Dirt Road Read online

  It was so peaceful! Then a sudden feeling that he liked it here. Nobody knew ye. They didnt know ye were alive. They hardly even saw ye. It was like a new life! He was on his own and going about. Whatever it was, whatever he did, it was him. That was the feeling. This was the outside world.

  Although in a weird way it wasnt. Because he was here. It was an outside world but he was in it. The inside world was in his head. Nobody went in there but him. Murdo grinned: a song in his head, a great one by Beau Jocque.

  Ah forty down, a forty down,

  a forty down down down down down

  dig it down

  It was true but Alabama and here he was. It was him and nobody else. Only Beau Jocque, and his brilliant band, swinging along.

  Murdo chuckled. So if he was here so was Sarah because it was her gave him the compilation.

  He just felt good. So good. Life was good. It was his life.

  The idea of that: whatever, just whatever! Where was the accordeon, he needed the accordeon!

  True but, ha ha. Back home he would have played! He needed to play, he was wanting to play, he was going to play, and with Queen Monzee-ay. And would tell Dad. He needed to tell him.

  He strode on now, power-walking round the block and there was Aunt Maureen’s house in whatever – half an hour?

  He walked along the driveway to enter the back door. Aunt Maureen had gone. For breakfast he lifted two bananas, poured a glass of milk, returned downstairs, opened the Road Atlas. Chattanooga wasnt far, if ye had to go through it by bus then it was a case of taking a right into the state of Georgia, over the mountains.

  He needed money. Not a lot. He didnt like asking Dad for anything, but that was that and he would have to.

  Two accordeons made it special. They got that deep-sounding full thing that can be the best. Ye clenched yer fist thinking about it, and ye could feel it in the big muscle at the top of yer arm. Ye got that tension, a quivering feel to it. Dreams are dreams but this could happen. It was up to Murdo. Queen Monzee-ay knew he could do it. Of course he could. Ye just did it. Ye went ahead and ye did it.

  Ye got the lead in and it was fine. By the weekend after next Murdo would have the set in his head. Then with the box. As soon as he got the box. He needed to get the fingers moving. Some proper playing. It would come. But the sooner he had a box the better. That pawnshop in Allentown. Maybe there was one in Chattanooga, or in Huntsville. Buying one out a pawnshop was okay. If it played it played. Ye tried it first. Ye would never buy one without playing it. Especially an accordeon, it would be bloody useless, like it had to be ready so if the reeds needed cleaning, there was no time for anything. A special glue, beeswax. The wax of a bee.

  That was life. Everything for something.

  There was nothing to worry about. Queen Monzee-ay knew. As soon as she heard him play. Even before! She said she knew when she saw him standing beside the tree! That is the truth! She said that. Just the way he was watching. But that was true. Watching means taking it all in. Ye see the person and then ye watch him. Oh there he is! Ye see the whole person. So watching means seeing all the bits and pieces; how he stands, how he moves, how he listens, how he looks. Queen Monzee-ay saw all that.

  She was lead so he was playing to her. Relax, settle down. Then if she asked him for one. Probably she would. In Allentown for the first time he played “Blue Skirt Waltz”. How come? Just because turquoise, that was the accordeon. Then for a girl, a blue skirt dancing. Put on yer blue skirt and dance. Girls dance in that certain way. When ye see a girl’s legs, a girl is dancing and there are her legs. Murdo liked to see them. That is that, just the legs dancing, there is the girl, her legs, look! Jees! Beautiful legs didnt go on and on until one peak, if they were beautiful then that was the peak, that was like music where one thing was this and another thing was that but how could a polka be better than a waltz! it was just the most idiotic thing could be said. A girl’s legs were beautiful but hers were more and hers over there were more and more; that was like beautiful legs + 1, beautiful legs + 2; just stupid nonsense, so three legs were better than two. Daft stuff.

  *

  Aunt Maureen had come from the house carrying a tray and called to Murdo who was sunbathing at the rear of the garden, lying on his front on the beach towel and reading the Road Atlas book. He had left the hi-fi in the room. There was a cable and lead that would have stretched back into the house, although Dad was there. Anyway, the book, it was just amazing like how ye could trace all where the roads went and the land between and even the distances, it told ye some and ye could work out others, and follow roads all the way up or else across. If ye stayed on the Interstate 75 ye landed way up in Detroit or else the other way it was down the very southernmost tip of America in a place called Mangrove Swamp. What a road! That was interstates. Roads going inbetween all the states. That one was like all the way north to all the way south.

  And interesting roundabout LaFayette and Chattanooga up to Sweetwater where the underground sea was. Mountains and stuff, national parks. They were talking about the weekend after this one coming, when Uncle John had the Friday off. Murdo was thinking if he did go with people on the Friday and they went up someplace and stayed overnight or whatever, maybe he could still make the gig on Saturday evening because like it was the same motorway road and there had to be a bus, surely. Or else hitching a lift. People hitched lifts. Ye were just careful. Stay overnight with Sarah’s family then Sunday morning Cheerio and that was him back to wherever, Sweetwater, or Cumberland Gap where Uncle John’s old uncle somebody used to live years, years and years ago, and Uncle John’s old uncle somebody was Murdo’s old uncle uncle somebody plenty times removed.

  Murdo closed the Atlas book and got up from the big towel. Aunt Maureen had settled the tray on the patio table and chatted with Dad for a while. She returned into the house and Dad was back reading. He didnt look up when Murdo arrived. So Dad hi and all that I want to play a gig and it’s at LaFayette in the state of Georgia. Gulp! Pardon? What did ye say! You heard! Ha ha. Better saving yer breath. If it was later wait till later and dont do it sooner.

  Dad was engrossed in his book. Murdo would have to talk first. Ye have to in this life. This is this and you are you. Although Dad knew he was there. Murdo had lifted the glass of orange juice. Dad, he said, I was just thinking there about the music. Just eh…

  Dad nodded.

  Like the way it is for me, how I do it, if I dont have an accordeon or guitar or like whatever.

  Dad half closed the book.

  I’m not talking about other people. Just myself Dad. What I do I listen. I listen and just kind of – I dont know if it’s taking it in. Only it’s something I do Dad I mean if I’m bursting to play and I cannay I mean that happens too, I’m bursting to play and I cannay. So I’ve got the music to hear. Just hearing it the way I’m hearing it, it’s like learning, although I’m just listening like I hear it and I learn it. It’s just the way I do it Dad so I mean that’s just how it is.

  Dad smiled.

  No just because like with the music Dad I just seem able to take it in. Maybe other people dont. Like even in school, my head is like just going through everything I mean everything Dad just whatever like thinking about stuff if maybe there’s a tune I’m working on. You go to work and I’m up there in my room. Before I go to school: that’s what I do and sometimes I just forget where I am Dad just like doodling about on the guitar or else like I jam in Dad ye know like I’ve got some old music I stick on Dad ye know what I do like how I jam in, and I just forget everything. I forget everything.

  Murdo stopped talking and was looking at the patio floor, a wooden floor; spars; the earth down below. Echo echo echo, thud thud thud, solid earth: thud, pwohhhh, thud

  Dad was listening to what Murdo was saying.

  What was he saying? It was all daft. Even the name: Chattanooga. Dad wouldnt let him play the gig. This is what Murdo knew. He wanted to laugh but only in a stupid way. Because he was an idiot. Sixteen years of age.
It was all just insanity. School. Who cares. The teacher said about Mozart when he was seventeen, Court Musician, what does that mean? Murdo just wished something, he didnt know what. Disappearing. Things dont change. Not in this life. If they do then what? Nothing. Himself standing there, the swimming shorts, sun tans, he just went red.

  Dad said, That festival son. Ye were saying about it?

  Yeah, it’s near Chattanooga.

  Right.

  But the festival’s LaFayette in the state of Georgia; it’s over the border in the mountains, ye see it on the map, it looks great, just a wee town. Aunt Maureen knows it. They’ve got a museum. I think we’ve got relations there unless they moved out to the west coast, like California.

  Dad smiled.

  So did Murdo. No he didnt. It was just ha ha. Except his stomach didnt feel good.

  The bird that fluttered, the bird that looked at him. Imagine a bird looking right at ye? Did birds do that? That was like a Cherokee Indian bird. It was there and just looking, what ye doing here, this is my place.

  The biscuits on the plate. The glass of orange juice. The glass was cold. He lifted it and held it in his right hand; wet, the condensation. It was cooler in the patio with the overhead kind of wooden spars thing that was like a roof, so ye didnt get sunburnt.

  Ye sitting down?

  Yeah. Murdo sat down at the side of the table.

  Dad smiled, looking towards the house. Aunt Maureen had appeared. She stopped at the table. She scratched her head, puzzled about something. She was looking at Murdo. Murdo smiled. Hi Aunt Maureen.

  Huh, she said, now what did I come out here for? She peered at Dad. My memory son what’s happening!

  Dad said, I’m as bad.

  You are huh!

  Murdo glanced at Dad.

  Aunt Maureen smiled at the biscuits and stuff on the table, was about to head back into the house. Now Murdo, she said, and wagged her finger the way a schoolteacher does giving ye a row. Are you alright? she said, That is what I am asking.

  I’m fine.

  Is he Tom?

  Yeah. Dad smiled.

  Mm. Aunt Maureen frowned. You too now what about you?

  I’m fine, said Dad.

  Everybody’s all fine in Scotland huh?

  Murdo grinned.

  You doing the ironing? asked Dad.

  It’s been piling up on me.

  Can I give ye a help? Murdo asked.

  No, she said, you cannot; you cannot give me any help one little bit! She took his hand: Not on vacation. You’re on vacation son. You watch that sun now, she said, you are warm.

  He knows, said Dad.

  I only do it for twenty minutes.

  Half an hour ago, said Dad.

  Well it wasnt half an hour, said Murdo, then he smiled at Aunt Maureen who was looking from him to Dad and back again.

  Give me a hug, she said to Murdo. He got up from the chair and moved to her. She held him close to her and sighed. Murdo son, she said and hugged him again. It was a real cuddle. This is the kind Aunt Maureen gave.

  Queen Monzee-ay wouldnt have been as good at it. Neither would Aunt Edna. But was that true? Maybe it wasnt. If it was their own family of course they would be good. If it isnt yer own family it is just a different cuddle. Aunt Edna would have been good at it, just depending. Cuddles can be weird. A wee cuddle from one was a big one from somebody else. Dad hardly gave any. Uncle John’s were all slap slap slap slap. Some guys thumped ye hard. Dad cuddled Murdo at the funeral, and other times too. All the cuddles of the day at the funeral. There couldnay be any more cuddles. But then how Dad shook yer hand, sometimes that was like a cuddle.

  Aunt Maureen was saying something about the weather. Dad said something back to her and ye could see about him, how with Aunt Maureen, Dad was the same as Murdo. Dad thought about Aunt Maureen in the exact same way. She was just the very best, really. What else? Nothing.

  It was strange. Murdo didnt care about stuff. There were things in life people cared about. He didnt. Ha ha is what he felt.

  No point talking. Even how Dad was there with his book and Aunt Maureen just like how she was doing everything.

  She was a real aunt. More than any blood. What was blood? Blood was nothing. There couldnt be a better aunt. She was talking to Murdo now. Protecting the dog, she said, he went out to find it, took shelter in the car.

  God… Dad shook his head. You hear that Murdo?

  What was it again?

  Boy just found there with his dog, said Aunt Maureen. He was protecting it; went in a car for shelter and the car got flattened. Tree fell right on top of it, snapped apart. Oklahoma.

  Jees, said Murdo.

  Aunt Maureen looked from Murdo to Dad. Protecting the dog. My Lord his poor mother, no rhyme nor reason there huh!

  Murdo said, That’s the thing in America, people die from the actual weather.

  Sure they do.

  The actual weather.

  Not in Scotland huh?

  No. Except maybe like climbing accidents on mountains, snow avalanches, or else like drowning maybe if ye were out on a boat but not actual weather like I mean where people die. No. Not like floods and twisters and whatever.

  You didnt know that huh?

  No, said Murdo, I dont think people do know that back home.

  Dad said, Maybe some do.

  Aunt Maureen lifted the plate of biscuits. You didnt eat any, she said.

  I did take one, said Dad.

  I was going to, said Murdo.

  You got your orange juice son huh?

  Yeah. It’s like real oranges, better than we get back home.

  Aunt Maureen suddenly wagged her finger at Murdo. Oh now, she said, I know what it was. I got the question for you Murdo, church on Sunday. You go to church back home?

  Dad was looking.

  You want to come one time with us? Uncle John and me? We’re going Sunday morning. You think you might come? Would be nice if you did.

  Murdo smiled and nodded.

  Well you think about it, she said.

  Okay Aunt Maureen.

  *

  It was all mixed up. Aunt Maureen was great. She was just great. It was Murdo who wasnt. He was a horror, the things he thought about, horrible thoughts, horrible horrible, just the most horrible.

  His voice too, he didnt want to hear it again, ever. If Aunt Maureen was going to church on Sunday then maybe, maybe he should even just think about it, just think about it. He didnt care about any of it except just her, Aunt Maureen, it was her, it was just to go with her. Murdo didnt care about meeting other people, nice ones or not. If Aunt Maureen was meaning guys his own age or else girls, ones who went to church.

  It was daft. Murdo would meet people and he wanted to meet people, and if he went places he would. He would meet people. So if that was church like a place to go then okay. So maybe that would be something. If Dad didnt go. Maybe Murdo would, if Dad didnt.

  But why? if he didnt believe. Dad believed, Murdo didnt. Murdo had his life too, his own space. The basement. Dad had his room. This was Murdo’s. So what was wrong with being in it? Jeesoh, if it was his? How come it was like a big deal to spend time in it? If Murdo hadnt had the basement this whole holiday would have been a punishment. Anyway, it was not a holiday. Who would have called it a holiday, nobody. Coming here was recovering from a bereavement. Ye were bereaved and had to cope. Mum dying was a bereavement. Murdo had to cope and Dad had to cope. It was not a punishment. People look at ye and think it to themselves: Oh the poor boy lost his mother, what did he do to deserve that?

  Nothing. Nothing to deserve it and nothing not to deserve it. She just died. That was Mum, tumours that live on and kill females. Males have theirs. Things are how they are. Never mind God and Jesus. Aunt Maureen was the best but that was her. She had hers and Murdo had his.

  Her and Dad would be talking. The boy’s just lost his mother. Oh well I’ve lost my wife. Yes but your mother? Not as bad as your wife. Losing your wife is worse than losin
g your mother. No it isnt. Yes it is. He’s having to cope. So is everybody. Murdo is a young man. A young man is not a boy: a young man is a man. So if he is a young man then he can go where he wants and just act like whatever.

  So what if nice people go to church? Who wants nice people! Ones who praise the Lord and are so welcoming to everybody? What is nice people? Do bad things not happen to them? If bad things happen are they so nice?

  The idea of innocent people. They hardly live then they are dead. Ye wonder about that. If God makes people dead is that Him punishing people? If it is yer nearest and dearest is that God punishing you? Who else could it be? With Mum it was like ye must have done something very very bad. Ye think it to yourself because how else? If ye sinned it must have been badly, very very badly. Yer sister then yer mother. The very worst of all. So if things happen for a reason what is the reason?

  People talked about sinners, “we are all sinners”, but it wasnt true. Maybe Dad believed it. A believer believed. Was Eilidh a sinner? Murdo was sick of that stuff. We endure hard knocks and it is for a reason. God knows the reason. We dont know but God does. Maybe Jesus does. The blood of the lamb being redeemed. The lamb was Jesus. Through the blood of Jesus who is our blessed saviour, our living redeemer, by the shedding of his blood our sins are washed away. Blood-stained roads and blind men walking. Josie. Josie was Josie. Aunt Maureen’s friend. They were believers. That old guy in the bus station, a walking skeleton. Cracked.

  Imagine a baby. A sinner! So crazy, so so crazy. That guy Conor must have thought so and it was his baby. So that would be his sins. The sins of the father is like punishment for the children; two wee girls and a baby. A baby only had to be born. As soon as it was born it was like doomed. That was how it worked. Maybe Dad thought the same. Mum was dead because Dad was a sinner. That was Hell if it was his fault; so Hell was now and not after ye were dead. On the road not seeing the signs. A blind man walking. That was Murdo, not seeing the signs. He thought she was getting better. That was the worst stupidity. She was not getting better and was not going to get better. Murdo didnt know that. Nobody told him. Naive childishness. He needed his father to tell him. How stupid. He knew she was badly ill but actual dying. The very end and she couldnt get out of bed. Imagine. Ye imagine it, how do ye imagine it, just a smile, not the breath to say Murdo, holding onto his fingers.