Dirt Road Page 10

  I hear you son.

  *

  Aunt Maureen said about poor people but that was them. They were the poor people. So why not a bus? They came on buses from the airport so why not now? People worried about things happening but things happened everywhere. So if ye were too scared to go out did ye stay in the house forever? Ye read about hermits from the olden days, usually for a religion and they were communicating with God. They lived on their own completely, away in the woods or in caves at the side of mountains; maybe rocky coasts. How did they eat? They didnt work and didnt go to shops. They didnt want to meet people. They lived off the land, they ate insects and plants. Maybe they caught a fish or killed a rabbit or a squirrel. Or a deer. But if ye dont have a gun how do ye kill a deer? Ye would have to jump on its back and strangle it. Unless ye trapped it, ye could lay traps. There was plenty deer back home. Early morning they come down to the loch for a drink, so ye would hunt them there, if ye were allowed, like Dad said, it was rich people owned them and rich people that shot them.

  Squirrels and rabbits.

  Fish!

  But if ye had no boat and nothing to catch them with? Ye used yer bare hands. Ye lay down with yer hands submerged and waited for a fish to swim over, then fast lifted it up.

  America was fine except the sea, he missed the sea. Back home ye could always get out and get away, away from everything.

  It didnt matter where ye were if ye were stuck in the house, and the garden was the house. For Dad it was Heaven: sitting in the patio reading a book. Not for Murdo. What did ye do in America? I read a book. Tomorrow was Wednesday. From last Friday six whole days. Nearly a week.

  In the distance the sound of wood being sawn, just the ordinary sound of the saw: brooop brip, brooop brip. It was right for the setting if ye were outside; thinking of settlers cutting down trees to build log cabins.

  Murdo was out the garden when Uncle John came home from work. He worked on maintenance and part of that was being ready for emergency call-outs. It was a boost to his wages and he had been doing it for a long while. The big news was for this Saturday coming then the weekend after next.

  Saturday was what they called “The Gathering”. Although it had a church connection it was good fun according to Uncle John, keeping alive the history and culture of the Celts. Stalls and raffles, home baking and prizes and competitions; all different stuff and finishing with a dance in the evening. Some old Scottish guy had left instructions and a sum of money so it would happen year in year out. There was a wee chance Uncle John might cancel if a work emergency arose, but if nothing happened by Friday night they would be off Saturday morning. If something happened while they were away they would text him.

  The really big news was the weekend after that: they were giving Uncle John the Friday off and guaranteed no call-outs Saturday and Sunday. This meant he was free Thursday night through Sunday evening, so they could plan something good. They were speaking about it at the table. Murdo just listened. There wasnt anything to say. It led into the usual conversation about relations. Uncle John was talking about his sister’s husband again – Dad’s father – blaming him for not emigrating when Dad was a boy. If Dad disagreed, he didnt say anything. Murdo was ten when the old guy died, his grandpa. He sang comic songs and folk songs. Murdo had a memory of him, like not so much funny as cheery, but in a kind of angry way. That was the memory: he was an angry old guy.

  Uncle John carried on talking but stopped when Aunt Maureen arrived. He kept his lips closed tightly and drew his fingers across, zipping up his mouth.

  Well I hope so, she said, meals are for eating.

  Uncle John made the gesture of unzipping his mouth then repositioned the food on his plate. Potatoes to the right and meat to the left. How else ye supposed to do it? he said, and winked at Dad and Murdo who were already eating.

  Aunt Maureen sat for a while without touching hers. She did the same last night. Murdo wondered if she was saying a Grace to herself. Maybe she just needed a break after cooking. She had her own style of eating too like she didnt want to open her mouth too wide. She used a knife only when she had to. She cut up her meat into small pieces then laid down the knife and ate with the fork, and after most every mouthful she wiped her mouth with a napkin.

  Towards the end of the meal Uncle John looked out a bottle of wine and displayed the label to Dad. Local produce, he said and offered Murdo a small glassful.

  It’s too strong, said Aunt Maureen.

  Och no it’s not.

  You tell me huh! You see that Tom? He calls it local like Alabama well it aint Alabama. That is a wine from my own home state. That is a Kentucky wine.

  Uncle John smiled. Sure it is mother but you wouldnay call it strong. Down the wine country they’d laugh ye out of town.

  Oh they would huh? You telling me?

  I’m talking about strong drink.

  You think I dont know about strong drink? My Lord.

  Uncle John smiled. What d’you say Tommy? A wee one for Murdo?

  Eh… Dad frowned a moment.

  I dont really want one, said Murdo.

  Ye sure son? One means nothing.

  If it means nothing why take it? asked Aunt Maureen.

  Because it’s tasty.

  Oh it’s tasty alright.

  How do you know?

  I know.

  Uncle John gestured with his wine glass. Now this lady here; you know she has never tasted one drop of the cratur in all of her born days? What do ye make of that? And her father, if ye knew her father…!

  He was no drinker.

  Not at all. I’m not saying he was.

  Sure he liked a beer, well so what? a beer huh, what’s a beer?

  Nobody’s saying nothing about that. I was only going to say about old Poppo.

  Oh now my granddaddy huh? You got something to say there?

  Nothing bad.

  Yeah you got that right mister. You dont know one single thing bad about him. Not about him you dont.

  Nothing bad at all. Just fun. Uncle John chuckled. Old Poppo distilled the stuff.

  Aunt Maureen glared at him. You cant keep your mouth closed.

  That tradition is in your blood my lady is all I am saying.

  Aint in my blood! She clasped her hands together on the table and glared at him again.

  Uncle John sipped at his wine. Her granddaddy was called Poppo. A real mountain man. Coonskin cap and all that.

  Oh now be quiet.

  Him and her father took me hunting one time.

  More than once, said Aunt Maureen.

  More than once mother sure, I’m talking this one time the old man shot the bird! You know what I’m talking about. How old was he?

  He was seventy-three. Aunt Maureen laughed and smothered it quickly.

  Yeah, said Uncle John. We were going through the land up from some marshes, nearby this little pond.

  The bird pond.

  The bird pond yeah, that’s what they called it.

  That’s its name, said Aunt Maureen.

  Yeah, and a great pond too, something different about it; all weeds and rushes, frogs jumping; all of that, the dogs were with us.

  You have two mister, huh?

  Two beauties, yeah. See now they were looking to scare the birds out the weeds and the undergrowth so they would rise up and we could shoot them. Well not me so much. I didnay have a gun.

  You couldnt shoot huh?

  Not then I couldnt.

  You learned mister.

  I did, yeah. So we were walking, just watching the dogs, they’re gone about a hundred yards on, two hundred, and away separate from each other Murdo, that’s how they did it, the dogs trained into it.

  Aunt Maureen nodded.

  They scared out the birds. Just them being there. I dont know quite what it was, but then one rose up from the marshes.

  Aunt Maureen sighed, shaking her head. She smiled at Murdo then looked back to Uncle John, rubbing at her mouth.

  Round the side of th
e pond near to where we were, he said. Not over our heads but not too far away in distance this bird rose up, a good-eating bird, just rose up into the sky and old Poppo just whohh turning and raising the rifle, aimed a moment: boom! I thought he had missed. Ye’ve missed I says. He didnay say anything. Ye’ve missed I says. No now son I aint missed he says I aint missed.

  Aunt Maureen laughed, smothered it again and blinked, then laughed again.

  Uncle John was shaking his head. I aint missed he says.

  Aunt Maureen had a napkin wiping her eyes. Uncle John was laughing just as much. Dad too was laughing. Murdo too, seeing it in his mind’s eye, Uncle John just young, and there was the bird and the old guy with the gun. In the middle of laughing Aunt Maureen managed to speak. Oh the poor thing, she said, the poor thing.

  The story hadnt ended. Uncle John waved to quieten everybody down. Aunt Maureen pointed at his meal plate: Finish your food mister. You drink that wine and you forget to eat.

  Okay. He smiled, took a sip of wine, calmed enough to carry on: I thought he had missed. I did. I thought he had missed.

  You thought that huh? Aunt Maureen winked at Murdo and Dad.

  The bird was just up there and Poppo had his shotgun down now back in his arms – you know how they hold it – just standing looking up.

  What was my father doing? asked Aunt Maureen.

  Oh your father, he was the same, just looking up. But he was smiling, he was smiling. Oh yeah and he told me to wait; wait he says, just wait now John you see up there, you just keep looking.

  Aunt Maureen nodded; her eyes closed a moment and she had her head lowered. Uncle John touched her on the wrist, and said to Dad: Me and him got on Tommy; he was a good guy.

  Dad nodded.

  Uncle John smiled. And old Poppo there, the bird with its wings flapping. No son he says I aint missed. The bird with its wings; flap flap, flap; flap flap, flap, till then it stopped, it stopped flapping.

  Poor thing, said Aunt Maureen. What about the dogs mister?

  Oh man the dogs, yeah, they were waiting too, running in wee circles, not taking their eyes off it. It was up high too. How high would it have been? forty feet? Sixty feet! I dont know, it was high. I’m telling you that bird; that bird gave its last flap and dropped like a stone. No son I aint missed it.

  My Lord…

  The dogs raced each other to get it.

  Did they? said Aunt Maureen.

  I think so. What a shot but! And ye know something else? they didnay think it anything special.

  No sir.

  I came home wanting to talk about it and people just looked. Her mother and people, they just looked.

  Aunt Maureen grinned. They made fun of you huh?

  They laughed at me!

  Sure they laughed at you, can you blame them? I cant.

  All the time we were there, the first time your aunt here took me home, all they did was play tricks on me. Naw but it’s true, yer bloody sisters!

  Hey! Hey now!

  Yeah well they did!

  Aunt Maureen peered at him. Yeah well you always always got to talk. What’s your name huh? what’s your name is it Scotch oh Scotch oh my oh my my…! Aunt Maureen frowned to Dad. He went round every one of them, where we lived, all our neighbours; every one, what’s your name now is it Mac, is it Scotch is it Irish.

  They thought I was bloody IRS!

  Dad laughed.

  Hey now I was young, young and proud. You would be exactly the same standing there far from home. A wee Scottish boy, that’s all I was; what did I know!

  Aunt Maureen made a face at him, and drawled out: Glaaaassgoww, I’m from Glaaassgow. Oh yeah we got family there says Becky, in west Kentucky we got family!

  Uncle John grinned, but didnt speak. Aunt Maureen hardly had touched her food while he was speaking. She studied her plate now; moments later she got up from her chair, lifted the plate and left the room. It left a silence. Uncle John watched the door for a while. He said to Murdo. She’s talking about her sister Becky.

  Murdo glanced at Dad.

  Uncle John added, She’s dead now.

  Oh God, said Murdo.

  It’s a couple of years ago.

  Murdo shook his head.

  Good people? said Dad.

  They took me in and gied me a life Tommy, know what I mean, what did I know, a wee boy from Glasgow. Uncle John swallowed a mouthful of wine. He said to Murdo: How’s the basement son?

  Good.

  Aye, she said ye’d like it down there. Uncle John smiled. So did the boys! One time me and yer Aunt Maureen were gone overnight they threw a party. First half hour thirty kids arrived. Fun and games eh! Other kids came and they didnt let them in. They had a pitched battle. We came home and what do you think? a window broke, two chairs smashed to pieces; broke tumblers, broke plates, broke damn everything! Uncle John turned to Dad. So what did I do? I turned the whole goddam space into a storeroom. No more party time.

  Well fair enough, said Dad.

  Yeah fair enough, that kind of behaviour; they were too big for it. Hurting their mother. They did hurt her. We trusted them and they let us down. You put the trust in kids they got to earn it, and go on earning it. That’s growing up.

  Uncle John sighed. Your cousin Calum’s out in Silicon Valley Murdo, that’s three thousand miles away.

  Whoh!

  People forget that. Ye cannay just get up and go.

  Not like the old days.

  Not the old days either son, that’s here to Scotland. That’s wagon trains, crossing the Sierra mountains in the middle of a bloody snow storm. Uncle John stopped. Aunt Maureen had reappeared with a pot of tea on a tray, milk and sugar. She set it down on the table. When she was seated she said to Uncle John, You talking about something?

  I was just saying about California, that time we visited. We drove the length of that coast; Seattle down through Santa Cruz; central California. That’s a beautiful coast too, ye might no think it but it is.

  You talking about the boys?

  Not really no.

  Aunt Maureen sighed. Feuding runs in families.

  I know, said Dad.

  Uncle John winked at Murdo. Me and the boys had a bit of a fall-out… Uncle John swallowed the last of his wine and glanced at his wristwatch: What d’ye say Tommy? Still fancy a beer?

  Eh…

  Aunt Maureen peered at Uncle John. You fit for driving?

  Uncle John smiled.

  *

  It was relaxing after they had gone. Murdo helped with the clearing up then sat in the lounge watching television. Aunt Maureen came in for some of it but mostly she stayed around the hallway, doing cleaning and tidying for the people coming tomorrow evening. Then she came into the lounge with the vacuum cleaner. She gave him a big smile then battered on with it. He could have done it for her but she didnt want him to, like as if he didnt know how to do it properly! Who did she think did it when Mum was ill? Murdo did all the house chores; all the tidying, everything. Even the garden. Dad was like Uncle John with traveling; seven in the morning till seven in the evening.

  Murdo left her to it. Downstairs he switched on the music and looked out a couple of the books he had found. He went back upstairs to see if he could borrow a bedside lamp. Aunt Maureen got one for him. It made all the difference. He positioned it close to the electrical point where he had the hi-fi. Now he could turn off the main light, get onto the mattress and just read and play the music. In between the sheets was even better; as good as back home. Not any better but just equal to it. Although the books were better. Back home he hardly had any apart from children’s ones from years ago. If he wasnay playing music he did most stuff online. Not games so much, not nowadays. He used to but then stopped, like he just lost interest and kind of gave up. It was boring. People went on and on about games, then ye checked them out they were just like hopeless, going over and over the same routines till yer head was buzzing with it. Some folk needed music. Murdo was one of them. Music keeps ye sane. People
said that and it was true. More true was it kept ye safe. But he needed to play. Listening was good but wasnt enough. Even proper listening.

  Murdo did “proper listening”. That was what he called it. He listened and took stuff in. Only if things are on yer mind. Even ye concentrate hard, they creep in, and where does it take ye? Wherever, just anywhere. Listening to music takes ye places, and ye go these places, letting in the music, how the music comes in on ye, washing over, ye think of tides, like a slow tide, an evening tide.

  *

  Then he was needing to be someplace else, he really really had to be and it was so so urgent, just so urgent, traveling on from there wherever he was going but to this place, where it was, and black people, and brown people too, wee people and skinny people, just people everywhere. Cowboy hats and funny-looking jackets; flip flops and big boots. Skinny girls with bare legs and blotchy skin with purple patches, the muscles in their legs hard-looking. Ye walked in the bus station and there they were; maybe they were ordinary, maybe they werent, the ones looking, who are you looking at; short skirts riding high up too so if they came up further, further and further. Maybe they were prostitutes. Ye saw guys staring and the lassies didnt care or else stared back, short short skirts and legs stretching. They were just there and if guys looked at them they didnt bother. Maybe they did. How they dressed: sexy and tough. Ye tried not to look. Cops were there. Dad too, although maybe he wasnt and it was just him himself and slow along the corridor, who are you looking at staring at me? That was them, sexy, but they would just say whatever, Murdo, seeing the lassies, and that one seeing him, just how she shifted, how she stood, shifting, seeing him, short short skirt and him just looking to see, seeing her: and her looking at him like that, who are you looking at, and her legs just like short short skirt just beautiful, stretching up, her thighs there and just like raising her skirt was she raising her skirt? maybe she was, seeing if he was there if he was looking, if he was seeing; he was, her pants tugging down, and even if she wasnt wearing any, she wasnt wearing any, maybe she wasnt; and he was looking and seeing and she knew he was, he was there and she saw him, it was him she was looking at, and he was just like – because with her short skirt riding higher, that was her too just seeing him, looking at him and just seeing him, and still doing it, she was still doing it and it was him, she was looking at him.