Marabou Stork Nightmares (13 page)

— Wouldnae mind. . . my auld girl said coyly and teasingly, as if he was talking about sex.

— Roy, git ays a fish supper n what is it you're wantin, Vet?

— Ah'll huv fish . . . naw, a white puddin supper . . . naw, a mince pie supper wi two pickled onions. Naw . . . make it haggis, a haggis supper. That's it definitely. A haggis supper. Naw, fish! Fish!

— Christsake . . . two fish suppers before yir Ma changes her mind!

— Aw Dad . . . I moaned. I hated going to the scheme chippy this late at night. The pub next door, The Gunner, would be emptying. It was okay when he was down there, he brought the chips hame. It was horrible for me though, so I hated the nights he stayed in. You were on a fuckin doing fae aw the aulder wide cunts and the junkies who'd try to rob you. Cause nae cunt fucked aboot with him, the auld man never saw this.

I made my way out into the stair and headed down through the darkness of the shopping centre. I saw two boys coming towards me and tensed, but I relaxed as it was only my mates Pete Bowman and Brian Hanlon.

— Pete, Bri.

— Roy.

— Whair yis gaun?

— Hame.

— Whair yis been?

— Commie pool, then up at ma big brar's, Pete said.

— Chum ays doon tae the chippy well, I ventured.

Pete touched his eye and laughed, – Aye, that'll be fuckin right. N ye'd better watch, Roy. Hamilton n some ay the third-year cunts are hinging aboot doon thair.

— Ah'm no bothered, I smiled, shitein it.

— Ye gaun tae Easter Road oan Setirday? Brian asked.

There was no way ah wis gaun tae any fuckin fitba. — Aye, probably, I said.

— Come doon fir ays well, Brian said.

— Aye, right.

— Tro Roy.

— Tro Pete, tro Bri, I said as they departed.

I walked on into the darkness. A drunk shouted at me, but I ignored him and charged doon towards the chippy. The light coming from it was the only sign of life in the centre. As I was getting served, trying to act nonchalant as the raucous drunks and nutters from the pub joined the queue and shouted at each other, I noted with a sinking feeling that Hamilton and his entourage were standing outside the shop.

I waited and by the time I got my stuff, they were away. I breathed a sigh of relief and huddled the hot chips to my chest as I walked through the centre into the cold night. I was just starting to unwind when Hamilton came flying out of a stair door and stood in front of me. There were two other guys with him, and two lassies.

— Hi pal, gies a chip!

— Ah cannae, it's fir ma faither, I said.

Hamilton was sixteen. I was still not yet fourteen. This was a different league to Mathews. The other guys were even older. One guy with long, curly blond hair was about eighteen. — Leave um, Hammy, ehs jist a fuckin bairn ... he said.

— Git um in the fuckin stair, Hamilton laughed.

His mate, another third-year cunt called Gilchrist was sniggering,

— Ken whae this cunt is? Eh chibbed Davie Mathew's brar. Thinks eh's a fuckin wide-o.

They pushed me into the stair. I held onto the chips as tightly as I could. All I could think of was what my auld man would say if I let them get tae the chips.

Hamilton had masses of teeth. Protruding teeth. He reminded me of a piranha fish; so many teeth it can never close its mouth. He gleefully pulled a knife on me. — So ye cairry a blade, eh?

— Nup, I said.

— Heard ye hud yin it the school but, eh. Ye a wide-o, aye?

— Nup, I shrugged, still holding onto the chips.

Hamilton laughed and then did a strange bird-like dance in front of me strutting and twisting his head from side to side.

— Leave um, Hammy, ah'm no fuckin jokin, the older guy said laughing, and wrestling Hamilton playfully away from me. One of the lassies came over to me. She was at our school too. Me, Pete and Bri just called her The Big Ride. I'd wanked aboot her before: I'd wanked aboot her tons ay times if the truth be telt. I remember once we were watching a nature programme in Bri's hoose and there wis these two praying mantises and the lassie praying mantis was eating the laddie praying mantis's heid while they were shaggin. We used to joke that that was what shaggin The Big Ride would be like. Ah remember saying that ah'd never shag The Big Ride unless I could tie her doon first.

— Goat a girlfriend, son? she asked, chewing gum so slowly and deliberately that it made her lovely face seem long and horselike. While this made her look uglier, it strangely and paradoxically made her seem even more sexual.

In spite of my fear I felt a twinge in my groin. — Nup, I said.

— Ivir hud yir hole? Hamilton sneered. Gilchrist laughed. I said nothing.

— Leave the perr wee cunt, the blond guy laughed. — C'moan, Hammy, lit um go.

Then I saw who the other lassie was, it was Caroline Carson from our year, her; a lassie that was in some of my classes. She was alright. Dead nice likes. I just wanted to die.

The blond guy must have caught my shock of recognition, because he put his arm around her, — This is ma wee girlfriend, eh hen? he said with teasing lecherousness.

She twisted away from him laughing, — Dinnae Doogie. . . She seemed a bit embarrassed that somebody had found her with these cunts. I took her for a nice lassie likes.

At that point Hamilton slapped me across the face. I stood staring at him, still holding the chips. — Gie's a fuckin chip! he snapped. I stood looking at his glaring, violent eyes, feeling the side of my face where his hand made contact throb in a strange harmony with my balls.

Then I saw something change in his eyes. It was a kind of startled, ugly impulse that we shared but which I couldn't define.

It was something we shared.

I kept staring at him. I wisnae scared any mair: no ay him. I was scared of my auld man, but no Hamilton. He knew it. All I felt was anger at him, and anger at masel fir being too weak tae oppose the cunt.

— Fuckin wide cunt! he roared, moving towards me with the blade. The blond guy held him and at the same time pushed me away, out the stairdoor, but they all came out after me.

I just held the chips. I knew at any time I could have stopped this nightmare by saying: Tony Strang's ma brar, but I didnae want tae. This was me. This was Roy Strang we were talking aboot.

Roy
Strang.

I just held the chips.

— What team dae ye support? Hamilton asked casually, as if nowt hud happened between us, as he put the knife back in his pocket.

— Hibs, I said.

I wisnae really interested in fitba, but Dad and Tony were Hibs fans and so were most of my mates in the scheme, so it seemed a safe bet.

— Hebs! Hebs! he repeated, mimicking my unbroken voice. He ripped the paper of my wrapper and dug out a few chips. I stood frozen. I tried to speak out but I couldn't say anything. — HMFC ya cunt! he snapped and, grabbing my hair, he hauled my head doon and booted me in the face. I felt my bottom lip rip on my bottom front teeth and the sour taste of my own blood fill my mouth.

I held the chips and lifted my head slowly, shaking with anger and frustration.

— Fuck off Hammy, ya Jambo cunt, the big, blond guy shouted and charged after Hamilton and they had a mock fight as I sneaked off, my lower lip tasting like a large piece of rubber in my mouth.

When I got home my Dad looked at me, then at the torn wrapper, which I had vainly tried to disguise. — They chips. Somebody wis tamperin wi they chips!

I told him that I'd got hungry on the way home and had eaten a ' few chips. He looked hard at me, — What happened tae yir mooth? My knees felt weak and I didn't have the strength to carry on the unconvincing lie. It would only wind him up further. I kept my eyes on the floor and told him the story. I looked up and caught Kim's wide eyes staring at me, punctuating my misery with the occasional: — Ooooohhhh. Bernard, naewhair tae be seen when they were looking for some cunt tae go for the chips, was fighting hard to stop his mouth twisting into a smile and losing. We were all waiting for my auld man to freak and smack me across the heid, but he just looked sadly at me.

— Ye'll huv tae learn tae fuckin well stick up fir yersel, Roy. Yir a Strang, or supposed tae be, he told me wearily, shaking his head in contempt.

I swore I'd get revenge on that cunt Hamilton, but I never did, the cunt goat sent tae the approved school at Polmont, then just vanished off the scene. Gilchrist, his sidekick, moved to another school in another part ay the toon. That cunt I did meet up wi again. Him and the slags.

That wis later but.

Things at the school were easier though. While the news went aroond that Hamilton had gubbed ays, as he was a third-year cunt and hard, that was no disgrace. Indeed, the fact that I hudnae really shat oot increased my stock. In school and roond the scheme it was basically just me, Dexy, Willie, Bri, Monty and Penman that hung arrond thegither. Nae cunt really bothered us and we never really bothered any cunt.

This lasted for a long time. We had a good laugh thegither. Once we broke intae the school at night, intent on turning the place over. We got intae a class that wis our redgie class, whair ye went first thing in the mornin tae git checked in, and we found our redgie teacher Miss Gray's belt in the toap drawer ay her desk.

Wi started giein each other the belt, really fuckin thrashin each other's hands, much harder than when Lesbo Gray or any ay the other teachers did it. The thing wis, wi wir aw jist pishin oorsels n it seemed tae hurt a loat less. Then Bri had a barry idea. He pulled oot the top drawer n goat that daft cunt Willie tae dae a shite in it. Willie goes n droaps this fuckin steamin crap intae the drawer: then Bri pits it back in the desk. We laugh like fuck fir a bit then Bri goes: — The morn wi come in n noise up that carpet-munchin cunt Gray. She reaches in fir her belt . . .

— Ohhh . . . ya fuckin cunt! Penman laughed.

— Right then, lit's no brek anything. . . make it soas nae cunt kin see thir's been a brek-in. Ah jist want tae go up tae the library but, eh, ah telt them.

Ah poackled a couple ay bird books fae the library:
The Urban British Bird
and
Sherman's Encyclopaedia Of Tropical Birds Vol. 1.

The next day we noised up Dykey Gray. We just shouted: 'Let's be friends' at some lassies in the class, and kept it up until it became: 'Lesbee Friends.' That sort of thing would have got on Gray's tits if she'd had any: as it was it just pissed her off. She reached into her drawer for the belt. Gray always smashed it oan the table and we were all supposed to shut up and pay attention after this gesture. Gray always said the same thing: The first thing on a Monday morning or the last thing on a Friday afternoon or the middle of the week isn't exactly the best time to try somebody's patience! Always the same bullshit.

— Right! she shouted, opening the drawer and sticking her hand in, — a dreadful, wet morning is not the time to try somebody's. . . She felt for the belt and froze. She pulled the drawer open slightly with her other hand, looked in and then started retching and choking. We were pishing our keks. Bri's face was crimson, his eyes watering. Miss Gray took the drawer out and stuck a bit of A4 paper on top of the shite and her messy hand. She stormed out the room holding the drawer in her free hand. — Bloody animals! Fucking little animals, she sneered, as we let out loud ooooohhhhhsss at her language. Gray then shouted on this snobby lassie called Bridget Hyslop, who Bri had nicknamed Frigid Pissflaps, to open the door and she vanished doon the corridor towards the staff toilets.

Fuckin barry.

Good times for a while, but then came a problem I hud tae deal wi.

But I dinnae want tae talk aboot that yet. I want tae go back, back tae what happens wi the Stork. DEEPER likes, cause Sandy and me see, we managed tae get some mair supplies fae Dawson. . . no. . . that's not right, DEEPER

DEEPER

DEEPER– – old 'Fatty' Dawson furnished Sandy and I with bountiful extra supplies of equipment and tuck, as we'd demonstrated to him that the flamingos were being displaced by the Marabous.

— Watch yourselves on that road, Dawson boomed as we left, — there is an abundance of terrorist activity.

Once again we were off in the jeep, and feeling pretty pleased with ourselves. — This is fun, isn't it Sandy?

— Yes, Jamieson said, smiling at me. — And I want you to know Roy, that whatever happens from here on in, I've had the best bloody time of my life.

I blushed with embarrassment and, to deflect this, bade Sandy to tell me another lion adventure.

— Well, there was the occasion when I went into a village completely terrorised by an insatiable maneater. The poor villagers were literally too frightened to leave their tents and food supplies were short, with conditions increasingly insanitary, the rubbish just being thrown outside. One couldn't really blame the villagers, after all, the poor buggers had lost three people in a month to this beast. Anyway, it was about three in the morning and myself and my team were soundly asleep in our billets, when the door was violently burst in and before my chaps knew what had hit them, one of the men, who went by the name of Mojemba, was seized by a large lion who proceeded to drag him out of the hut by the thigh. Anyway, I was in a tetchy mood, awakened by the blasted commotion, so I quickly grabbed my rifle and dispatched a bullet into the region of the brute's heart. I was very lucky, obviously haste rather than accuracy had been my priority at the time.

— Nonsense, Sandy, I told him, — you're a bloody good shot.

— Nice of you to say so Roy, but I was never particularly renowned for my shooting ability. This one, though, was certainly on target, because the animal instantly dropped Mojemba and bolted into the surrounding bush.

Villagers found the beast's body at the break of dawn; it was some seventy yards from the hut. It was nothing more than a mangy old lioness, driven to maneating by desperation. But the thing about this episode was that poor old Mojemba saw this attack on him as a sign of his own failing, a lack of vigilance on his part.

— But surely that's exactly what it was, I said.

— Yes, but I couldn't simply leave the fellow there, bleeding to death and bleating away at me; sorry Bwana this and sorry Bwana that . . . so I told everyone else to leave us while I personally tended to the poor wretch's wounds. I cleaned his thigh with hot water and syringed the lacerations with disinfectant to prevent blood poisoning setting in.