Read Online The Cutting Room by Louise Welsh - Free Book Online Page B
Authors: Louise Welsh
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poofy bastards are good fighters. All set??
‘Haven’t you forgotten something?
He paiftsed, swore, `Christ Almighty!’ broke into laughter
and lowered the pulley.
`There’s no way, Leslie. No way.’
`Come on. It’s lucky. It was right above that polisman’s head last night and he didn’t even notice. It was a fucking miracle. As soon as I get back I’m going to phone the Pope and ask him to consecrate the pulley.’
`It’s too conspicuous. It’s just not the kind of bag I would carry.
`For me, Rilke.’
I stepped out of the back door and looked around. Leslie’s
back court was fourth in a row. To get to the street I had to cross three back yards, scaling four six-foot walls on the way.
Jeremy Bentham invented the panopticon as a means for
warders to keep constant surveillance on prisoners. He
proposed a circular prison with cells built round a central well from which the watcher could see the watched at any angle. Quite where this fits into his greatest happiness system I’m not sure, but it became popular among designers of
schools. Les’s back court wasn’t circular and it wasn’t a true example of a panopticon, but I estimated my journey could be observed from about seventy flats. I managed the first two
walls fine, walking as nonchalantly as I could in between, the tartan shopper banging against my leg. In the third, a young boy on a tricycle was cycling circles beneath a line of bilious washing. He eyed my advance.
`Forgotten my keys, son.’ I hauled myself over the wall and
into his yard trying to look paternal. `Should you not be at school?’
The child lifted his face and gave me a suspicious look. His baby teeth were tiny tombstone stumps.
`No. I’m no big enough yet. You need to be five to go to
school. Kyle goes to school. He’s a big boy.’ He shifted his gaze from me towards a second floor window and in a voice
like a fog horn shouted, `Mammy! There’s a man just climbed
over the fence.’
The window slammed open and it became clear where
junior had got his voice.
`Right you. Stay where you are while I phone the police.’ I
could see her grappling with a telephone, dialling 999,
shouting at me at the same time. `I’m onto you. Keep away
from that child. Pervert. Knicker-stealing plamph. I know
your face now. You’ds best steal your pants elsewhere,
bloody weirdo.’
Around the back courts other windows were sliding open. I
shielded my face with Leslie’s lucky tartan bag, pulled myself over the final fence, and ran from view.
There were things I should be doing, things that would
make me money and wouldn’t get me arrested. I slowed my
pace, trying to look like a guy who habitually carries a tartan shopping bag, a thin man in a black suit covered in orange
brick dust. An ordinary guy on the way back from the Coop
with the week’s butcher meat. Out on the street nobody paid
me any attention.
Les was waiting. `You took your time. I was beginning to get the wind up. No probs?’
I let us in. `No, none at all.’ I felt weary. `You?’
`Easy peasy.’ He had a buzz on him. Adrenalin or speed? I
didn’t care. `I took a ride on the subway to make sure I wasn’t being followed, got off a stop too early and walked the rest of the way. Better not hang about, though. Sooner this is off my hands the better. Cheers, man. That’s one I owe you.’
He put his arms round me in a bear hug, relieving me of the
bag at the same time.
`I’ll collect now.’
Les’s face became a question mark, one eyebrow raised,
mouth turned down. He moved his feet in a boxer’s fast-toed
shuffle, still charged with the electricity of the adventure.
`What?;
‘The contact.’
`Oh yeah. Sure you want this?’
`I wasn’t helping you out of the goodness of my heart,
Leslie.’
`Yeah, well, a deal’s a deal.’
He took a mobile phone from his bag and started to dial.
6
The Nature of Pornography
…though no city has ever been
poofy bastards are good fighters. All set??
‘Haven’t you forgotten something?
He paiftsed, swore, `Christ Almighty!’ broke into laughter
and lowered the pulley.
`There’s no way, Leslie. No way.’
`Come on. It’s lucky. It was right above that polisman’s head last night and he didn’t even notice. It was a fucking miracle. As soon as I get back I’m going to phone the Pope and ask him to consecrate the pulley.’
`It’s too conspicuous. It’s just not the kind of bag I would carry.
`For me, Rilke.’
I stepped out of the back door and looked around. Leslie’s
back court was fourth in a row. To get to the street I had to cross three back yards, scaling four six-foot walls on the way.
Jeremy Bentham invented the panopticon as a means for
warders to keep constant surveillance on prisoners. He
proposed a circular prison with cells built round a central well from which the watcher could see the watched at any angle. Quite where this fits into his greatest happiness system I’m not sure, but it became popular among designers of
schools. Les’s back court wasn’t circular and it wasn’t a true example of a panopticon, but I estimated my journey could be observed from about seventy flats. I managed the first two
walls fine, walking as nonchalantly as I could in between, the tartan shopper banging against my leg. In the third, a young boy on a tricycle was cycling circles beneath a line of bilious washing. He eyed my advance.
`Forgotten my keys, son.’ I hauled myself over the wall and
into his yard trying to look paternal. `Should you not be at school?’
The child lifted his face and gave me a suspicious look. His baby teeth were tiny tombstone stumps.
`No. I’m no big enough yet. You need to be five to go to
school. Kyle goes to school. He’s a big boy.’ He shifted his gaze from me towards a second floor window and in a voice
like a fog horn shouted, `Mammy! There’s a man just climbed
over the fence.’
The window slammed open and it became clear where
junior had got his voice.
`Right you. Stay where you are while I phone the police.’ I
could see her grappling with a telephone, dialling 999,
shouting at me at the same time. `I’m onto you. Keep away
from that child. Pervert. Knicker-stealing plamph. I know
your face now. You’ds best steal your pants elsewhere,
bloody weirdo.’
Around the back courts other windows were sliding open. I
shielded my face with Leslie’s lucky tartan bag, pulled myself over the final fence, and ran from view.
There were things I should be doing, things that would
make me money and wouldn’t get me arrested. I slowed my
pace, trying to look like a guy who habitually carries a tartan shopping bag, a thin man in a black suit covered in orange
brick dust. An ordinary guy on the way back from the Coop
with the week’s butcher meat. Out on the street nobody paid
me any attention.
Les was waiting. `You took your time. I was beginning to get the wind up. No probs?’
I let us in. `No, none at all.’ I felt weary. `You?’
`Easy peasy.’ He had a buzz on him. Adrenalin or speed? I
didn’t care. `I took a ride on the subway to make sure I wasn’t being followed, got off a stop too early and walked the rest of the way. Better not hang about, though. Sooner this is off my hands the better. Cheers, man. That’s one I owe you.’
He put his arms round me in a bear hug, relieving me of the
bag at the same time.
`I’ll collect now.’
Les’s face became a question mark, one eyebrow raised,
mouth turned down. He moved his feet in a boxer’s fast-toed
shuffle, still charged with the electricity of the adventure.
`What?;
‘The contact.’
`Oh yeah. Sure you want this?’
`I wasn’t helping you out of the goodness of my heart,
Leslie.’
`Yeah, well, a deal’s a deal.’
He took a mobile phone from his bag and started to dial.
6
The Nature of Pornography
…though no city has ever been
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