Translated Accounts (26 page)

Read Translated Accounts Online

Authors: James Kelman

BOOK: Translated Accounts
8.69Mb size Format: txt, pdf, ePub

There were these most evil incidents, horrific incidents. They had occurred most certainly. We all knew of them. And himself I had marked, yes, looking to myself

I can speak of dreams, presages. I dreamt of him as though of an old acquaintance, the one who spoke in whispers, I may identify him for we had become friends there, yes colleagues, within the
dream. Now he is dead, not then. There was a closeness or loyalty, bringing a difference that is distinct. Not to dwell on old history we had a difference of opinion becoming a battle between us,
prolonged warfare between us. It was not an amusement but I regarded him as one friend. Those who knew us were surprised we engaged upon this warfare. I myself was sickened. Our acquaintance now
ended. I would hear stories of him. Not friendship, acquaintance, I said it.

A dream, it is only a dream. Some thought I would wish to know everything, they would tell me. There was the girl, others also, women, elderly women, I think not boys. But I did have the
curiosity, expecting bad news. I was not given this information, I, we, none of us.

The foreign journalist spoke. He asked could I calm him. Yes could I calm him I could calm him.

This is as it was.

I could calm him. I do not know of others. He had colleagues, I do not know friends, also from early days his brothers, I know that he had them, two or three. Here in our section he spoke to
none, I think only to me.

I cannot say what he said.

It was dreams. Then he too was dead. I was surprised. It is simply I was so told. I had had no meeting with him, our acquaintance broken.

The foreign journalist said to me, How could it be that now he is dead? Surely such breaches are always healed, surely he could not have been dead prior to that?

I said, Prior to.

The foreign journalist stared at me. What it is you are saying, that it is prior, his death is prior, what is that?

The foreign journalist thought me deceitful. Why? There was no justification. He thought I had deceived him for some long period of time. I denied this to him. I said to him how his opinion of
himself could not be so high if I could deceive him so simply, if this was as he thought. If he was not an astute man. People said so. How could it be? Surely it was not possible? He was
embittered, I said it to him. Some wondered about his people, what had happened to them. I did not. I wondered about the one who spoke in whispers and the foreign journalist thinking to turn from
him and his comrades, was that possible? I think not. He thought to remain distanced from them while in the company, the company also of ourselves, thinking we might trust him. Elderly women and
men, children, boys and girls, all might be present.

I cannot believe such arrogance. Who is the fool? I said it to him. His death is prior. No, I cannot believe such arrogance

Of course we have our positions and we argue for them. If unasked I can say this and shall say this. What else must we do. I learned this as we all did. From our politics and our philosophy,
we learned, some that we were taught, so they said. Some of us retained a belief in god, a god, and continue to retain that belief I think. If people are to be killed we rationalise. Who cannot.
What is to rationalise? If it is to know the nature of the project. We know the nature of the project. Yes there are victims. Of course. We accept it, as do they themselves, their relatives and
wider family circle. If they are dead they do not accept it, I am not foolish. When the foreign journalist was with us he attempted to speak to some among us on matters, sensitive matters. He
thought to speak so to me. It was said of him that he was presumptuous, impudent, so others said.

Some, some said so. I heard it. He was thought to be impudent.

I have no opinion.

No opinion. I saw him, I heard him. He did not speak to me. Not fully. Of course chatting as conversation. He did not value me, such as me. He desired a core, to enter the core, seeking entry
via myself, such as me

I say this as I can. I give my own thoughts on it, there is no line, designed so, there is none, we have our positions but not that these are/have been designed.

Yes.

The foreign journalist thought we all were of a persuasion, he said “persuasion”. I have heard others say this also, “persuasion”. What is “persuasion”? Is
“persuasion” martian, for I have heard this. I have heard this said of others that they are martians. When the foreign journalist thought we all were of a persuasion our colleagues did
not respond to him but some made a humorous face one to another, inter as between. Some laughed. Hullo comrade-colleague, here from planet Mars. I did not. I was younger. Yes angrier. Than who?
Him? Who. Who else might it be? He said to me, Friend

Friend. I might have strangled him, I had no weapon.

You are the decoy, he said.

I am the decoy. You are the fool.

That was the foreign journalist. I have spoken of him, now also. And now the other fellow, his colleague, I am to talk of him and only of him. Yet I do not know him, only in dreams, images of
future events. I said colleague, was he not colleague, I thought he was so. I am not sarcastic.

Thus of whom, of whom I am to talk if I do not know him, himself himself.

I said angrier, I was angrier. I said this.

Angrier than who?

Myself, angrier, angrier than myself. Yes, both, he and myself, anyone and myself.

I retain that anger, yes am angry now, these questions are through my brain and numbing me, numbing me I cannot think of what, think of what what am I thinking of

If I had scorned laughter. I scorned the journalist. For he scorned us. I did not laugh. The colleague, friend, he laughed. I scorned this, laughter. I had not laughed, did not laugh. For many
months, yes, it is amusing, I am amused. All people are amused. The foreign journalist was amused. Now he is dead. Yes or what? I do not know. Perhaps he is resurrected. That is my joke. I have
repugnance for religion. My childhood was of that, believing in god, gods and prophets and devils and thus are we resurrected, when we are dead we are not so we come then alive again in all our
glory, sanctified as non-killers we become in the windows, glass stained by great artists and we children also in the mother, gods mothers, believing of gods and mothers, having the mother, god has
the mother.

Personages are also gods. Are they, I do not know. There are devils.

These things are amusing. Not amusing.

Some have these positions also. I had no religion, not now but not then, no. I said I did have. People say that they do not believe, that which they do not believe. What are we to think? There
is the truth, falsely stated.

These were not his people. They did not accept him. He wanted that they might but no, they did not

“god”, the all-powerful being, and in his son and other prophets, holy people

What? What I am to say

if I am to say, what

37
“such collusion”

I had not been so angry before. I considered this. If repercussions had resulted, retrograde movement, if for myself, retrogressive, if it was so. In front of the others I must
remain calm. We did observe one another. It was our habit. Who could have had an objection. It had to be done. We searched out those not to be trusted. The man with whom I was sharing would
acknowledge this by smiling, by raising his arm as though in surrender. Yes, you do not trust me but this is no personal matter as you acknowledge. I acknowledge also.

Something now of this matter became clear. I could resist these thoughts, entire notion, reality, of how it was. It was. It was being done to me willingly. It was collusion. It could not be
denied. This point so striking, so blatant, yes, as that my hair standing on end. What did they do did they do a thing that might change for me. They refused. What this does signal to me. Their
project has been to conceal a reality. These details that are obvious. These people think sometime in ignorance, things are to be moved along, inconsistencies consistencies, they move along that
they might fall into place.

It was happening. Others did not comprehend. I was to inform them. I was to inform them of reality, as so, reality! Yes, this is reality. I was to tell them outright yet in considerate terms so
not to upset them, explain to them the situation. I knew they would not hear what that I was saying. I would be speaking but would see they did not hear it. Why that would be if they were not deaf
and what I was saying, it would not be heard, they did not suffer impairment. Beyond words, communication, humans, beings we are human. Basic principles of humans.

I do not believe in a separation between forms of understanding, I do not believe it.

These and other things are said to them, I also as part of them, said to us. I want to close my ears, screaming at them inside my head.

I know collusion, concerning silence, silences. It undoubtedly is true. Where potential separation does exist, where is it not acceptable.

I was angry with these thoughts for they were not my thoughts but thoughts held by others of me, thus being coerced into a situation, one that must be intolerable, I was so. I never could have
admitted that, not to the others. And this was known to them, known to these others. Therefore why they would recount to me a story.

They recount a story to me. I would recount the story. Who could not.

Already I had explained that this was the case, obviously so, that this is the premise we begin from as humans, human beings, members of that family, building ourselves as a species on concepts
such as these, material concepts I can say, beginning from the factual basis we are related therefore love one another, acknowledging yes that we too exist, we too simply it is what it is survival,
yes, what may it be else, other than that.

But these older forms do not interest them. They would suppose me naive. I agree that it can be said I am so naive. I have no interest in forms of denial.

I do not feel threatened. If I am so threatened what then. If the question is to me, it is to me.

38
“thought”

But this then at that time was good for myself, and how my mind progresses I enter into the inner smile as I think it my brain. When these people are looking to me and this it
is that I must be careful, if the smile will come outside too and the eyes are watching for any such sign thinking one might not sense what is to be sensed. If they are around me. Always. If they
do things, are these things

the body is the body. I am not a woman. My own body

He had no hand. I did not ask more of it. We did not speak. There is contamination. Securitys believe so

They watch for such indicators. Eyes may signal, one flicker is attack, two flickers

what two flickers

these are sarcasm, he said his hand was lost for sarcasm. He said it to myself. I have no hand, they took it, severed it from here, look, showing me his wrist, stump of it, its end, where the
skin is pulled so, and they put him into that room. I heard him asking, Where is my hand.

Things may be said. If I am to say them, I can say nothing, I say it to them, nothing

what is it? nothing

if they hurt bodies what the outcome may be, if they have patience no, nothing

if he has had a limb taken, people take more, taken, if these are severed, as this man simply chopped, taking his hand from his arm, nothing

39
“censure is not expulsion”

Suspicion again had been turned onto myself. Prior to these last days I had noticed the distancing to myself from these colleagues, colleagues who were my colleagues. And a
woman I knew so well also, she was to lead this inquiry. How that I gathered such information? I did so. Perhaps by inference. Perhaps I cannot remember. I am not sarcastic. Tired, yes. But also
the decoy, he would have noticed such a thing to himself. It came often in silence. One might enter a room, talk would cease, seeing also they would not meet one’s eyes, could not. Such it
was for myself as of other inquiries that I was familiar with, and I knew what was to come. As the decoy must also have known but that this was for myself he would not understand, that he was the
decoy, he did not know it. If one is the decoy and advice is to be given of this, it will come later, if it will come prior, it could not be so, of course, advice must come later.

So, this evening that I speak, what I should say, “trial”, not inquiry. I entered the building and upstairs to the room where the bedding lay, this that I had been allocated,
discovering that a dozen colleagues were there in wait, waiting, including these three others who shared this room with myself, we four. And would I control my anger. Yes. But what was my anger. I
knew it and did not know it, if truly it was anger. I was silent, greeting individuals by sign, moving to my bed and sitting there. Yes, no eyes upon myself, as that reality lay elsewhere. Minutes
passed. Now came the decoy. I saw that he had removed from us, as within himself, his emotions. Yes myself, also, as one of this committee as he thought. We had not been friends but acquaintances,
yes, he was not lacking in respect, not from myself. He was not the stronger, as individuals there among us, having our obligations.

It was the process. What process. Yes.

I found it a spectacle and did not care for it. This was from inculcation, bred into us, that we should trust none, in we ourselves, inculcated. But it was the process. It could not be trusted.
I no longer did so. Elements were here. None might respect them, I did not. It was a drama we would enjoy in a theatre, a movie. Are we actors and singers, if we are dancers. No. I watched the
decoy’s face. He fought for his life. This was the struggle and was our struggle, struggles. His defiance was there. Mine also but that I was stronger, thought that I must be so, or knowledge
that I had greater than his, strength than his, for I was in receipt of the knowledge. I knew the situation truly, as he did not, and it gave me a strength now for our colleague, the woman who was
to assume leadership of the committee, and this was a woman who that had been close, she had been, myself herself.

Other books

Point, Click, Love by Molly Shapiro
Broken Course by Aly Martinez
The Touch by Lisa Olsen
Embracing His Syn by A.E. Via
AbductiCon by Alma Alexander
Serendipity by Cathy Marie Hake
Feral Cravings by Jenika Snow