The Bad Book Affair

‘That yer miserable life is not as blinkin’ miserable as ye like to think, ye streak of misery. I tell ye what, as long as ye’re dodging the undertaker ye’re doing OK.’

‘Right. Sure.’

‘Good. Are ye ready?’

‘Do I look like I’m ready?’

‘Count them.’

‘All right. All right,’ said Israel, who had learnt from long experience that the only way to conclude an argument with Ted was to lose it.

Israel attempted to tot up his blessings in his mind, while Ted pulled on to the main coast road back into central Tumdrum.

‘So, how many d’ye get?’ said Ted.

‘Two,’ said Israel. He was alive, after all. And he wasn’t starving.

‘Two?’

‘Yes,’ said Israel.

‘That it?’ said Ted. ‘Two?’

‘Yes,’ said Israel. ‘Alas.’

‘Well, that’s better than one,’ said Ted, ‘isn’t it? Sure, some people have no hands.’

‘What?’ said Israel, watching the grim outer-lying estates flashing by.

‘No hands,’ repeated Ted, sticking his own arm out of the window as they approached the first of Tumdrum’s many mini-roundabouts. ‘Must get that indicator fixed.’

‘Some people have no hands?’ said Israel.

‘That’s right. I saw a programme on the television the other week, about a fella with no legs.’

‘No legs?’

‘Aye. Makes ye think, doesn’t it? Come back to me when you’re in that sort of a position and start complainin’ and I might start listening to ye.’

‘Right, OK. When I’ve lost my legs in some horrific—’

‘Or yer arms.’

‘Or my arms.’

‘Aye. Get back to me then with yer troubles.’

‘I will, Ted, most certainly get back to you when I have lost either my arms or my legs—’

‘Or both.’

‘Both.’

‘And ye might get some sympathy then. In the meantime,’ continued Ted, ‘turn the peat.’

‘What?’

‘It’s a saying.’

‘Right.’

‘And get a haircut and a shave as well while ye’re at it, that’ll cheer you up.’

‘I don’t need cheering up, Ted.’

‘You need a haircut and a shave, but.’

‘All right, thank you. Let’s drop this whole conversation now, can we?’

‘Well, I promised yer mother I’d look out for ye and I don’t intend lettin’ her down.’

‘I don’t need you keeping an eye on me, Ted, thank you.’

‘Well, believe me, it’s the last thing I want to do either, but I told your mother I would, and I will. She’s a good woman, yer mother.’

‘She doesn’t need to worry about me.’

‘Of course she needs to worry about ye,’ said Ted. ‘That’s what mothers are supposed to do.’

‘Right.’

‘You know what they say.’

‘No. What?’

‘You always meet your mother when you’re young.’

‘Right,’ said Israel. ‘Well, thank you, Martin Buber. Illuminating as ever.’

They were approaching the square, the downtown of Tumdrum.

‘Ye probably just need a new challenge,’ continued Ted.

‘Probably,’ agreed Israel.

‘A hobby,’ said Ted, ‘is what you need.’

‘A hobby?’