April 2016
A Medical Emergency
11
SPUD – THE BUTCHERS OF BERLIN
People kin be awfay funny, man. Ah mean, ah goat hassle fae Mikey cause ah nivir hud a passport. So the cat made ays git yin, n ah’m thinkin: it pure shouldnae be that wey, needin passports, cause wir aw Europe, likesay. Wis a lot ay hassle n aw, man, hud tae go through tae Glesgey n fill in tons ay forms. N they needed the photaes tae be jist right. Then, whin the passy finally comes through the door, n ah’m ready tae rock, Mikey’s naewhaire tae be seen! Took ays ages tae track um doon, but finally found the feral gadge in Diane’s Pool Hall, hingin wi some jungle cats. — It’s no happenin right now, mate, eh sais.
— Ye mean… yuv cancelled the gig? Ah’ve pure sortay spent the deposit, man, ah goes, pointin tae ma new trainers.
— Ah widnae say cancelled, Spud, ah’d say mair postponed. That’s how ah wid pit it. Postponed at this stage ay time, is what ah wid say. Then eh goes, raisin ehs voice a bit soas the other gadges kin hear, — Vic Syme n me huv tae sort oot some details, that’s aw. Ah ken whaire tae find ye.
So ah goes hame again, n looks at the passport. N it wis like that fir weeks n weeks. Me aw excited, then Mikey sayin: still no go.
Ah cannae stoap gittin the passy oot ay the drawer. It’s barry, cause ah’ve nivir had yin before. It says Great Britain and Northern Ireland and European Community. But wi Britain mibbe headin oot ay Europe and Scotland mibbe headin oot ay Britain, ah’ll probably huv tae get a new yin before long! Mind you, a Scottish passport wid be barry, wi a thistle oan the front mibbe, instead ay that Her Britannic Majesty requests stuff which seems awfay auld-fashioned, and a rip-off offay the Stones, likesay. The Brian Jones cat that’s potted heid.
It makes ays feel like ah’m the man though: DANIEL ROBERT MURPHY. A subject ay Her Majesty the Queen. Even though ah’m likesay a pape ay Paddy stock, ah’m just as much ay a subject as any west Edinburgh Jambo or west coast Sticky Bun. Aye, they cats’ll no like that but, ay!
The thing is the weeks rolled by n ah nearly forgot aw aboot this big secret-squirrel hush-hush Berlin joab, cause ah gits sorted oot wi part-time casual work, daein forklift drivin in a warehouse. Peys sweeties but it’s guid tae graft n git a wage again but, ay. N still gies ays time tae go oan the John Greig doon at the Grassmarket. Spring isnae bad for the mooch cause cats ur aw optimistic n ah kin fantasise that aw they cool office lassies walkin past wid be impressed if they kent ah wis makin a top-secret delivery ay stuff behind the auld Iron Curtain n doon tae the mystic East ay Istanbul. N mibbe it would be pure exotic love in foreign climes, like that Sean Connery cat as Bond. In the aulder Bond fulums, likesay.
Then, one eftirnin, Mikey comes along tae ma pitch. — It’s time, eh goes. N man, ah’m pure sortay nervous, cause eh disnae look happy, eh’s goat that serious face oan.
— Ah’m ready, bud, ah goes, standin up. But ah wisnae really, cause ah’m sortay happy, ken? Things ur gaun a bit better now. But ah pure took the five hundred up front. — Bring ays yir kidney, Sydney, ah sais oot ay nerves. Mikey isnae chuffed but.
— Shut it. Eh looks around, gesturing ays tae follay him ower tae the pub. — This is fuckin serious. Ah never want tae hear that word comin oot your mooth again. Goat that?
— Aye, sorry, man, ah tell um, n ah git Toto leashed up n wir walkin ower the street.
— Ah pit masel oan the line gittin ye this work, Spud. Dinnae fuck it up. Dae the business n it’ll be a regular thing.
So ower in the boozer eh slips ays a wallet wi the plane tickets. A few days later ah’m at the airport, and Toto’s wi ays! Ah goat ma sis Roisin tae go oan that Internet thing n check eh wis wee enough tae take oan ma lap. Turns oot ah kin pure take um in this thing called a Sherpa bag, n ah dinnae huv tae pit um in the hold. Ah try tae keep um under eighteen poonds, but ah’ve let it creep up a bit, so ah’m tryin tae make sure eh disnae drink sae much in case eh disnae make the weight. Ah think aboot the bag, mindin how as a sprog ah used tae watch that Owen, M.D. oan telly aboot the Welsh country doaktir boy, n his dug was called Sherpa. But the bag couldnae be named after that canine gadge cause he was a huge dug, n wid never have goat in one ay these boys. Ah pure need the company, man, cause ah’ve nivir flew before n ah’m excited but dead nervous that mibbe some sneaky terrorist gadge might be oan the plane thinkin aboot another 9/11! Wid jist be ma luck tae be comin up in the world, then git blawn tae fuck by some boy whae wis worried aboot they Molly Malones zappin ehs faimlay. N ah dinnae trust naebody else tae look eftir the dug right.
But oan the plane they gie ye stuff tae eat n a wee peeve, so ah’m sittin back, sayin tae Toto, whae’s in the bag at ma feet, — This is the life, pal, but eh’s sayin nowt, just wee whines, which the lassie sittin next tae ays picks up oan n tries tae comfort the wee gadge. — He’s lovely! What’s his name?
— Toto, ah goes. Thinkin barry tae git some convo oan the airy, ken?
— Oh, how sweet, after The Wizard of Oz!
— Naw, it wis pure eftir that band Toto whae did that song aboot Africa. Thaire’s a barry remix ah heard and ah just thoat: name the dug that. Then ah goat telt by ma gay mate, Poofy Paul, aboot The Wizard ay Oz connection, ken?
— Well, I hope you both follow the Yellow Brick Road!
— That wis that Elton John boy though, no Toto, ah goes.
The lassie jist smiles at that. Goat her thaire but, pure bambozzled the dude-ess wi cultural science, man.
— He’s… ah bends ma wrist, — that wey n aw. Nowt against anybody, mind you, live n let live, aw love is beautiful, but ah’m a straight shooter, if ye git ma drift.
Overcooked that chick, man. That’s me aw ower. Some gadges ken how tae talk tae a lemon, no me but, ay? She gies a smile that sais ‘yir a radge, but hermless enough’ which is the worst smile a lassie kin gie ye. — He’s certainly a cute one, she goes, pattin the dug’s wet beak through the mesh ay the bag again.
So we lands in Turkey n me n the dug gits oot ay the David Narey, n jumps a sherbet tae Istanbul, and it’s mental! Man, the place is fair bustling, wi aw they people bouncing aboot. Cause ah’m a fair-skinned gadge wi a dug ah wid sort ay stick oot a bit here, but ah’m in the taxi n wir drivin through the streets. It’s like thaire’s tons ay guys but hardly any lassies. Rents went ages ago as a student n ah mind um sayin it wis like Leith, but that’s aw changed. Ye git tons ay lassies walkin around in Leith now. Ah sort ay thoat thit aw the burds here wid huv veils, n look through thum aw seductively at ye wi big eyes, like in they auld Turkish Delight adverts, full ay Eastern promise, but it isnae like that, likesay. Shame but, ay? How barry wid that be?
But this is good, it’s the best wey tae make money, like, bein a middleman. See, ah cannae dae the tea-leafin any mair. Whin ye git aulder, ye git too much ay a moral compass, and it ey points in the ‘dinnae rip cats oaf’ direction. Can not dae it any mair, man. Just cannae be in some dude’s hoose takin thair stuff, n it disnae matter how much thuv goat. It still might be something that means a loat tae them, like a deid relative’s trinkets. Could not huv that oan ma conscience, man. Nup. The auld ‘feast ay Stephen’ jist isnae happinin fir ays any mair.
So ah’m at the station, huvin boat some food, waitin by platform 3 like they sais, n this boy comes up tae me, leathers n a helmet, n looks at the dug. Eh hands ays a cardboard boax wi a plastic handle stickin oot ay it. It’s aboot the same size as Toto. The boy sais nowt, just hands ays the boax n a ticket for the train, then eh’s away. The boax is heavier thin it looks, cause inside the cardboard thaire’s another boax.