Trainspotting - Irvine Welsh [4]
— Dinnae git aw serious oan us. Ah’m only fuckin jokin boys. Ye think thit the White Swan wid hud oot oan his muckers? Oan yis go ma men. Yir wise men. Hygiene’s important, he stated wistfully. — Ken wee Goagsie? He’s goat AIDS now.
— Gen up? ah asked. Thir wis eywis rumours aboot whae wis HIV and whae wisnae. Ah usually jist ignored thum. Thing is, a few people hud been saying that aboot wee Goagsie.
— Too right. He’s no goat the full AIDS likes, bit he’s tested positive. Still, as ah sais tae um, it isnae the end ay the world Goagsie. Ye kin learn tae live wi the virus. Tons ay cunts dae it withoot any hassle at aw. Could be fuckin years before ye git sick, ah telt um. Any cunt withoot the virus could git run ower the morn. That’s the wey ye huv tae look at it. Cannae jist cancel the gig. The show must go oan.
It’s easy tae be philosophical when some other cunt’s goat shite fir blood.
Anywey, Johnny even helped Sick Boy tae cook up and shoot home.
Just as Sick Boy wis aboot tae scream, he spiked the vein, drew some blood back intae the barrel, and fired the life-giving and life-taking elixir home.
Sick Boy hugged Swanney tightly, then eased off, keeping his airms aroond him. They were relaxed; like lovers in a post-coital embrace. It was now Sick Boy’s turn tae serenade Johnny. — Swanney, how ah love ya, how ah love yah, my dear old Swanney . . . The adversaries ay a few minutes ago were now soul-mates.
Ah went tae take a shot. It took us ages tae find a good vein. Ma boys don’t live as close tae the surface as maist people’s. When it came, ah savoured the hit. Ali wis right. Take yir best orgasm, multiply the feeling by twenty, and you’re still fuckin miles off the pace. Ma dry, cracking bones are soothed and liquefied by ma beautiful heroine’s tender caresses. The earth moved, and it’s still moving.
Alison is tellin us that ah should go and see Kelly, who’s apparently been really depressed since she hud the abortion. Although her tone’s no really judgemental, she talks as if ah hud something tae dae wi Kelly’s pregnancy n its subsequent termination.
— How should ah go n see her? It’s goat nowt tae dae wi me, ah sais defensively.
— Yir her friend, ur ye no?
Ah’m tempted tae quote Johnny n say that we wir aw acquaintances now. It sounds good in ma heid: ‘We are all acquaintances now.’ It seems tae go beyond our personal junk circumstances; a brilliant metaphor for our times. Ah resist the temptation.
Instead ah content masel wi making the point that we wir aw Kelly’s friends, and questioning why ah should be singled oot fir visiting duties.
— Fuck sake Mark. Ye ken she’s really intae ye.
— Kelly? Away tae fuck! ah say, surprised, intrigued, and mair than a wee bit embarrassed. If this is true ah’m a blind and stupid arsehole.
— Course she is. She’s telt us tons ay times. She’s eywis oan aboot ye. It’s Mark this, Mark that.
Hardly anybody calls us Mark. It’s usually Rents, or worse, the Rent Boy. That is fuckin awful, getting called that. Ah try no tae show that it bugs us, because that only encourages cunts mair.
Sick Boy’s been listening in. Ah turn tae him. — Ye reckon that’s right? Kelly’s goat a thing aboot us?
— Every cunt under the sun kens that she’s goat the hots fir ye. It’s no exactly a well-kept secret. Ah cannae understand her, mind you. She wants her fuckin heid examined.
— Thanks fir tellin us then cunt.
— If you choose tae sit in darkened rooms watchin videos aw day long, no noticing what’s going on around ye, it’s no up tae me tae fuckin point it oot tae ye.
— Well, she nivir sais nowt tae me, ah whinge, biscuit-ersed.
— Ye want her tae pit it oan a t-shirt? Ye dinnae ken much aboot women, do ye Mark? Alison sais. Sick Boy smirks.
Ah feel insulted by that last remark, but ah’m determined tae treat the issue lightly, in case it’s a wind-up, doubtlessly orchestrated by Sick Boy. The mischief-making cunt staggers through life leaving these interpersonal booby-traps fir his mates. What fuckin pleasure the radge derives fae these activities is beyond