(old) The Fat Bitch Said

I had a major row with Delia this afternoon. Today America has had its mid-term election, and Delia, like everyone I know, doesn't like President Bush. I don't hate her for it because Delia is basically kind. She's Karen's mum and she's house-bound, arthritic and refuses to get treatment.

I called in to her at about 1:15, as I was on a half day from work, and she was surprised to see me.

'Well look at you!' she said and smiled. 'And on a day of mourning too.'

She hobbled back to her favourite decrepit chair and fell into it with a wink. I must have scowled as I got the joke because she grinned apologetically and asked me if I would like a cup of tea.

'It's not over,' I said as I got up to make the tea, waving away her attempts to get up and do it herself. Delia has a small bedsit sort of arrangement in her room in the house that helps her get the essentials without too much motion. Karen lives in the next room. She, George and Henry lived here before their bust-up, but most of the house is now vacant. 'He's still the President.'

'It's high time that idiot got what he deserved though, Nathan,' she said. 'Justice must be served.'

I try to avoid bait. Various NHS counsellors, a clinical psychologist and my family say that I should learn not to get so worked up, so I use techniques like counting backward or breathing to stay steady. As I stood by Delia's kettle, I counted back to zero.

'It's not justice.' I said and calmly placed Delia's tea beside her, along with two sugar lumps. 'It's just revenge.'

'You're too young to understand dear,' she said.

''I'm twenty six years old,' I said. I remember all of the elections just fine. 'Don't you think that Gore would have done the same?'

'No dear. That Bin Laden is one thing, but torture camps?' she said. 'One of them said so only last week.'

'No.'

'He did, on the news,' she said, 'Cheney. Bold as brass, he was, saying it was fine to drown someone.'

She took a strong draught of her tea and ate a biscuit. I thought for a minute that she looked like a self-satisfied walrus, smacking its lips at the thought of some screed of a fish scuttling around the ice. I regret thinking that about Delia, but my temper is like that. I get mean.

'No he didn't,' I said, 'That was just like the Kerry joke about Iraq.'

Delia nodded. 'Well, Iraq, there's another example-'

'There's nothing wrong with Iraq,' I said flatly to cut her off. We've spoken about this a hundred times. 'This is what happens.'

'It doesn't just happen-'

'It bloody does!' I said and that's when I lost it, 'It's all over history, people die to make way for change.'

'Ah Nathan, that's just nonsense-'

'It is not,' I said, 'it's the by-product of ... of social and economic .... population. Anybody in power would have done exactly the same.'

She shook her head, 'Afghanistan is one thing, but Iraq is another. It's exactly the same as Germany and Poland. Exactly.'

'Oh for fuck's sake, it isn't,' I started.

She looked at me, silent. I'm not the type of person that uses foul language in public, especially not with older people. It's a reflection of a poor state of mind and an inability to think. I couldn't really think though. I realised at that point that I was standing, holding a teaspoon like a flick-knife. She smiled at me again, dismissively this time, telling me with a glance that I'd blinked first and lost the debate. This is why I don't visit Karen's mum very often.

'It isn't,' I said half-heartedly and sat down again.

'You can talk like a sailor with your friends in work or even in the hospital, but not in my house Nathan,' the fat bitch said. At least that's what I thought of her at that moment.

'It isn't the same as Poland at all,' I said, 'Germany was all about ideology. America is all about symbol.'

Nobody but me understands this. America is the source of poetry.

'I taught history for thirty-eight years,' she said, 'I lived in post-war Britain and through communism and all the rest of it and I can tell you that it is exactly the same, young man.'

'It's not.'

'It is.'

'It's not! The agencies are different now. The resource balance is different. People like you have to learn to look at the world in a new context because not every war is The War fought again and again.'

She seemed stumped.

'People like me?'

'Your generation, Delia,' I said. After a moment, I added 'I have to go.'

'Why is it,' she said, 'that a man as bright as you can only get a job in a supermarket at the age of twenty six?'

I snarled and grabbed my coat. Delia always brings out the assassin's knife. This is a fight that we've had before.

'Oh Nathan, I didn't mean it,' she started.

Yes she did. She knows full fucking well what's wrong with me.

'Oh Nathan,' she said but I was half way out the door.

'Bye Delia,' I said. 'I'll see you again in a few days.'

I left and slammed the door behind me.