Translated Accounts

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Authors: James Kelman
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there amusement also for we two. They would
have continued, elsewhere.
    What I am to say, I say something, he is dead, now, of course.
    There were these other incidents, we knew of them, father of daughters, father of sons. Our thinking is of experience gained. I saw his eyes, fear there with him, was with him. Guilt, yes,
knowledge self-knowledge, reconciliation to myself, I there as so, his ending. Three images in clusters. I might have been more painstaking. Of course, always. There was no alteration in what
happened. If I am to say if that it was the girl, it was she decided this action of myself. If it is shameful, what is shameful. What more. No more is to be said. The girl was not into my mind.
Later, if it became so.
    I would not return over what had gone, not from the past as into the present that is our present. If she had offered herself to me and it had happened then it had so, what did she think, who
that I might be. There are operations. The image of her. I could not alter my thinking. In the doorway she was looking to me. I cannot say more. Of course he is dead, what more. Yes, I have seen
her, since that night, of course

7
“lives were around me”
    I knew this walk, lying three miles from the international area, retaining old qualities besides this new, fish and sea-food restaurants. In seasons named for tourists if
tourists were there these might be busy, becoming busier. At this time not so busy. Local people, old men discussing events now dead, also men alone, men without anything, also on benches, for what
opportunity.
    If there are opportunities for these men, they watch for them. There might be such. If tourists are there opportunities also will be there.
    The horizon is to be looked at yes they look to it, what is there, boats are there, things to come are there, the eyelids of these men, reading onto them.
    This was a harbour, even a great harbour, so they said, once upon a time. But even yet I saw it to be a good harbour.
    I was going to the water’s edge, near to the designated building, but away also from people. There can be always people and the next meeting was to come afterwards, and afterwards would
come. I could not set my head properly for it. And she was to arrive, thereafter she would arrive, meeting with her, if she was there, I would see her and escort her, I would take her, she would be
there.
    I was crossing the square beyond the parking-area. I had got here so quickly.
    Three buses were there, tourists and cameras, and all the vendors there for them and seeing no other, this lone individual, myself. But not all vendors were there, one was now by my side, a boy
with shoe-polishing brushes. There is always such a boy, appearing. He lurks in wait, espies me, appears. If there is the thought, I have it, then no sooner and he will be there, called into
existence, who else, yes, this individual. What age, ten years, not more.
    I polish your shoes sir.
    He was curious of the bag on my shoulder. I said to him, You are not in school, why is that?
    I polish your shoes sir.
    This is not a joke. I ask you seriously. Now you look at me with hate, you are suspicious, you are hesitating, thinking to run off. Why? I speak your language. I am no stranger. There is not a
reason for hate, it is the opposite.
    Sir, I polish your shoes.
    My shoes are too old, they cannot be polished.
    I polish them.
    You cannot polish them, they are too old.
    Sir, only they have no surface I give them surface. I bring them new for you.
    You cannot bring them new for me.
    Sir.
    They are too old.
    Sir I have brush, special kind.
    Now showing the brush to me. It was from some decade or other, very old. His mother’s pride and great treasure. Brush with a metallic back, engraved. It was not silver.
    If it was, so, silver, yes, perhaps. I looked at it more closely, he also, showing it again for my special attention. Sir you buy?
    I do not buy, return this to your mother.
    My mother is not here.
    But return it

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