Trainspotting - Irvine Welsh [96]
Ah woke up, wi nae idea ay how long ah’d been asleep; ma mooth dried oot and a strange wet sensation oan ma face. Ah touched the side ay ma cheek. Egg-white strands of thick, sticky fluid trailed from ma hand. Ah turned n saw the auld cunt lyin beside us, now naked, spunk drippin fae ehs small, fat cock.
— Ya dirty auld cunt! . . . wankin ower us in ma fuckin sleep . . . ya fuckin mingin auld bastard! Ah felt like a dirty hanky, just used, just nothing. A rage gripped us n ah smacked the wee cunt in the mooth n pulled um oaf the bed. He looked like a repulsive, fat gnome wi his bloated stomach n roond heid. Ah booteduma few times as he cowered oan the deck, then ah stoaped as ah realised he wis sobbin.
— Fuck sake. Dirty wee cunt. Fuckin . . . Ah paced up and doon the room. His greetin wis disturbing. Ah pulled a dressing-gown oaf one ay the brass knobs oan the edge ay the bed n draped it roond his ugly nakedness.
— Maria. Antonio, he sobs. Ah realise thit ah’ve goat ma airm aroond the wee bastard n ah’m comforting him.
— S awright mate. S awright. Sorry. Didnae mean tae hurt ye, it’s jist likesay, nae cunts wanked ower us before.
That wis certainly true.
— You are kind . . . what can I do? Maria. My Maria . . . He wis howling. His mooth dominated his face, a huge black hole in the twilight. He smelt ay stale drink, sweat n spunk.
— Look, c’moan we’ll go doon tae a cafe. Huv a wee blether. Ah’ll git ye some breakfast. Oan me. Thir’s a good place doon Ridley Road, by the market, ken? It’ll be open by now.
My suggestion wis as much motivated by self-interest as altruism. It took us nearer tae Mel’s place at Dalston, and ah wanted oot ay this depressing basement room.
He goat dressed n we left. We padded the hoof doon Stokie High Street n Kingsland Road, doon tae the market. The cafe wis surprisingly busy, but we goat a table. Ah hud a cheese n tomatay bagel n the auld cunt hus this horrible black boiled meat, the stuff that the Jewish punters up at Stamford Hill seem tae be intae.
The cunt starts gabbin aboot Italy. He wis married tae this Maria woman fir years. The family found oot thit him n Antonio, Maria’s younger brother, wir fucking each other. Ah shouldnae really put it like that, mair like thit they wir lovers. Ah think he loved the guy, but he loved Maria n aw. Ah thought ah wis bad wi drugs, but the mess some cunts make ay thir lives wi love. It disnae bear thinkin aboot.
Anywey, thir wis two other brothers, macho, Catholic n according tae Gi, involved wi the Neopolitan Camorra. These cunts couldnae handle this. They goat a haud ay Gi, ootside the family restaurant. They kicked ten types ay shite oot ay the perr wee cunt. Antonio goat the same treatment later oan.
Antonio topped hissel eftir that. It means a loat in that culture, Gi telt us, tae be disgraced in that wey. Ah’m thinkin, it means a loat in any fuckin culture. Gi then tells us thit Antonio flung hissel in front ay a train. Ah thought, mibbe it does mean mair in that culture eftir aw. Gi fled tae England, whair he’s been working in various Italian restaurants; living in seedy gaffs, drinking too much, exploiting or being exploited by the young guys and auld wifies he picks up. It sounds a pretty miserable