by James Kelman
No, I cant.
Of course he keeps closing them and it’s difficult to see. But I wouldnt be at all surprised if his allegation were to prove unfounded. I suspect there’s nothing fucking wrong with them at all, not when you take the time to examine them. Of course we’re only laymen, we’re not professionally qualified medical authorities. Mister Samuels, would you open your eyes a minute?
Sammy blinked.
Are you sure you’re suffering sightloss?
…
Customer declines to answer.
Sammy I agree with my colleague ye know, I think ye’re gony be unlucky, I think that doctor’s gony take one look at you and tell ye to go and fuck yerself. Telling ye, ye’re on a knockback. He’s just gony give ye a bad report, he’s gony raise the whole question about how come ye’re wasting departmental time registering Dysfunctional Capacity, because as far as he’s concerned ye’re as fit as a fiddle, with a pair of eyes like fucking Robin Hood, hit an’ apple at a hundred paces, that’s what he’s gony say. Look at them, brown and sparkling. Ye’re no even a druggie!
And bang go the Community Gratuities Mister Samuels, if that’s you discovered in the act of telling whoppers in respect of functional job capacity. Then of course, our very own colleagues, they have a public duty to fight the battle against larceny when and where they find it. They take a particularly dim view of fraudulent assaults on the tax-payer.
Sammy flexed his shoulders then his wrists.
He’s not sleeping!
The smell of tobacco smoke. Sammy cleared his throat: Any chance of a fag?
There’s nay smoking in this room Sammy I thought ye knew that, an experienced hotshot like yerself, but we have got a treat for ye all the same, so dont say we’re no good to you, it’s a letter. Do ye know who it’s for?
…
Eh?
Naw.
Well I’ll tell ye, it’s for a Mrs McGilvaray. But you’re no Mr McGilvaray you’re Mister Samuels. So there’s a wee contradiction to start with. See if I was counsel for the prosecution by the way I’d fucking run rings round the defendant, no kidding ye, I would. But fair’s fair, we thought ye’d want to see the contents.
It’s no for me.
Aye but ye want to know what’s in it dont ye?
No really, naw.
I’ll read it anyway. Dear Helen, trust you to go AWOL when we’re busy. Is it not time you got a phone installed. We don’t have time to write letters. We’re too busy doing your work. Let us know if you’re coming back, if not we’ll have to start somebody else. We don’t want to but we’ll have to. Kind regards, John G. PS did I say something out of turn!
That’s the manager of Quinn’s Bar Mister Samuels, wondering why the woman hasnt put in an appearance. You may be interested to know that she still hadnt, as of last night. We’re wondering if you have anything to state by way of a response to what you’ve heard.
Eh…
What you’ve heard the serjeant read.
I knew there was a letter and that’s probably it, it came through the letterbox a couple of days ago.
That’s all you have to say?
There was a couple of other yins as well so… He sighed; his mouth had dried up. He leaned forwards, putting his hands on his knees.
Eh?
Sammy sniffed. Naw, he said, I’m worried.
You’re worried?
That’s right.
I believe you’re worried; you’ve got good reason to be worried.
Christ sake man come on!
Come on! What do you mean come on? You’ve held us up for fucking hours, hours, and you’ve got the audacity to shout at me to come on! Who the fucking hell do you think you are you piece of fucking garbage!
And he moved when he said the last bit, fast and unexpected and Sammy ducked.
Then silence.
Eventually the guy said: You met Charles Barr in Campbell’s a week past Friday. True or false?
It might be true it might be false, I dont know, I was drunk.
Sammy ye realise yer girlfriend’s disappeared in highly suspicious circumstances?
Yeh.
Yeh?
Yeh yeh yeh I know, I know, I fucking know! And I’m fucking worried! I’m WORRIED. Sammy said the last bit through his teeth, he half rose from the chair.
Are ye?
Sammy sat back down. Yeh.
Serjeant I think this man is less than bright.
What I’m saying is I’m worried.
…
Now footsteps. It sounded like they were going away. And a door closed.
After a time Sammy said, Her family’s in Dumfries. I dont know whereabouts but somewhere down there.
Nay idea?
It was a different voice; the young yin by the sound of it. Sammy shifted in his chair as if surprised by where the voice was coming from. The address is in the house somewhere, he said, but I cannay look cause I cannay see.
Has she done this before?
…
Eh?
Aye.
Did ye tell them?
Who?
The guys that were asking ye the questions?
I think so.
Where d’ye meet her first?
Eh…Glancy’s eh Glancy’s Bar… Sammy listened for other people. It couldnay just be one of them. And there had to be the computer operator at least. This yin sounded like an apprentice but ye couldnay take chances. Sammy smiled: Is the other two away for their tea-break!
Aye, probably.
Sammy twisted on his chair as if to look round the room.
Are ye really blind?
Aye, cannay see a thing.
Fucking hell.
It’s terrible. Be different if ye were used to it. It just happened with me but, so everything’s kind of – it’s weird, ye know, really weird. If my girlfriend just came back… She’s good ye know, good. Sammy shrugged. Once they find her; if they tell her – she’ll be back right away, as soon as she can. Just if she gets to hear, know what I mean? If somebody tells her. I mean d’ye think they’ll tell her if they find her?
What d’ye say?
Naw I’m just hoping yez find her, and yez let her know the score, me being blind.
…
Are they out looking the now?
Who?
Yous.
Aw I dont know fellow we’re just like eh guards.
Dont get me wrong, I’m no asking for information, I was just saying I hope yez find her… Sammy sniffed then sighed.
Then the polis whispered: Listen, I can tell ye one thing, see these two guys that are asking ye the questions; they’re no from this office.
Is that right….
Aye. Look, dont take this the wrong way but see that guy in the pub that wrote the letter, is he shagging yer girlfriend?
Sammy folded his arms. Then he shrugged: Who knows.
He was wanting to smile but stopped himself. Things were going okay. They were. Ye kept yer nerve, ye just kept yer nerve.
When Samuels
One of these days he was gony write his own song, that would show the bastards.
Somebody was smoking a fag again. Also there was slurps from cunts drinking tea or coffee. They were making a big thing out of it, like they were really enjoying themselves. Maybe it was a real fucking drink they had; couple of cans of superlager, a half bottle. Ye wouldnay put it past the cunts. Mutter mutter – one of them was talking about golf. Some kind of championship was on in America and it was getting shown on the telly. That was a boring game man golf, fucking boring; all these fat bastards walking about the place, some poor cunt having to carry their stuff. Football was different. If things had been right Sammy would have made it. His head was too full of shit, as a boy I mean, otherwise
he still missed it the now; ye could imagine it, running onto the park, somebody passing the ball to ye, trap, on ye go.
Movement. He tensed, then rested his wrists on his thighs and tried to sit in a way that was comfortable, but keeping his
feet square on the floor.
The serjeant said, Sammy, ye’re a terrible man, ye really are. Between me, you and the doorpost I dont think you realise the shit ye’re in. I’m serious. This isnay a bit of reset ye know. And no matter what ye might think, we’ve got nay interest in keeping ye here. It’s only we need some clarification. See ye’re a loose end. For some reason known only to yerself ye’re hindering this investigation. Now I dont know why ye’re doing it cause ye’re a knowledgeable guy and ye’re well aware that unsought information that provides us with concrete help or assistance is of great personal benefit to you the customer. The fact is ye havenay offered this information, ye havenay offered any information. So we’ve immediate grounds for believing – firm and solid – that you may be withholding evidence. Now ye understand that that puts ye up shit creek?
Aye if it was true, but I’m no. He sighed.
We find that ye are. And if we can show good cause for that finding then the burden of proof winds up back-to-maverick, I’m talking about yerself.
You see Sammy what we’re saying is we’re not stupid; you know your record and we know your record, and we also know more than your record, we know everything. Eh…give the man a cigarette.
It’s okay, thanks, I dont want one.
You dont want one. Just as well I think really since it would have been an improper action on our part. Now you see we know that you met Mister Barr. We know it for two reasons: one, he was under surveillance by ourselves; two, Mister Donaghue advised us of it, he told us.
I didnay say I didnay meet Charlie Barr I said I didnay meet him as far as I could mind: cause I was drunk. I might’ve met him, I just dont know. Look yez must know as well I’ve got nay involvement with him, so I mean what would I no tell ye for? if there was something I knew, it wouldnay be worth fuck all, so there would be nay point in me no telling ye.
So ye’re saying ye might have met him?
Aye, christ…
He’s an auld mate Sammy ye would’ve remembered.
Sammy shook his head.
Here’s another thing off the record; we’ve got no interest in your girlfriend. We know enough to know that if something violent has happened to her then it wont be through actions of yours. But even if it were… Understand what I’m saying to you now. There are colleagues of ours who dont take the same view, they have what you might call a cut and dried attitude to what they regard as serious crime and to those they regard as serious criminals. The disappearance of Helen McGilvaray is a very very serious matter and you I’m afraid are a man already convicted of very serious crime. But you are here on our say-so and not theirs; let me repeat; we’ve got no interest in you, none whatsoever.
…
Do you wish to say anything?
Eh no.
That’s fair, you’re entitled to give the matter some thought. At the same time I’m afraid we’re obliged to leave you with the cuffs. Dont take it personally.
It’s just the getting comfortable; psychologically it’s alright, ye feel as if ye’re achieving something. When Sammy was a boy.
When Sammy was a boy.
Dreaming my dreams of you.
The music plays. Remember that guy whose heart stopped beating?
Well ye shouldnay.
Aye ye should, these are things to remember. Ye think they’re the opposite but they’re no, they’re guiding lights; Sammy went on a plane once and there was these wee lights down the passage. Dream yer dreams, but remember the other stuff. Plus it keeps ye sane. Cause ye’re no at the fucking dregs. Ye see death in the poky and it’s nothing to write home about. It happens. Surprising people it happens to as well. Other times ye’ve predicted it; even without ever saying it to yerself when ye get telt some cunt’s snuffed it ye go, Aye… cause ye were expecting it, without having thought about it.
some day I’ll get over you
I’ll live to see it through
but I’ll always be
dreaming my dreams of you
That was the way with the guy with the personal stereo; ye knew he was coming a cropper; he had gave up the ghost; sitting there backed into the wall with his eyes shut, his knees up and his chin down, the earplugs, dreaming his fucking dreams. He wanted to be back in his own country but he didnay at the same time even though his wife and weans were there. They were waiting to fucking kill him man the troops. Hard to believe, wee guy like that, but that’s the way it goes man I mean fuck sake what do ye do, there’s fuck all except what Sammy done, lie on the fucking bunk. He listened if the guy spoke, but no always. When he offered him a blast of the waccy stuff he wouldnay take it, he was a Muslim and didnay smoke nor drink, hell mend him. I am a good man. That was what he used to say, I am a good man. I ask for nothing. That was his fucking problem, he asked for nothing, so he got fuck all, whereas Sammy
had always been crazy,
it’s kept him from going insane.
No this time though. If he got put back this time he would go insane. Blind or no fucking blind.
He shifted on the bunk by moving his arse first then shoulders, then feet. The back was sore. He couldnay move onto his front but cause of the bracelets. For a time he could lie on the side of one arm and shoulder. It was this bastard mattress. Fucking terrible.
Moan moan moan eh! That’s it but ye aye concentrate on yer own bloody predicament.
And there was nay point.
Also cause ye knew what it was about. It was an added bonus to them, the blindness, it meant he was more trapped. Funny thing about these bastards, how they think being stuck inside yer head’s a fate worse than death. Too much television with the cunts, they all think they’re walking down the mean streets of New York or some fucking place, Chicago, they’re all fucking Al Pacinos, Humphrey Bogart man ye know what I’m talking about.
Ye go back through yer life but there’s nay point; some things are just obvious. People give each other second chances. That’s the amazing thing. Naybody else does it. Just yous two, the two of yez that’re doing it.
A match! The guy had struck a match! That fucking settled it man he was a grass, they had landed him with a grass. Sammy smiled. He waited a wee minute then said, Any chance of a drag mate?
No answer was the reply. Ah well.
And now the pacing started. It got on yer fucking nerves; ye tried no to let it but it did. A cup of coffee would be nice. Ye could fling it ower the cunt! Sammy chuckled and smothered it; but chuckled again. Fucking wild.
A drink would have been nice but. The mouth was dry as fuck. A glass of water, ice cool water.
and a lip print on a half filled cup of coffee
that you poured and didnt dri-i-ink
Ah fuck.
Ye think of Helen the now man she might have been thinking of this very guy here, yer man, lying cold in his lonely room, a dark cavern of mental solitude. That was definitely the line from a song man no question.
Games-of-football-I-have-played. Mind you but there was one game he played, it was for a trophy
Tobacco smoke wafting, in his nostrils. Okay. Cause Sammy could enjoy it like it was his own, his own fucking fag man know what I mean who gives a fuck, blow it ower, blow it ower
ya fucking bampot fucking fuckpig grassing bastard.
That’s how ye’re better no bothering. Ye arenay. It’s a mistake, a major error. Ye just let them get on with it. Maybe he was deaf. That’s the kind of stunt they would pull. A blindie in with a deafie. Or else a dumbie. Hilarious. Ye could imagine them up watching on the fucking VTR.
Jesus christ almighty man ye just have to.
Heh you ye fucking deaf? I telt ye to stop fucking pacing.
What’s up with you?
Never mind what’s up with me just fucking watch yerself.
How?
Cause ye’re fucking annoying me man that’s how, fucking irritating, know what I’m talking about, give us peace.
The breath choked in his throat and he coughed; a lump of shit came up; he rolled it round
the tonsils then swallowed it. Maybe the guy had never been whacked with the bracelets. Maybe he was wanting to test it, the sensation, what like the fucking clunk felt. A mind-blowing experience man better than a fucking
They get to ye. Ye try no to let them. But they do. There’s never any point working it out. It’s a waste of energy. Especially when ye’ve nay control. If ye’ve got some sort of control then alright, it can be worthwhile mulling it ower, looking for ways in, ways out, that kind of stuff. The important thing is
there’s nay fucking important thing.
He was expecting them ages ago. They hadnay came back for him and that was funny. Plus he had managed no a bad doze. Maybe they were away for a nice big Sunday dinner, cause that’s what they get man big Sunday dinners, these fucking sodjer bastards, the best steak and chips, poached eggs, all the fucking trimmings.
He swung his legs ower and got himself up. There was movement from the other bunk. Poor bastard, ye felt sorry for him, whoever he was. That was a thing about Jackie Milligan, if Helen was gony lay blame on the guy, how far do ye fucking go? Things arenay as easy as ye think. She had a different point of view from him, which was fair enough, but that didnay mean it was the right one. Christ his legs were sore. He touched forwards with his right foot, heading for the end wall, holding his fists up the way, touching forwards with his toes.
You blind?
Aye.
I wasnay sure.
Sammy kept going. At the wall he turned his back to lean against it, then went down on his hunkers, then sat on the floor with the legs stretched out. Know what time it is?
Five o’clock.
Five o’clock! How d’ye know?
Just guessing.
Long ye been in?
Yesterday. You?
Same.
They keeping ye?
Dont know.
Naw me too. Fucking clatty int it!
Sammy nodded. Look eh I mean earlier on and that, when ye were walking about, my head was away…
Nay bother. They’ve put ye in cuffs eh?
Aye.
Sore?
Aye. Ye cannay fucking… Sammy moved his wrists about. They’re no too comfy.
What they holding ye for?
Sammy didnay answer him immediately. A misunderstanding, he said, what about yerself?
They’re trying to say I’m dealing.
