James Kelman - Dirt Road

Then a black guy! He spoke to folk as they passed by the tent. He had an African voice. Another black man was with him, and three black women, and white people too. Pictures of Jesus and little children all different races and colours. That was so unexpected and great to see.

But what had he expected? No black people at all.

One of their posters was brilliant: Music is the Glory of God.

They had T-shirts for sale: Redemption, Freedom, Forgiveness. Murdo was going to take their leaflets but when they didnt move to give him one he didnt offer. Some posters and pictures were not paintings but photographs of stained glass; stained glass and four girls killed

— four girls killed. Murdo read the poster, not getting too close. Four girls. A bomb did it. A bomb at a church. Was that true? It had to be true otherwise it wouldnt have been there. Four girls and killed. Four girls. Murdo stepped back from the stall. He was going to take a leaflet but didnt. Was it true? It had to be otherwise

how could it not be? Otherwise it wouldnt be there. Jeesoh! Four girls killed. Four girls killed! Murdo walked on. Imagine Sarah. She would have got angry, so so angry, just so angry. She would have talked to the black people. What happened? But it said what happened, a bomb. If ye were black ye would have been so so angry. But white too. If ye were white, what would ye feel? What did he feel? Not like talking. Maybe to Sarah. Except she wouldnt have been here, she wouldnt have come. Queen Monzee-ay! Never. Aunt Edna! Ha ha.

*

A sign at the entrance to the marquee listed the times of the day’s events: Declan Pike — 3 p.m. Session — 5 p.m. Hielan Fling: Doors Open 7.30 p.m. Round the sides of the marquee families and small groups of people picnicked on the grass. A few dogs were jumping about. A collie was off the leash and two boys were running with it. People wore kilts and T-shirts and the males had Glengarry hats. The buckles on their leather belts looked the same design. A couple of the guys had the same face-paintings as the kids. One had “Sons of Red Eagle” printed on his T-shirt.

Uncle John was there, smoking another cigarette. He saw Murdo and waved him over. He was sitting with old guys underneath a massive umbrella. He saw Murdo and held the cigarette aloft. A filthy habit, he said. Now I’m asking ye son, at all costs, dont tell yer Auntie Maureen. Or I’m a dead man.

The other men laughed.

I only do it once in a blue moon and this is the blue moon, bom di bom bom. One of these days I’ll stop it altogether. He pointed at one of the other smokers. He’s the rascal gave me it! Temptation saith the Lord. Uncle John covered his eyes with his other hand. Get Thee behind me!

Uncle John put his arm round Murdo’s waist and drew him forwards. My nephew Murdo, all the way from Scatlin .

We’re the Neighbourhood Watch! said one of the men.

Grandpop brigade, said one.

Your Dad passed here twenty minutes ago, said Uncle John. He thought this was a union meeting. These guys dont know what a union is. It’s a train line right! Union Pacific. The old Dixie line. Uncle John took a drag on his cigarette then stubbed it out, turned to Murdo: You see the Alamo stall son?

Eh…

Look for the Alamo stall. See the Scottish names! Four maybe five born Scotsmen all fought for Texas. Same with the Confederate army. D’ye see the Civil War stuff? Scots, Scots-Irish. That’s Ulster. Plus you got the ordinary born Americans with Scottish names. All the way through you got them. That’d be something for the schoolkids if ye set them a project eh, count the Scottish names.

Sounds like a lot of fun, said a man.

Uncle John chuckled. Then he stood to his feet and groaned, rubbing at the small of his back. He stepped away from the group, side on to Murdo so that his actions were shielded. He put his hand into his hip pocket, withdrew money and slipped it to Murdo.

Aw Uncle John…

Go and have some fun.

Ye dont have to do that.

Behave yerself. Just stick it in yer pocket.

Thanks, thanks a lot.

Mind now with yer Auntie, about the smoking. Dont say a word. Whatever ye do, ye must not.

Murdo smiled.

Uncle John was dead serious. Mind now.

Definitely.

Uncle John gripped Murdo by the arm and whispered: Forget about that religion carry-on, what I said to ye earlier on son I got it wrong. Completely wrong. You know what a dumpling is? I’m a dumpling. Okay?

Of course.

Uncle John smiled. He gazed at Murdo and was going to say more but instead clapped him on the shoulder. Away and have fun. He said, There’s boys kicking a ball about by the way.

I saw them. They’re a bit young.

Ach join in anyway.

Murdo grinned. Uncle John sat back down with his pals. Murdo checked what he had given him. One note. A fifty! Fifty! Jeesoh! Murdo stopped and examined the note. $50. One note for fifty dollars. Uncle John. $50. Jeesoh. Plus Dad’s twenty equalled seventy. Seventy dollars.

He was starving. Things were expensive. Weer stalls were better. At one two lasses were getting served. One fair hair and one dark; both in Hielan dance outfits. Maybe they had been in the jig contests. Probably. Short kilts. Amazing how short, long socks high up.

They were friendly to the woman serving as though they knew her. She was an older lady and had on a shawl, although it wasnt tartan. Or was it? Maybe it was an old style. Ye felt that about the Gathering, they were like old style, from bygone days.

At the side of this stall the price list for food was broken into individual items. Not actual meals but there was savoury stuff, pies and bun things; plenty donuts. In bigger writing it read:

$6 FOOD-PLATE FOR HUNGRY BEAVERS

$8 FOOD-PLATE FOR HUNGRY BEARS

$12 FOOD-PLATE FOR HUNGRY HORSES

Murdo waited behind the girls. American voices. The lady returned their change and they lifted their plates. They half turned, watching to see what Murdo would do. He wasnt sure what to order except he was hungry. There wouldnt have been much difference between what a horse would eat and a bear. Except four dollars. Bears might even have been hungrier than horses. They could tear a person limb from limb. A horse didnt. What did a horse eat? Murdo couldnt think. Oats? Did they eat meat? Maybe they were vegetarian.

The woman was waiting. I’m just wondering please what ye get, said Murdo. I mean like the difference between the plates, if ye take the six dollar or else the eight?

Huh?

The two girls had walked a little farther off, but were listening. Probably the lady hadnt understood him. Murdo said, I was just wondering please about the actual food? Do I choose it or eh…

The lady smiled suddenly. You Maureen Simpson’s nephew?

Eh… Yeah I mean eh my Aunt Maureen.

From Scotland?

Yeah. Murdo grinned. Simpson was Dad’s mother’s name before she got married.

Well now, said the lady. She signaled a man seated to the other side of the stall. Murdo had noticed him but didnt think he was part of it. He was older too and thin-looking wearing a baseball cap, sipping a cup of coffee or tea. A slogan on the cap read Duncan Bizkitz Outlawd. Duncan Bizkitz. Him there’s Chess. I’m Clara, Clara Hopkins. Now your name son?

Murdo Macarthur.

That’s right, yeah. Thank you Murdo for coming here to our table. The lady waved at the food and passed him a wide cardboard plate.

Thanks. Murdo peered at the food, moved a step to the right, seeing the various stuff. He stepped along and paused, then returned. Eh… he peered along at it all again.

Here, she said and took the plate back off him. She began putting food onto the plate herself, not asking him but just doing it. Murdo was glad. She was giving him a real pile.

Get one aboard afore the plate sinks! said the man, pointing at the donuts.