Dirt Road Read online

  What time was it? Who knows.

  Mum and his sister, Eilidh. What world were they in? A spirit world, always surrounding you and you surrounding it. You are within it but they are within you.

  *

  He was awake early next morning and lay on in bed. Only a minute then he was up and the clothes on. Dad was sleeping. He didnt want to wake him. The bus was not until mid afternoon so it was okay. Dad liked long lies. The same when Mum was alive, the two of them. There were times they didnt show until after eleven o’clock. It made ye think of something else. So what yer Mum and Dad? if it was sex; sex is sex.

  Murdo slugged milk out the fridge and left it at that. Teabags and Sunday breakfast. On his way out he lifted a $10 note from Dad’s money and clicked shut the door. With luck he would be there and back before he wakened.

  The same five cars in the carpark. A clear blue sky. Already it was warm. So peaceful. What other day could it be but Sunday! Is there something beyond enjoyment! This was more than enjoyment! No cars hardly at all. He was hearing sounds but quiet ones; insects and birds. Definitely. Mum would have loved it.

  The sensation that he was seeing everything but nothing was seeing him. The road was here and him walking it. Nobody else. Not Dad and not anybody. He didnt know anybody. He hadnt seen Uncle John and Aunt Maureen since he was a baby. He didnt remember them. Who else? Nobody. Except that lassie in the shop, if ye could say he knew her. But he did. Sarah. And she knew him. Ha ha, it was true, she knew he was Scottish, whatever age she was, maybe older than him, but not much like if she was seventeen; another couple of months and him too. Ye were a man at seventeen. People said that. Sixteen is a boy and seventeen a man. Oh what age are ye? Sixteen. Wait till ye’re seventeen.

  Would she be there? Maybe. Although late last night and now this morning: that was long hours to work. A girl like her who was very very good-looking and like just very very pretty, she was still a girl working. So if it was long hours that was the job. Otherwise get another. Ye needed money. That was him too, he needed money, he needed to work. So he needed to leave school. Things came back to that. It didnt matter America or Scotland.

  He turned off the main road, going along the side street and hearing music, the closer he got, it was accordeon. A waltz. Jeesoh. People say about their ears playing tricks. With him it was his brains and floating away someplace thinking about whatever he couldnt remember, maybe his sister was there. He never knew until he “woke up”, although he wasnt sleeping.

  Murdo and the music. Walking in the beat. The beat was him walking, walking in the rhythm. Going along the street and nobody else. This waltz playing; a nice one with a real good feel, that proper rhythm there for the dance; relaxed, yeah, that was the swing, doodilladooo. That feeling too he had been here already. Or was here already. Not talking about last night.

  He approached the shop. It was open. Nobody at the entrance porch. Instead of stepping onto that he kept walking, following the music round the side of the building. A few trees were here, scrawny ones. He stayed behind them, so they wouldnt see him. An old lady, the accordeon player, sitting on a chair wearing a big hat and the girl out the shop – Sarah from last night – playing washboard, stepping from foot to foot. Another lady sat next to her, not as old, but quite old.

  The old lady and the girl, it was great seeing them, something just beautiful about it, seeing the two of them there in the music. The accordeon itself; cream-coloured and as fancy as ye ever would see, light glinting in the morning sun, and that brilliant sound! What a sound! That was special. That was so special.

  And the girl scrubbed it along facing the old lady who nodded her head on that two three beat rhythm, glancing around at the folk watching, smiling a little but only in the music, like how some musicians did that even when their eyes were shut. This lady kept on looking, seeing the people watching, keeping her eye on them. Murdo liked that. This was her playing, she was playing. She had her way and there she was.

  Murdo didnt move in case people saw him. He was not hiding, only keeping out the way.

  The other woman on the porch was not so old as the musician. But what age was that? Murdo didnt know. She had a hat on too, with a fancy sort of gauze stuff trailing down the back. She sat upright with her feet firmly to the floor, moving her right hand to beat time in a sharp movement like cutting or chopping; this was her right hand beating time but it was the three beats and her wrist jerking: flicking, cutting and flicking. She could have been on drums the way she was doing it; this rigour she brought to it, which seemed to set up a response like ye sometimes hear in music:

  I told ye so, I told ye so, I told ye so.

  A lot of musicians did that. They played something to you and you played something to them; stupid things:

  you should know better, you should know better behave yerself behave yerself

  dont you start, I told ye; dont you start, I told ye Naw ye didnay, naw ye didnay. I told you, I told you.

  That was the other musicians telling ye, giving ye a wink and a nod of the head. It was two-way. You were on the melody. Behave yerself. That was the rhythm. The rhythm was telling ye to behave yerself. Guys Murdo played with did a lot of that for fun. And it was fun. You liked it and so did the audience and the dancers danced and off ye go, the dancers danced and away ye go, tricka tricka tricka, tricka tricka tricka.

  The song ended.

  Murdo wondered what would happen but nothing did happen. Somebody clapped and somebody laughed, and the accordeon player spoke to people. This was a community place composed of back gardens running into each other; some had fences and some didnt. Kids played wherever; girls throwing a ball and a couple of boys horsing around. A dozen folk were sitting on chairs, dotted about the grass. A few were standing.

  The accordeon player spoke a few words to the girl then it was one, two and away they went into another. This was an upbeat number with a real driving rhythm, but in that same style again. But then it stopped. The old lady broke off out of nothing, and spoke a few words to the girl, then played in from a couple of lines before, and stopped again, and restarted, and off they went.

  They were rehearsing! Of course! It was the real stuff. Ye knew that just by listening. It was so so obvious. This old lady was special! Jeesoh, man! Murdo was chuckling, and felt like laughing!

  There was a lyric this time; the old lady on vocal driving it on and jees she really was something! God… And the way people responded to her. They knew. Murdo couldnt make out the words, then realized why: it was French! She was singing in French! Maybe some English. The girl and the lady with the fancy gauze hat were chorusing the line endings. It was a new kind of music for Murdo and exciting how it rocked along, that humour too, and funky, just brilliant for playing, and for dancing; the kids were jigging about. Murdo chuckled then was startled to find a guy standing next to him and right there in his face; angry-looking, so angry-looking. Murdo stepped back. The guy spoke in a low grunting voice. What you doing here? Huh? What you doing here? You shouldnt be here; this aint your place.

  Eh it was just eh…

  This aint your place. What you doing round here? What you spying on us!

  The music had stopped. The guy stepped forwards and pointed Murdo out to them. People were staring. Murdo was embarrassed at being caught but was not spying if anybody thought that. Why would he spy? It was music. He saw the girl at the side and tried to smile but couldnt, but he called to her: I’m not spying.

  Now she recognised him and she raised her arm. Hey! I know him! He came in the store last night.

  This aint the store, said the guy.

  Oh he’s foreign Joel. Hear him talk, he’s not American.

  The lady with the fancy hat said: The poor fellow! Not American! Mon Dieu!

  He didnt know about tax! said the girl.

  Both women laughed. The guy who had caught Murdo was still annoyed but no longer angry-looking. He was older than Murdo but not that much.

  Murdo shouldnt have been there
at all because it was other people’s gardens. He knew that. It was just the music. I heard the music. Murdo said, I was going to the shop. I heard it and just eh – I followed it round.

  The two women found this funny. The accordeonist said: Hey now children he is enjoying my music. You think I didnt see him? I saw him from early. He’s audience! You think I wont see audience?

  She dont get that much nowadays, said the other lady.

  The accordeonist raised her hand. I saw him the moment he come in these trees there! She studied Murdo: You like the music?

  It’s great.

  Great huh! She gazed at him.

  Yeah. He shrugged. I play too.

  She continued to gaze at him. Oh now, she said, I know you play. I saw how you were looking. What you play boy Cajun? You play Cajun?

  Eh…

  Come up here! she said. Murdo went immediately to the porch. You Irish? she asked.

  No eh, Scottish.

  Scotland, said Sarah.

  It’s another country, said Murdo. It’s near Ireland, and the music’s like not too different I mean like eh… Murdo sniffed, and gestured at the older lady’s accordeon. I would play, he said. If ye think I mean eh if ye wanted me to I mean… Murdo stopped, aware of Sarah watching him and he blushed immediately, tried to stop it but couldnt. Last night she was almost angry. Now she was friends and really she was beautiful. Her name too, Sarah, an old name. Old names were good. The name “Sarah” was right. As soon as ye said it ye knew it was hers.

  The accordeonist made a comment in French to the lady with the fancy hat, then studied Murdo. She nodded to Sarah: Go get him a box honey, get him the turquoise.

  Sarah went to the house behind the porch.

  So boy what’s your name?

  Murdo.

  Murrdo. She grinned, stressing the “r”. Well now Murrdo my name is Miss Monzee-ay: people call me Queen Monzee-ay. Can you say that?

  Queen Monzee-ay.

  This here is Aunt Edna.

  Welcome, said the other lady.

  Queen Monzee-ay waved at the guy who had surprised Murdo. He is Joel, he is my grandson. Sarah on rubboard is his sister. Sarah is my granddaughter. So now you know us. So how come you are here?

  Well I was going to the shop like I mean the store.

  No now boy I’m talking here, in this place, this town. This is Allentown, huh? How did you come by here?

  Aw, well, what happened, we missed the bus. Me and my father eh…we missed the bus, like that’s why. We’re just passing through.

  Aunt Edna clapped hands. Now he’s got it!

  Queen Monzee-ay chuckled. Sarah returned now. She was wearing a hat; a daft round thing, but it looked good and made ye smile to see. She held the accordeon out to him. The top she was wearing didnt have sleeves so her shoulders were bare like last night. Thanks, said Murdo. He took it from her, pulled it on and touched the keys.

  Queen Monzee-ay said, Now Murdo you play how you play.

  The accordeon was tuned to B-flat. He hadnt played for a while and his fingers were not flexing right. A strange sensation too like the skin on his fingers was too tight or something and he was wanting to widen the gap between the tips of his fingers and the fingernails. People were watching but he was okay. They were wanting him to play properly. He knew they were and he wanted them to hear. That was that, he played a jig he had learned a few months earlier. He was still with the band at that time, before Mum’s health deteriorated. It was fine, he knew it was fine. Some kids were here and he hoped they might dance. They didnt but it was okay anyway. Aunt Edna applauded: Bravo m’sieur.

  Queen Monzee-ay said: Want to play it again?

  The same one?

  The same one.

  Off he went the second time. He saw her preparing to play, then she did. In she came, she played a rhythm almost like straight into him. Brilliant. Murdo played the jig a little differently now; shifting ground was how he thought of it, but it meant him doing fast steps. Mum had described it as “capering”. She enjoyed it when he “capered”. He sometimes did it with the band, jigging about, just depending how it went and if he was taking the lead. If he was playing a jig he was doing a jig. That was how he thought of it. Ye were not just playing for the tune ye were in it. He did it here with Queen Monzee-ay, and she played into him. Her name fitted: a real Queen, real music, real style.

  She played another of hers with Sarah on le frottoir – which was rubboard in French. It was a fast number, swinging, rocking. Just so good. Queen Monzee-ay looked for Murdo coming in like she had on the jig and he was ready for it. She was fast. Thinking of somebody old, she said how she was slowing; not her brains but her fingers. Murdo didnt think so, my God. Arthritis she said but it was a joke how she said it. She was not slow at all, not lightning fast but near to that.

  Zydeco was the name of the music. Murdo knew nothing about it and had never even heard the name before. He had heard the name “Cajun” but not music so much as a place, like a land or a country, the “country of Cajun”. But he had never heard the word “Zydeco” before.

  Sarah was laughing, and that daft hat she was wearing, just so – how to describe it? Murdo didnt know except it made ye grin, make anybody grin. More like a sailor’s cap. Back home ye saw rich guys on yachts wearing them. Sarah was great. She was fun. A real lassie just laughing. That was her! She was just like special! Ye knew it! Anybody would! The real granddaughter. She was Queen Monzee-ay’s real granddaughter.

  Queen Monzee-ay led in on another uptempo number, with a smashing chorus line where Sarah joined in, emphasizing the Frenchness. It was sexy how they did it and it made ye laugh, really, good fun:

  Ooo la la something something

  Com si com sa something something

  And Aunt Edna too, whooping and clapping, her right hand beating time, wrist jerking, the flicking and cutting movements; shouting comments in French; all just kidding on, she was kidding on and kidding him on too. He knew she was. He didnt care. It was just the best, really, for Murdo it was the best fun and he hadnt had it for a long time, for a long long time.

  At the doorway of the next house a man and woman appeared and were listening. Sarah came up close to Murdo: Mum and Dad, she said.

  Queen Monzee-ay wanted one from him now and he played a Canadian waltz; from Newfoundland, the nearest part of Canada to Scotland. It had a cheery effect. Sarah’s Mum and Dad danced to it. Queen Monzee-ay played a harmony line and at the end she said, Hey now Murdo, see what you can do with this one. And it was another good rocking tune of her own, she called it Fresh air does you good! L’air frais fait du bien! Just add the croutons, she called.

  Midway through she stepped aside, keeping a rhythm and pushing for him to take the lead, urging him on. Show me show me. She may as well have been shouting. But it was fine and in he came, using a thing he had been working on a while ago. He knew it inside out and could do what he liked with it, jazzing it up with his take on this new way of doing it. It was fine, he knew it was. Queen Monzee-ay focused on his playing, giving the briefest of smiles. She came up close and laughed, You are the croutons boy!

  He kept it going then caught her signal and stepped aside. She came in where the next verse should have been and ran somewhere else. It was brilliant what she did. Her playing reminded Murdo of a guy used to play mandolin in the band. He was only there a short period but for the time he was it was one of the best times ever they had. Where he led you followed. Where to? Anywhere. Wherever he took ye! That was where ye went. His playing led ye into it, and ye got there and just jumped off. Murdo loved that, and here now with Queen Monzee-ay. She was in that league; she brought it out. It was there in ye and she brought it out.

  When they stopped for a break she and Sarah did funny curtseys to him and he did a stupid kind of bow. Queen Monzee-ay said, How long you been playing the box Murdo? She pointed at the turquoise. I’m talking that one right there. You played that one before…!

  Murdo smiled, then replied, Yeah, it
’s kind of good.

  So how long you been playing?

  Well like since I was a boy, nine or ten.

  Yeah.

  I’m coming up for seventeen.

  Old man huh! Queen Monzee-ay chuckled. Sounded good huh, two boxes?

  Definitely. Two boxes is always like well special, it can be special.

  Yeah. Yeah, it sure can. When it happens son but aint too often it happens. Session this morning now it’s toward a thing we’re doing two weeks from now. You know I am retired!

  Sarah cried: Gran you’re not retired.

  Queen Monzee-ay smiled.

  You’re not retired.

  Sure honey, I can do gigs, one-off gigs.

  She got to be invited first, muttered Aunt Edna.

  They all invite Gran, said Sarah.

  Queen Monzee-ay winked at Murdo. Blood of my blood.

  Sarah said, But they do invite you they all invite you. If you see on YouTube, you dont look but if you did, these old clips and what folks are saying.

  I know. Queen Monzee-ay smiled.

  They all want to invite you.

  Yeah and the band honey, like this time too, they want the band alongside me. I said no to that. Queen Monzee-ay shrugged, and said to Murdo, I dont mobilize the boys nowadays except it’s something worthwhile, and there aint much of that these days.

  Zydeco dont travel, said Aunt Edna.

  Oh we get around some, said Queen Monzee-ay.

  Only they dont like to pay, muttered Aunt Edna. Oh please come please come; please come play for us Miss Monzee-ay you are a legend, an all-time star of the world; you are the Queen of Zydeco music. Only we cant pay you no money!

  Queen Monzee-ay chuckled. She still gets angry!

  Sure I get angry. You got to live on fresh air.