Pesche, ye dont even realise whit kinda deep-fried dog-poo yir comin oot wi. Yis come up wi a beautiful deal that, aw in aw, brings in fuck-knows how much dough fur yis, enough anyhoo tae buy a shack in Spain. An’ noo yir describin it as if it wis jist a nasty trick, ya dick, that hid unpleasant consequences fur me, an’ nane fur yous. You cunts didnae go tae jail but. Yis also earned plenty ae fuckin dough. That’s the point, Peter boy: a hoose fur yous, jist pocket money fur me but, an’ a year behind bars. Ta very much, Pesche. An’ thanks fur the wine, even if it tastes like fuckin vinegar. An’ bye.
Tell me whit yir wantin, Goalie. Say whit ye want. Mibbe we kin agree on a figure.
Nuthin. Ah want fuck-aw fae yis. Ahv got ma pride still. Honestly, ah want fuck-aw. Ah want tae go hame.
Watch whit ye say tae folk, Goalie. Ahm warnin ye.
Ah hear whit yir sayin, Mr Onassis.
19
Ah didnae go hame. The evenin hid hardly started so ah stumbled through the fog haphazardly. Wis ah ragin? Oot fur revenge? Naw, nane a that, jist a kinda empty feelin in ma belly an’ a cravin fur broon sugar.
At some point, ah passed the cemetery an’ summit took me in. Ah stopped at the Bourbaki monument. Poor cunts, ah thought. First, an ugly war against the Germans. Then they flee here. Ur washed up — ae aw places — here where ah stay. They end up dyin here an’ aw. Switzerland saved the lives ae the Bourbaki sodjers back then. Ye cannae actually save lives but. Sooner or later, it’s bye-bye anyhoo. Nanetheless, fur they yins buried here, it wis a bitter pill tae swallow: hivin tae breathe their last sae faur fae hame. In a village like fuckin this yin an’ aw.
How ah aye think the same thing, mair or less, when ahm in a cemetery, ah dont know masel. Ah then went tae ma faither’s grave anyhoo. An’ ah thought ae Uli’s faither while ah wis there. Whereas next-tae-nuthin tae nuthin came intae ma heid aboot ma ain faither.
Eh — hello, Goalie.
Hello, Frau Balsiger. Hello tae you an’ aw.
Visitin yir faither’s grave?
Aye. His tae be fae time tae time.
Of course. It kin help, it kin. An’ how ur ye doin, Goalie?
Fine, ta. Yirsel?
Cant complain.
Excellent. That’s whit ah like tae hear.
How’s yir mother? Ahv naw seen her furra lang time. Since she stopped comin tae gymnastics, ah hardly see her — if at aw.
She’s fine, ta.
An’ you yirsel, Goalie. Hiv ye settled back in? Ye wur gone a lang time.
Aye — a year, jist aboot. Ye get back intae yir auld ways soon enough but.
Yir right there.
Exactly.
An’ ah hear yir noo workin in the print shop?
That’s right.
Oor Marlies used tae work there.
Really?
Aye, a while ago noo but. Tell me summit, Goalie — ah prefer tae ask directly, insteid ae askin aroon: is it true you served a prison sentence?
Summit like that, aye. Naw, yir right. Ivrythin’s okay again noo but.
Yeah? Sometimes that’s how life goes, an’ sometimes naw.
Correct.
Okay, hiv a nice evenin then.
Thanks. You an’ aw. Oh — Frau Balsiger, summit’s jist come back intae ma heid. Is your Rudi still wi the bank?
Aye, he’s authorized tae act noo even.
Where’s he stayin these days?
They built a hoose in Thunstetten. Hiv ye heard he’s two weans awready?
Oan the grapevine, aye. Well — cheerio again, Frau Balsiger.
Cheerio, Goalie. An’ dont dae nuthin ah widnae.
Ah wont, naw.
Wee Balsiger’s maw’s actually really nice, ah mean: in comparison tae some folk ah kid name. The fact she asks directly when she wants tae know summit’s naw bad eether.
In a phonebox near the cemetery, ah open the telephone directory at the Thunstetten bit an’ look fur wee Balsiger’s address. Then ah go — through the fog — up tae where he stays. He’s in the middle ae his dinner when ah ring the doorbell, says it disnae matter but, jist tae come in. His wife is fae aroon Solothurn. She’s wan ae they wimmen who — disnae matter hoo often yir introduced — ye kin nivver mind the name ae, or remember her face, cos there’s fuck-aw memorable aboot her. She’s friendly enough, says tae sit doon, there’s still plenty o risotto. Ah lie but an’ say ahv awready eaten. Wee Balsiger says he’s done eatin anyhow an’ shows me intae the livin room so she kin pit their brats tae bed.
In the livin room, there’s a leather sofa an’ two matchin armchairs. The bookshelves an’ the TV unit ur the same colour. Anthracite. If that actually is a colour, that is. It exists only in furniture catalogues, practically, an’ garage forecourts. Ah kid swear Balsiger’s car’s anthracite an’ aw. Ah look at the big picture that’s hingin above the sofa, a Mediterranean evenin, water colours, beautiful, but a bit random but, like his wife. Wid ah like a coffee, Balsiger asks. Yeah, ah wid, ah say. Then ask is it okay tae smoke.
It wid be better oot oan the terrace. Cos ae the weans, eh?
Course. Nae bother. Ah kin wait.
Whit brings ye tae me, Goalie?
Ahv a bank inquiry.
Is it a mortgage yir lookin fur?
The words ur hardly ootae his mooth, hardly, afore ye kin see he noo realises the question’s fuckin stupit. Ah dont answer right away an’ he goes tae get the coffee. Bet ye he his a guid coffee machine, ah think tae masel, then ah look tae see whit books he his. Maist ae them ur probably his wife’s, a loatae true stories, a loatae life coaches. Ye hiv tae hope, at least, she finds stuff in there that helps her.
Whit dae ye take in yir coffee? Sugar? Cream?
Naw, nuthin. At maist, a guid shot ae schnapps or summit.
Ah kin offer ye a cognac.
Better still.
So Goalie, ye wantit tae ask me summit tae dae wi the bank.
Aye, jist summit theoretical. Whit wid happen — jist assumin, of course — if fae wan day tae the next, ah suddenly hid a loatae-loatae money, hawf a million say, or whitivver. Kid ah jist come tae yous an’ give it: Lads, ahv a loatae spandooley, open an account fur us, wid ye, jist dont ask where ah hiv it all fae.
In certain circumstances, that wid be possible, aye. It wid hiv us wonderin but, of course. Me personally, ahd hiv a bad feelin aboot it. Ah wid ask questions, specially if it wis someone who wisnae a customer awready
Whit ye mean is: if someone awready his quite a loatae dough in his account an’ then suddenly his even mair, that’s less suspicious than if someone’s got fuck-aw an’ then suddenly loads?
Fur sure, aye.
An’ if that somebody — who awready his a loatae dough an’ turns up wi a hale lot mair fae somewhere — suddenly gi’es it he wants tae buy a hoose in Spain, wid ye gi’e him a mortgage?
The minute ah mentioned Spain, wee Balsiger gulped several times. Ah seen it. He recovered but an’ said quite calmly:
Mibbe. That’s very possible. There ur different criteria, ye know, when we gi’e oot mortgages. Capital resources, value ae the property, income, interest rate trends etc. An’ if it aw looks okay, the guy gets the mortgage. Why ye askin?
Cos ah dae the fuckin lottery.
Ah now knew whit ah needed tae. So ah tried tae talk tae Balsiger aboot the past a bit. Like pullin fuckin teeth, it wis. It didnae surprise me but. You only hiv tae look at the anthracite theme runnin through his hoose tae know the cunt wants fuck-aw tae dae wi his past. Wee Balsiger hid brushed any memories ae his past intae a corner, same way ye’d pit an auld armchair up in the loft. The past, fur wee Balsiger, is a necessary evil jist. A past, in the guid sense ae the word, disnae exist fur him. So ah tellt him a bit aboot me, tellt him things wur improvin ivry day, ah nae doot hid the worst ae it behind me noo, an’ hid learnt summit fae aw that, even if ah still didnae know whit exactly, ahd definately learnt summit. Balsiger wis pleased tae hear it, an’ ah think he wis bein genuine when he wished me aw the best.