The Cutting Room (21 page)

Les tensed against me, then turned his head to the side,

freeing his windpipe, gulping for oxygen. His foot twisted

round my ankle, levering me off balance and a fist hit me in the stomach, forcing the wind from my lungs. I fell back

against the door and he hit me twice. There was blood in my

mouth. I raised my hands to show I was finished and he hit me once more.

`Jesus, Rilke! Jesus.’ We stood there panting in the small

corridor. `Christ, do you not know when I’m joking?

`It wasn’t much of a joke.’

`So what will you do if you run into Fred McAulay? Batter

the spite out of him?

I turned and opened the door. His voice followed me as I

ran down the close.

`You’re a nutter, Rilke. A fucking nut.’

Steenie

Hence it came about that I concealed my pleasures; and that when I reached years of reflection, and began to look round me, and take stock of my progress and position in the world, I stood already committed to a Profound duplicity of life.

Robert Louis Stevenson,

The Strange Case of Dr Jekyll and Mr Hyde

F L E V E rr A. M. s’n w M E turning into the cobbled lane that led to Steenie and John’s bookshop. As the van swayed over the

uneven surface, I caught a glimpse in the rearview mirror of the eyes of a stranger. I parked, adjusted the glass and

examined my reflection. The man of three days ago was

gone, in his place a troubled spectre. The broken nights and drunkenness had taken their toll: every debauch was etched

on my face. Perhaps Les or Rose had something among their

cosmetics that might help. I smoothed back my hair, put on

Steenie 169

my shades and practised smiling, one, two, three times. I was `Hi, John, how’s tricks?’

scaring myself.

`Fine.’

Steenie Stevenson’s bookshop was once an arrangement of

A black cat leapt onto the desk and fixed its green gaze

stables and outhouses. Steenie and John acquired the buildings upon me.

twenty years or so ago and bashed them into a maze of

`Steenie, around?

windowless rooms, some open to the public, others locked

`No. He had an idea you might come by.’ John’s lazy voice

chambers, unopened for years, where spiders rule and paper

seemed unnaturally loud. He scrawled on a jotter as he talked.

moulders in dungeon darkness.

`He gave me a note to say he’d catch up with ou.’

There was the usual fine drizzle. A bookcase half filled with What Steenie and John fell out about had ever been

rotting paperbacks sat by the door. A couple of cats mean

established. Though, as Steenie was a stalwart elder of the dered among damp cardboard cartons of books dumped in the

Free Kirk and John conducted a thriving under-the-counter

lane for sorting. I fished into a tumbled box and retrieved a trade in red-hot smut, religious differences seemed a safe bet.

discarded household Bible. The title page bore a family tree, No one had ever seen them converse. Their business was

births, marriages, deaths, all carefully entered in curving

conducted via scraps of paper, sentences that began, `Tell my copperplate. I read through the names: Death Comes, for us All, brother …’ entrusted to intermediaries. John tore the page Please Remember Me; then let it fall. A large ginger tom brushed from the book and passed it to me. `He’s at the back, behind the against my leg. I reached down and stroked him, rubbing hard travel section.’ I nodded my thanks.

behind his ears. He purred, responding to my touch, rolling

`Ach, well, tell him I dropped by. I’ll catch him later.’

onto his back, snaking his spine in exaggerated ecstasy. I

I opened the door and let it swing to, jangling the bell, then tickled the soft hair of his tummy and he grabbed my hand,

walked, as stealthily as I could, round the high bookcase that claws out, scoring deep, red rents across my skin.

divides the shop. A solitary customer lifted his head from an `Ye wee bugger!’

open volume and followed me with his eyes. I found Steenie The cat got to its feet. It walked away leisurely, tail erect, sitting on a low ladder, hunched over a copy of Sir Richard displaying its rear. Would I never learn?

Burton’s memoirs, a pile of red Baedekers at his feet.

A bell rang as I entered the gloomy, toadstool dampness of the `Steenie.’ I whispered his name and Sir Richard hit the

shop. John was on desk duty, his bald head barely visible behind floor.

an uneven wall of books reminiscent of the Manhattan skyline. A `Rilke.’ He tried to cover his confusion, retrieving the

burning cigarette rested in an ashtray, next to a bottle of cherry book. `Long time no see.’

cough linctus. An elderly customer got up from the chair next to The Baedekers slumped softly, maps slipping from between

John and walked slowly out of the shop. His hand brushed

their covers.

against mine as he passed, a low voice whispered, `Excuse me,’

`Not since last night.’

and I turned away without seeing his face.

Steenie swore, hunkering down, reforming the pile. He

attempted a laugh, but it died, half formed. `Aye, right

enough.’

`You didn’t seem yourself when you left. I thought I’d pop

in and see how you were doing.’

`Doing fine, Rilke, you know. Pretty busy as per. A lot of

stuff coming in, no much going out. The usual. Hard to turn a coin these days. Not like when we started, eh?’ He was talking double speed.

`Aye, well, things change. I was hoping you’d have a wee

minute for a chat.’

He stood up, tried to look me in the eye, then settled for

some point to the right of me.

`Ach, I’d love to, but I’ve to be away to a valuation in a

minute. Stay and talk to John, though, he’s aye been a gabby so and so.’ He lowered his voice. `Never able to keep his

mouth shut that one.’

`It was about something in particular.’

He turned to go. `Aye, well, as I said, maybe some other

time.’

`I’m in clearing the McKindless house.’

`Whose house?’

`Never kid a kidder, Steenie.’

He looked me in the eye. `You’re clearing a house. So

what??

‘I’m finding some funny things.’

`What’s that to do with me?

I bluffed him. `I think you know.’

Steenie leant back against the ladder and closed his eyes.

`The evil that men do lives on.’

He stood there for a moment, then took out his keys.

`Come on.’

The key tumbled the oiled lock easily. I followed him

through a half-concealed door at the back of the shop, and

waited while he secured it behind us. For a second all was

darkness. I put out my hand to steady myself, then Steenie hit a switch and a dusty fluorescent strip batted awake. We were at the top of a narrow stone staircase.

`Come on.’

Three curved flights of bevelled steps led down to a musty

basement storeroom. It was cold. A datAp cold that rose from the hard packed earth beneath the concrete floor crept

through my boots and settled like fear in my belly.

I said, `Why don’t we go and sit in the van? We’ll get

privacy there. I’ll put the heater on and you can tell me all about it in comfort.’

`No. I’ve something to show you.’

I followed him past metal racks of books to a second locked

chamber. The smell of the river. was stronger here. The light flickered on and off like an impatient wrecker’s signal. At first I thought this must be the end of our journey. It was so full I couldn’t see how we could go further. But Steenie went on,

leading me along thin paths, walled either side by books and boxes, sometimes having to turn sideways to squeeze

through, sometimes having to haul ourselves over tumbled

avalanches of splayed volumes. We travelled through rooms

each less finished than the last, until they were no longer

graced with doors and locks, just simple rough-hewn openings in the basement’s stone walls. We seemed to be descending;

there was a methane taint to the air and I wondered if we were beneath the river. At last the light faded and I thought, once more, that we must be at journey’s end, but Steenie lifted a torch from a shelf, clicked on its wide beam and whispered,

`This way.’

I brushed away the lingering touch of soft, stroking

cobwebs and followed him. Christ only knew what state my

suit was getting into down here.

`Steenie, man, do you remember what they used to say in

the war? Is your journey really necessary? What do you think?

Maybe I could come over tomorrow after you’ve searched this

thing out. I’ll meet you at the Orlando and we can discuss it over a bacon roll and a cappuccino. What do you say?’

`It’s not much further.’

In a distant corner something rustled and I remembered

why Steenie had so many cats. Then the torch picked out a tall structure at the end of the room. A shadow among shadows. I

peered hard, trying to make out what it was; a wooden rake

. .. a scaffold … a steep, wooden staircase.

`Jesus.’ My battered morale took another dip. `Steenie,

you know I’m not so good on heights.’

`No, I didn’t know that.’

`Aye, you did. I told you that time we went to thon

country house sale out Bowling way. Do you not mind you

brought those boxes down from the attic for me?’

`Ach, that was years ago. Have you not got over that yet?’

`No, not really. I find myself getting dizzy at altitude. That and a poor head for drink’s my only weakness.’

`Just brace yourself, trust in the Lord and you’ll be fine.

Look’ - he cast the beam up to a dizzying crow’s nest three

storeys above - `the stairs are steep but they’re solid enough.

Just don’t look down. I’ll go ahead. If you need a rest, give me a shout and we’ll stop.’

`Steenie.’ I rested my hand on his arm. `I’ve followed you

through this rat-infested basement. I’ve not questioned you

beyond what was said in the shop. So come on, give me a

break. Will you not bring it down here?’

He turned to face me. `Can’t you guess?’

He was turning my trick against me, calling my bluff as I had called his.

`Aye, I can guess.’ I tried to put some conviction into my

voice. `And I don’t see why I have to go up there.’

Steenie’s smile looked grim in the dark. We were bartering

men, used to bluffs and bids. We gambled for a living and

neither of us was willing to show his hand yet.

`Aye, well, it’s a matter of bulk. I’m afraid it’s the stairs or nothing.’ %

I hesitated, wanting to know what he had but not sure if I

could manage the climb. I looked upwards, rocking gently on

the balls of my feet. There was a familiar ringing in my ears.

How badly did I want to know?

Perhaps, if Steenie had kept his mouth shut, everything

would have been avoided. Perhaps we would simply have

stood together for a minute, in the dark and the cobwebs,

then I’d have slapped him on the back and asked if he wanted to go for a pint. Maybe I’d have told him, over a jar or two, the wonders of the McKindless library, and he’d have nodded

sagely. Perhaps. He spoke and I was decided.

`I mean, it’s not like it’s any of your business. Why don’t

you just leave well alone what doesn’t concern you? Least

said, soonest mended.’

I lowered my voice an octave. `Lead on, Macduff. What

doesn’t kill us makes us strong.’

Steenie turned abruptly, put his foot on the bottom rung,

grasped the banister and began the ascent.

I once read the memoirs of an astronaut. As a young boy,

he watched the first moon launch, cross-legged in front of a flickering black-and-white TV set. Neil Armstrong uttered

the words `Houston: Tranquillity base here. The eagle has

landed,’ and our hero was captivated. From that moment he

dedicated himself to space exploration. Instead of fading, as youthful fascinations often do, this enchantment grew stronger.

At the age of eighteen he joined the navy as an aviator. In

the air he soared and swooped, cutting a swathe through the

skies, always wishing, Higher, higher. It seemed that he could land on a dime. Aboard ship, life was cramped. The men

rotated bunks. At the end of each shift, our man slept between sheets which smelt of the sweat of a greasy lieutenant. But in the air he was free. While fellow seafarers played chequers

and cards in the noisy mess room, this paragon trained his

20:20 vision on science texts. During night watches he

prowled the deck, looking at the stars. At the end of his

tour he entered the University of California, graduating with a Master of Science in aeronautical engineering. He became a

test pilot, hurtling across the desert with a supersonic growl, face pulled back in a rictus mask, a hand on his chest that was G-force. Eventually, twenty years after that giant step, he was selected as an astronaut by NASA. At last, sealed into a

spacesuit, helmet tucked under his arm, waving to the

assembled crowd, he climbed into a rocket, ready to journey