James Kelman - Dirt Road

Here comes a stranger, a stranger,

Here comes a stranger.

Here comes a stranger, a stranger,

Here comes a stranger.

*

Aunt Maureen was in the lounge area when he came upstairs; the television on. Murdo had thought she was cooking but here she was knitting, sitting on one side of the settee with a knitting box beside her, a cup of tea set closeby, and a magazine near enough to read. On television the islands in the Caribbean Sea were illustrated in diagrams relating to storms; and the Gulf of Mexico too, and the weather coming in from there: tornadoes. He called: Hi Aunt Maureen.

Hey Murdo. You have a lie-down huh?

Yeah.

Your Dad was saying.

I thought ye were cooking…

Yeah son I’m having a break.

Murdo walked to sit on Uncle John’s usual armchair. Is that tornadoes?

Tornadoes, sure; low-risk in this state. You go to Texas now you got it bad, up through Oklahoma. Here you’re talking hurricanes, coming in from the gulf shores — you heard of Orange Beach?

No.

We got a coast here you know, but they squeezed us out. Look at a map son you’ll see what I’m talking about. Got a map book someplace. Wherever it is! Aunt Maureen laid down the magazine and her cup, lifted her knitting and a knitting pattern book; she glanced about the room.

Murdo watched the Weather Channel for several minutes. The focus had moved now to New Mexico and Colorado, Arizona into California and the coast down there, the long peninsula into the Pacific Ocean. So they had good sea there, then the Gulf of Mexico and the Caribbean too, and the Atlantic Ocean. It was interesting. Good stuff about America he hadnt known. All the places. Aunt Maureen, he said, I was wondering about walks roundabout here?

Walks?

Walks, like where people can go.

Oh walks huh. Sure. They got a park. Aint much of a drive. During the day is good. There’s some funny people go in the evenings.

Yeah but what about round here? Just going a walk?

You want a break son huh! We got you cooped up. How long you been here a day? Aunt Maureen smiled, paused a moment in the knitting.

Honest Aunt Maureen I wasnt meaning that.

We’ll go to the mall tomorrow son that’s the plan. Got some things to buy for tomorrow evening, got some people coming over. What they call a pot-luck, you know what a pot-luck is?

No.

That’s some of the cooking I’m doing now, for the pot-luck. You’ll see. Kind of nice. Neighbourly. I got some things to pick up. You’ll like the mall. Got all kinds of stores, all the big ones. Hey now Murdo they do the power-walking there! Folks older than me. Round and round they go, elbows flashing. You see their elbows? They’d knock you for seven.

I was just meaning a wee walk, just round the streets.

You need to get out son that’s what you are talking about. Temperature’s up now though, pushing on eighty, be hotter than that in an hour. Evening’s better; early morning: people go early morning. What about your father, you ask him? Him and your uncle’s going for a beer later. He’s taking him to a bar.

To a bar?

Aint fair huh? Got to be twenty-one for that. Aunt Maureen glanced up from her knitting. I got a friend takes buses. She takes buses everywhere.

I thought there werent any.

Oh there’s buses son; of course there’s buses. I dont go on them. But she does. Then she dont drive. I always did.

You! Did ye! Murdo chuckled.

You surprised about that! Since I was twelve years old.

Twelve years old!

My Daddy taught us all. For when he got too drunk to, like the song says. Aunt Maureen paused. No, he didnt get drunk hardly at all except with your Uncle John there now, he liked your Uncle John; for as long as he knew him. My Daddy’s people were from Kentucky, him and his old father came here to work, talking about my granddaddy now Murdo we called him Poppo. My Lord! Aunt Maureen nodded. It’s poor people goes on buses Murdo. You know what that means? Huh? Taking chances is what it means.

Murdo shrugged.

Now son you dont know what’s going to happen. And who’s there. You dont know anything about that either.

Yeah but Aunt Maureen if ye need something in a hurry and ye dont have a car, like I mean if ye cant afford a taxi.

Aunt Maureen continued knitting. I hear you, she said.

Have ye got a local store here, a local one?

Sure.

How far away is it?

Too far.

So do ye not go to it?

Not much.

Murdo shrugged. I would go, if ye needed anything. It’s me does the shopping back home. I always walk.

Oh you do?

Yeah. I dont mind at all. I quite like it. Except if it’s raining like heavy, if it’s lashing down.

Lashing doon! Aunt Maureen chuckled.

Well it does lash down. Murdo grinned. So then ye’ve got to take a bus. Seriously but, if ye ever need anything I mean… He shrugged.

I hear you son.

*

Aunt Maureen said about poor people but that was them. They were the poor people. So why not a bus? They came on buses from the airport so why not now? People worried about things happening but things happened everywhere. So if ye were too scared to go out did ye stay in the house forever? Ye read about hermits from the olden days, usually for a religion and they were communicating with God. They lived on their own completely, away in the woods or in caves at the side of mountains; maybe rocky coasts. How did they eat? They didnt work and didnt go to shops. They didnt want to meet people. They lived off the land, they ate insects and plants. Maybe they caught a fish or killed a rabbit or a squirrel. Or a deer. But if ye dont have a gun how do ye kill a deer? Ye would have to jump on its back and strangle it. Unless ye trapped it, ye could lay traps. There was plenty deer back home. Early morning they come down to the loch for a drink, so ye would hunt them there, if ye were allowed, like Dad said, it was rich people owned them and rich people that shot them.

Squirrels and rabbits.

Fish!

But if ye had no boat and nothing to catch them with? Ye used yer bare hands. Ye lay down with yer hands submerged and waited for a fish to swim over, then fast lifted it up.

America was fine except the sea, he missed the sea. Back home ye could always get out and get away, away from everything.

It didnt matter where ye were if ye were stuck in the house, and the garden was the house. For Dad it was Heaven: sitting in the patio reading a book. Not for Murdo. What did ye do in America? I read a book. Tomorrow was Wednesday. From last Friday six whole days. Nearly a week.

In the distance the sound of wood being sawn, just the ordinary sound of the saw: brooop brip, brooop brip. It was right for the setting if ye were outside; thinking of settlers cutting down trees to build log cabins.

Murdo was out the garden when Uncle John came home from work. He worked on maintenance and part of that was being ready for emergency call-outs. It was a boost to his wages and he had been doing it for a long while. The big news was for this Saturday coming then the weekend after next.

Saturday was what they called “The Gathering”. Although it had a church connection it was good fun according to Uncle John, keeping alive the history and culture of the Celts. Stalls and raffles, home baking and prizes and competitions; all different stuff and finishing with a dance in the evening. Some old Scottish guy had left instructions and a sum of money so it would happen year in year out. There was a wee chance Uncle John might cancel if a work emergency arose, but if nothing happened by Friday night they would be off Saturday morning. If something happened while they were away they would text him.

The really big news was the weekend after that: they were giving Uncle John the Friday off and guaranteed no call-outs Saturday and Sunday. This meant he was free Thursday night through Sunday evening, so they could plan something good. They were speaking about it at the table. Murdo just listened. There wasnt anything to say. It led into the usual conversation about relations. Uncle John was talking about his sister’s husband again — Dad’s father — blaming him for not emigrating when Dad was a boy. If Dad disagreed, he didnt say anything. Murdo was ten when the old guy died, his grandpa. He sang comic songs and folk songs. Murdo had a memory of him, like not so much funny as cheery, but in a kind of angry way. That was the memory: he was an angry old guy.