The Meaning of Filth
by John Mulligan
Ah know whit yer thinkin! D'yae think ah don't know whit yer thinkin? Dae ah look that fucken daft or somethin? Eh? Is that whit yae think? Jist because ah don't look like you, or dress like you, yae think ah'm daft? Jist because ah haftae work fur a livin! Ah don't wash mah claes or wash mah hair every day like a' yous wankers, cause ah've nae fucken time! Ah'm up here oan this ladder every fucken day-a mah life washin windaes, washin ither people's windaes so a can feed masel an mah wumin, an a' yous cunts doon there think ah'm a filthy fucker, don't yae? Yous a' look up here an a' yous think aboot is filth; ah can see it in yer pigsqintin eyes. Yous a' look up here at me oan ma ladder eekin oot a livin fur me an Maggie, an yous a'say tae yerself in yer posh fucken accents, "Oh, my goodness gracious, look at that filthy bastard up there!" Well, ah know mair aboot filth than anybody else oan this fucken planet! Yae want tae know aboot filth? Well ah'll tell yae a' aboot filth. Ah've studied filth ah'll have yae know. Ah'll tell yae so much aboot filth yous'll a' wish yae were fucken deid!
Waita minit! Ah'm comin doon aff this ladder an ah'm gonnae tell yae a' aboot the meanin-a filth! Stoap! Waita minit. That's right, stoap right there. Gather roon, an nae fucken grumblin oot yae. That's right, gather roon an open up yer poxy fucken ears.
Filth is upon yae!
Filth wis upon me tae in mah furst remembrance as a wee wean lyin in mah cot in oor filthy hoos in Glesca. A couldnae huv been mair than six months auld an there ah wus lyin in mah cot, covered fae heid tae toe in green stinkin shite, an mah da leanin ower me cooin like an auld biddy, sayin things like, "Och mah wee boy, mah filthy wee boy, yae've goat shite a' ower yae." As if ah didnae fucken know! Ah didnae unerstan whit the hell he was talkin aboot, but ah could tell by the tone-a his voice he wis bein nice. "Mah filthy wee boy," he kept sayin in a wet, sacharine tone, so ah knew fur sure that filthy wus a terma endearment. Aye, an it felt good tae hear the auld yin talkin like that, but ah wis jist thinkin tae masel, wid yae no' hurry up an wash a' this green shite affa mae; it's fucken boggin! Then ah happened tae look doon between mah legs an noticed that mah wee wean prick wis staunin up like a flagpole a' by itsel, mah furst hardon, then a' by itsel it let oot a fiercely powerful streama pish an coat mah da right oan the face.
He chinged his tune then ah'll tell yae. He went right aff his fucken napper at hauf three in the moarnin. "Ya filthy fucker," he screamed as he danced roon mah cot wipin the pish oota his eyes. "Ya filthy wee fucker ," he kept screamin, an a' ah could think aboot wis gettin this green shite affa me cause it wis makin me sick tae mah stomach.
Mah maw finally had tae come in an save the day. She wis pishin hersel laughin, but that jist made mah da worse. "He's a filthy wee fucker," he kept sayin, an mah maw kept lookin doon at mah innocent and angelic wee face an sayin things like, "Och mah filthy wee boy," in a way that made me feel as if ah wis loved. But ah think that wis the beginin-a a' mah troubles in life cause ah wis awfy confused by then. He's screamin filthy at me an she's cooin filthy at me. Ah didnae know whit tae think. Nae wunner ah'm a' mixed up these days. A right tuga war it wis between the ma an the da. A terrible place tae put a wee wean!
Efter ah wis big enough an walkin, mah maw wid always call me "a filthy wee boy" if ah wet the bed or pissed a' ower the bathroom flair. But that wis filthy in the hoose. It wis only efter ah went tae school that ah furst experienced filthy oot the hoose.
Hur name wis Maggie Murphy.
Maggie Murphy wis ugly! Pityfully, horribly, pot fucken ugly!
But Maggie had tits when she wis eight, an ah wanted tae get mah hawns oan them, jist tear aff her blouse an grab them wi mah durty filthy paws. An ah goat mah chance wan day efter school, cause we baith lived oan the same street an walked hame the same way every day. Ah saw hur up ahead-a mae...an naibdy aboot. Naibody!
"Maggie "ah shouted, "Can ah cairie yer schoolbag fur yae?"
"Fuck aff, ya filthy bugger," she shouted back at me, an gave me the fingers.
Ah couldnae believe mah ears. How the fuck did she know ah wis a filthy bugger? Mah maw wis the only wan in the world that called me a filthy bugger. How wid Maggie Hughes know that, ah wondered. Ah'm gonnae find oot, ah said tae masel, an ran like the clappers efter hur. When a coat up wi hur a stood in fronta hur wi mah erms foltit acroas mah chist an mah legs spread wide like ah wis some kinda tough cunt security guard, or wannae the polis. But Maggie wis nae slouch. She liftit hur right leg, swung it back aboot two feet, then broat it forward like a fucken piston an kicked me right, square in the ba's. Ah drapped like an anvil fa'in oot the distant an delicate grey sky, tears streamin doon mah face. Ah looked up a few minutes later an noo it wis Maggie that wis staunin there wi hur legs spread and hur erms foltit acroas hur chist like some kinda tough cunt security guard, or wannae the polis.
But then the miracle happened.
It wis powerful!
The feelin wis energizin: a blindin flasha pure and bountious knowledge, as if the Dali fucken Lama had jist put his hauns oan mah foreheid an blessed me. The feelin wis so overwhelmin ah coudnae control masel. Mah whole fuckin life seemed tae chinge in jist that wan wee minit. Ah didnae want tae feel Maggie's tits any mair. Insteed, mah eyes twistit evily, an fixed themseles oan hur legs. Noo, ah wantit tae see whit Maggie looked like doon thair between hur lovely wind-chaffed legs.
Ah reached ower, liftit up her wee school skirt, grabbed her knickers an pult them doon aroon her ankles.
It was then that ah saw heaven fur the furst time.
There wis nae hair oan it, but it wis a lovely wee poutin thing nevertheless. Then the stink hit me like a crowbar acroas the fucken foreheid! Ah reeled back, knowin ah wis gonnae asphyxiate fae the maist fearful smell ah had ever smelt in a' mah born days. It occured tae me then that ah'd seen heaven...an smelt hell! "Ya filthy fucken bitch," ah screamed, before Maggie swung her schoolbag an walloped me right up the side-a ma heid. Haudin oantae mah heid, cause it felt like it wis fa'in aff, ah watched Maggie make a beeline fur hame a' the while tryin tae pull her knickers back up as she ran.
Ah became philosophical that day, an as ah wandered back hame ah wis thinkin aboot a' the big, grand questions like the difference between heaven an hell--in effect, the difference between the looka Maggie's wee poutin thing and the smella Maggie's wee poutin thing. The universal fucken dualities ah suppose.
But even efter thinkin such high and noble thoughts, ah wis in fur a nasty surprize.
Ah walked intae mah street wi' mah heid doon, like ah said, waxin philosophical, when right oota the blue ah heard this awful, nerve-jarrin, needlelike sound piercin the air wi' a screach that widda turned yer hair blue, let alone make it staun oan end.
It wis Maggie's maw, an she wis lookin fur blood--mah fucken blood!
Before ah could get aff mah mark, she gave me such a boot up the hole ah musta rose three feet aff the grun, like christ in his most profound assenshun. The perfect kick it wis. The cunt shouda been a goalkeeper. Furst it wis a boot in the ba's affa Maggie, then it wis a boot right up the Kyber Pass aff her maw. Mah thurd eye wis a' puckered up, achin like fuck, but ah had tae start runnin like the clappers: Maggie's maw wantit a lot maira me than ah wis willin tae gie hur. She ran like fuck up an doon, up an doon, up an doon the street efter me until we passed mah hoose fur the thurd time, an it wis jist then that mah maw happened tae look oot the windae an saw whit wis happenin. She came runnin oot the hoose, screamin like the Banshee, an latched oantae Maggie's maw wi' a teethtight grip yae could only credit tae a pit bull, an startit punchin fuck oot the poor aul' cunt.
Meantime, ah slunk aff intae the hoose an tried tae hide, but it wis nae use. She found me in the coal bunker, cowerin in fear an trepidition, sweatin like fuck among the blackness-a the coal dust. She grabbed me by the hair an yanked me oota the bunker. Then she had a go at me, an then she loast her fit up mah hole as well. She slapped me a' ower the hoose fur hauf an oor, an a' this time she's ca'in me a' the durty, filthy fuckers-a the day.As mah maw wis punchin lumps oota me ah could see mah da's shooders shakin wi' mirth as he hid behind his newspaper. He wis styin oota this wan, the spineless bastart; he knew better. But he wis pishin hissel laughin nevertheless.
As ah slunk up tae mah bed, efter mah maw wis done wi' me, ah determined tae huv a gander at mah da's dictionary, the wan he kept beside a' the durty magazines he had wi' a' the filthy pictures in them. Ah wis determined to find oot mair aboot filth an why it wis that ah'd always been a filthy this, or a filthy that, ever since a wis a wee, helpless wean, lyin in mah cot, covered in green, stinkin shite. Ah mean, efter a', why me?
The definition ah found oan page four-ninety-four-a the dictionary, right efter the words "filter tip" really broke mah wee wean heart, ah mean, really:
FILTH:
"Foul matter; offensive or disgusting dirt or refuse."
An if yae didnae fancy that definition, they hud anither:
"Moral impurity, corruption or obscenity."
Mah poor heart sunk. Then ah looked at the word below filth:
FILTHY:
"Completely or disgustingly dirty."
An if yae didnae like that definition, they had anither:
"Contemptibly offensive. Vile or objectionable."
Ah didnae know whit tae think. The condemnation wis too great, an the knowledge-a who ah really wis chinged mah life forever, truly broke mah heart. Ah jist lay doon sadly oan mah wee wean bed an startit greetin these big tearsa regret an sorrow. Ah wis only eight fur chrissake! But ah musta gret a' night cause whan a woke up mah pilla wis soaked right through tae the mattress, right through a' that foam fucken rubber tae the mattress. It wis so wet ah thought ah had pished the bed. They definitions in the dictionary defined mah whole fucken life, an ah had tae accept mah lot in life, mah station in life: ah'm either a filthy this or a filthy that.
But...ah suppose ah'm lucky efter a', cause the wan good thing that came oota a' that, the upshotta the whole experience, wis that, no' only did it help me figure oot mah resolve an mah destiny, but mah resolve an mah destiny became secured, set in concrete fur the resta mah life. Noo ah knew who a wis, an whit mah station in life wid be! Ah wis foul matter; offensive or disgusting dirt or refuse, an ah wis contemptably offensive. In ither words, ah wis a filthy fucker, but, noo that a knew that, ah also knew whit mah life's work wid be: ah wid become involved wi' filth, an whit better way tae become involved wi' filth than tae be a windae washer, washin filth affa ither people's windaes a' day, every day--your windaes!
Aye, your windaes! An when ah get them a' nice an clean ah can see right intae yer lives. Yae think ah'm kiddin? Dae yae think a' ah dae up there is wash windaes? Yae must be aff yer fucken heids! Sure ah wash yer windaes, but ah'm also watchin yous like a hawk. Ah know whit yer up tae in yer wee Wall Street lives, grubbin fur money, an scramblin aboot tryin tae be better than everybody else. Yous are a' fucken pityful! At least ah know who ah am. Ah'm as happy as a pig in shite. Ah'm a filthy fucker, workin away at washin filth affa windaes a' day, an when ah get aff work every night, ah go hame tae filth, an mah filthy wumin, Maggie. Aye, a married Maggie. She's stull pot fucken ugly, an a' wrinkled tae boot, but a love hur, an ah think she loves me. She unnerstauns mah filth, an ah unnerstaun hur ugly. An she's good tae me. She's known me since ah wis a wee wean, fur chrissake. We're no a bad match, yae know, Maggie an me.
Ah boat hur a ladder fur Christmas last year, so she's washin windaes tae. So noo we're baith watchin yae. We watch yae every day, an when we get hame at night we tell each ither wee stories aboot a' yous filthy fuckers. Wan thing we've learned is that yer nae better than us, nae batter at a'. We know a' yer secrets, an if yae don't remember anythin else in yer pityful fucken lives, remember this wan thing: filth...is...upon yae!
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