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Title: rokerpier19302130190819 Author: Colin R Tosh Date: 08/12/2020 Language: en Topics: Short Fiction Source: Retrieved on 12/12/2020 from https://sites.google.com/view/colin-r-tosh-ecologist/short-story-rokerpier19302130190819.
rokerpier19302130190819
she closed the door and hopped hopped onto the pavement next to the
thick faux stone balustrade that otherside falls away to nothing. is
this where the parrot in the cage was cal she asks and i say it was and
i go round the back and start to get the stuff out. and its not the
first but this is where i start to think and a great thick flush of
dread and frustration sweeps through my inner head and i look to her and
my mouth makes to move but i manage to stop. am i a fucking slave or
something. but it is all inside. she is only 13. i taught her how to
make noises with solid objects and now she is 13 and i am 13 years
older. it could be her hair but it is all straight and jet black and in
a bob and her clothes match that too. like uma thurman in pulp fiction.
my mouth makes to move and i feel in my inner head somewhere that it is
not right but the threshold is not crossed and i speak. she is looking
at me positively and expectantly and blinking. you look a bit like uma
thurman from pulp fiction. her head lowers a bit and her face goes all
long and the bit between her mouth and nose goes all long like john
major and my head flush again and maybe i grimace and i think of
knocking my head on the car. knocking the shit out. what is fucking
wrong with you you fucking monster i think. what the fuck is wrong with
you. it is getting dark and it starts to rain. come on i say and i carry
the stuff. we walk down the bank path towards the pier and i ask her if
she wants to turn back and she shrugs her shoulders. half way down we
turn from the path down onto the steep bank grass and i think to offer
her advice on the traversal of such areas having extensive experience of
this procedure from both my youth and adulthood. heels down toes up. but
i look to my side and she is not there and i look behind and she has
stopped. she looks at me. arent those gardens small cal she says
providing no context to her statement and i look around bewildered punch
drunk. which gardens kid. the ones over there she says but she does not
point or look their way and again the head flush. an hour of double
activity and contextless commentary awaits but i say nothing. and i do
not chide myself. eventually it becomes too painful. yes they are small
kid. it is late and everywhere is closed up. the late 80s arcades and
the rapidly ageing new chippies and new coffee shops and soon to be
closed new cake shops with their hopelessly positive sky blues greying
in the half dark. no one is around. an old boy on a mobility scooter
with a wee dog. two young women holding hands. the pier is open and i
have seen it closed for less. the wet and the smooth high waves slinking
along the side and spilling over near the end. but it is roker pier and
i see it and it curves nice out to the right and i think nothing and now
i know i felt good. i look at her now and she is staring. i know almost
nothing of roker pier. it takes you out maybe half a mile and you see it
on the internet when it is being built in old grey photos with obscenely
dense metal cranes carrying big stone blocks into the sea. but that is
it. but you watch them when they are on it. not now but when it is
sunny. you watch them and what they are like. they rarely argue. they
hold hands. lovers often kiss. once there was a man and woman and i said
can you see the sandeels and i pointed and they looked and they could
not see them but i told them to look at the glints always one or two all
the time and then she saw it and she gasped and her hand went to her
chest and she started to pretend she was the expert in it and showed her
husband but i did not mind. she was transported. she the kid was hop
hopping now like she was a kid and asking questions about fishing that i
answered. the rain was heavy now and it was more dark and i looked to
the kid and there were droplets on her hair and her shoulders were wet
but i was not cold so i did not ask her. looking down i looked quickly
to my left then right and maybe it was comfortable but i stayed there
and i had a daydream. or maybe i was half asleep. i saw a wee boy all
tanned and in raggedy tee shirt and shorts. he was sat on an upturned
boat on a beach with palms and sugary white sand. he was chewing a stalk
like a man and watching the men as they waded out with their hand nets
through water so clear you might consider it sometimes not there. one of
them pulled out a great netfull of big struggling fish. then i was in
the mind of the boy. maybe i will try that he thought maybe i will try
that. and he started to do it. he took them home to his family and
sometimes made a fire and ate them himself. then he met a girl and he
had never known such a thing and they could not help it they had it off
and they had a baby. he told his mam and she said you will be alright
just keep going but she said no more so he did. he fished and they ate
the fish. that was all. and i was still looking to my right when i awoke
but i looked round and when i saw the wet grey cobbles beneath me it was
like a fancy zooming camera motion in my eyes and being back hit me like
a thump. involuntarily i mouthed ahhh as if under attack and she looked
round and asked if i was ok and i said i stubbed my toe. so i clenched
my jaws and walked faster and she came on behind still happy and
skipping along. at the end with the lighthouse above there was no one
there but you could hear them up above. a group of boys and i had never
heard the like. i have seen them men drunk so they cannot stand fishing
and leaning against the railing but i have never heard this. it is a
party. i cannot see it but you hear it from above. a party and they are
laughing and shouting and i look round and see the edge of them and they
are fishing but one is slapping his pals back and they are laughing like
anything. like more than you would hear at the best party. they sound
drunk as hell but they cannot be they are only young. i look at the wet
and the waves and the dark and her and i get angry. fuck these wee
bastards their mams dont give a fuck about them but what are you doing
bringing this kid out here. she could be fucking killed. the wind is up
too. i am so angry. i think i am grimacing and i got to the dry corner
and sat down and it is windy now too. fuck. come on come on now i say to
the kid but she does not know what i mean and i thought i did but i
couldnt but i did then and i am rasping at the line through the hoops
with anger and catching my fingers on the rig hooks and one finger is
dripping with blood. right listen up i say. cmere. i go to the side with
the railings and glimpse a wee bit again at the boys. i cannot believe
it. one of them is hugging his pal from behind round the shoulders. they
are just boys in tracksuits that will usually try to act hard. right
this is how you do it i tell her. reel arm back and hold the line out
with your other hand like this then you cast it out and let go of the
line at the same time then when it hits the water you flip the reel arm
back down and start to bring the line in quick with the handle. then you
do it again. that is all you do i say and she is looking at the reel and
licking her lips bewildered and i say now away and take that rod over
there and away you go and she does it and i turn round and fish. i cast
long further than i can see and do not let it sink much and reel it in
quick and as quickly i feel the twang. first cast. you feel it. at the
hooks then through the line then through the rod then through you then
into the earth maybe and in australia there is some poor cunt sitting
having his breakfast and feels it and chokes on his coco pops but he is
not hurt it is not serious. it is heavy and my arm hurts and i begin to
feel the loss the ebbing away that you can feel and i shout to the sea
to her kid i am on one and now i am lost. she is silent and i look round
and she is silent and facing the sea and bent back like and old pro with
the rod bent double. she looks around and sees me and starts to scream.
what do i do what do i do it hurts my arm hurts and i shout across i
cannot help you kid i am on it too and we are both lost and we are both
laughing. keep going kid. again she screams and i look back and she is
about bent back double and they are out and flopping wet on the cobbles.
three of the bastards and big. herrings. fat and big and full of eggs. i
cannot help you i shout i am onto one. there is a screwdriver in the bag
hit them hard between the eyes with the blunt end. and mine are out two.
and i make to her to help but i laugh nearly hysterical. she is down on
her knees and grimacing like a malevolent vincent price. bang bang bang.
take that you bastards and i am laughing. keep going kid keep going. she
watches me kill mine. she hears the cold crisp crack of the skull and i
hear it too. we leave them attached to the rod and the cobbles wet on
the floor and still. she is striding about manic with her arms down like
arrows. her wig is squint and she pulls it off and throws it to the
ground and her arms are up. she screams above to the dark.
arrrrrrrrrrrgh. and she runs to me and we hug and we are laughing. it is
dark. the wind is blowing us over. it is raining heavy. we jump up and
down hugging and i shout hubba hubba hubba and she shouts the same and
we hug and jump up and down. i let her go and she runs into the distance
with arms raised screaming. we are lost. i dont know if i am there. this
is what i think. it is completely dark. we are half a mile out to sea.
it is blowing a gale and raining though the wind. we could be killed. we
could be dead. and we do not care. 15 big fish we caught that night from
as many casts. the gale intensified and the rain and we cared not and
fished in the black dark. her first time. we cast and ducked behind a
concrete wall against the wind while the equipment still flew through
the air and emerged only to haul the animals up the side of the pier.
the boys left before us screaming happy arm in arm. three big clear
sided buckets of fish. go up there he said its full of fish up there.
herring and mackerel. arm in arm with his pal. it happened without
thinking. i only remember it now. it was later that night i had the
dream. i stood above the bank where the road is now. where the christmas
lights steam in the grey sweat of heavy traffic. where the hoteliers
stand back at their doors with their arms folded worrying. that is where
i stood. but it was day and it was all gone. everything was gone. except
roker pier. it was early evening maybe and hot. the sun was lowering in
an ecstatic sky of whites and pinks reflected from a high depth of
broken cloud giving the water a blackness. but it was good. the sea
lapped clean. it was good. the sands rose clean. grading with green as
they should and behind me woodland. it was good but it was it was.
simple. it was simple. the two of them passed me close by. i could not
be there. they were indigenous people a man and a woman. white but sun
skinned and handsome and erect with good long hair his tied back and
dressed in good animal fur smocks. they carried nothing barefoot. they
walked the bank without effort but he feigned to trip and i watched him
as he fell through the sand lazily eyeing his partner now and then above
to join him as he whirled fastly down. they fell together at the bottom
laughing and she pulled his collar down and kissed his chest. he kissed
her eye but he whispered something in her ear. and they continued on to
the pier. at the pier they broke. she stopped and he did not and as he
walked her head went down then around lazily and i heard her sing a
sweet song that quenched me like a drink. singing to him. teasing.
nearly laughing. bobby shaftos gone to sea silver buckles at his knee.
he looked back at her and smiled. she sang in the good sweet accent of
the north east. i did not watch him. i watched her. she was beautiful.
she stood lazily her shoulders falling and rising like a new growth
branch in the wind. her hair the trunks deep crackit bark. only when it
bit did she waken. as he pulled the great fish from the sea with the
blood dripping from his line cut hand. then she stopped and her arms
went to her side and she walked to him past the dying fish to where he
sat his legs dangling sometimes near the water. show me it. he showed
her it and from beneath her smock she took a fabric and bandaged it up
and her head went to his shoulder. i felt guilt and my eyes moved from
them to the side of me where i saw something shine below me where i
stood. i bent and picked it from the sods what was it. it shone silver
in parts but in others was filthy and corroded. spitting on it i rubbed
and emerging was the the head of the queen of england elizabeth II 2019.
i woke from that dream rising bolt upright. yes i know. waking bolt
upright from a dream. a cliche. good only as a cue to switch that shit
film off and go to bed. and with my forward motion swung out to sit on
the side of the bed. coming round i felt like i was falling but in my
mind falling my mood and when i did i could see all the cold electronic
light on me and amy too from the councils street lights and i leaned
over and pulled the blind down to cover her and me too. tears came to my
eyes and i had to work to keep the sounds back to keep amy asleep. but i
did not want the sounds either. what is happening to me. i am falling to
pieces. all i do is sleep and dream. sleep and dream. by day and by
night. i am falling apart. its my mam all again but i am still young. it
is worse. i am worse. i am crazier. who knows what will happen. i am
crying now. in me but there are not even tears. no sound and no tears.
dry grief. it is the middle of the night. all the elation of earlier has
gone. i get up and take my gown and cross the corridor to the stairs. i
want to go in to look at the kids. the wee one sleeps on the top and the
dodie comes from his mouth and you rub his cheek and he gets the dodie
back with his hand and away he goes again. sometimes i will do this. but
their cousin is in there with them tonight so i leave it. i wonder what
time it is but know i will know soon enough. you hear the sickly sha sha
sha of the car tyres on the main road in this house. they start about
3am and intensify until peak commute. sometimes i lie in the dark
listening to them with a growing dread of the coming day. i go down the
stairs in the dark and into the kitchen like i know what i want but when
i get there i just kind of stand uneasy maybe moving a bit this way and
that to start something but i dont know what i want. at the back door i
slip my boots on my bare feet and go out back. it is hot sickly hot.
sometimes i remember in the country you would get the odd night like
this at the height of summer but now you get them all the the time. i
think of the global warming and all the species declining and the growth
of the cities and i have to fight it back. i hate the fucking city. the
fucking urban environment. i used to fight it back but now i do not
care. i fucking hate it. hate the lot of it. the trees cut down coz they
dont grow straight. the indifference. suv aspiration. fancy house
aspiration. the constant sha sha sha of the cars. the 24 hr fluorescent
lighting. fuck the lot of it. i wish i had never left. avlith. scotland.
the countryside. back then i would spend whole days in nature just
looking at it smelling it touching it with my hands. one time when i was
wee i came across two men with long hooked sticks poaching salmon as
they swam up the wee kisser dam. they looked at me at first but i just
sat down and watched them and they did not give a fuck. they knew i was
just interested. that was how i lived back then but look at me now. a
chronically depressed urban dweller. fenced in by the neighbours because
i wont cut my hedges down to the bone 3 times a year. i was an architect
but not now. a good job you know. i was good at art but technically
minded too so i went into that. i was good at it too. all the green
houses the houses with plants growing out of them and with lots of glass
and well insulated and all that that was me when i was starting out. it
was me that came up with all that and popularised it. but its funny you
know. you would think that someone who is good at architecture would get
lots of architecture to do but thats not how it works. they send you
into management. move you up the hierarchy and expect you to start
telling other cunts what to do. but i just couldnt do it. telling people
my own age sometimes what they should be doing. feeding them the bull to
make them work harder. i just couldnt do it. i just couldnt order other
people about. its not in me. so one day i just snaps. in a staff
meeting. i tells the big boss to go fuck herself and if she ever speaks
to me like that again ill drop her where she sits and that was that. end
of the line. amy was ok about it too. even laughed a bit. but thats me
been out of work about a year now and amy doesnt earn much. i had to
speak to the bank the other week with the mortgage. i sort of feel
cheated. my da was just a farm worker and in the countryside that is
right at the bottom of the social ladder. and it was that time. the
early 80s when every rural cunt good at exams was expected to up sticks
and move to the city for a fancy job. so thats what i did. but i feel
cheated. i regret it. the life doesnt suit me and never has but its too
late now. its too late. i suppose we could move to the country but its
not easy. the money and amy and the kids. they like it well enough here
maybe they do. and the countryside is fucked anyway. last time i went
back the stream with the salmon was all brown and green and had soapy
stuff on top. it send me into a spin and i ended up arguing with my da.
well anyway that was me stood there in the back garden 0345200819 and i
had the unusual but maybe not too unusual idea to slip my boots off and
stand in the grass. and of course this is where the hollywood ending
kicks in. so long as you have the grass beneath your feet everything
will be ok. but it wasnt like that at all. i regretted standing in the
grass the minute i did it. it was clammy and wet and there was grit
beneath my toes and something didnt feel right and when i looked close
there was a fucking worm crawling inbetween my toes and i was nearly
sick. and right then i had one of those things where you hear yourself
in your head speaking to yourself. very clearly like i was just standing
right there talking to me. and i said no one should have to think about
how they live. no one. should. have to. think. about. how they live.