by James Kelman
Next was Aunt Maureen’s notepad to write a letter to her and Uncle John, and one to Dad too, just apologising and saying about the gig, and he would be back on Sunday but would phone and not to worry. Then the telephone rang, it kept ringing. Murdo walked to the hallway but didnt lift it. Maybe Dad from Uncle John’s cell phone. Probably it was. Jeesoh. It rang again. He went to lift it this time but left it, he just left it. He couldnt speak to anybody. When he checked the time it was after half past eight. How many miles was that?
Maybe he should have answered the phone. So now they would worry. If it was Dad. Maybe it wasnt, but if it was. If it was he would worry. He would ask Uncle John to turn back, to see things were okay. He would need to. That was Dad, that is what he would do. No he wouldnt. Maybe, maybe he would. Murdo wrote down the telephone number and house address in the back page of the Road Atlas book, and again on a scrap of notepaper which he put into the rucksack, and a third time on another scrap of notepaper which he stuck into his jeans pocket.
He positioned the two letters on the kitchen counter, propped up against mugs. He checked the patio door was locked and drew the curtains, then last call to the bathroom, last look round the house. He opened the front door. Nothing else. He stepped outside and closed it.
The street was quiet. Murdo walked quickly to the corner and all the way along past the red-brick church, and to the bus-stop on the main road.
He was the only one there. Five minutes and a bus arrived. The doors opened and he stepped up, and held coins at the ready. The driver ignored him. The doors closed and the driver continued to ignore him, then jerked his thumb back the way. So Murdo was not to pay money, or what? The driver accelerated, still ignoring him. Grumpy drivers, that was like home. Murdo walked to the nearest empty seat. Only two other people were on the bus but more got on eventually, and a few who looked like students.
The bus went right into the downtown area. Murdo ate a banana while crossing the road to the bus station. On a wall inside was a large map marked with the main bus routes which he studied, working it out the best way, tied into the route to Allentown, Mississippi.
He was prepared for expensive tickets but it was extortionate, and even more extortionate if he had gone west to begin with. The trouble there was keeping sideways rather than going north to Memphis; he did not want to go back there. It felt like bad luck or something; although what was luck, ye make yer own in this life. People said that.
FIVE
South of Birmingham the bus was full: he sat on the aisle seat. On the inside was a wee thin guy. What age? Thirties maybe, worrying about whatever and looking agitated. Something bad was going to happen! He hardly noticed Murdo at all, he had his phone out, scrolling down, checking messages, scrolling down. Then he put it away and brought it back out again, then kept it in his hand and stared out the window.
Murdo was tired now and just glad to be sitting there and like going to sleep if he felt like it, if he could. The wee guy had closed his eyes too and looked to be dozing then was awake again checking the phone and chewing the edge of his right thumbnail, and muttering: The goddam buses dont move. Want them to move they dont move. Aint my fault man. People blame me. It aint me. It aint me man.
He half turned to Murdo as if surprised to see him and wondering like Oh am I talking inside my head or out?
Murdo stared ahead. He wouldnt have minded a snooze. But the bus had been going a while and if he missed the connection it was a disaster. Buses didnt wait. If ye made it fine but if ye didnt ye didnt. There were other stops along the road and ye had to be careful. Other people would have felt the same the way they were watching roundabout.
The wee guy closed his eyes now and ye could see the worry there on his forehead. He began muttering again, moving his head in such a way he could have been speaking to Murdo: Fucking bus driver man he aint no bus driver. Got a brother’s a bus driver never drove so slow. What you think he’s doing man I’ll tell you what he’s doing. Forty em pee aitch is what he’s doing. You think I dont know? I know man; fucking been there man I been there.
What like driving? asked Murdo. Ye mean ye were driving?
The wee thin guy stared at him. Aint my fault; they blame me. Aint me man.
Murdo said, What are ye late?
Late. Yeah. The guy shifted to see out the window then shook his head, glanced at the phone.
Murdo waited for him to say something more. He didnt. Murdo had his book out from the rucksack and tried to concentrate. A couple of folk had laptops open. A few with phones and a couple reading books. Two guys were talking together, loudly.
People were just ordinary, worrying about ordinary stuff. That was this wee guy, whatever it was. Funny how people could blame ye for things that had nothing to do with ye. That happened to Murdo in Glasgow once, he was waiting at the train station and a foreign woman came up and started shouting at him. People were staring. They thought he had done something like stolen her bag. Probably she was ill. He tried to talk to her but she didnt let him. He had to walk away. There was nothing else he could do. These things happened. Ye wondered about other people, if it happened to them too or was it just like maybe who knows, who knows, it couldnt just be him.
Murdo dozed. When he awoke the wee thin guy had gone. The bus was stationary and only a quarter full. Outside people walked about, smoking and just stretching their legs. A few stood by the side luggage compartment awaiting the driver. Murdo was uncomfortable and sweaty but if he went for a walk what would happen? Imagine it went away without him. He moved into the window seat, rested his head against the glass, the feel of it cool against his forehead. He took the last orange from the rucksack and peeled it. It was good and juicy. Juicy oranges are just the best. He had a couple of sandwiches but was saving them. He wiped his fingers on his jeans.
Then the wee guy was there and glowering at him. Murdo moved immediately, out from the window seat into the aisle one. The guy shoved a small carrier bag into the overheard luggage rack, then squeezed in past Murdo, muttering as he went: I was at the bathroom, what you cant go to the bathroom!
I didnt know you were coming back, said Murdo.
You dont reserve no seats here.
Well I know that I mean I paid a ticket. Murdo shook his head.
Oh yeah you paid a ticket like what you think I dont?
No. I’m not saying that.
We all pay the fucking ticket man. The guy shifted on his seat, gazing out the window and doing the muttering again, We all pay the fucking ticket. He took out his phone.
I didnt know ye were coming back, said Murdo. Like if ye had just said to me ye know I mean like I would have kept yer seat. Ye didnay have to worry.
The guy turned to Murdo. He stared at him. Murdo shrugged. The guy glanced back out the window, seeing down to the main luggage compartment on the side of the coach. He stared down at whatever it was then nudged Murdo, pointing to where the tops of people’s heads were visible: Look at that now see that, he is leaving. He is father of that baby and he is leaving. Look man see his girl, she’s got the baby in her arms man this is them man and he is leaving, that is what he is doing; and she dont want to see it, dont want him to go man. Look…
The guy shifted on the seat enough for Murdo to lean and see out. He saw a young man and a young woman holding a baby. They stood apart, he held a bag and was ready to board the bus.
She saying to him write, write. That’s what she’s saying, write write. He wont write man. He’ll phone. That’s what he’ll do. Six month down the line man know what I’m saying? Hey conchita I ees sorry man.
Yeah, said Murdo.
I been there man I been there.
Soon the passengers had returned and the coach was back on the interstate. Murdo wished he could doze but it was best not to. He didnt want to in case like whatever, just whatever. The bus was moving and he would get there. People got to where they were going. Sooner or later they did. If it was sooner it was sooner which meant sooner than expected. “Sooner�
�. Nothing was sooner anyway, just later. Things were always later. Sooner was later than now.
In Jackson Murdo got up from his seat. The wee thin guy was staying on until wherever. Cheerio, said Murdo. The guy raised his arm in a short salute.
Less than an hour later he was back in Allentown, and glad to be back, passing through the waiting room and out into the main street. He crossed to the old-time Wild West shop and the pawnshop. The accordeon was not in the window. The ashtray was still on the window ledge; a quarter-smoked cigarette lay on it. Murdo peered through both windows. Guitars were the main instruments, including a beautiful-looking bass. Murdo liked bass guitars. How come? Just something about them. He didnt have one, but if he did. It would just be good having one.
Two saxophones and a clarinet; harmonicas that looked special. The shop door opened, triggering a security chime; a familiar tune. An older woman stepped out. She was quite big and Murdo made way for her. She stood by the doorway, lifted the quarter-smoked cigarette from the ashtray, soon had it alight, puffed a cloud of smoke, folding an arm and resting the other elbow on it, puffing again and watching folk pass by. She said to Murdo, How are you today?
Fine.
Aint it just so peaceful! She patted her bosom as though experiencing heartburn.
Yeah. Murdo gazed into the window.
So so peaceful, she said. I give praise to Jesus.
Murdo smiled and resumed walking, along towards Sarah’s family store. It was more than a mile away, maybe two. When he arrived he stepped up onto the porch and pushed open the door. At the cashier’s desk an older woman stared at him. An elderly man was about to be served. Murdo waited behind him. The elderly man waved him on ahead, but impatiently so ye felt like saying No thanks. But Murdo said, Thanks. I was wondering if Sarah was here? he asked the woman.
If Sarah was here? No, she aint here.
Is she at home?
I dont know. I cant say where she is.
Thanks, said Murdo although he felt like saying Ha ha, but what good would that have done? He heard the elderly man say, What’d he ask for?
He closed the door behind him and continued round the side of the building to the house. There was no one around. Then a boy about twelve or thirteen years old appeared. Who you looking for?
Uh – Joel.
Joel?
Or Sarah?
Oh. The boy nodded. They aint here; they gone away.
D’you know when they’ll be back?
No I dont. Joel’s ma now she’ll tell you.
Thanks.
Sure.
Murdo thumped again on the door. There was a bell. He rang this too but nothing. Nobody was in. He stepped to peer in the window. The boy was still watching and called: She aint there?
Murdo tried the door again.
You try the back? Usually they’re to the back.
Thanks. Murdo stepped back to the pavement and saw a man approach. Murdo waited. The man said: You got business there? The man looked him up and down. What you doing here?
Nothing.
Nothing!
Well like just friends. I thought they’d be in.
They aint in.
Aw. Murdo stared back at the house.
You know these people?
Yeah.
Who d’you know, Henry? You know Henry?
He’s Sarah’s Dad. It’s really Sarah and Joel I know.
Okay. Okay… The man was staring at Murdo. Henry’s up in Clarksdale, he said. He’ll be back later. The rest gone to Louisiana, gone with Queen Monzee-ay.
Aw jees.
Big music festival.
Yeah.
Is that a problem?
No. I was just hoping to go with them. I thought maybe like I would catch them before they went.
Right.
Is Lafayette far?
The man shrugged. Hit the I-55 take a right through Baton Rouge, that’s the I-10 – which way you facing? The man peered sideways. You got a car?
A car?
You aint got a car?
No.
Right. You come on the bus here?
Yeah.
Okay.
Actually I was wondering, do people ever hitch? I mean like hitch-hiking?
Hitching a ride?
Yeah.
You come on the bus here. You take one out of here. Okay? Dont you go hitching.
Okay.
The man waited while Murdo adjusted the rucksack and walked on. Murdo glanced back at him. Thanks, he said.
The man nodded, but hadnt moved. Murdo should have said to tell Henry. Probably he would. Definitely he would. He glanced back but the man wasnt there. It was all very well saying not to hitch a lift but if ye didnt have money and ye had to get someplace what else did ye do? apart from walk! A mile here and a mile back. It was the time ye spent too. This was the afternoon already! Time time time, ye just like always were having to watch the bloody time. He began striding.
Less than a minute later a small truck pulled up alongside him and it was the same man. The passenger side window rolled down and he called: Hey. Alright? Come in here, I’ll take you. The bus station?
Yeah.
I’ll take you. The man gestured Murdo inside.
Aw ye dont have to!
No. The man laughed a moment. No, he said, I dont. Come on in.
Murdo hesitated a moment. No, really, it’s okay, but thanks. I’m just going to like…thanks, I’m fine walking.
The man smiled.
I’m fine walking.
You sure about that?
Yeah I mean… Murdo shrugged. Thanks.
Okay. The window closed and the man drove off.
That was funny. Murdo was nervous. It wasnt anything. He was but, just like – nervous. Although a lift, if he had wanted one. Although it wasnt far to the bus station. Only he had to move fast. He strode on.
Outside the pawnshop he faced into the window while checking his money. The original $290 sounded a fortune but once ye spent money on bus-fares it wasnt so much. Then an accordeon, jeesoh. Money didnt last. The one displayed here had no price tag that he could remember.
Entering the shop set off the security chime. A part security grille was fixed round the counter. So people couldnt jump over and grab the stuff. Plenty interesting: rifles, knives, handguns, tools and some brilliant electronic stuff like if he had the money: phones, tablets and headsets; good stuff, plus all the musical instruments; diamonds, rings and jewelry things. Two men were at one section examining power tools and heavy-looking outside equipment. Nobody was serving. Then from the rear room came the same older woman as before, the smell of tobacco strong on her. Hi, she said. You buying today?
Eh well maybe.
We got a good sale on some fine quality goods. You interested in buying?
Yeah well the accordeon, there was an accordeon.
Oh, yeah.
I saw it in the window a few days ago.
You certainly did. That most beautiful accordeon.
It was down in price, said Murdo.
Mm. If we still got it. The woman vanished into the rear. She soon returned lugging the accordeon. I got it! she said. She hoisted it onto the counter and stood a moment to regain her breath. She smiled, admiring it, then looked to see Murdo. Selling for eighty-five dollars only now can you believe it? This most beautiful beautiful thing. That is a sale. Was a hundred and twenty-five and we’ve reduced that price to sell to you this very day.
Can I try it?
The woman smiled, but had not understood him. Murdo gestured at the accordeon. Can I try it?
Oh my dear why surely you can try it! Of course you can try it. The woman opened the wire grille. Murdo lifted it through to examine. It belonged to a proper musician, she said, a real proper musician. He was a smart man too. Yes he was.
Murdo slipped the strap on over his shoulders. The woman watched with interest. He played a little, listening and getting the feel of it. It’s not too bad, he said.
; The woman smiled but uncertainly. Was a hundred and twenty-five and we’ve reduced that price to you.
It’s actually not as good as it looks, said Murdo.
Eighty-five dollars. The woman smiled.
Has it got a case?
A case? Oh now, she said. Eventually she returned with one from the rear. She laid it on the counter and made out the receipt even although he hadnt said he was buying. The case had a separate price tag. The woman glanced over at the two men checking out the tools, then took the price tag off the case, and said quietly, Eighty-five dollars and the box goes with it.
Thanks.
She smiled. You play something for me? Something nice?
Murdo adjusted the strap and began on “The Bluebell Polka”. The woman was taken aback. She maybe expected a novice. Murdo had been playing this since he was a boy. It was one of the first he learned properly and was just about the first request he ever got from old people, beginning from his granny and grandpa when they were alive.
The pawnshop woman watched and listened. Oh my dear, she said, that is God’s gift, that is just God’s gift.
The two men were looking over too. Murdo played into a quite popular slow tune, and a particular arrangement he had been trying recently. It got an emotion he liked, just something good.
He ended the playing. Okay, he said, that’s fine. He opened the box then shrugged off the accordeon, laid it in the case. The buckle fastening was strong enough although maybe a little tightening would have helped. The woman was watching. That thing is heavy, she said, passing him the receipt.
Yeah. Murdo brought the money from his pocket. Once he had the change of two $50s he crossed the street to the bus station.
That was him now. That was the trip worthwhile. It didnt matter about Sarah’s family all being away, he would just pay the full bus-fare money and that was that. Even if he changed his mind, it was too late.
Allentown bus station: he felt comfortable just walking in the door. The woman behind the ticket and information counter was the same as before. She looked at Murdo. Maybe she recognized him.
The bus to Jackson was busy but the one from there to Baton Rouge was only a third full, so a double seat to himself; it was great. He had one sandwich left. He also had an apple and a banana. The banana skin had gone black but fine inside when peeled. He ate it then brought out the book he was reading, and laid it on the pull-down tray. He settled back, closing his eyes. It was not a great accordeon but it was okay. He smoothed his hand over the box, then opened it to see inside. No point lifting it out.
