Read Online Greyhound for Breakfast by James Kelman - Free Book Online Page B
Authors: James Kelman
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point on things. And how in the name of all that’s holy could the fact that it was himself to
blame be of any consolation?
He scratched his ear and continued to stand there, by the chair, and then he sighed in an exaggerated manner but it was bitterly done, and he declared how things had gone too far for him now,
that he had so to speak come to the end of his tether. The croupier merely looked at him in reply but this look might well have been a straightforward appeal for a new player.
Mister Joseph Kerr shrugged. Then he stood to the side, making space for the new player who moved easily onto the seat. There was a pause. Mister Joseph Kerr had raised his eyebrows in a
slightly mocking fashion. He smiled at the new player and touched him on the shoulder, saying how he should definitely pay heed to that which he knew so thoroughly beforehand. The new player glared
at the hand on his shoulder. What’s the meaning of this? he murmured.
In all probability he too was a foreign language user. Mister Joseph Kerr nodded wearily. Maybe he was just bloody well growing old! Could that be it? He sighed as he strolled round the table,
continuing on in the style of somebody heading to an exit. He entered the gents’ washroom and gazed at himself in the mirror. It was a poor show right enough, this tired face he saw; and
something in it too as if, as if his eyes had perhaps clouded over, but his spectacles of course, having misted over. The thought how at least he was breathing, at least he was breathing, that was
worth remembering.
Let that be a lesson
Between 12 and 1 o’clock every Sunday the boys met up the field and played football for the rest of the afternoon. They stopped for breaks whenever they felt like it;
these they spent lying around smoking and chatting, unless it was raining, in which case they found shelter till it eased off enough to resume. Occasionally when somebody produced a pack of cards
the game was forgotten about. Today was like that, plus the rain had become a downpour, looking as if it was on for the day. A few of the boys went home. Ten or so others gathered in the back close
of a tenement to continue the cards. Then a man came down the stairs and told them to get to hell out of it. They went slowly, a couple of them staring back at the man till they were outside on the
pavement. Matt then let it slip his house was vacant but insisted his maw and da had given him his last warning about bringing people in. He refused to even consider disobeying them. He kept on
refusing till finally they offered him a bribe of 10 pence a skull. ‘Okay,’ he said, ‘on condition the game stops whenever I say so.’
They spoke in whispers when he led them upstairs and into his room. The bed was used as the card table, the boys crouching or kneeling roundabout it. The game alternated between brag, pontoon,
banker and chase-the-ace. After a couple of hours just five players remained. Arthur had the bulk of the money and his only real rival was Jimmy. The other three were just hanging on by the skin of
their teeth. Beside Matt there were Dougie and Eddie: Eddie kept dashing out the house and round the street to his own place where he was thieving money from his grandfather’s coat pockets,
his mother’s purse, his big sister’s purse, his young brother’s secret bank. The last time he returned it was with a packet of ten cigarettes which he sold to Jimmy for 20 pence
more than the retail price. Dougie had been in and out the game at different times since the start, but then he would find a coin from somewhere and buy his way back in. Matt himself had managed to
survive by selling pieces on jam for 15 pence, cups of tea for 10. But the clock ticked on and he was beginning to show the strain. Every few minutes he jumped up and rushed ben the living room to
look out the window. In fact it was really the bread worrying him the most. A couple of slices just were left and his da would be needing sandwiches
blame be of any consolation?
He scratched his ear and continued to stand there, by the chair, and then he sighed in an exaggerated manner but it was bitterly done, and he declared how things had gone too far for him now,
that he had so to speak come to the end of his tether. The croupier merely looked at him in reply but this look might well have been a straightforward appeal for a new player.
Mister Joseph Kerr shrugged. Then he stood to the side, making space for the new player who moved easily onto the seat. There was a pause. Mister Joseph Kerr had raised his eyebrows in a
slightly mocking fashion. He smiled at the new player and touched him on the shoulder, saying how he should definitely pay heed to that which he knew so thoroughly beforehand. The new player glared
at the hand on his shoulder. What’s the meaning of this? he murmured.
In all probability he too was a foreign language user. Mister Joseph Kerr nodded wearily. Maybe he was just bloody well growing old! Could that be it? He sighed as he strolled round the table,
continuing on in the style of somebody heading to an exit. He entered the gents’ washroom and gazed at himself in the mirror. It was a poor show right enough, this tired face he saw; and
something in it too as if, as if his eyes had perhaps clouded over, but his spectacles of course, having misted over. The thought how at least he was breathing, at least he was breathing, that was
worth remembering.
Let that be a lesson
Between 12 and 1 o’clock every Sunday the boys met up the field and played football for the rest of the afternoon. They stopped for breaks whenever they felt like it;
these they spent lying around smoking and chatting, unless it was raining, in which case they found shelter till it eased off enough to resume. Occasionally when somebody produced a pack of cards
the game was forgotten about. Today was like that, plus the rain had become a downpour, looking as if it was on for the day. A few of the boys went home. Ten or so others gathered in the back close
of a tenement to continue the cards. Then a man came down the stairs and told them to get to hell out of it. They went slowly, a couple of them staring back at the man till they were outside on the
pavement. Matt then let it slip his house was vacant but insisted his maw and da had given him his last warning about bringing people in. He refused to even consider disobeying them. He kept on
refusing till finally they offered him a bribe of 10 pence a skull. ‘Okay,’ he said, ‘on condition the game stops whenever I say so.’
They spoke in whispers when he led them upstairs and into his room. The bed was used as the card table, the boys crouching or kneeling roundabout it. The game alternated between brag, pontoon,
banker and chase-the-ace. After a couple of hours just five players remained. Arthur had the bulk of the money and his only real rival was Jimmy. The other three were just hanging on by the skin of
their teeth. Beside Matt there were Dougie and Eddie: Eddie kept dashing out the house and round the street to his own place where he was thieving money from his grandfather’s coat pockets,
his mother’s purse, his big sister’s purse, his young brother’s secret bank. The last time he returned it was with a packet of ten cigarettes which he sold to Jimmy for 20 pence
more than the retail price. Dougie had been in and out the game at different times since the start, but then he would find a coin from somewhere and buy his way back in. Matt himself had managed to
survive by selling pieces on jam for 15 pence, cups of tea for 10. But the clock ticked on and he was beginning to show the strain. Every few minutes he jumped up and rushed ben the living room to
look out the window. In fact it was really the bread worrying him the most. A couple of slices just were left and his da would be needing sandwiches
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