Trainspotting (19 page)

Sick Boy says somethin aboot bein a lover, no a fighter, and Begbie's aboot tae say somethin, whin Matty goes: – Ah'm game.

This diverts Begbie's attention fae Sick Boy. The Beggar Boy then starts tae praise Matty, likes, n calls us aw the shitein cunts under the sun; but it's like tae me thit Matty's the shitein cunt, likesay, because he's the groover that goes along Wi everything Franco sais. . ah've never really liked Matty. one fucked up punter. Mates take the pish oot ay each other likes, bit whin Matty slags ye, it's likesay, ye kin feel mair thin that, ye kin feel . . likesay . . hate, ken? Jist bein happy. That's the crime whin Matty's ahoot. He cannae bear tae see a gadge happy, likesay. Ah realise that ah never see Matty oan his ain, likesay. It's likesay sometimes jist me n Rents. . . or jist me n Tommy. . . or jist me n Rab . . . or jist me n Sick Boy . . or even jist me and Generalissimo Franco. . . but never jist me n Matty. That sortay sais something, likesay. These bad cats leave the basket tae stalk their prey, and the attnosphere is like . . . brilliant. Sick Boy brings oot some E. White doves, ah think. It's mental gear. Most Ecstasy hasnae any MDMA in it, it's just likesay, ken, part speed, part acid in its effects . . but the gear ah've hud is

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always jist likesay good speed, ken? This gear is pure freaky though, pure Zappaesque man . . . that's the word, Zappaesque . . ah'm thinkin aboot Frank Zappa Wi Joe's Garage n yellow snow n Jewish princesses n Catholic girls n ah think that it wid be really great tae huv a woman . . tae love likesay . . . no shaggin likes, well no jist shaggin . . . but tae love, cause ah sortay feel like lovin everybody, but no sortay Wi sex. . . jist huvin somebody tae love but likesay Rents' goat that Hazel n Sick Boy. . . well, Sick Boy's goat tons ay burds. . but these catpersons don't seem any happier than moi .

– The other man's grass is always greener, the sun shines brighter on the other side . . . ah'm fuckin singing likesay, ah never sing . . . ah've goat some gear n ah'm singing . . ah'm thinkin ahoot Frank Zappa's daughter, Moon, likesay . . . she'd dae us fine. . hingin not Wi her auld man. . . in the recording studio . . . jist tae see likesay the creative process, ken, the creative process . .

– This is fuckin mad. . . goat tae move or ah'll git gouchy Sick Boy's goat his hands in his heid.

Renton's shirt's unbuttoned n he's sortay tweakin his nipples, likesay

– Spud . . look at ma nipples . . . they feel fuckin weird man . nae cunt's goat nipples like mine

Ah'm talkin tae him aboot love, n Rents says that love doesnae exist, it's like religion, n likesay the state wants ye tae believe in that kinday crap so's they kin control ye, n fuck yir heid up. Some cats cannae enjoy thirsels withoot bringing in politics, ken but he doesnae bring us doon . because, it's likesay he doesnae believe it hissel . . . because . . because Wi laugh at everything in sight . . . the mad guy at the bar Wi the burst blood–vessels in his coupon. . . the snobby English Festival–type lemon whae looks like somebody's just farted under her nose . Sick Boy sais: – Let's hit the Meadows n take the fuckin pish ootay Begbie n Matty . . straight, boring, draftpak, schemie cunts!

– Ris–kay catboy, ris–kay. . . he's pure radge, likesay. . ah sais.

– Let's do it for the fans, Rents sais. Him n Sick Boy picked this up fae a Hibs programme advertising the Isle Of Man pre–season soccer tournament. It's got Hibs top cat Alex Miller Inoking really stoned in the picture, Wi the caption that sais, likesay, 'Let's Do It For The Fans'. Whenever thir's drugs aroond. that's what they say.

We float ootay the pub n cross over tae the Meadows. We start tae sing, likesay Sinatra, in exaggerated American Noo Yawk voices:

Yoo en I, were justa like–a kapil aff taahts strollin acrass the Meadows pickin up laahts aff farget–me–naahts.

Thir's likesay two lassies comin doon the path towards us. . we ken them . . . it's likesay that wee Roseanna n Jill . . two pure honey cats, fae that posh school, is It Gillespie's or Mary Erskine's? . . . they hing ahoot the Southern likesay, for the sounds, the drugs, the experiences Sick Boy outstretches his airms and sortay grabs wee Jill in a bear hug, n Rents likesay does the same Wi Roseanna. . . ah'm left jist looking at the clouds likesay, Mr Spare l'rick at a hoors convention.

Thir neckin away thegither. This is cruel man, cruel. Rents breks away first, but keeps his airm roond Roseanna. It's a sortay joke Wi Rents likesay. . . mind you. . . that wee bird Rents goat off Wi at Donovan's she wisnae that auld. What wis her name, Dianne? Bad cat, Rents. Sick Boy, well Sick Boy's likesay bundled wee Jill against a tree.

– How ye daein doll? Whit ye up tae? he asks her.

– Goin to the Southern, she sais, a bit stoned . . . a little stoned princess, Jewish? No a blernish oan her face . . . wow, those chicks try tae act cool, but thir a bit nervous ay Rents n Sick Boy. They'll let those superstar wasted junkies dae anything Wi them, likes. Real cool chicks would slap their pusses, likesay, and jist watch the hastards crumble intae a heap. These lassies are playin at it. . . gaun through an upset–yir–posh–Ma–n–Dad phase no thit Rents wid take advantage ay this, mind you, ah suppose he awready has, but Sick Boy's a different matter. His hands are inside that wee Jill's jeans

– Ah know about you girls, that's whair yis hide the drugs...

– Simon! I've not got anything! Simon! Suimoon!

Sensin a freak oot, he sortay lets the lassie go. Every cat laughs nervously, tryin tae aw pretend it wis a big game likesay, then they go.

– Mibbe see you dolls the night! Sick Boy shouts after them.

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– Yeah . . . down the Southern, Jill shouts, walking backwards. Sick Boy sortay likes, slaps his thigh. – Should've taken they wee rides back tae the gaff n banged thum senseless. Wee slagswir fuckin gantin oan it. It wis like he sais this tae hissel ratherthan me n Rents.

Rents starts shoutin and pointin.

– Si! There's a fuckin squirrel at yir feet! Kill the cunt! Sick Boy's nearest tae it, n tries tae entice it tae him, but it scampers a bit away, movin really weird, archin its whole boady likesay. Magic wee silvery grey thing. . ken?

Rents picks up a stane and flings it at the squirrel. Ah feel likes, sick, ma hert misses a beat as it whizzes past the wee gadge. He goes tae pick up another, laughin like a maniac, but ab stoap um.

– Leave it man Squirrel's botherin nae cunt likesay! Ah hate it the wey Mark's intae hurtin animals . . . it's wrong man. Ye cannae love yirsel if ye want tae hurt things like that. . . ah mean. What hope is thir? The squirrel's likes fuckin lovely. He'sdaein his ain thing. He's free. That's mibbe what Rents cannae stand. The squirrel's free, man.

Rents is still laughin as ah haud oantay um. Two posh lookin wifies, gie us the eye as they pass us. They look likesay, disgusted. Rents gits a glint in his eye.

– GIT A HAUD AY ThE CUNT! he shouts at Sick Boy, but makin sure that the wifies kin hear um. – WRAP IT IN CELLOPHANE SO'S IT DISNAE SPLIT WHIN YE FuCK IT!

The squirrel's dancin away fae Sick Boy, but the wifies turn roond and look really repelled by us, like we wir shite, ken? Ah'm laughin now n aw, hit still haudin oantay Rents.

– Whae's that foostie–minged fucker starin at? Fuckin tea–room hag! Rents says, loud enough fir the wifies tae hear.

They turn and increase thir pace. Sick Boy shouts: – FuCK OFF GOBI DESERT FANNY!

Then he turns tae us n sais, – Ah dinnae ken what these auld hounds are cruisin us for. Naehody's gaunnae fuck them, even doon here at this time. Ah'd rather stick it between a couple ay B&Q sandin blocks.

– Fahk afP. You'd shag the crack ay dawn if it hud hairs oan it, Rents said. Ah think he felt bad aboot this as soon as he said it, likesay, cause Dawn wis a wee bairn thit died, Lesley's bairn, it died ay that cot death n that, likesay, n everybody sortay kens it wis likesay Sick Boy thit gied her the bairn

Aw Sick Boy sais though, is: – Fuck off spunk–gullet. You're the city dog pound man here. Every burd ah've fucked, and there has been plen–tee, has been worth fucking. Ah remember this burd fae Stenhoose, thit Sick Boy once took hame whin he wis pished. .

. couldnae really likesay say she wis anything special . . . ah suppose every cat's got thir sortay achilles heel, ken.

– Eh, remember that Stenhoose chick, eh, what's–her–name?

– Dinnae you start talkin! You couldnae git a fuckin ride in a brothel Wi yir cock sandwiched between American Express n Access cairds.

We start slaggin each other, then wir walkin fir a bit, bit ah start thinkin ay wee Dawn, the bairn, n that squirrel, like free n botherin naebody . . . n they wid jist kill it, like that ken, n fir what? It makes us feel really sick, n sad, n angry .

Ah'm gittin away fae they people. Ah turn n walk away. Rents comes eftir us. – C'moan Spud . . . fuck sakes man, what is it?

– Youse wir gaunnae kill that squirrel.

– S only a fuckin squirrel, Spud. Thir vermin. . . he sais. He pits his airm roond ma shoodirs.

– It's mibbe nae mair vermin thin you or me, likesay. whae's tae say what's vermin . . . they posh wifies think people like us ur vermin, likesay, does that make it right thit they should kill us, ah goes.

– Sorry, Danny . . .s only a squirrel. Sorry mate. Ah ken how ye feel aboot animals. Ah jist, like. . . ye ken whit ah mean

Danny, it's like. . . fuck, ah mean, ah'm fucked up, Danny. Ah dinnae ken. Begbie n that. . . the gear. Ah dinnae ken what ah'm daein Wi ma life . . . it's aw jist a mess, Danny. Ah dinnac ken whit the fuckin score is. Sorry man.

Rents husnae called us Danny' for ages, now he cannae stoap callin us it. He looks really upset, likesay.

– Hey . . . hang loose catboy . . . it's jist likesay animals n that, likes . . . dinnae worry

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aboot that shit . . ah wis jist thinkin ay innocent wee things, like Dawn the bairn, ken. . ye shouldnae hurt things, likes .

He likesay, grabs a haud ay us n hugs us. – Yir one ay the best, man. Remember that.That's no drink n drugs talkin, that's me talkin. It's jist thit ye git called aw the poofs under the sun if ye tell other guys how ye feel aboot them if yir no wrecked . Ah slaps his back, n it's likesay ah want tae tell him the same, but it would sound, likesay, ah wis jist sayin it cause he sais it tae me first. Ah sais it anywey though.

We hear Sick Boy's voice at oor backs. – You two fuckin buftie–boys. IEither go intae they trees n fuck each other, or come n help us find Beggars n Matty. Wi break oor embrace n laugh. Wi both ken that likesay Sick Boy, for aw the cat's desire tae rip open every binliner in toon, is one ay the best n aw.

BLOWING IT

Courting Disaster

The magistrate's expression seems tae oscillate between pity in loathing, as he looks doon at me n Spud in the dock.

You stole the books from Waterstone's bookshop, with the intention of selling them, he states. Sell fuckin books. Mafuckin erse.

– No, ah sais.

– Aye, Spud sais, at the same time. We turn aroond n look at each other. Aw the time we spent gittin oor story straight n it takes the doss cunt two minutes tae blow it. The magistrate lets oot a sharp exhalation. It isnae a brilliant job the cunt's goat, whin ye think aboot it. It must git pretty tiresome dealin wi radges aw day. Still, ah bet the poppy's fuckin good, n naebody's asking the cunt tae dae it. He should try tae be a wee bit mair professional, a bit mair pragmatic, rather than showin his annoyance so much.

– Mr Renton, you did not intend to sell the books?

– Naw. Eh, no, your honour. They were for reading.

– So you read Kierkegaard. Tell us about him, Mr Renton, the patronising cunt sais.

– I'm interested in his concepts of subjectivity and truth, and particularly his ideas concerning choice; the notion that genuine choice is made out of doubt and uncertainty, and without recourse to the experience or advice of others. It could be argued, with some justification, that it’s primarily a bourgeois, existential philosophy and would therefore seek to undermine collective societal wisdom. However, it’s also a liberating philosophy, because when such societal wisdom is negated, the basis for social control over the individual becomes weakened and . . . but I'm rabbiting a bit here. Ah cut myself short. They hate a smart cunt. It's easy to talk yourself into a bigger fine, or fuck sake, a higher sentence. Think deference Renton, think deference. The magistrate snorts derisively. As an educated man ah'm sure he kens far mair aboot the great philosophers than a pleb like me. Yiv goat tae huv fuckin brains tae be a fuckin judge. S no iviry cunt thit kin dae that fuckin joab. Ah can almost hear Begbie sayin that tae Sick Boy in the public gallery.

– And you, Mr Murphy, you intended to sell the books, like you sell everything else that you steal, in order to finance your heroin habit?

– That's spot on man . . . eh . . . ye goat it, likesay, Spud nodded, his thoughtful expression sliding into confusion.

– You, Mister Murphy, are an habitual thief. Spud shakes his shoodirs as if tae say, its no ma fault. – The reports state that you are still addicted to heroin. You are also addicted to the act of theft, Mr Murphy. People have to work hard to produce the goods you repeatedly steal. Others have to work hard to earn the money to purchase them. Repeated attempts to get you to cease these petty, but persistent crimes, have so far proved fruitless: I am therefore going to give you a custodial sentence of ten months.

– Thanks. . . eh, ah mean. . . nae hassle, likesay.

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The cunt turns tae me. Fuck sakes.

– You, Mr Renton, are a different matter. The reports say that you are also a heroin addict; but have been trying to control your drug problem. You claim that your behaviour is related to depression experienced due to withdrawal from the drug. I am prepared to accept this. I am also prepared to accept your claim that you intended to push Mr Rhodes away, in order to stop him from assaulting you, rather than to cause him to fall over. I am therefore going to suspend a sentence of six months on the condition that you continue to seek appropriate treatment for this addiction. Social services will monitor your progress. While I can accept that you had the cannabis in your possession for your own use, I cannot condone the use of an illegal drug; even though you claim you take it in order to combat the depression you suffer from as the result of heroin withdrawal. For the possession of this controlled drug, you will be fined one hundred pounds. I suggest that you find other ways to fight depression in the future. Should you, like your friend Daniel Murphy, fail to take the opportunity presented to you and appear before this court again, I shall have no hesitation in recommending a custodial sentence. Do I make myself clear?