by James Kelman
Each track played had been on the CDs. No surprises. Queen Monzee-ay introduced the first of her own, “L’air frais fait du bien”, going back to when Murdo first played it on her back porch, and again that morning in the wee grass square. Yeah, she said, glancing back to the drummer: fresh air does you good. Serve it with weed soup man, c’est potage. Passez-moi le poivre!
The drummer responded: Le dîner est servi, where is the croutons!
The title was the line ending the chorus. The dancers paused in the dancing to yell: L’air frais fait du bien.
And the drummer called: Where is the croutons! It was just daft but total fun.
Two more of her own followed: on the first Murdo did something a little different and for part of it Queen Monzee-ay stepped aside to shift focus onto him. Next along was “Gens comme vous et moi”, and this was different again. She raised her hand for quiet, and introduced it by telling about where she came from, to do with an island closeby the town of Natchitoches. She spoke in English and in French. The Creole people were her people, a French-speaking people from way before the Cajuns came. She directed this to the audience and for some it was special. If it was yer own family history how come people didnt know? People who were sitting stood to hear her and among them were Aunt Edna and Carrie at the family table.
Also Diego Narciso. Diego had arrived and was standing between the wall and the family table, obscured by people milling around the dancing area. His band were there too, watching from the side of the dancing area. How long they had been there who knows.
On the CD version Queen Monzee-ay sang part English, part French. Now she sang entirely in French and it brought the weary sadness even closer.
Maybe not sad, only weary; ye were picking yerself up and carrying on. This was the song; we pick ourselves up and we carry on, you and me and people like me: “Gens comme vous et moi”.
Sarah stayed close to Queen Monzee-ay, moving step to step in total concentration. Somebody so close to you, so so close, so close you would have to be crying, just such a hero, such a fighter, ye couldnt do anything else. She was glowing! Love and pride, ha ha. She didnt cry. Murdo would have cried. Murdo was a crier. Sarah wasnt. Maybe it was men, women just whatever.
Towards the end of the song Queen Monzee-ay faded on vocal, not like she had lost her voice, but that there was no voice left in the song, and she took it through an extra verse on accordeon alone, and she finished alone, the other musicians just watching her.
The audience applauded and Queen Monzee-ay bowed a little. This was the fifth song in. Queen Monzee-ay twirled a step and grinned. Hey! she was pointing offstage: Y’all know this cowboy?
People turned to see, and some recognised Diego.
Hey hombre! called Queen Monzee-ay.
He doffed the black studded cowboy hat in the same sweeping move he had used earlier in the day. The difference here was in Queen Monzee-ay. She had her hands on her hips in a swaggering stance, and she stepped from foot to foot. It looked like a dance step but it might have been an aid to her back, if she was experiencing any slight pain because her next move was to rub at the side of her hip. But she laughed, wagging her right forefinger at the floor space next to her and the mic. Hey Señor, Señor Narciso: you do one for us!
Diego was shaking his head, dismissing the idea.
Diego! I am ordering you, tout de suite, je suis pressé. Si hombre you come: now!
Laughter from the audience and band members. It was play-acting and it was funny and obvious how well they knew each other. Diego gave a tired gesture and looked to his band, then shrugged and got to his feet. Loud cheers and whistles from the audience. He lifted his accordeon from beneath the family table, and strolled forwards. His band stepped onstage without instruments. Vicenté and Esteban came to where Murdo stood. Vicenté shook hands with him and Esteban patted his shoulder. Hey Moordo, he whispered, we sing here eh.
They needed in to the mic. Murdo stepped away. Diego was in discussion with the Zadiks bass and drummer, and Queen Monzee-ay too. The bass nodded, passed his guitar to Santiago and the drummer vacated his place to Roberto. Diego moved to the centre mic, adjusting his accordeon. Murdo followed the two Zadiks musicians to the side of the stage, and caught sight of Dad way back at the bar, staring right at him. Declan Pike stood alongside drinking beer. Murdo hoped Dad was drinking one too but acted as though he hadnt seen him, like he didnt know he was there.
Onstage Diego had given a nod of the head and went straight into a song called “Margarita” which he sang entirely in Spanish, vocal backing from Vicenté and Esteban into the same mic with much whooping and on-the-spot stamping feet. Behind them Queen Monzee-ay marched across stage and back in short marching steps to the beat. She knew the song well. He was turning to play to her and calling to her in Spanish and she replied in Spanish, in French and in English. The life the fun the excitement. No time for anything else. Murdo punched the air. The Zadiks drummer glanced at him. Sorry, said Murdo. The guy was smiling. Murdo shrugged, smiled back at him.
Although things had changed with Dad being there it was like so what so what, things hadnt really changed at all. Him being there didnt have to make things awkward. It didnt have to do anything at all. Unless like if Dad wanted it to. Murdo was part of it and that was that. Santiago on bass was signaling to him, and the signal was clear in the raised eyebrows and changing facial expressions, What do you think what do you think?
And Murdo signaled a reply – a big grin and wee punching movement with his right fist – I think it is great I think it is great.
Jees and it was great. And real strong applause for Diego and the guys. They only stayed for the one. That was manners.
Queen Monzee-ay stepped to reclaim the mic. She and Diego kissed cheeks. She clapped him from the stage. Her own musicians returned. Murdo followed the Zadiks musicians back onstage where they retrieved the bass guitar and drums.
Murdo winked to Santiago and Roberto. Solid, he said.
Soleed…! Santiago grinned and slapped him on the shoulder.
Queen Monzee-ay waited by the mic until they had gone and the audience quietened while the musicians prepared: Forget the Conjunto cowboy, she said, this here is my band. And I am one lucky lady. J’ai des bons amis, très bons amis, très très bons. Queen Monzee-ay looked behind to Sarah, Gene and Murdo, then at the bass and drums. Two of these Zadiks here, wonderful musicians, all the way from Opelousas, I taught them everything they know. Yeah – showed them the fast road outa there!
The bass, the drummer and the other Zadiks jeered. Queen Monzee-ay glared at them. Okay boys okay.
She continued: Ça me fait beaucoup de plaisir. Some young friends here with me this evening, young Gene there, geetar maestro; come all the way from Vicksburg Mississippi.
Gene stepped forward to acknowledge this. She gestured at Murdo who just grinned, watching her. Mister Murdo there, she said, and paused. What you laughing at! This boy laughs at nothing! Come all the way from someplace. Where?
There was a silence
Queen Monzee-ay turned to Murdo: Where you come from boy?
The bus station! he called.
Laughter from the audience and band members. Queen Monzee-ay chuckled and blew him a kiss. Yeah, she said, Murdo is my boy. Also here with me, from Allentown Mississippi, my own sweet granddaughter Sarah, daughter of my daughter. Come forward girl!
From the family table there were extra cheers. Brought her own fan club, said Queen Monzee-ay. Okay! She stepped back from the mic now and began the next number, and followed with another; both uptempo. During the end applause she leaned to speak off-mic to Murdo: You do one for us now Murdo? Huh, you got something?
Yeah.
We all will pick up on it.
Okay.
Queen Monzee-ay spoke into the mic: Only one thing better than one accordeon is two accordeons: deux cœurs qui battent à l’unisson! Murdo here is going to lead the way on this next one now Murdo: what you going to play for us?
&n
bsp; “I’m on the Wonder”?
Queen Monzee-ay looked at him. Son you can you play anything. You play anything you want.
Yeah, I’ll play “I’m on the Wonder”.
You want to play “I’m on a Wonder”?
Yeah.
Then that is nice, that is nice.
But you take vocal, you know the vocal?
Sure. I can take vocal. Queen Monzee-ay spoke into the mic: We’ll do now “I’m on a Wonder”, song by old brother Clifton. She stepped aside, and whispered, Take as long as you need on the opening; give folks here a chance to catch up. You been listening to Beau Jocque?
Beau Jocque, yeah.
Yeah, she said, and passed on the information to the others.
Sarah gave him a half wave and he smiled to her. He was by the centre mic. The audience waited and that was that; he started in and it was the straight blues. This was the song he could only play, whatever people thought, it didnt matter, he could play only this, and how Beau Jocque played it, going in that same way, doing it from this morning on that bench and the whole damn nightmare, from there, and where to? wherever: wherever it was leading. Queen Monzee-ay was waiting, Sarah and the guys closeby.
Murdo repeated the opening and was swaying, swaying sideways, allowing Queen Monzee-ay to the mic, and she edged into it, pulling in the band.
And that was them. It was all there in the song and playing of the song. There was nothing other, not any place. He was there in it and didnt have “to feel like he was” because he was; and not “feel like a musician” amongst other musicians because he was one. He was just Murdo and this was Murdo. So what? It didnt matter anything else, he would play whatever, anything; and just say whatever, whatever he felt like saying; he was a musician and so what, that was all. He knew it and had done for such a long long while and was so weary weary but on ye go, ye just go on, that is that, picking yerself up, here he was. Whoever else was there that was them, it was up to them. Dad could do what he wanted to do. It was his business so he could just go ahead. It was up to him. Sarah too, she was great and never a word against her. It is just how it was. Oh Murdo, when she said Oh Murdo. She knew it too. Oh Murdo. That is just like another world, Oh Murdo, if it was another world and they were in it, but they werent, they were just bumping into each other, and maybe having fun.
He was glad when the song ended. It had ended. He brought it to a close. It was his to do that. His to begin, his to end. Queen Monzee-ay waited a moment for the audience and while they were clapping she gave Murdo a kiss, their noses touching over the boxes, which was fun, and people laughed. Murdo heard them – heard them clapping, heard them laughing – he wasnt looking hardly, only at one point he did, smiling like a thanks, whatever the thanks was and what it was for, whatever, it was just everything, him and them all, he was only a part of it, just like everybody. Then Queen Monzee-ay, he was gazing at her, seeing her give one of her glares into the mic, grabbing a silence: the last song was over now here was this one: Hey, hey, hush now, mes enfants; mes petits-enfants… And she chuckled looking all roundabout at everybody, ones sitting, ones standing and all along by the bar, everybody just waiting. She whispered: Quel âge me donnes-tu? You think I’m past it! She glared at everybody, at the band and everybody else: You think I’m past it! Réfléchez bien avant de répondre!
There was laughter. Okay now, she said, we play one more; one more outa here, taking the fast road to Texas, wishing Diego and his boys fond farewells home – on se reverra bientôt. Song by sister Ida, “I-10 Express”.
*
When they left the stage people were wanting to talk with Queen Monzee-ay and Sarah stayed alongside her. Gene was with the musicians. Dad wasnt there. Murdo had thought he might be. A couple of people were looking at him and it was like ye didnt know what to do, where to look if ye saw them and they saw you seeing them. He was glad to go backstage along the corridor. He had a quick wash in the wee dressing room – before Sarah and Queen Monzee-ay came. Then he stepped outside, down from the wooden platform. He stood with his back to the wall.
It was dark and peaceful, with a mild breeze. Across was the wide empty area; no lighting there, the old foundations now unseen, whatever it had been in the past. Earlier he heard the sound of a train, long drawn out from someplace not too far away. Louisiana. It was good just standing there and thinking that. Ye heard it in songs but not much and he didnt know much. Without anybody there it was like just him, it was him there and the old place, old foundations and whatever it was, Louisiana. He didnt have to be here but he was, he came and this was him, here from the inside out, whatever it was, it made him feel something. But what? He didnt know, he just liked it, and that blues there in his napper:
I’m on the wonder
tell me why you wanna walk away
I dont wanna come back home
Lord knows I love you
but I’m living in misery
Ye had to be old to sing it. Or did ye? He wasnt living in misery. Brains just make the connection. That was brains, what do brains do, if they are for something, like ye have brains, we all have brains and what do they tell ye! Nothing, just like conduits; the mother-board; algorithm of algorithms. Ye still have to do it.
Dad being here was like from another world. The world of “the real Murdo”. Not his own world but the one where everything else went on, where Murdo was just whatever. Dad joined them together. With Dad here it was “the real Murdo”.
Time to go back inside. Only he didnt want to go back inside, talking with people and whatever, he just wasnt able to. To be being with people. He didnt want to be with people, only like being swallowed up if he could be swallowed up he wanted to be swallowed up. Jees. The darkness, the old foundations. Oh God.
Wherever Dad was. Outside with the smokers, Declan Pike was a smoker.
It would be hard for Dad saying hullo, with Sarah’s family, he wouldnt want to be pushy. Oh sorry for that time about Sunday lunch, we had to get our bus.
Murdo had to go inside. He had to go inside. Anything else was stupid. Imagine walking, walking, away in the darkness, Lord knows I love you, where would ye go? Anywhere.
He opened the side exit door and returned through the backstage corridor, aware of the old posters and photographs. He paused by the door out to the main hall and pushed it ajar. Nobody here, jees. He exited. But Santiago and the guys from Diego Narciso’s band were at the side, like as if waiting for him, they were, saw him and came toward him, excited and wanting to talk. But there wasnt time for that because Dad was over by the main door entrance and gazing across.
Murdo turned in the other direction, as though casually, crossing the floor to Sarah’s family table where he was greeted as a friend of the family, which he was anyway. He found a place on the fringe of their table. Gene was sitting close to Sarah who was telling them about some wee incident to do with the gig, and they were laughing about it. Murdo didnt get it, but didnt try to. He was glad just to sit and keep out the road, listen to the taped music. He would have to talk to Dad but not now. The truth is he was tired. His stomach too, his stomach was kind of
Nerves. He needed the toilet. But a shit! Jees, where? This was the worst. He stared at the floor to out-think it, stared at the floor. Things in considering, in considering. Stuff. Things. Two hundred dollars. Pay it back. Obviously he would, that was obvious. He still had some of it left. Everything else he would pay back. Everything, just like everything everything.
There was nowhere to go except sit here. Although it was up to him to go to Dad. Dad would never come to him. Sarah’s family table, he wouldnt intrude. Bad manners is how he would see it.
Oh well. He yawned. It was true but he needed a sleep. That was one thing. Oh but his stomach. Nerves again.
The taped music: the same guy singing as before, a nice swinging blues with piano, sax and drums. Ye could picture the old bartender as the piano player, and if ye interrupted him playing, Where’s my gun till I fucking shoot ye.
Qu
een Monzee-ay had appeared, over by the backstage door in her ordinary clothes; ready to leave. She was signing flyers and tickets and people were taking photographs. Her and the family were going for a meal someplace. Murdo was welcome. He knew he was but it wouldnt happen. It wouldnt happen because with Dad it would be something else.
Somebody poked him in the shoulder: Esteban from Diego’s band; he whispered: Moordo, come. Beer for you.
Murdo grinned. Esteban gestured to where the other guys were standing waiting for him. Vicenté clapped him on the shoulder. Hey Moordo!
The other two were Santiago and Roberto and it was high-fives: Moordo!
That was about all they could say, Moordo. Murdo liked “Moordo”. Moordo was better than Murdo. Santiago lifted the bottle of beer from the floor, poured it into a polystyrene cup and passed him it. Esteban said, Eh Moordo, you play with a white people band?
Do ye mean like in my own country? In Scotland do ye mean?
Si, Scotland.
Yeah.
Irish music uh? asked Vicenté.
Well Scottish.
Scotteesh! Santiago laughed and whispered something in Spanish to Roberto.
You didnt come to our gig, said Esteban.
No eh the time wasnt good.
Okay.
Moordo, you know Conjunto? asked Vicenté. Conjunto?
No.
You know Tejano? Tejano music?
Tex-Mex? said Esteban.
No.
Vicenté said, You hear us with Diego, is Conjunto. Vicenté pointed to the other three. We are Conjunto band. Looking for people.
No people, said Esteban quickly. Un accordeonista.
Si, said Vicenté, one accordeon. You want to play with us?
What?
Esteban said, Come with us in our band Moordo. We here.
You play with us? asked Vicenté. We have gigs.
Murdo grinned, he glanced from one to the other, and sipped the beer which was a kind of lager and sharp-tasting.
