The Busconductor Hines (15 page)

Thus did the engagement take effect, the marriage go ahead; and soon a wean was to be born – although signs of advancement were yet to be discerned in the youth. And was he not getting a bit old to be described as a youth. At his age the girl's father (and his own father for that matter) was a serving member of the Majestic Indisputables. Little wonder, therefore, that tensions were to arise, that Sunday visits for tea became a strain. And to be fair: was a bedsitter the ideal situation in which to rear one's firstborn. Fuck them all. The young couple conceded the point while unable to immediately rectify the problem. But at length it did transpire that through the machinations of a certain middle-aged busconductress (now retired) a dwelling place appropriate to their needs became available. It was, to be
sure, as a particular father (his own) laconically remarked “a nobedroomed flat” but it was fine for the time being. It got them out a hole. And Evelyn didnt have to go to all the bother she did. And nobody else rushed to fucking help. It wasnt a bloody dump then. You could still look out the window and see the kids in the backcourt, playing okay. It wasnt good right enough. It could not be described as good, not really, not in relation to certain grassy areas it couldnt, not at all, be described as good. But at the time. At the time it was fucking great. Shut the door and that was always that. Coming home off a late backshift, the kitchen really warm, and Sandra there with some grub in the pot, and sometimes even a bottle of fucking beer, that beautiful innocence for christ sake the gesture to the two of them, on behalf of them – the three of them for fuck sake, the unit, on behalf of them, the young marrieds and the baby

When the food had reheated he roused Paul and sat him at the table, telling him not to worry too much about finishing every last thing on the plate. His mother's absence was not bothering him too much. Weans can be unperturbed by astounding events while the slightest exaggeration can terrify them. Hines told him she was late and this he accepted as the natural order. And once the meal was over he returned to her armchair and quickly became engrossed in a TV programme relating to Concrete Manifestations of Good and Evil in a Large American City.

The utensils washed he left them drying on the draining board: he lifted Paul onto his knee, sat down on her chair. It was pointless worrying over foolish items. She had merely gone a message and forgotten to advise him beforehand.

She could have phoned Mrs Montgomery. She could have forgotten to phone in her rush to go the message. What message?
She could have required to see her parents. Even his parents maybe about the New Year or something. Or just gone to see a friend. Did she have friends. Of course she had friends. She had more than he. Is that right. It is precisely right. As far as friends are concerned his is an unlucky personality.

He rose from the chair, to pour himself another cup of tea, then gazed through the blind; the street parallel to this one was clearly visible between the tenement ends. Until recently 2 dairies and a launderette and a not too bad newsagent shop had been open for business within a couple of minutes walk. Now only the one dairy whose owner no longer appeared to be restocking on anything other than perishable goods. A scandal. What did Hines intend doing about it all. Did he intend doing anything. Of course. He would burst out greeting. Tears are a fine response. They can wipe away the film.

The loss of Sandra is such an extraordinary notion that he is not able to consider it without an accompanying sense of guilt almost as of the pleasure to be had from tackling the extraordinary.

Hear the clock tick.

If she does not return the outlook is entirely bleak. If she does return the outlook is of a bleakness he can handle.

Hines can encounter problems. He can and cannot cope with many but with some the coping takes precedence. You've got the pair of them, the young married couple, the way they are to be going on ahead, into the rest of it. This is fucking a baffling thing in itself. It calls for wide heads. Think of him even, how he

wait a minute. Here you have a Busconductor Hines. How he must have been walking about in a trance and that. What he used to do was. He really didnt do. He had an idea. He conducted himself in a manner such that, his method of being, it accorded to certain factors. Certain factors appear to have
governed his movements. What we know is mainly average. His goal was twofold: to obtain a PSV licence, to acquire a sum of money – a sum of money which while of unknown extension was nevertheless taken for granted as settled in some unshadowy region as for example consider the striving to a goal where the goal lies in between the lines while the lines themselves are the striving and can produce the goal seemingly in themselves but not really in themselves for the goal lies in between and though some daft cunts have no knowledge of this they assume its existence in accordance with the existence of the lines. Now this is fucking nonsense of course because there doesnt have to be any in between at all, there can be nothing whatsoever. This is what has happened to Hines. A classic case, striving for the fucking nonexistent goal. It is a strange thing. And Sandra makes it stranger – she was always a brainy bastard; and sensible. What does she do. This is a hard yin right enough.

The problem is the surrounding i.e. the flitting from here to there. Things may not be too bad.

They remain the same as before. What is not the same as before. Important side issues. He just requires help. What Hines actually requires is help.

Now: let us take it slowly, slowly and calmly. One might start off by too late it is too late, too fucking late, it is too fucking late for the shite, for this imbecilic carry on; it is too late. The problem is that it is too late. 5 years is not 10 minutes. This is the problem. Hines really does know it now, at long last, he is in full realisation of it, as he has been before right enough it has to be admitted at this stage of the game that eh he has known it before. He used to know it. He gets jolts. Jolts come along. Hines gets jolted. Certain items transpire. It is just that eh he can touch her hand, the soft bits between the joints on each finger, she has three such bits on each finger, and two on the thumb, the soft bits, and what he does is press gently his
fingertips there on the soft bits, seeing the skin dimple out and whiten as flattening. Ah christ; poor auld Hines. He really is a poor soul. There he goes: see him. He's about to take care of things. He is going to get a gun. He has connections with gungettors. He can banish the problems. Give him an A and give him a B. Bang.

And yet the prevailing climate is not only unsound it is stabley so. Let us expand:

The position in which he is to be finding himself is no worse than that of countless others whose efforts are no longer negotiable but that that position, that position might yet have become tranquil that they could have multiplied inasmuch, inasmuch as Hines could eventually, he could have become

He was wanting that becoming.

This is what it's about. Now then: just remember the way she jumped aboard the bus. She knew as well as he did that her and the wee man, the pair of them, along with him – although to be honest, it was probably just the two of them, her and Paul, it was probably just them. And yet the presence of such as a Hines Robert could have proved a boon for all that contemporaneous conditions would appear to have rammed home a wedge that he, that he from the pair of them, Paul and herself, Sandra, that eh

A cup of coffee would certainly go down well if she was making it; a nice cup of coffee and a doughnut. Sandra likes doughnuts. So does Hines, especially if they arent snowed under by cream or something cause that can spoil it and nothing should be spoiling, a spoilsport, we dont want their kind, we need to try and get along, to face things out, consider her breasts, how soft they are, that fullness, how his lips can work upon them so well.

Out of hand it's getting. Certain factors must be brought to
light. These factors are not to be being neglected. But the manner in which: what is the manner in which a gun acts. A deafening blackness by all accounts a gun goes in 1 ear and out the other. Quickly quickly quickly, the pure on the pure; 1 question and 1 question only. Give us an aye or give us a naw – because in betweens no longer exist in any scheme of the world that Hines, that he might be said to be participating within, in any intentional sense. Now, if he. He has little more to say, to be honest. The final finitos and so on. That's if he's being honest I mean if she really wants a bit of honesty from yours truly Hines, the husband, the father, of the wean by christ if she really does want an answer. And that's an actual answer, a genuine answer, none of the fucking rubbish, just a genuine answer to a genuine question being asked from an entire world. An Entire World. None of the fucking rubbish. Hines has never been Reilly. Sandra hasnt always understood this. Maybe she does. But if so there was never any point in just confining herself to those wee smiling kind of looks in the off chance what lay behind would be comprehended, as well as its contingency. Contingency by fuck – dependence on a possible future event which is not very likely. Hines would be true under certain conditions and is false under others. If certain conditions had come to pass that they were at large then he would have been being true. He would have been true under such conditions. Their recognition – such conditions. Let us consider absent

A gun right enough. It is so blatant – christ he's been playing, he's been playing.

Wait a minute. One wee fucking minute. To get it straight – just to get it straight. Right then, now: here he is in conditions, certain conditions, the astounding circumstances of which is the eh o jesus jesus dont let it be lost dont let it be lost dont he is true, he is true, he is true under certain conditions that can have come to pass, that they would be being at large. He
is dependent. He is a thing that comes to life under certain conditions for if they do not obtain then he is to be being false i.e. unalive. He would be an unalive bastard, for whom death is the probable second step.

Well well well, I mean he was fucking knowing that, the Busconductor Hines, he has always been knowing that, for years; years are not fucking minutes.

He had been getting himself into a state; and it is daft getting yourself into a state. You sit there getting worse and worse. What is the unnameable. That which is not to be articulated. Some things are not articulately. A horror of rodents is articulately. But the things that are not unable to be not said. What about them. They are not good. They are not good but must also be good.

A taxi entered the street. He heard it while coming out of the lavatory but returned to the kitchen instead of dashing to the front room window. If it was stopping outside the close it would stop there. He shut the door firmly though gently, Paul being asleep on the chair. And with the volume of the television down to its lowest he knelt on the floor, gazing at the images flash, a programme Concerning Topical Interests within the Halls of Planetary Finance. Often, when alone, he could experience joy from their lips, chin and neck flesh. An issue debating. Each exponent an individual method, the hearty the wry the earnest. It was interesting to see. He moved closer, mouth wide and eyes staring, and ruffling his hair till it was on end, out and in stretching his fingers into fists, clawing manoeuvres. Here you got this yin and here another. The representatives. They could all look as though choking.

His eyelids widened even farther and out poked his tongue. Then he turned up the volume and smoothing his hair down
sat on his own armchair. But he got back up at once and went through to the front room, and put on a record to play, before walking to draw back the curtains, and look down at the vehicular tracks in the snow. He rejected the record, unplugged the music-centre, returned to the kitchen. Music could play but the sounds didnt connect. It made no difference burying the head beneath quilts, not even with the volume at full blast. Stronger sounds were not required. The lines had snapped. Lines extend from sound to point. When the points are absent the connection has become a shambles. Now what he really does wish to know is a problem. Upon receipt of a genuine problem he can provide an answer. Books were tried. Books are fucking hopeless. Maybe he was reading the wrong ones. Not at all. He was reading particular books after a particular method. Now this method, this method is relevant, it is relevant to eh o jesus jesus jesus how long to journey now sir is it nearly over now sir or only just beginning sir I mean aye, the younger Hines, the wee man, he keeps fucking sprouting sir he cant be stopped, he keeps on at it, the growing, he was thinking of watering his milk – Hines – he was thinking of a million things but what he will probably do is leave everything to nature, toss him a few items and let him get ahead with it. There you are son that'll sort you out, put you on the vertical path, climb aboard the social transport. Ding ding, fares please, and fuck the eskimos. The eskimos. The poor auld fucking eskimos by christ it makes you sick, the way things happen, 1 minute you've got the ball at your feet and the next you're fucked. Hines is a 3 time loser, if he jacks it this time the present is less than brightly. The broo is not the thing to do. What happened the last time. Nothing. He just couldnt get another fucking job so he had to come fucking back, and he was lucky as fuck to get back. A hands and knees carry on. Hines Robert looking for his job back.
His
job back! What does he mean
his
job back! He means
his old job back sir he used to work here before sir before he left that last time, after the one before, when he left the first time, and now here he is reporting back again sir will I tell him to fuck off or what.

Jesus christ.

The point is though sir, if you exist sir, Jesus, he was to have been being on his best behaviour sir for this the third term you see he was needing your assistance sir he just required help, the Deskclerks sir, no longer asking him for overtime and they no longer wished him goodmorning and they no longer spoke unless spoken to and sometimes not even then sir for christ sake he is in dire fucking straits, honest, and he has truly given up all thoughts of getting advanced to the School for Busdrivers, a childish dream, a romantic fancy, one which has long ceased to exist in the land of real items – Real Items sir. Fuck off. Just get to fuck please, please leave.