Trainspotting - Irvine Welsh [126]
— Rents! How ye fuckin daein, ya cunt! This you jist up fi London?
— Aye, ah shook his hand and he pilled us tae him, slappin us hard oan the back. — Jist dumped Second Prize in a Joe Baxi, ah said.
— That cunt. Ah telt um tae fuck oaf. Second fuckin bookable offence ay the night. Cunt’s a fuckin liability. That’s worse thin a fuckin junky, yon. If it hudnae been Christmas n that, ah’d huv fuckin tanned the cunt masel. That’s me n him fuckin finished. Endy fuckin story.
Begbie introduces us tae the cunts in his company. What Second Prize did tae git flung oot ay that crowd, ah didnae even want tae ken. One ay the cunts wis that guy Donnelly, the Saughton Kid, a radge whae Mikey Forrester used tae erselick. Seems the cunt tired ay Forrester one day and gave um a sound stomping. Hoespitalisation joab. Couldnae huv happened tae a nicer guy.
Begbie pulls us aside n droaps his voice.
— Ye ken thit Tommy’s fuckin sick?
— Aye. Ah’d heard.
— Go n fuckin see the cunt whin yir up.
— Aye. Ah plan tae dae that.
— Too fuckin right. You ay aw fuckin people should. Ah’m no fuckin blamin you Rents, ah sais that tae fuckin Second Prize; ah’m no fuckin blamin Rents fir Tommy. It’s every cunt’s ain fuckin life. Ah fuckin telt that tae Second Prize.
Begbie then goes oan tae tell us what a great cunt ah am, looking fir us tae reciprocate, which ah dutifully do.
Ah act as a prop fir Begbie’s customary ego-boosting fir a while, playing the straight man and telling the company some classic Begbie stories, which portray the cunt as hardman and stud extraordinaire. It always seems more authentic coming fae somebody else. The pair ay us then leave the pub thegither and head doon the Walk. Ah jist want tae git ma heid doon at ma Ma’s, but The Beggar insists that ah come back tae his bit fir a bevvy.
Strutting doon the Walk wi Begbie makes us feel like a predator, rather than a victim, and ah start looking fir cunts tae gie the eye tae, until ah realise what a pathetic arsehole ah’m being.
We go fir a pish in the auld Central Station at the Fit ay the Walk, now a barren, desolate hangar, which is soon tae be demolished and replaced by a supermarket and swimming centre. Somehow, that makes us sad, even though ah wis eywis too young tae mind ay trains ever being there.
— Some size ay a station this wis. Git a train tae anywhair fae here, at one time, or so they sais, ah sais, watchin ma steaming pish splash oantae the cauld stane.
— If it still hud fuckin trains, ah’d be oan one oot ay this fuckin dive, Begbie said. It wis uncharacteristic for him tae talk aboot Leith in that way. He tended tae romanticise the place.
An auld drunkard, whom Begbie had been looking at, lurched up tae us, wine boatil in his hand. Loads ay them used this place tae bevvy and crash in.
— What yis up tae lads? Trainspottin, eh? He sais, laughing uncontrollably at his ain fuckin wit.
— Aye. That’s right, Begbie sais. Then under his breath: — Fuckin auld cunt.
— Ah well, ah’ll leave yis tae it. Keep up the trainspottin mind! He staggered oaf, his rasping, drunkard’s cackles filling the desolate barn. Ah noticed that Begbie seemed strangely subdued and uncomfortable. He wis turned away fae us.
It wis only then ah realised thit the auld wino wis Begbie’s faither.
We were silent on our journey towards Begbie’s until we came upon a guy in Duke Street. Begbie hit him in the face, and he fell. The gadge briefly looked up before trying to pull himself intae a foetal position. Aw Begbie said wis ‘wide cunt’ as he put the boot intae the prostrate body a couple ay times. The expression the guy had when he looked up at Begbie was mair one ay resignation than fear. The boy understood everything.
Ah didnae even feel like tryin tae intervene, even in a token wey. Eventually Begbie turned tae me and nodded in the direction we were headed. We left the guy slumped on the pavement as we continued our walk in silence, neither ay us looking back once.
A Leg-Over Situation
It wis the first time ah’d seen Johnny since his amputation. Ah didnae ken what state ah