James Kelman - Dirt Road

Yeah I know. What it is Murdo, just keep yer own thoughts. Ye might have an opinion about religion and ye’re entitled to it. But be wary. There’s things here ye dont want to talk about; politics and that, the racist stuff. People dont think the same. It’s like back home Rangers and Celtic, Protestants and Catholics, ye’re aye the opposite. Whoever it is ye’re the opposite. If it’s all Catholics you’re the only Protestant, all blacks you’re the only white. The ones ye happen to be with they’re all one thing but you’re the other. So ye watch what ye say. The best thing is say nothing.

Murdo nodded.

Ye okay?

Yeah.

Ye went awful white there. Green. I thought ye were going to faint son and I havenay seen ye do that for a while. Dad smiled. I used to do it myself.

Yeah.

Dad chuckled and went into his pocket, took out a twenty-dollar bill and pressed it into Murdo’s hand. I meant to give ye it earlier.

Thanks Dad.

See how it goes. If ye need more come and ask. Dad pointed along to the various stalls and tents down the side of the field. Have a wander, he said.

Will we meet someplace? Murdo asked.

Och we’re here all day, we’ll bump into one another.

Yeah.

There’s the music on too then the dance tonight. So ye’ll no be disappearing. Dad clapped him on the shoulder then went one way. Murdo went the other, away from the main stalls and towards the far side of the area, to the edge of the field on the other side of the tents, way away from everything.

It was very warm now and he felt more like lying in the sun than trying stuff at the stalls. The scenery too; rock formations and mountains, it was so so good seeing the mountains. Ye got rivers here but not the same lochs like back home. Probably it was true what they said about Scotland: if it wasnt for the rotten weather it would be the best place in the world. Although Alabama too, once ye got to know it. Aunt Maureen said it was a beautiful state. Except where was the sea? Ye were hemmed in without it. They didnt have any except that wee bit of coast at the Gulf of Mexico.

He found a shady place. A sort of red dirt but the grass was okay. He lay down, using his jacket as a pillow. Jet streams far far in the sky. Three, four, maybe five trails. Where were they going? They already were here. Back home ye saw a plane high in the sky and it was headed for Canada. Low in the sky was England. He browsed through the leaflets he had lifted at the entrance. Global Hunger and people in prison all over the world. Good people, Christian people, suffering hard knocks, miseries and tragedy. Open your Eyes, and Open your Mind. Most was religious stuff but quite interesting. One gave information on the history of the “Henry Craig Gathering”. Henry Craig had donated the use of this place annually. He was long dead but people kept the tradition and traveled from all over.

Although based on the Highland Gathering it was not trying to be a real one. It took from the ceilidh and was an ancient ideal going back into the mists of time. Horsemen rode round the land with the fiery cross held aloft, calling the clansfolk to order. They had the clan obligation to entertain their rulers, kings and chiefs. They sang songs, told stories, danced and took part in athletic games. It was like a tax. People had no money in those days so the kings and chiefs took a percentage of their fish and farm produce, and their whiskey too which was known as uisge beatha, “water of life”. Their descendants still brewed it to this day only nowadays they called it “moonshine”.

The thud of a football.

Down the field boys were playing football and two girls with them. A kickabout would have been great, even in the sun. He shoved the leaflets back in his pocket, got up and wandered among the stalls and tents. Seeing the price of stuff. Dad had given him the $20 but did that include food? He was starving. One place sold beer but one bottle alone was $7. Other stalls sold food. People sat outside drinking, eating and chatting. At a place farther along Uncle John was sitting with two older men. He was smoking a cigarette! Uncle John! Murdo hadnt seen him smoke before.

He hung back, unseen, then went sideways between stalls.

Here they sold stuff with Celtic themes. Kilts, Scottish whisky and buckled shoes. One stall had stained glass and decorative jewelry. Swords and shields; dirks. Scottish Irish. The culture of the Celts. The folk doing the selling were dressed in the old ways: kilts and fancy shirts, leather waistcoats. Some had long hair and blue clay designs on their faces. Mixed males and females. All ages. Plenty wore Highland outfits. Girls wore short kilts. Some of the older ones were very very good-looking. Really pretty and their kilts were like the shortest, the very very shortest, and just great legs. Socks and tunic outfits. White lace on their blouses; ruffles and sashes.

Older women wore the kilt too, and tartan waistcoat tops, tartan shawls. All different hats and wee umbrellas to keep out the sun. Guys mainly wore kilts or shorts. There werent many in his age group. They wore kilts with shirts, T-shirts and vests, had tattooed arms. Cowboy hats, baseball caps, bunnets, berets and Glengarrys. Their T-shirts had printed references to Scotland but other stuff too; one said “Hands off the Ocean” and another “Hands off the Presbytery”; one had “FBI” in big writing then underneath “Federal Bureau of Integration”. A man and a woman had identical T-shirts saying, “Hi I’m Phil Campbell”. Imagine saying hullo, I saw yer town on the map.

Three old guys chatting together wore kilted outfits in the official style with the traditional curved jackets, and shirts and ties too, thick socks with dirks poking out. Skinny legs and knobbly walking sticks. Maybe they were officials. They looked like the high-up ones that did judging at the real Highland Games.

One of the tents did face painting. Kids and toddlers were having the Scottish Saltire painted on their faces and on their hair round the back of their heads. Some had the Scottish Saltire at the front and other ones round the back, the Confederate flag. Ye could research yer family history and discover Scottish Heritage; the Battle of Bannockburn and Culloden; posters of Braveheart. One said “King Arthur: Scottish?” The American Constitution, the American War of Independence, Remember the Alamo and the American Civil War.

Girls selling ye religious stuff. Although they were smiling they were not having a laugh. One held lottery tickets up to Murdo. He shook his head, expecting her maybe to say more but she didnt, she went away to somebody else. Even if he did buy a ticket, if he won a prize, how could he collect it? He should have said that to the lassie like if he was back home in Scotland what happened, did they post it to you? She would have gawped at him. Oh is he an alien! She probably hadnt even heard of Scotland. Although surely here she would have! Anyway, he didnt have money for lottery tickets.

Stalls and tents along the way offered prizes for throwing a basketball and firing slug guns at targets. $5 a go!

He found a place where ye could “score a goal!” — ye kicked a football into a bucket for $3. If ye scored two out the three shots ye won the prize. Murdo was going to try it. They had the same game back home. Ye had to chip the ball rather than kick it. Ye were lucky to land it in the bucket at all. Even if ye did and the ball hit the bottom it bounced back out. Ye had to land it in so it hit the back and swirled roundabout. It was very very difficult. Even if ye managed it the only prize was a gigantic football the size of a huge belly; more of a balloon than a ball. Probably only worth about $3. He passed on. Near the beer tents were the usual stalls where ye won prizes on games like bingo and tombola. The one thing missing was music. He couldnt find one stall. It could have been instruments or CDs; just something. Folk were selling raffle or lottery tickets supporting good causes. Mostly they were religious, talking about religious aspects of life; Christ on Calvary, the Day of Reckoning, Saved by Grace. Some of it Murdo didnt know. He knew the words but not what they meant — The Truth of God Is the Judge. Churches had individual names: Live Oak Biblical, Back Creek Historical, Ray of Light Reformed, Tyson’s Ridge Glad Tidings. They would have been Protestant. Catholic churches would have had the names of Saints. Back home they would, although maybe here was different.