Free If it is your life by James Kelman Page B

surprise she should refer to alcohol in that manner, asthough I were an habitual drinker. I was never one. I knew habitual drinkers and knew their habits; enough to know about myself. We see ourselves in others and I did not see myself when I looked at them. Maybe she mixed me up with someone else, one of her other menfriends.
    ‘Menfriends’ was the word, they certainly werent boyfriends. Jennifer had men. So many I confused identities. Like she had confused me. It beat everything. Finally I knew where I came on the scale of things. So then she talked to me like she now was doing, as though I was a brother-confessor or some damn asexual jackass.
    She spoke about them to me. She actually did that. I let her do it. I even expected it. I knew why she saw me and here it was again afuckinggain, seeing this married guy who lived apart from his wife and family. This is who she was seeing. God almighty. But it sounded complicated. She denied it was complicated. She attempted an explanation of why it was not complicated, why it was so uncomplicated, all of its uncomplicatedness. She was telling me! Why are you telling me, I said, I dont want to know, I’m not a brother-confessor for God sake a what-do-you-call-it, an objective bystander, some kind of monk.
    Ssh. You are talking too loud.
    I shook my head.
    You always talk too loud. You do. I wish you would be less … If you would speak more quietly. You are too loud. Honestly Mike, you are. Really. I wish you would be more calm.
    I looked at her.
    Can you be? Please.
    Okay, I said, but no wonder, hearing about your life, when you start telling me stuff it is so damn complicated it drives one absolutely bloody bananas. It is a complete hotchpotch.
    If you dont speak more quietly I am leaving.
    What?
    Honestly now dont do it Mike, people can hear.
    She was looking across to the bar. But the people there waited to be served. They were not eavesdropping. Only interested in their own order, what they were getting to drink and if somebody was going to be served before them, if they came first into the bar and someone coming behind them was served first before them. That could happen in this bar with mister seventeen bellies, it drove you insane. The bartenders here were not the worst but occasionally they ignored individuals out of spite. Nothing more nothing less. If you were the ignored individual it was tough luck. Except if you were new to the culture and neglected to tip. Oh my God what a criminal way to behave, the asshole dont tip. So people do not serve them! That was the mentality in this bar. I could get nauseated by the place. Why did I continue coming? There are perennial questions; that was one.
    Some of the faces were familiar. I noticed them nod to the Duponzers and one of them even gave me a wave. He was in here most days of the week. An unhappily married guy. One time we spoke together and all he did was gossip and bitch, that was all he did. Peoplesquabbled. Over the pettiest of matters. If too many strangers were present they pretended things were friendly but they were not. As soon as a stranger became a regular he got drawn in too. Not just hes, they were shes. This was a bar where women could drink alone.
    It was all meaningless crap. I hated it. Even when Jennifer and I were together. We treated it as a joke. Mr and Mrs Duponzer. One of those old European names now Anglicized. It sounded French and looked Dutch, maybe Belgian. I once asked them in a fit of boredom. They did not know. Mr Duponzer did not care. He only laughed. His wife did the talking. She thought it was an English name but maybe not, what did it matter.
    People here didnt care about such stuff. If there were positive aspects to this bar then that was one. Issues around race and ethnicity were irrelevant. Generational gaps were different. I was one of the youngest regulars and was patronized accordingly. Which was interesting in reference to Jennifer. This married guy she was seeing, he was still