Trainspotting - Irvine Welsh [52]
Then one guy, the Skrewdriver dude, seems frantically tryin tae gie us the stare, as desperately as we’re tryin tae avoid eye contact, likesay. It’s no that easy whin they start singing: ‘Aint no black in the union jack’. We stay cool, but this cat won’t be denied. His claws are oot. He shouts ower at Dode.
— Oi! Wot you fucking looking at nigger!
— Fuck you, Dode sneers. It’s a route the cat’s travelled down before. No me though. This is fuckin, likesay, heavy.
Ah hear some Glasgow boy sayin that these guys, likesay, urnae real Orangemen, thir Nazis n that, but maist ay the Orange bastards present are lappin these cunts up, encouragin them, likesay.
They aw start singing: — You black bastard! You black bastard!
Dode gets up n goes ower tae thir table. Ah jist sees Skrewdriver’s mockin, distorted face change whin he realises, at the same time as ah do, that Dode’s goat a heavy gless ashtray in his hand . . . this is violence . . . this is bad news . . .
… he thrashes the Skrewdriver dude’s heid wi it, and the boy’s dome sortay splits open as he faws oaf his stool ontae the flair. Ah’m sortay shakin wi fear, raw fear man, and one guy jumps at Dode, n they’ve goat um doon, so ah huv tae steam in. Ah pick up a gless and chin Rid Hand Ay Ulster, whae hauds his heid, even though the gless, likesay, doesnae even brek, but some cunt punches us in the guts wi such a sharp force it feels like ah’ve been stabbed man . . .
— Kill that Fenyin bastard! some cunt sais, and they’ve goat us pinned against the waw, likes . . . ah jist starts lashin oot wi fist and boot, no feelin anything . . . n ah’m sortay likes, enjoyin masel man, because this is likesay, no like the real violence when ye see somebody like Begbie gaun radge or that, it’s likesay, comic stuff . . . cause ah cannae really fight likes, but ah don’t really think these dudes are great shakes either . . .it’s like they aw seem tae be gettin in each other’s road . . .
Ah don’t really know what happened. Davie Renton, Rents’s dad, n Billy, his brar, must’ve pulled them oafay us, cause next thing ah’m sortay standin, pullin Dode, whae looks well fucked, ootside. Ah hears Billy sayin: — Git um oot Spud. Jist git um doon the fuckin road. Now ah feel really sair, aw ower, n ah’m sortay greetin like tears ay anger n fear but maistly frustration . . .
— This is . . . likesay . . . fuck . . . this is, this is . . .
Dode’s been chibbed. Ah gits um ower the road. Ah kin hear people shoutin behind us. Ah jist focus oan Na Na’s door, no darin tae look back. Wir in. Ah gits Dode up the stair. He’s bleedin fae his side and his airm.
Ah phones an ambulance as Na Na’s cradlin his heid sayin: — Thir still buckin daein it tae ye son . . . when will they leave ye alain, ma laddie . . . since he wis it school, since he wis it the buckin school . . .
Ah’m dead fuckin angry man, but at Na Na, ken? Wi a bairn likes ay Dode, ye’d think thit Na Na wid ken how anybody thit’s different, thit sortay stands oot, likesay, feels, ken? Likesay the woman wi the wine stain n that . . . but it’s aw hate, hate, hate wi some punters, and whair does it git us likesay, man? Whair the fuck does it git us?
Ah chums Dode tae the hoespital. His wounds wir likesay no as bad as they looked. Ah goes intae see um lyin oan a trolley eftir thuv, likes, patched um up.
— S awright Danny. Ah’ve hud a loat worse n the past, and ah’ll huv a hellay a loat worse in the future.
— Dinnae say that man. Dinnae say that, ken?
He looks at us like ah’ll never really understand, n ah ken that he’s probably right.
The First Shag In Ages
They had spent most of the day getting stoned out of their boxes. Now they are getting pished in a tacky chrome-and-neon meat