Naw Much of a Talker by Pedro Lenz Read Free Book Online Page A

wur in love wi the lassie.
    Did ah?
    C’mon, dont be like that, Goalie. Ye went oan an’ oan aboot her. As if ye wur a teenager again. C’mon, tell me. Tell me whit’s happenin. Ah cannae wait.
    There’s nowt tae tell but. An’ anyhow: Marta’s top lip’s covered in jam an’ icin sugar. It’s distractin me.
    We talk a bit aboot Uli an’ how guid it wid be if he wis pit oan wan ae they programmes, wan ae they controlled distribution programmes, heroin distribution, or a methadone treatment, so
some cunt wis keepin an eye oan him, jist naw too much jist.
    Excuse me, it’s nae smokin here.
    In visitin her man, she wis. Her man in a purple tracksuit wi white stripes, her in wan ae they gowns they anthroposophist-yins wear – an’ jist as purple – an’ she comes
up tae oor table like that, sits doon, practically, turns her nose up an’ says in that perverse tone ae voice some folk use when they want tae pit fellow human beins right: Eh excuse me, yeah
you, it’s nae smokin here.
    Ah think yir mistaken. Ah think yiv confused things, cos this bit here, this bit very definitely isnae nae smokin. This bit here’s smokin, an’ o’er there – d’ye see
over there – is nae smokin.
    We’re sittin in nae smokin but, an’ yir smoke’s right in oor faces.
    Ah’ll gi’e ye that, ah say tae her. Ah know, the smoke’s terrible. Thing is: the smoke isnae familiar wi the rulin ae the Office fur Public Health. The smoke, eejit that it is,
cannae read an’ disnae know how tae obey. The smoke dis whit it wants. The smoke is freer than aw ae us, intit?
    She disnae find that wan bit funny an’ looks furra seat elsewhere. While they’re changin tables, her husband gets caught on the tubes ae the stupit drip he’s draggin aroon.
Nearly went flat oan his face, he did, together wi his drip. Then he goes an’ looks at me as if ahd stuck ma fuckin leg oot or summit, the cunt.
    They kidda went tae that ither seat fae the start, couldnt they. Miles away fae the smoke. Fur some folk but, it’s naw aboot the smoke, it’s aboot the wee conversation. Disnae matter
whit it’s aboot. That’s cos, nooadays, ivry cunt’s sae lonely. They turn up at yir fuckin door, even, tae gi’e ye grief. Cos a bike, allegedly, his been left somewhere it
shidnae, or cos yiv pit the rubbish oot a day too early. It’s naw aboot the fuckin bike but or the rubbish. It’s aboot the goddam loneliness. Some folk probably say tae themsels: ahd
rather go roon an’ gi’e a fellow human bein grief than hiv nae communication at aw.
    Whit ye thinkin aboot, Goalie?
    Nuthin that matters.
    Ye thinkin ae Regula?
    Ah hiv tae go noo. Ahv stuff tae dae still. Anither thing, Marta, if ye kid ask that doctor if Uli kid get ontae a heroin distribution programme, in Olten or Berne or summit, that wid be better
fur sure than daein nuthin at aw.
You
hiv tae dae the askin but. Cos you’re his wife. They widnae listen tae me anyhow. Ahm jist a jerk that’s jist ootae jail. That wis in fur
daein drugs, intae the bargain.
    Ah’ll ask then.
    Make sure ye dae but!
    Yeah, yeah. Yeah, okay, ah will. Ah’ll dae it. An’ you: dont be doin nuthin stupit.
    You an’ aw, Marta. You an’ aw.
    At hame, ah looked through ma post. Nuthin but advertisin an’ beggin letters. As if ah wis someone ye kid beg off. They hivnae a fuckin clue, any ae them! Then ah looked
at a stupit competition an’ cos ah needed a bit ae fresh air afore ah went tae bed, ah filled it in an’ took it tae the post box beside the bakery. Ye got the solution by pittin
thegither the first letter ae the answers tae aw the diffrint clues. S TATUE OF L IBERTY . A mair stupiter solution ye kin hardly imagine. The first
prize is wan ae they cars, a Ford summit-or-other. The second prize widda intristit me mair: a trip fur two tae New York. But try but daein a competition that a hunner thousand other jerks like me
will dae an’ see if you kin win second fuckin prize.

8
    When ah get tae