by James Kelman
Are ye?
Naw.
A case of mistaken identity?
More or less, aye. What was yer misunderstanding about?
Ach nothing.
Must’ve been something for the cuffs but surely?
Who knows, it’s up to them.
What’s yer name?
Joe.
I’m Davie. Heh have I no seen ye afore?
I dont know, have ye?
Where d’ye drink?
Och different places; what about yerself?
Ye know Castlemilk?
No really.
Well… When d’ye get fed in here by the way?
Fuck knows, when they feel like it.
Is it no set times?
…
I thought it was set times.
Did ye?
Well I was expecting that.
Right.
Is it no usually?
Ye any smokes left?
Nah.
Then the sound of him shifting his position on the bunk. Sammy drew his knees up and rested his head on them. He needed a piss but he couldnay be bothered. Maybe he would just fucking pee himself. He hoped the guy would shut up now. Ye need silences. Ye can get them inside. Usually it’s noisy as fuck but no always. When ye do get them they can be incredible like there’s no even a breath, all ye hear is yer own body, the blood pumping. And if ye’ve taken a doing ye imagine ye can hear yer muscles and yer bones knitting the gether, yer body getting itself back into working order. Sometimes it’s best to let silence reign; other times it isnay. The guy was still shifting about on the bunk.
You got a problem? said Sammy.
He said it in his ordinary speaking voice but it seemed to boom out and it was like the guy was waiting for the boom to die away before he gave his answer: A problem? he said.
Aye ye got one?
Naw.
That’s good.
A guy once telt Sammy about complications; he had asked him about whether he had a girlfriend or no. Sammy had been married at the time. It was just after he had landed inside that last time. He hadnay wanted to speak to the guy so he telt him it was too complicated, he didnay want to talk about it. And the guy said, Listen pal ye come inside ye’re a complicated person, when ye go out ye’re still a complicated person but the complications are different. All yer other complications go away. People forget about ye; the goodies I’m talking about, the only ones remember ye are the fucking baddies; they still want to fuck ye.
Sammy could mind thinking this is a piece of wisdom that I’m gony treasure. But it was just bullshit.
The springs squeaked, the guy shifting his position again. Sammy had went off thinking about things but it was the same kind of things he usually thought about and he wanted to switch the subject. Games-I-Have-Played. Concerts-I-Have-Attended. Women-I-Have-Screwed. Jobs-I-Have-Fucking-Done. Strokes-I-have-fucking-pulled. Look, he said, ye just get by in here, that’s the important thing, know what I’m saying, ye can go crazy or ye can survive. Sometimes it’s stupit and sometimes it isnay. The bottom line is it’s too easy to get done in. Ye let them man and they’ll fucking do ye. Ye’ve got to get yer head right. And the time to start is now.
After a wee minute the guy said, What ye telling me for?
I feel like it.
I didnay ask ye for any advice.
Naw I’m just telling ye. Ye’ve got to watch yerself. I’m guessing you’re gony have problems.
I dont know what ye’re talking about.
Fair enough.
Look I’m in here for nothing.
Doesnay matter; either way ye’ve got to survive. Cause these cunts’ll fucking do ye. They like fucking doing ye. That’s what they’re here for. Know what I mean? Ye get done right? Well that’s now ye get done, they fucking do ye. And when they’ve fucking done ye they’ve done ye, that’s what I’m talking about. Either ye let them or ye dont. Personally I fucking dont, right, I dont fucking let them. Know how? cause I fucking hate the bastards. I hate them; that’s how I survive. Know what I’m saying?
Aye.
And the way I hate them: total fucking fuck all. Win lose or draw. There’s nay such thing as a good fucking uniform. Same goes for a grass. Ye hear me?
…
Eh?
I hear ye, I dont know what ye’re telling me for but.
I’m telling ye cause I want to.
What for?
Cause I want to.
Fuck sake… The springs squeaked, the guy turning ower.
Sammy dragged himself up and along to the pail, he knelt and had a piss. Then into the bunk and under the blankets onto his side. He wanted to sleep now. He wanted to be unconscious. He was tired. He needed to rest. He had been resting. Till he woke up. Till he woke him up, that cunt, his fucking pacing, his farting man whatever.
He gritted his teeth and shut his eyelids tight. I’m tired, he said, I’m tired and I cannay sleep.
I’m starving.
Fuck you. Sammy moved onto his back, it was still sore at the spine and the fucking buzzing was back in his ear this bloody highpitched noise and the fucking bracelets how could ye do anything with these fucking bracelets, fucking murder.
Jesus christ.
Now I lay me down to sleep
pray the lord my soul to keep.
That was a poem his grannie taught him, a prayer.
That’s what happens in here, he said, ye’re tired and ye cannay fucking sleep. Ye’ve got all the time in the world and ye cannay get a rest, they dont fucking let ye. That’s how they design these places, so ye get nay peace. Nay fuck all. Nay fags. Ye’ve got fucking nothing except yer fucking brains. That’s how I’m telling ye, ye better wise up. If ye dont watch yerself ye go. I’ve seen guys doing themself in, so ye better fucking watch it. Cause that’s what they want. They want ye to do yerself in. Fucking telling ye man it’s good for the facts and figures, the statistics, it shows they’re doing the job. Ye dont believe me, well I’m fucking telling ye. Ye need yer survival plans, and if ye’ve only got yer head then ye use it, ye dont let these bastards fucking screw it man know what I’m talking about – eh? Ye listening?
Aye.
Well I asked ye a question.
I never heard ye.
Never mind.
I didnay know ye were talking to me.
Who the fuck else is there?
Well ye’re saying things and I dont know what ye’re saying them for.
Is that right?
…
It’s these bracelets, the cunts aye close them too tight, they cleave into yer wrists. Are they bleeding? Sammy held his wrists out the blankets.
Naw.
Ye cannay fucking sleep cause ye cannay turn, ye cannay get onto yer back either, so ye’re fuckt.
Dont worry about it.
What, what d’ye say?
There’s nothing ye can do. They’ll take them off.
Hh. Sammy smiled. Then he made to rise but got this sudden feeling he was gony faint so he lay down again, then clawed his way up the bunk to be sitting, crossed his legs and kept his back straight, his neck stiff, upright. Dizzy. He had a dizzy head. He gasped for breath, constricted and tight and fucking choking, he gasped; the fucking ribcage again, his lungs. The guy was talking now but Sammy couldnay listen man he couldnay fucking hear him, what he was saying like a fucking a jumble man a jumble it was a jumble
happening to him it was happening to him, oh christ man it was happening to him and he started breathing deep and his shoulders rocking, he couldnay stop them, now scratching at his chin and neck, clawing, like there was wee creepy-crawlies under the surface, clawing at his face round the cheekbones pulling the flesh down below the eye sockets, okay, okay, the breathing, just the breathing just the breathing, unscrew yer eyes and get rid of it, rid of it
the guy’s voice
Aye I’m alright I’m alright.
I saw a great concert a fortnight ago, through in Edinburgh, me and my girlfriend. Bril
liant…
Sammy twisted to pull the pillow out from under him and squeezed it about then stuck it back next to the lower bit of his spine. He folded his arms and sat with his shoulders hunched, stiff; he sat like that for a while. He could have hit him but. The fucking guy on the bunk man that’s who, that’s fucking who. Any cunt that came near him man that’s who. He twisted to wipe his nose with his left wrist, felt the wet down his chin; saliva, he had been drooling, drooling like a wean. Okay.
Well you said it yerself, twisted loyalties, but maybe he’ll loosen up.
A sigh. The sound of a cigarette lighter.
Give him one.
Here… A fag was put into Sammy’s mouth. That was him probably fuckt now but he took the light anyway. What did it matter, it didnay fucking matter. He dragged deep, exhaled slow. His head birled.
The silence went on. They were talking a distance from him but he picked up words here and there. But so what; if they didnay want him to hear he wouldnay have heard. He tapped ash into his left hand, took another drag, a long one, sucking the smoke down deep. A joint would have been nice; heh john ye got a bit of blaw there? I was inside all last night and I’ve got a head like a fucking… Sammy smiled for a wee minute.
There was a clinking sound. Somebody coming to him. Here; cup of tea. It’s just by yer foot.
He reached down. It was awkward. He put the fag in his mouth then tried again, avoiding the smoke going in his eyes. The tea was lukewarm and sweet as fuck. He once read a story about a Jewish guy and a black guy and they met in this New York cafe and drank coffee, they were both skint, and the way they knew one another was skint and used to being skint was because they both took triple helpings of cream and sugar. Fucking bullshit. He swallowed half the tea and returned the cup to the floor, leant back on the chair letting his head loll till near enough it touched the top bit of his spine, his neck totally exposed.
Charlie would take care of himself. He knew Sammy was a useless bastard anyway so there wasnay a problem, it was just a case of
getting it out. How do ye get it out? Sammy had forgot how to get it out. He didnay seem ever to have known how to do it. How the fuck do ye tell the cunts! Maybe if they started in on the torture games, the real stuff, the point where ye wouldnay have any option. Who knows what ye’ll do. The bottom line is if they want it bad enough they’ll get it. Whatever they wanted off him, it just depended, depended how bad they wanted it in the first place – how quick.
I’ve no seen him for years, he muttered.
What was that?
Sammy sat forwards, inhaled and exhaled. If I saw him on Friday, it was the first time for years.
Is that so?
It was the serjeant had said it. Sammy shrugged, he turned his head to where the voice came from then he stuck the fag in his mouth and reached down for the tea. His hands were shaking; so what. He kept his head lowered. Then he frowned: I seem to mind a conversation about jazz orchestras…
Aye okay Sammy so ye’re being an arsehole.
Naw sorry, I just
Aye, aye. One thing but, that time when ye met Charlie, what was it about?
…
Ten years ago, when ye met him? Ye had long hair at the time.
Eh…
Eh…! The guy chuckled. That’s right Sammy, we’re talking ten year ago, when yez met in London. What was it about?
It wasnay about nothing.
Did ye just bump into him on the street? Theobalds Road if I remember right – is that no Holborn?
The English guy said: Holborn yeh. Six-thirty in the morning. You were working down by Clapham Junction? So whereabouts were you living? Eh?
Cannay mind.
North London, south London, west, east – where? whereabouts?
North.
Yeh? That is nice. You’re living in north London and you’re working down by Clapham Junction, and by some chance you meet up with Mister Barr in Theobalds Road! Six-thirty in the morning.
…
Sammy, we’ve just had a photograph turn up, you with Charlie; you’re looking especially well, like I say ye had long hair, pity ye cannay see it. Here it is here, I’ve got it in front of me.
Sammy smiled.
Ye mind the occasion?
It’s a clear patch serjeant I’m sure he will.
I was on my way to work, said Sammy, we met for a breakfast.
A working breakfast, being busy men.
Ah well you know Charlie, aye on the go I mean if ye know about it ye know about it; nothing I can say.
So the two of yez bumped into each other, that’s what ye’re telling us? He was down from Glasgow on a visit and you were living there and then yez just bump into each other? Some coincidence.
Sammy smiled.
Sammy the more we look at you the more there is to see.
Ah well.
Ye’re no so much a loose end as an added complication.
That’s right, I spent seven years… Sammy stopped, he reached down and dropped the rest of the fag into the teacup; it sizzled.
Christ he’s messing up the crockery!
You spent seven years… Yes?
Nothing.
Oh it’s something, seven years out a man’s life, it’s something I would have thought.
Look if yez know yez know, there’s fuck all I can say, there’s nay point.
Dont get upset Sammy.
I’m no getting upset.
You’ve a bit of a chip on your shoulder and that’s understandable; a man like Charlie Barr stays on the outside while there’s you, seven years.
What ye talking about?
A chap like yourself, you end up the fall-guy.
Ye know what I got fucking put inside for. What are ye gony fucking reopen the case!
You’re not listening.
…
Hear what I’m saying, you’re not listening.
Sammy paused, then he said: Charlie was down for a conference. Ye know he was down for a conference. He was a convenor of shop stewards at the time. It was a year afore I got fucking done. It wasnay fucking ten year ago it was eleven. Okay?
Well that helps us out with dates Sammy.
Good.
See we know ye’re no involved it’s just how there’s these coincidences. Here…
Movement closeby and something touched him on the mouth.
It’s a fag Sammy.
They gave him a light for it.
Ye see obviously they’re no coincidences. We’re no saying there’s any conspiracies on the go; but they’re no coincidences Sammy, okay? And what my colleague says holds good; it’s something worth considering. Ye’re in trouble and basically it’s through no fault of yer own, ye’re just in the wrong place at the wrong time. Ye’re unlucky. But that’s no our fault. Time’s important to us; it’s just as important to us as it is to you. I mean we’re no gony end up in the poky – it’s just a job – but you will; that’s where you’re heading. Well ye’re here already int ye!
…
I mean we can hold ye here forever if we want. And if we hold ye here we know nothing’ll happen, whereas if we let ye go…who knows? we dont. I mean basically it’s best we do hold ye.
Sammy took the fag out his mouth.
Ye know what I’m saying. Now see our other colleagues; they want to hold ye anyway; cause of yer girlfriend; they want to keep ye till she turns up! They do. You better believe it. It’s fucking complicated Sammy it’s a complicated business. The same happened when ye were inside, there was that guy died in yer cell, mind?
He didnay die in the cell he was fucking put there.
That’s a serious thing to say.
It’s actually very serious, said the English guy.
Sammy turned his head from them, he took a big drag on the fag, in case it was the last. There was a bit of muttering from behind him. Fucking bampots, they think they’re wide; they think they’re fucking wide. Ye just let them get on with it. That’s all ye do. And ye dont fucking aggravat
e them man ye dont fucking aggravate them. It was yous fucking killed him, he said.
…
No yous, he said, I’m no saying yous, but them down there. Ye know what I mean.
We dont know what you mean at all.
I’m sorry I said it.
…
It’s just I was upset, I liked the guy, he was harmless.
Naybody’s harmless Sammy.
Some guys are.
Well I never meet them.
Sammy exhaled smoke, scratched at his right ear. People do things, he said, they dont mean to do them but they do them.
That’s manslaughter you’re talking about.
It’s me winding up blind, that’s what I’m bloody talking about.
After a moment the serjeant said, It’s just beginning to dawn on me Sammy… You’re a kind of anxious guy arent ye? Eh? I mean dont take it personally; ye are but int ye? It’s no something to hide by the way; maybe ye can get help.
…
It wouldnay surprise me if ye inclined towards panic-attacks. Do ye? D’ye get them like? panic-attacks. Eh? See I mind a wee pal of mine at school, he had really bad asthma, he couldnay join in at games, ye felt sorry for him. He used to panic. No kidding ye, he panicked all the time. I used to say to him: Heh calm down, calm down.
This is true, said the English guy; you do find that with people suffering sensory dysfunctions. Quite often when they’re examined by the medical authorities they’re found to have a history of anxiety. Sometimes they exhibit other tendencies too. Take for instance, if you dont object to me raising the matter, take last week’s nonsense, the so-called fracas, where it was noted that you sought a beating.
Sammy smiled, he shook his head.
Well you did, you cant deny that surely? Eh? You cant deny it, come on, not on the evidence!
…
You wanted to fight because you knew you would lose and lose severely.
Sammy shifted on the chair and twisted to scratch under his chin. He wished he could see the bastard; the two of them, they had the habit of moving about; ye didnay always know where they were talking from. He would like to have seen them, just fucking seen them. That would have been nice man he would have liked that, know what I’m saying, that would have been good, these fucking scabby bastards, fucking would-be fucking hardmen. He was tense, he needed to get untense; he had the urge to fold his arms. Just how ye cannay fold yer arms, ye know, ye cannay fucking fold them man ye cannay fucking relax; okay, these bastards, know what I’m talking about he would like to have fucking seen them, fucking hardmen, so-called, hunting in packs; ye wanted to laugh, ye needed to stop it. He had the urge to fucking jump out the seat! he needed to stop that as well; relax it, the urge; there was at least three of them, unless the computer cunt was back, so that made four, at least; christ almighty eh! Sammy smiled, he stopped it, he shifted his position on the chair. He was needing a shit, afraid to fart in case it was something else; okay, okay… Just the shoulders man just the shoulders, he closed his eyelids and relaxed them, forcing it. Then a hand grabbed him there and he jerked upright; his left shoulder, the hand gripped it. It was the serjeant. He spoke in a peaceful voice:
