What was the point anyway, there didn’t seem to be any at all. I footered about with the newspaper, no longer even pretending interest. It was useless. I felt totally useless—I was useless, totally. I crumpled the newspaper in both hands, watching it, seeing the shapes it made, the way its pages became.
I would go on a walk; that was what to do. I uncrumpled the newspaper and rolled it into a neat sort of bundle, to carry it in my right hand, and then began walking. O christ but it was good to be alive—really. Really and truly. I felt magnificent. Absolutely wonderful. What was it about this life that made a body feel so good, so absolutely fucking wonderful. Was everybody the same. Now I was chuckling. Not too loudly but, no point worrying folk. A woman approached, her message bags not too full, preoccupied, the slight smile on her face. Where else could it be? Her eyes. Her eyes could be smiling. Is that possible. I was chuckling again. And then the mongrel appeared. I recognized it right away: a stupid land of beast, even how it trotted was a bit stupid—plus that something about it, that odd look it could give—as though it was a fucking mule! Mule. Why did I think of that, mule. Well it was a beast and it was stupid-looking—or rather, it behaved stupidly, the way it looked at folk and didnt do as they desired, they wanted it off the pavement out their road but it never went off the pavement out their road, it just carried on trotting till sometimes they even had to get out of its road. Amazing. Imagine giving it a kick! Just going up and giving it a kick. Or else poisoning it. Taking it away on a long walk and then dumping it— maybe on a bus journey right out the other side of the city, pushing it off and shutting the door, leaving the thing yelping in astonishment. What’ll happen to me now! Christ sake the dirty bastard he’s pushed me off the bus and shut the door and I dont know where I’ve landed!
Imagine being a dog but—murder! people taking you wherever they like and you dont have a say in the matter. Here boy, here boy. I would hate to be a dog like that, getting ordered about by cunts without knowing what for, not having a genuine say on the matter. Horrible, really fucking horrible. And then getting put down for christ sake sometimes for nothing, no reason, just for doing what dogs do. Biting people!
Crazy, walking along the road thinking about such stuff. Absolute fucking nonsense. Mongrels by christ! But that’s what happens. And thinking of that is better than thinking of nothing. I would say so anyway. Or would I? The trouble with being useless is this thinking; it becomes routine, you cannot stop yourself. I think all the time, even when I’m reading my newspaper. And the things I think about are fucking crazy. Imagine going up to somebody and saying Hey, have you ever felt like screwing the queen? Just to actually say it to somebody. Incredible. This is the kind of thing I can think about. I cannot help it. I didnt always think like it either. I used to think about ordinary things. Or did I? I find it hard to tell.
Then she was coming towards me but I didnt notice properly till there we were having to get out each other’s road. Sorry, I said and I smiled in a hopeful manner. I was lost in abstraction….
And then I smiled coyly, this coyliness compensating for the use of the long word, abstraction. But everything was fine, everything was fine, she understood. It’s okay, she replied, I was a bit abstracted myself.
And of course she was! Otherwise she’d’ve fucking bumped into me if she hadnt been careful to get out my road while I was getting out of hers!
Then she had dropped a paperbag and was bending down to retrieve it; and once she had retrieved it she opened it and peered inside.
And so did I!
I just fucking stretched forwards and poked my head next to hers—not in any sort of ambiguous way but just to peer into the bag same as her. She glanced at me, quite surprised. Then we smiled at each other as though in appreciation of the absurdity of my reaction. And yet it had been a true reaction. Normally I’m not a nosy person. But having said all of that I have to confess that it maybe was a bit ambiguous, maybe I was trying to get a bit closer to her because it should be said that she was nice, in fact she was really nice. The way she was standing there and then bending to get her paperbag etc., the smile she had, and above all that understanding, how she had eh o christ o christ, o christ and there wasnt anything I could say, nothing, nothing at all because I was without funds, absolutely fucking without funds. So after a wee moment I smiled, an unhealthy smile—even at the actual instant it was happening I was thinking how it would be to have a blunderbuss whose muzzle I could stick my head into and then pull the trigger.
It was a surprise to see her still standing there. How come she was still standing there the way things were. I didnt even know her. I had never seen her before in all my life. I said: Eh d’you live eh roundabout? But she didnt reply. She was frowning at something. She hadnt paid the slightest attention to what I had said. And no wonder, the things I say, they’re always so fucking boring, so fucking boring. Why am I the most fucking boring bastard in the whole fucking world? Her cake was bashed. Inside the paperbag was a cake and it had become bashed because of falling on the pavement. I could have mentioned that to her. That was something to say, instead of this, this fucking standing, just fucking standing there, almost greeting, greeting my eyes out. I was just standing there having to stop myself greeting like a wean, looking at her, trying to make her see and by making her see stopping myself and making everything fine, everything fine, if she would just stay on a minute or two and we could maybe have a chat or something—just a couple of minutes’ chat, that would have worked the oracle, maybe, to let her see. Because after all, she hadnt been put off by the way I had peered into her bag; she had recognized it as a plain ordinary reaction, the sort of thing that happens out of curiosity—a bit stupid right enough, the way a kid acts. And yet she hadnt been put off. Not even as a person had I put her off. She smiled at me, a true smile—there again, it had happened at the point of departure for yes, that moment had indeed arrived and was gone now, gone forever. And so too was she, trotting along the pavement, away to a life that was much better than this one. If I could run after her and clasp her by the hand.
I had unrolled the newspaper and was glancing at the back page, an item of football news. I could just have run after her and said Sorry—for having almost bumped right into her and making her drop the paperbag. But what was the point of it all? it was useless, totally fucking useless. I crumpled the newspaper in my right hand then grabbed it from there with my left, and continued the walk.