James Kelman - Dirt Road

No.

You didnt hear of it?

The Lost Sea Cave. Never.

Huh. Son they got a whole underground sea over there, up by Sweetwater.

An actual sea under the ground?

They got boats go on it. If you like boats.

Boats!

Sure. We could go there week after next. We aint fixed any plans yet. Got the long weekend huh, so we’re going somewheres that’s for sure. Aunt Maureen glanced at the clock on the wall, made to rise from the armchair. I’m going to make a hot chocolate son what about you you want one?

Can I make it for you? asked Murdo.

No you cannot.

Murdo rose from the settee and walked with her to the kitchen. Things tied in. Amazing how it happened. When Sarah said about the gig she made it seem like it was easy to get there. How easy? Now he knew. She said him and Dad could stay overnight with friends but if it was as close as this maybe they wouldnt need to, they could just get a bus home. Maybe they had their own friends, their own family relations. But that wouldnt matter if they drove home after. Or like a bus. There had to be a bus. Ye think a bus goes to LaFayette? he said.

Aunt Maureen chuckled. You like buses huh!

Well I just mean like…

You got a notion for it. It’s mountain country; good country. They got resorts. You go skiing back home?

No.

Calum does. He goes skiing Murdo. You dont think of snow in California huh, but they got snow alright, they got mountains. Him and his wife now they got a good size of a house son they’d put you up any time; you and your Dad want to visit there. Any time. Got two children of their own, younger than you. That’s your first cousins Murdo. My Lord, they would love to see you there.

Is John there too?

John? Huh. Aunt Maureen smiled. You ask the questions.

I was just wondering.

Sure. Well no, he aint there. John’s in Springfield, Missouri, that’s where John is — little John as I call him. Him and your uncle now one’s hammer and one’s tongs.

Murdo smiled.

Yeah, only it aint so funny. Aunt Maureen lifted her mug of hot chocolate and held it to her cheek. She turned to Murdo and touched his hand. She had switched on the Weather Channel. Now she switched it off. I’m going in my room a bit, she said.

Aunt Maureen would you mind if I took the Road book downstairs with me?

My Lord Murdo I do not want you saying that kind of thing! Makes like you are not family and yes you are family. This is your home and you do what you want. Aunt Maureen brandished her fist at him.

Sorry Aunt Maureen.

She nodded.

*

Murdo’s concentration was on the book of Road Maps. Maybe ye didnt have to go through Chattanooga at all for driving, if ye could pass through the wee towns. Except if it was the bus and folk were getting off. That was his recollection of buses coming from Memphis.

Noises from outside, tyre noises on the gravel. Uncle John’s 4x4; him and Dad back from the pub. He got up off the bed, shoved a chair under the high-up window and stepped up to see, but would have needed a step ladder to see properly.

The bathroom door closed. Murdo undressed swiftly, switched off the light and got into bed, expecting footsteps down the stairs and Dad chapping the door to see he was okay. Why would he not be? Vampires attacking, creatures from the depth coming to drag him down.

He thought to put the light on after but his head was gone because of the gig and the idea of that, if it was even possible. Surely it was? Even just “possible”.

If he couldnt he couldnt. He said he would so really he had to. Otherwise he would let people down.

Amazing how black it was with the light out. Ye couldnt see a thing! Better with yer eyes shut. If ye were in the dark too long with yer eyes open ye got that weird feeling like things closing in; the land coming together and shutting ye in. An earthquake and the ground cracks, you fall in, aaahhhh, trying to cling on, the dirt crumbling. Scary.

He switched the music on, playing it quiet. Playing it quiet was listening to it quiet, and made it different. But full-sounding.

The truth is Dad knew nothing about music. So nothing about Murdo. He heard him play in his room, and knew he was in a band, or had been before Mum was ill.

No point talking.

Maybe Aunt Maureen would come with him! She could drive, she could hire a car.

He shifted on the bed. Moonlight through the wee window; it angled, making the ceiling itself a kind of map made out of papier-mâché, all the bumps, lines and cracks. Imagine a marker pen and tracing it out, following the lines, circling the bumps for mountains and lost valleys, lochs and rivers. Contours. Ye could trace them with yer tongue on the roof of yer mouth, the way sometimes Murdo drew things, sitting on a bus and an old man’s head from the seat in front. Then Mum, he didnt want to draw Mum, how she was sleeping, that way she was, the changes; these changes in her face.

Poor Mum.

Murdo thought things that were totally private. Nobody ever got to know. Not even himself in a weird way. It all mixed in without working it out. Then later something came out. Maybe while he was sleeping. Not dreams, just whatever. Thoughts working their way through. Sometimes he got angry and shouldnt have.

It was just life. Dad met Mum; if he hadnt Murdo and Eilidh wouldnt have been there. Different parents different children.

*

Early next morning Murdo heard the gravel crunch beneath the wheels of the 4x4, then it had gone. Uncle John was on his way to work. Murdo lifted his jacket and walked upstairs, collecting his boots from the rug at the front door, treading past Dad’s bedroom and through into the dining area. He tried to unlock the dining room exit to the patio but it wasnt locked. He opened it and stepped outside. Aunt Maureen was there in the garden. Hey Murdo!

Aunt Maureen! I’m just going a walk.

You’re early?

So are you!

Huh…? Oh, Mister Impatient!

“Mister Impatient” was one of her names for Uncle John. Most every morning Aunt Maureen was up along with Uncle John and sat with him before he went to work. Murdo hadnt thought of that.

He intended walking in a square. The streets roundabout were wide and straight, up and down and side by side, so it was easy walking. The houses neat with trimmed grass lawns, no front hedges. The lawns stretched to the kerb at the edge of the pavement, if ye could call it a pavement; the grass came right down to the kerb. It was like walking on somebody’s grass. Uncle John said about a boy getting shot dead for crossing somebody’s garden. That was hard to avoid. If ye didnt walk on their grass ye would have had to walk on the street.

Surely that was wrong? If there was no actual pavement. Beneath the kerb was a curved drop and a stank to fend off a torrent of water, for when they had floods. Flash floods. They spoke about them on the Weather Channel.

While he was walking a pick-up truck backed out of a driveway. A big man in a check shirt was at the wheel. Murdo had to stop in his tracks to let the guy out. The guy looked at him as if it was Murdo’s fault. On the main road only a few cars passed. A woman walking a dog. Another woman walking a dog. No sign of a bus-stop. If there was a local bus it maybe would go into the city centre. From there there would be buses to everywhere.

It was so peaceful! Then a sudden feeling that he liked it here. Nobody knew ye. They didnt know ye were alive. They hardly even saw ye. It was like a new life! He was on his own and going about. Whatever it was, whatever he did, it was him. That was the feeling. This was the outside world.

Although in a weird way it wasnt. Because he was here. It was an outside world but he was in it. The inside world was in his head. Nobody went in there but him. Murdo grinned: a song in his head, a great one by Beau Jocque.