out onto the lane so the front must have been round on the main drag. I am only surmising that cause ye know what like it is when it’s a dream man ye dont fucking know I mean no for sure.

  Hazy, I muttered.

  Aye.

  Ho man! Tim rubbed his hands, waggling his shoulders, enjoying the tale.

  So anyway, says Arthur, along comes this other guy.

  Other guy? I said.

  Aye, and I know him, I know him well. So does the nasty fucker; in fact the two of them are mates, only I dont quite know who the first yin is.

  What d’ye mean?

  They get mixed up. I cannay mind who’s first and who’s second. That’s the funny thing about it, I cannay remember.

  Sounds like a load of fucking keech.

  Arthur shrugged.

  How many guys again?

  Just like I says.

  What, three?

  Aye.

  Could it no have been four? I said.

  Arthur frowned. It was three, there was two then the third man came along.

  The Third Man! said Tim.

  No the fourth? I said.

  Naw, said Arthur. That’s the thing about dreams, everything gets slippery. One minute ye know the next ye dont. Weird.

  Arthur smiled again and reached down to lift a stick from the ground. He used it as a poker, poking it into the fire. He dragged out half of something and kicked it ower onto its side, using the stick to shove it back in. I wished he would stop messing about. He didnay know about fires. Sometimes I get a daft feeling, like as if they know who it is made them; they will do what you want but if another cunt starts messing then who knows. Fires can be scary. I was about to speak when lo and behold Tim passed me a beer, a beer. A fucking magician! Where the hell did ye get that! I said.

  Heh heh heh.

  Ya cackling cunt ye!

  You’re getting auld.

  I looked at him and the can: How did ye open it without me noticing?

  Tim winked.

  Seriously? I said.

  I am fucking seriously.

  Did ye drink out it as well? Ye couldnay have, I would have noticed.

  Tim laughed; Arthur with him.

  Pair of bastards, I said, raising the can to my lips.

  Sip it now Pat. I’ve only the one.

  Sláinte. I swallied a long mouthful.

  Gracias very much, muttered Tim.

  I passed the can to Arthur. He was about to take a sip when the three of us spotted somebody in the distance: Peter Craig, he was cutting through the gap site at the other end of the waste ground. He waved ower to us. Arthur shifted the way he was standing to hide the can of beer. Know what I mean, he said, that could have been the polis; open-air drinking, a major act of criminal magnitude.

  I was still looking ower to Peter Craig. He must have smelled the beer, I said, imagine smelling the beer.

  Tim retrieved the can from Arthur and swigged a mouthful. He swigged another then passed the can to me. I took a long one and passed it to Arthur.

  Finish it, said Tim.

  Arthur did, then crushed it to death with his fist. He got the stick and scraped a space for it near the middle of the fire, chipped it in and poked stuff ower the top of it.

  Ye wouldnay mind if it was a bottle of malt, I said, but one can of beer. A hunner fucking yards!

  Tom sighed and gied a mournful look. I hope he doesnay tell Nicky Parkes.

  Say ye found it, I said, it can happen.

  Arthur winked: We’ll just deny it.

  Right …

  Aw man, I said, I feel pished. It’s all this excitement.

  Tim was puffing smoke. I mean it’s no as if it was intentional. I just forgot. If Nicky Parkes says something, know what I mean, I wasnay keeping him out, I hope he wouldnay think that.

  Not at all, I said, one can of beer and four mooths; one swally and ta ta.

  Exactly, said Arthur. I wouldnay worry about it. Hey, I’ll finish the dream.

  Dont bother.

  Naw but it’s funny.

  I’m no into dreams, I said.

  Neither am I, but this one is different. Arthur winked at the two of us. It’s got sex in it.

  Aw for fuck sake.

  Sex! said Tim, a big smile on his face.

  This gets worse and worse, I said, and I spat into the fire again.

  Aye but it’s weird sex, said Arthur.

  What a surprise.

  Weird sex … Tim laughed for a moment but then he looked at me.

  I said, What ye looking at me for?

  I’m no.

  Aye ye are.

  Naw I’m no.

  But he was. Then Arthur winked and it was me he was winking at. How come I don’t know. Just be careful, I said.

  What about?

  Just be careful.

  Ye’re staring at me Pat, what ye staring at me for?

  Staring at ye?

  Aye.

  I shrugged. Just dangerous territory man know what I mean, sex.

  You’re para.

  I’m just saying …

  Arthur shook his head and looked away.

  Tell us anyway, said Tim.

/>   Arthur waited a moment. I gied him the nod and off he went. But something puzzled me about it. My hearing was no as good as it used to be but that didnay mean I heard things that werenay said. That isnay what folk mean when they say they have hearing problems. I might have been deaf but I definitely was not eh

  Paranoiac is the wrong word. I couldnay think of the right one. That was Arthur and his fucking yapping, yap yap yap. Tim was puffing on his roll-up, gieing that contented look he aye gave when somebody was telling a story. He must have been some wean. Ye could have sent him to sleep with a paragraph. Once upon a time the three bears – and then he would have been snoring.

  Uch well. I prepared to listen. Come what may Arthur was going to tell us the story. There were times I thought conspiracies were on the go and they werent, it was only me. Two slugs of beer and I was drunk as a fucking skunk. The wife said that about me, alcohol made me paranoiac. I aye thought things were happening and they werenay.

  Dreams bored the arse off me. I never told mine to cunts so how come I had to listen to theirs?

  Mine were boring as fuck. That was when I got any. I couldnay remember the last time. They were so boring they never registered. I got dreams where nothing happened. Nothing at all. The dream opens and there I am strolling down the street. Oh I think I see a bus! And then the dream stops. Big deal, seeing a bus. Thank you God.

  Imagine telling somebody that.

  It wouldnay matter if Arthur’s dreams were boring or no he would still want to tell ye them. The cunt aye had to be talking, just like the fire, he aye had to be poking the thing, messing it about. Yap yap yap, on he fucking went. Then in the distance: Nicky Parkes! He was carrying a polybag. Trouble, I said.

  The other two saw him. Arthur quickened with the story, all about this nervy guy he met down the lane, turns out he had just had his hole. That was in the dream. Was it the punchline? I dont know, I wasnay listening. But Arthur was looking at me like he expected a round of applause. Is that all you can think about, getting yer hole? I mean what age are you!

  What has age got to do with it?

  Aye ye’re well named, fucking J Arthur.

  Cheeky bastard. What’s up with you?

  There’s nothing up with me, I said.

  The two of them were looking at me.