Dirt Road

by James Kelman

  Sunday was church day. So is Monday Tuesday Wednesday Thursday and Friday if it is my class sonny boy! Milliken the maths teacher. Ye went for maths and he gave ye the bible. Compress yer head sonny boy. All days are church days. Interference does not exist, interference is data. All moments are moments of God. All time is God’s time. A right-angled triangle made of three right angles, think about that. Infinity. All circles are lines and all lines are a point. The way, the truth and the life. All points are the one point. Infinity. And God is greater than that. Plus 1. And God is greater than that. Nothing gets beyond Him. Go to the web and dive within, reach into the depths. You are the minute-most spec.

  People thought he was nuts. Murdo heard another teacher call him “staunch”, Oh Mister Milliken is “staunch”, his beliefs are “staunch”. So ye had to respect him. Forgive us our sins and trespasses. Keep us from temptation and grant that we may rise each morning freed from danger whole in health. That was “wanking”, everybody knew that.

  A man with a dog. The dog on an extension lead. Murdo walked to the inside in case he got tripped up; ye had to step over the lead. The man ignored him. An Alabaman, if that’s what they are called, Alabamans; Alabamans and Alabawomans. Some guy on television was making the joke, Ala Bama and the Forty Thieves. Uncle John hated it: Childish stupidity.

  The guy with the dog was the first walker Murdo had passed. And he looked across at Murdo. Because Murdo was the first walker he had seen. You see them but they see you. Think of that sonny boy.

  Different for dogs. Dogs are the same anywhere in the world. They just see a person; there’s a person; Scottish, Aborigine, Iceland, woof woof.

  Just quiet; trees and quiet. A good place for walking. The hedges were round the back gardens but not the front; just these lawns, the grass shorn.

  Ahead was a big church with a real tower. It looked old but how old could it have been? Red bricks and a square-shaped tower; fancy windows, and pillars, solid-looking. People were in the parking areas. What if Aunt Maureen and Uncle John were there and spotted him? Never.

  But maybe. Maybe counts. Count a maybe.

  Murdo was round the first corner. People ye see. Nobody is nothing. He continued along this street. It led to a main road, and round onto the pavement there was a bus-stop, an actual bus-stop! It had a bench for people to sit.

  Aunt Maureen and Uncle John knew nothing about buses but here was a stop next to the actual church. Maybe they went to a different church.

  Now Murdo recognised the road. It was the one to the mall. At the bus-stop an information board listed times, destinations and links to other bus routes.

  How far had he walked? Twenty minutes or half an hour. How far was that? Not round the block anyway. Then the same back to the house. Dad would worry.

  $90: forty from Dad and fifty from Uncle John. Ye could get an accordeon for ninety dollars. Or twenty, it depended on the accordeon. How much for bus tickets? That was the one thing the information board didnt list. A bus here would take ye into the main bus station, then it was from there to Lafayette, Louisiana. Then if ye came back it was the same money. So bus-fares and accordeon. Unless he got a drive from Uncle John or somebody. Dad, if Dad had his licence. Maybe he could phone Uncle Robert. Uncle Robert could go to the house and find the licence; send it express delivery. It would have been here in two days or three – Scotland to America, four maybe.

  So Dad could have hired a car. That would have made it a brilliant holiday. Everything would have changed.

  What a life. Murdo was glad to be walking. Shopping malls opened on a Sunday. No matter about church and everything else, people lived their life. It was their life to lead although people acted like it wasnt. Oh I thought it was my life? Oh no, it belongs to him over there, yer father. He has two, you’ve got none.

  Other shops ahead. Not the shopping mall; ordinary shops in their own ground with their own wee carparks. And cars were there so these shops were open as well. Of course they were.

  He stopped walking and about-turned.

  How long had he been gone? More than an hour. Round the block? Some block. Dad would be glad when he walked in the door. Glad, sad or mad. Everybody has their own life. If he wanted to be angry, it was up to Dad.

  Murdo felt like running. Oh but never run son never run, they might get the wrong idea. That was Uncle John. Then they’ll definitely shoot ye. It was okay if ye were an athlete or like jogging but not an ordinary person.

  Not one child either. That was what Murdo noticed. Not even in a garden. Where were the kids?

  The mall!

  Or church – the praying voices. And the kids twisting up to see the adults, wondering how come their eyes are all closed? Droning on and on and on, how come? What’s wrong with the adults? What are they doing? Oh forgive us Father, hoahh hoahh hoahh, Gohhhd oahhhhh, forgive us oh Father please please oahhh hoahhhh oahhhhh Gohdddd. What is happening what is happening? Is it the big bad wolf! Oahhhhh oahhhhh. Look out and be careful. Close your eyes close your eyes! Oahhhhh oahhhhh. Quick! Quick quick quick! Oh Father Father God Almighty thank you thank you for keeping us safe through the day that is gone and now we pray Thee to watch over us through the coming night oh God the coming night when it is all dark and shadows fall and mysterious knocks and noises if the big bad wolf comes chapping the door.

  Chap yer own door!

  *

  He kept to the main road on the way home, remembering the turn-off to Aunt Maureen’s house. He entered by the driveway, round the side garden. Dad was there on the patio, wearing a shirt and trousers instead of jeans and T-shirt. He moved fast when he saw Murdo, coming towards him. Murdo stopped. Dad clapped him twice on the shoulder. Good son, he said, we’re going for a meal. Did ye bring a shirt?

  A shirt? Yeah I brought a shirt.

  I mean a proper one?

  Of course a proper one.

  Fine. Away and change. Dad sighed. I’m just saying.

  Okay.

  Uncle John and Aunt Maureen are getting ready.

  Okay Dad.

  Downstairs Murdo plugged in the hi-fi immediately; but didnt switch it on. He stood a moment, then sat down on the edge of the bed. He stretched out, staring at the ceiling. Of course he had brought a shirt and of course he would wear it. Going for a meal with Uncle John and Aunt Maureen: of course he would wear it. Go and put it on, is it a proper one. That was a row. Did people need rows?

  Dad just had to speak. He didnt have to but he did. That was Dad. How come he even wanted to eat? He couldnt have been hungry. He didnt go anywhere except the patio! People work then they eat. Things happen and they dont eat.

  Dad said a meal but did that mean best? like as if Aunt Maureen and Uncle John would notice, even if he wore a T-shirt. T-shirts were a joke. How long did Dad wear one before sticking it into the laundry bin! a bloody week? Murdo should have said it to him, Dad change the T-shirt you are bloody minging.

  Murdo sat up, then was onto his feet and rummaging around to find the shirt. He had brought two: ordinary and best. Proper was best. First a wash. He jumped upstairs to the bathroom, checked his face in the mirror; ye could see the actual bristles. He peered at his eyes, again at his eyes, almost a smile. Mum; not Eilidh.

  He didnt even need a meal. That was the truth; he didnt want to go. If he could just say it! What is wrong with saying it? I’m not going. I’m not going. No Dad sorry, I dont want to. I’ve got like things to do and I dont want to go anywhere. I really really dont. He said it aloud: I’m not going, I am not going. No Dad. No, I am not.

  Of course he was. Aunt Maureen and Uncle John. Of course he was. They were wanting him to go, and if he didnt? Oh he was going of course he was going, he was starving. Starving.

  They were waiting for him.

  *

  The restaurant was called the Home-Run Deli and was their favourite one. It was not like a deli the way ye would expect it in Scotland. It was a big like barbeque place full of all different kinds of food for sitting in. Vegetabl
es ye hadnt heard of. All kinds of ribs, chops, pork, ham, lamb, chicken and steak, and one called “joints”, and a lot of fish. They had music every Wednesday from teatime until ten at night; bluegrass and country. Uncle John and Aunt Maureen liked it too but especially the atmosphere is what they enjoyed. It’s down home, said Uncle John.

  They wanted Murdo and Dad to try different things and explained what some of it was, and eat whatever caught their fancy. Murdo was starving and so was Dad. Much of it he didnt know – “grits” – but they also had pizza and lasagne. “Grits” is porridge with cheese, said Uncle John.

  No sir mister, said Aunt Maureen who only wanted a sandwich; she called it a hot sandwich and ordered mashed potatoes to go with it. It was Kentucky food instead of Alabama food. That was the point she was making. She winked at Murdo. He was not sure what to eat but eventually he went with lasagne and fries – chips. Dad and Uncle John had steak but with mashed potato instead of chips. Uncle John made a joke about Murdo and Italian food to go with Italian accordeons, then ordered beers for himself and Dad, orange juice for Aunt Maureen and Murdo.

  Aunt Maureen’s sandwich was the best thing. Murdo would have got that if he had known. It was not really a sandwich at all but with turkey and bacon and toasted cheese; tasty-looking.

  It was good with Aunt Maureen and Uncle John. They were cheery and kept things going. The usual stuff; family and Scotland and bits about Kentucky and places. Uncle John did the talking on America. Aunt Maureen listened as if he was speaking about things she didnt know. He came out with daft sayings – “A slap on the face with a wet kipper”. People laughed at that but what did it mean? Nobody knew. Old sayings from the old days. A song about Davy Crockett, born on a mountain top in Tennessee, played the fiddle at the Alamo. Scottish background. Everything was Scottish background. Aunt Maureen made faces behind his back. Let somebody else talk, she said and she nodded at Murdo. Uncle John grinned at him. Murdo said: How far is California?

  What? Uncle John looked at him.

  Aunt Maureen smiled.

  Murdo said, Well I was just thinking like the idea of Cousin Calum like I mean driving across, if we went to see him.

  Huh! said Aunt Maureen.

  Uncle John sighed. Murdo son, how many miles in a day can ye drive?

  I dont know.

  Five hundred? Uncle John glanced at Dad. Eh Tommy? Okay. Divide it into three thousand and that is yer days.

  Wow, said Dad.

  Six. A minute a mile, said Uncle John. You want to go faster go faster.

  Aint safe, said Aunt Maureen.

  No I’m not saying to go faster, only as an estimate, just working it out a mile a minute as a guide to distance.

  Six days! said Dad.

  Three thousand miles. Uncle John shrugged. Then if you’re going north Tommy… Calum’s in Oakland.

  Murdo would have asked about Louisiana too but not with Dad there. But knowing about California meant ye could compare it. Six days to California, how many to Louisiana? The Road Atlas book was brilliant for calculating. They had a page where the distances between places was laid out in miles and kilometres. Straight south to Mobile and turn right. Left to Orange Beach on the southernmost tip which sounded brilliant the way Aunt Maureen spoke about it; a great beach where ye could swim and just enjoy it all; the Gulf of Mexico.

  For Louisiana ye continued right past New Orleans and all the way until just before Texas, that was Lafayette. The gig was nine o’clock Saturday night so that was early Saturday morning he had to leave, very very early, the earliest. Except that was for ordinary driving in a car; not like buses with all changes and connections and sitting about waiting then like what happened from Memphis if ye missed a connection so an overnight stay, so then ye would miss the gig. So it had to be Friday. It could only be Friday. Except that was Uncle John and the trip to the Tennessee Valley. So what happened there?

  Nothing. He would just tell Dad. Sorry Dad.

  Although Aunt Maureen was saying about the weather, it was turning bad the next few days. Maybe they would postpone the trip! If it was like a downpour why would ye want to go? Nobody would. It would just be like nightmarish boring crap, stuck in a tent looking out. The whole weekend. So they wouldnt go and it would be postponed, so then they could go to the gig. Why not? They could. They would love it! If they went they would. They wouldnt but.

  They wouldnt go.

  Why not?

  Because it didnt happen. People didn’t do things like that. Imagine they did but. And Dad was like Oh Uncle John the weather is too bad for the Tennessee Valley, maybe we can go to Queen Monzeeay’s gig instead!

  Ha ha right enough.

  But why not! if it was his own son playing? Wouldnt that be something? That would be special. Here we are in America and Murdo’s playing a gig. Aunt Maureen would love it! So would Uncle John. He just needed an accordeon. So he had to get one, and he would get one, and knew where to get it.

  Aunt Maureen and Uncle John were enjoying the meal. Just being there was a good thing and occasionally they stared around the place as if they hoped to see somebody they knew. It would have been nice if they had; here’s our relations from Scotland, showing them off.

  $90 wasnt enough. Dad would give him more if he asked. Maybe he would. Although what did it matter, if he wasnt going. Instead it was the Tennessee Valley. It was all arranged. Uncle John was getting the day off especially. So dont waste yer breath son totally impossible and if something is impossible it is just not possible so why even talk about it dont bloody talk about it it is just a waste of breath. Fine for you wasting your breath, but not for other people, not if ye’re a guest, and that is what you are son a guest! So shut up.

  They were going up country, mountains and rivers and boats, fishing and just everything – friends coming with them, all for a good time and like overnight and whatever, tents or else a what-do-ye-call-it, bungalow thing made out of wood, sort of cottage, logs

  just everything, everything.

  So he had to go. Although he was not going to. He couldnt. The gig was on and he was playing it. He said he would and had to. He gave his word to Sarah so like breaking yer word, how could ye if it was like manners, good manners, that was ha ha ha, breaking yer word. It was fine when it suited Dad, not when it didnt.

  Queen Monzee-ay was expecting him and had her set worked out for the two accordeons. So that was that.

  Unless the weather. Torrential rain. Maybe it would be postponed. But if it was they would just go someplace else. It was their last weekend together and Uncle John had wangled the day off. So Murdo couldnt not go. That would have been the worst of all for Dad. Everybody doing things for ye, and then ye say no, just like a slap in the face. A family matter, the same as the Gathering and not playing the accordeon. Family comes first. Being a guest. Not knowing what guests do. What is a guest! Are family guests? Family is do as yer told. Same with guests. Murdo had to go with them. Otherwise

  Otherwise nothing.

  Dad was asking a question. He was going to the bar and was asking him what he wanted to drink. A big pint of lager Dad ha ha ha.

  Please, he said, maybe an apple juice.

  Did he even want an apple juice! Why not a glass of wine! A jack and coke, guys drank that.

  Dad had got up from his chair, going to the bar or else to find a waiter. He stood there looking about. Uncle John pointed to the other corner of the large room: the Men’s room. Over there, he said.

  Dad headed across and as soon he had gone Uncle John was up and over to the end of the bar, and to the cashier’s desk where a wee queue had formed. He was still there when Dad exited the Men’s room. He saw Uncle John. The two had a disagreement. It was in good spirits; not loud enough to embarrass people. Dad wanted to pay the bill but Uncle John was insisting and insisting. Uncle John won. When they returned to the table he led the way. Dad followed with more drinks which included two whiskies. Uncle John was speaking to Dad over his shoulder. That’s how we do it here, he said
.

  I wanted to pay something, said Dad.

  Huh! said Uncle John.

  Aunt Maureen looked from him to Dad, then to Murdo. Uncle John and Dad were sitting down now. Dad taking the drinks off the tray. Uncle John said to Aunt Maureen, He’s the guest. I dont want him paying.

  Dad smiled. Well Uncle John I have to pay something.

  Uncle John immediately sat forwards, almost up off the chair, and he glared at Dad: You paid the goddam tickets!

  The force of this shocked Dad, and Aunt Maureen cried: Oh now mister!

  Sorry. Uncle John closed his eyes.

  Murdo looked again at Dad who was staring at the table but now had raised his head, gazing at Uncle John.

  Uncle John said, Sorry. I’m sorry. He clasped his hands on the table and was still. He glanced at Murdo and smiled a moment but not cheerily.

  Whatever it was, not paying the tickets, what tickets? Not the plane tickets, Uncle John paid the plane tickets. What other tickets? The bus tickets?

  Uncle John shifted on his chair and said to Dad, Sorry about that Tommy.

  Och! Dad shrugged. Not at all.

  Aunt Maureen sighed. She smiled, looking around, and said to Murdo: You like this place son?

  Yeah.

  You want to come for the music now, they have some fine musicians play here.

  Murdo nodded. Eventually Uncle John raised his whisky glass and paused with it. After a moment Dad raised his. Uncle John said to Murdo, What is it ye say again son is it slàinte mhòr or slàinte mhath?

  Eh… Usually just slàinte, or slàinte mhath.

  Some of them here say slàinte mhòr.

  Do they?

  Yeah. Uncle John glanced at Dad. Slàinte mhòr, it’s just one of these things that they say.

  I dont know it, said Dad. Mhòr is big.

  Yeah, said Uncle John. Big whisky eh!

  Yeah. Dad smiled, sipping the whisky. It’s a nice one.

  I like it, replied Uncle John.