Where you off to?
Eh — nowhere in particular.
Can we come with you?
You?
Well we feel like a breath of fresh air.
I looked straight at them when they said that. It was that kind of daft thing people can say which gives you nearly nothing to reply. So I just, what I did for a minute, I just stared down at my shoes and then I said, I dont know how long I’ll be away for.
They nodded. And it was a bit of time before they spoke back. You’d prefer we didnt come with you. You want to go yourself.
Go myself?
Yes, you prefer to go yourself. You dont want us to come with you.
No, it’s not that, it’s just, it’s not that, it’s not that at all, it’s something else.
They were watching me and not saying anything.
It’s just I dont know how long I’ll be away. I might be away a couple of hours there again I might be away till well past midnight.
Midnight?
Yes, midnight, it’s not that late surely, midnight, it’s not that late.
We’re not saying it is.
Yes you are.
No we’re not.
But you are, that’s what you’re saying.
We arent. We arent saying that at all. We’re not caring at all what you do. Go by yourself if you like. If you had just bloody told us to begin with instead of this big smokescreen you’ve always got to draw this great big smokescreen.
I have not.
Yes you have. That’s what you’ve done.
That’s what I’d done. That’s what they were saying: they were saying I’d drawn this great big smokescreen all so’s I could get outside the door as if the whole bloody carry on was just in aid of that. I never said anything back to them. I just thought it was best waiting and I just kind of kidded on I didnt really know what they were meaning.
John Devine
My name is John Devine and I now discover that for the past while I’ve been going off my head. I mean that the realization has finally hit me. Before then I sort of thought about it every so often but not in a concrete sense. It was actually getting to the stage where I was joking about it with friends! It’s alright I would say on committing some almighty clanger, I’m going off my head.
On umpteen occasions it has happened with my wife. Two nights ago for instance; I’m standing washing the dishes and I drops this big plate that gets used for serving cakes, I drops it onto the floor. It was no careless act. Not really. I had been preoccupied right enough and the thought was to do with the plate and in some way starting to look upon it not as a piece of crockery but as something to be taken care of. This is no metaphor; it hasnt got anything to do with parental responsibility. My wife heard the smash and she came ben to see what was up. Sorry, I said, I’m just going off my head. And I smiled.
ONE SUCH PREPARATION
THE INITIAL REBELLIOUS BEARING IS SEEMINGLY AN EFFECT OF THE UNIFORM’S IRRITATION OF WHICH AMPLE EVIDENCE IS ALREADY TO HAND. BUT THIS KNOWLEDGE MAY BE OFFSET BY THE POSSIBILITY OF BEING TOUCHED BY GLORY. AT THE STAGE WHERE THE INCLINE BECOMES STEEPER THE ONE IN QUESTION STARED STEADFASTLY TO THE FRONT. HIS BREATHING, HARSH AS BEFITS AN UNDERGOING OF THE EXTREME, NEVER BETRAYED THE LEAST HINT OF INTERIOR MONOLOGUE. THERE WAS NO SIGN OF A WISH TO PAUSE AND NOR WAS THERE ANY TO REDUCE OR TO INCREASE PACE. HIS CONTROL WAS APPROPRIATE. THE AIR OF RESIGNATION GOVERNING HIS MOVEMENT CONTAINED NO GUILT WHICH INDICATED AN AWARENESS OF OUTSIDE INFERENCE. IT WAS AT THIS PRECISE MARK THE SATISFACTION EMERGED IN THE PROCEEDINGS. HIS ARMS AROSE STIFFLY UNTIL THE FINGERTIPS WERE PARALLEL TO THE WAISTBAND. HIS GAZE HAD BEEN DIRECTED BELOW BUT HE CONTINUED STARING TO THE FRONT AS IF EXPECTING OR EXPERIENCING A REACTION. WHAT WAS THE NATURAL SUMMIT MIGHT WELL HAVE BEEN INTERPRETED AS OTHERWISE.
Greyhound for Breakfast
Ronnie held the dog on a short lead so it had to walk on the edge of the pavement next to the gutter. At a close near the corner of the street two women he knew were standing chatting. They paused, watching his approach. Hullo, he said. When they peered at the greyhound and back to him he grinned and raised his eyebrows; and he shrugged, continuing along and into the pub.
The barman stared while pouring the pint of heavy but made no comment. He took the money and returned the change, moved to serve somebody else. Ronnie gazed after him for a moment then lifted the pint and led the dog to where four mates of his were sitting playing Shoot Pontoon. He sat on a vacant chair, bending to tuck the leash beneath his right shoe. He swallowed about a quarter of the beer in the first go and then sighed. I needed that, he said, leaning sideways a little, to grasp the dog’s ears; he patted its head. He manoeuvred his chair so he could watch two hands of cards being played. The game continued in silence. Soon the greyhound yawned and settled onto the floor, its big tongue lolloping out its mouth. Ronnie smiled and shook his head. He swallowed another large draught of the heavy beer.
Then Mclnnes cleared his throat. You looking after it for somebody? he asked without taking his gaze from the thirteen cards he was holding and sorting through. Ronnie did not reply. The other three were smiling; they were also sorting through their cards. He carried on watching the game until it ended and the cards were being shuffled for the next. And he yawned; but the yawn was a false one and he sniffed and glanced towards the bar. Jimmy Peters had taken a tobacco pouch from his pocket and started rolling a fag. Ronnie gestured at it. Jimmy passed him the pouch and he rolled one for himself. He was beginning to feel a bit annoyed but it was fucking pointless. He stuck the finished roll-up in his mouth and reached for a box of matches lying at the side of the table. Heh Ronnie, said Kelly, did you get it for a present?
What?
I’m saying did you get it for a present, the dog — a lot of owners and that, once their dogs have finished racing, they give them away as presents — supposed to make rare pets.
Aye. Ronnie nodded, inhaled on the cigarette.
I’m serious.
Aye, said Tam McColl, I heard that as well. Easy oasy kind of beasts, they get on good with weans.
Ronnie nodded. This is a good conversation, he said.
Well! Tam McColl grinned: You’re no trying to tell us it’s a fucking racer are you! McColl chuckled and shook his head: With withers like that!
Withers like that! What you talking about withers like that! Ronnie smiled: What do you know about fucking withers ya cunt!