Dirt Road (14 page)

The girls stepped closer. What you looking at in there? said the elder one.

Ssh.

What you looking at?

A tiny wee creature.

They were puzzled. They maybe didnt understand his voice. It's a tiny tiny animal, he said, pointing in behind the leaves. It's in there hiding.

The girls looked to see and the bigger one crouched to peer in. Murdo looked from one to the other and put on a scary voice: Maybe it is not so tiny. Maybe it is a big giant bear. A big big giant bear…!

The girls shrieked. Murdo made big eyes at them, and stepped closer, raising his hands: A very very big…big…big big bear. Waaaahhhhh!

They laughed loudly and raced off a short distance. Murdo also laughed. The two girls approached to see what he would do next. They saw their father strolling down from the patio, a phone in his hand: Dave Arnott's son-in-law, who lifted a ball on the way and threw it over their heads. They chased after the ball while he strolled on, studying the phone. He stood a moment then called to Murdo: How's it going?

Fine.

You John's relation?

Yeah.

So what you work at?

I'm still at school.

School, huh. Okay. You like it?

No. Murdo chuckled.

So uh where you from? you from someplace?

Scotland.

Scotland, huh. That's like a long trip?

Murdo shrugged. Had to go from Glasgow via Amsterdam, then non-stop to Memphis.

Memphis; cool. The guy snapped his fingers. Oh now, I got it, the bus connection! You stayed over Allentown, Mississippi?

Yeah. One night

One night huh. You see a white face?

Murdo looked at him. After a moment he said, Do ye mean eh…a white face in Allentown like did I see one? Do ye mean did I see one?

The guy didnt reply; his attention drifted from Murdo and over the other end of the garden, where his daughters were playing near a broken-down shed. The guy said, Ever been to Shreveport? One time I was like headed down the I-20, landed in Yazoo City. Yazoo City man they all play the yazoo there.

Pardon?

We got relations in Shreveport, on my own mother's side. Her people come from Oklahoma City. Moved to Shreveport like way way back, a long time ago. He stepped sideways and gazed around the garden. His daughters werent in sight. Girls must have gone inside huh, looking for food.

Murdo nodded.

Hey you listen to Pete?

Pardon?

Pete Marshall? You dont get Pete where you come from, WROT? Radio?

No, I dont think so. My Dad would know.

Oh now Pete's real funny; a real funny guy. He tells it like it is, he thinks something he comes right out and says it. He's got like a political line to gospel man he'll let you know it. He wont pull back on that.

His attention was distracted. The girls had reappeared by the broken-down shed with an old hosepipe. The older one flung the heavy end of it in the direction of the younger one and it would have hurt if it landed. The guy frowned. You got kids?

Me…

He suddenly pointed his finger at Murdo. I know you! I know who you are! Oh man I know you! Hey man I'm Conor, you're uh

Murdo.

Murdo yeah: you got the little girl passed on. That is the saddest thing. He moved as if to shake hands.

I think ye mean my sister. Murdo said, Ye're mixing me up with my father. It's my father's daughter that died, she was my sister.

Your sister, yeah. Okay. I got that. And your mother huh? Yeah, I got that. Man that is the saddest thing ever. Old Dave was telling me about that. Your sister and your mother. Yeah, I got that now.

Conor reached to shake Murdo's hand. He gripped it and didnt let it go. He kept on gripping it, so so tightly, just staring in at him and his eyes piercing, piercing in like how people say, his eyes “pierced” like a sharp point digging in to make a wee hole to see in behind yer eyes behind yer skin, not into yer mind but someplace else, if there is some kind of other place there and a thing inside it, eyes piercing their way in. That was this guy Conor. He kept his grip on Murdo's hand and Murdo couldnt take it away. That was the horrible thing. He didnt try to but knew he couldnt. This damn guy, he was too strong. His grip was too strong and bloody powerful and it was horrible. It was even painful! Jeesoh. His eyes too! He was just a nutter.

He stopped it and let go Murdo's hand, patted him on the side of the arm. Murdo didnt rub or massage his hand but he folded his arms. He kept looking at the guy and was not going to look away.

You are John's nephew. I know who you are. Your name is uh…

Murdo.

Murdo, yeah. Moved here from Scotland huh. You got Tom too?

He's my father.

Yeah. Conor slowly nodded his head. Sister and mother, yeah…that is the way of this world. People dont know it. They never know it! I'm talking what's in store for them up yonder. He pointed up to the sky. The future is what I mean. We walk this road and what do we see? Nothing. A road is heavy with blood and we see nothing. A blood-stained road and we are as blind men.
That old road is mapped out man we just dont like read it, we dont see the signs man. You dont see a thing how can you read it? You need to see a thing before you can read it. Aint possible otherwise Murdo.

Murdo watched him.

You think life is fair?

What?

You think life is fair?

Who me?

You, yeah: you think it is fair?

Me? Do I think life is fair?

Let me tell you man it aint fair. No sir. You expect that you are misguided; you are seriously misguided, one seriously misguided human being.

Out the corner of his eye Murdo saw Uncle John on the patio again, laughing at something. But Dad wasnt there, maybe he was in getting food. Down the far side one of the wee girls was tossing a ball onto the roof of the shed. Murdo hoped Conor would notice so if he did it would shift his mind from wherever, so he would go away.

He patted Murdo on the side of the arm again then glanced at his phone, scrolled down for a moment. No sir, you dont read the signs you will stay blind: deaf, dumb and blind. What you got to do is grow up, you got to grow up. I'm talking here: Conor tapped the side of his head. And here… tapping his chest.

Then he smiled as if everything was just friendly conversation and it was Murdo's turn to talk. That was like ha ha, did he honestly believe Murdo was stupid enough to fall for it? It just made ye angry. He would never have spoken like that to Dad. None of the men. He wouldnay have dared. Just Murdo. Murdo was a kid. Say what ye like do what ye like. Now he stepped towards Murdo as though to shake hands with him. Pleasure talking with you, he said.

The real pleasure was him going away. Murdo would like to have said something but said nothing. It was the wee girls ye felt sorry for.

Bad manners and good manners. Good manners is being nice to them with bad manners. You fit into them and all their crap. Gab gab gab. So all ye can do is nod yer head. Murdo was sick of that. They could speak and you couldnt. They had the right; you didnay. That was this life, all the shit stuff ye ever could get. Imagine the worst, then a plus 1. Ye were to talk but not talk. Not to talk but talk. That summed it up. Oh hullo yes it's a nice day Mum's got a tumour and she's dying. That was the funeral too, people speaking to you but you werent to speak to them except Yes, I'm fine. Everything's good, Mum's in the coffin, bla bla bla.

Back home ye would go home. I hate this party I'm away.

Where was Dad? Down in the garden slugging a beer. Him and Dave Arnott – old Dave, that was what Conor called him.

Uncle John had the bottle of whisky out which Dad brought him as a present. He was showing it to the other guys. Dad in the background, Dad smiling. Old Dad. It was good seeing him in company. Mum used to worry. Oh is he going to be okay? She wouldnt be there to look after him. Dad could get upset, too upset, too angry. Mum worried. Murdo should thank his lucky stars Dad didnt manage to many gigs. What a nightmare if he had! If anybody spoke when Murdo was playing. Dad wouldnt have coped with that. He would have gone round the dancehall telling folk to shut up and listen. That was Dad, according to Mum. Here he was part of the company. That was unusual. Him and Uncle John, they just chatted about stuff to do with the family and back home in Scotland how it was going to be for the future, for politics and for religion and football. Uncle John liked hearing about Rangers and Celtic, especially Rangers beating Celtic – and Clyde and Partick Thistle too and Hearts and Hibs and Aberdeen and all the teams because ye didnt get anything about it in the States, only English teams, Spanish teams, French teams, German, Italian; what happened to Scotland? That was the issue. All the old players. Uncle John loved that and Dad could do it.

Murdo wished he was home. Here ye couldnay breathe. Space
and hills, the sea. Imagine a boat and just like getting out on the water. Nothing big, just breathing, Oh I just want to breathe I'm away on the bike, Ardentinny or someplace, just great.

At least the garden was here. Without the garden he would have been trapped.

He was hungry. A couple of the men were eating. He would have to talk to people and he didnt want to. How was he feeling?

Maybe angry.

No. Like he had been in a fight. Imagine a fight. Battered, that is how he felt, and lying down is what he felt like doing. His bed preferably but the grass would do except the mosquitoes. Always worse when the sun set and it was that now. He wanted down the basement and couldnt go because it was bad manners. Dad. Dad this Dad that. But at least he was relaxed. Here he was just in company with the other guys, and that was something. Really, it was: Dad, relaxed. Dad relaxed Dad relaxed Dad relaxed. Ye could imagine it a tune, jazz cornet, nice and bluesy mellow, Heyyy… Daaad…yeahh…Daaad…heyyyy…yeahh… Or that classical guy on solo piano, that slow rippling.

Usually it was Dad nervy. If Murdo had been in the company then poor Dad, he would have been watching for everything; if somebody told a joke and used swear-words in the telling, or if it was a joke about sex like if the guy was too open about women or if it was like homophobic or racist. Back home there were two brothers lived along the street from them. If Murdo and Dad were together it was a minor disaster meeting them downtown because they got so excited about football and everything was “fuck” this and “fuck” that and Dad couldnay cope because Murdo was there and Murdo couldnay cope with Dad no coping with him and it was like yer nerves just got so so frazzled – frazzled was a good word, making ye think of sizzling ends snapping about on a hot plate. Sausages!

People were to get food when they wanted but so far he hadnt been able to. A couple of the guys had chicken legs and plates of
a salad sort of rice thing and French bread. Crusty French bread was great.

Murdo cut through the garden, round the far side of the patio and along the driveway, past the 4x4. He could even go in there and sit. Uncle John left the door open. Instead he walked round to the bench on the front porch.

He sat down on it. Ye could actually see the mosquitoes! That way when the light hits at a certain angle and ye see them all going crazy. Bats would come out. They had twelve different kinds of bats here. They fed on mosquitoes. Bats were like spiders: ye were glad to see them. If it wasnay for bats ye would get eaten alive. That was midges back home. Teeth-bodies. If ye zoomed an image of one online it was like the worst pre-Jurassic terror-beast imaginable: a flying Velociraptor, all teeth and snapping outside yer window. Millions of them. All zig-zagging. Did they ever bump into each other. Maybe they did. Although sound and radar working in the one system. Airwaves. Everything all over the world; all connected. Billions of connections, all avoiding one another. Each on its own individual path or trail. More like a trail because some of it ye make up as ye go along. Whereas a path is laid out for ye. Ye follow a path like ye follow a tune where ye cannot deviate: ye have to play it the way it is always played. Always the same and always the same. That was the one way always the true way.

Murdo hated that style of playing. Of all the hate he hated that was the most, because it was the worst. Maybe not the very worst.

Guys spoke about jazz but it is not just jazz, ye can make a trail out of anything, anything at all. He did it with the “Blue Danube Waltz”. For Mum, making her laugh. She told Dad and Dad said, We'll call it the “Grey Clyde Waltz”. She laughed at that too, the quiet laugh she had. Nobody else in the world had that one, like a gurgle up from the throat and tiny air bubbles beeble beeble beeble – some kind of thing, ye could never have got that, be be be be, how did ye get that? And then it was gone. Mum was gone. So that was her laugh gone too.

So if it was a racist joke did it mean the guy was racist? Maybe. People said things. They did it at school too like they were testing ye. If ye laughed ye were racist if ye didnay ye werenay. So are you racist? No, I was just testing you.

Sorry Dave but yer son-in-law is an arsehole.

Naybody else bothers. You get angry and everybody else thinks it is okay. Oh look at Murdo he's angry, how come he's angry! Oh he likes that lassie, if he didnay like her it would be okay, just like a black face in Allentown, what is that? so what, people have thoughts that are just like the craziest craziest shit. They dont even know ye but think things about ye. Oh I'll say it to him he looks easy. How come?

At the same time ye got sick of it, just sick of it, and away from here before somebody came. He got up and tried the front door but it was locked. He had to pass round the back entrance in through the patio. He gave Dad a wee wave in passing. Women were there by the kitchen counter and the dining room table. He continued through to the bathroom. The door was locked. He walked downstairs, and shut the door, and if there had been a snib on the door he would have locked the thing! He felt like a Cherokee Indian. This was his place and here he was buried, except buried alive.