James Kelman - Dirt Road

Linda, said Dad, I think she came with other people.

Mm.

Aunt Maureen called: Lives in Springfield Missouri Tommy; same as your cousin John. I know Linda, she is one nice girl, and she knows young John too.

Dad twisted on the seat to see round at Aunt Maureen. Aunt Maureen winked at Murdo then was staring out the window again.

Cousin John was Uncle John’s elder boy, the one he didnt talk to. But Aunt Maureen talked to him. Two days ago Murdo had come out the bathroom after a shower and she was on the phone to him. Murdo heard enough to work that out.

Uncle John had started talking again but more quietly now and Murdo had to shift on the seat and strain to hear.

We saw a television programme, said Uncle John, Irish-Scotch or whatever the hell, Scotch-Irish! I was angry watching it Tommy, so would you have been. King James and all his rebels right enough. Dont call me Scotch. I tell them that in the bastard work, ye want Scotch go to the bastard pub. Excuse the language, he said. Uncle John sniffed, but an angry sniff. Call me Scottish, that’s what I tell them, I’m not Scotch, dont call me Scotch. I get a bit annoyed the way everything here’s Irish, know what I mean — Oireesh!

Dad spoke quietly. The guy’s from Alabama but Uncle John. He only works in Texas.

I’ve got nothing against him — whatever he is, dont get me wrong. Only it aint a thing to talk about; not in that company. You got to know who you’re talking to. Religion like that! He’s a bloody singer! He’s paid to sing! That Billy Boy stuff, Protestants and Catholics and all that. In the name of God Tommy what century is he living in! Know what I mean, it’s insulting. Uncle John glanced at Dad. How does he know anyway?

He works beside Scottish guys. Dad said, Offshore, there’s a lot of Scottish guys work offshore; he hears the banter.

Banter! Uncle John shook his head.

Murdo looked to the rear-view mirror but couldnt see his eyes. He sat back on the seat now. Dad knew he was listening. Uncle John was silent. That was something how he didnt like Declan. And other people didnt too. That was what upset Linda, and she got angry. Declan just laughed. He took buses everywhere and made jokes about it. He said he appreciated buses because he wrote songs traveling on them. Nobody wrote songs driving an automobile. Declan said that, if they did they would crash! Everybody has a laugh but Declan had a good one. There was a quality to it; the same when he was talking between songs. It fitted in with that stagey growl he did, kind of macho but like a kid-on, dont take it serious.

Aunt Maureen was dozing.

They were passing through a built-up area. Uncle John was doing his cheery wee whistling now, hardly making a sound other than the breath escaping, how it escapes sometimes like how with the pipes the bag expels air, the breaths, huh hih huh hih huh hih, and the drone, that drone

On Sunday afternoon Dad came out to the patio carrying a book and a coffee. Murdo was sunbathing at his usual spot in the garden but closer in to the hedge for shade. The hi-fi and US Road Atlas were closeby. He lowered the volume and exchanged a wave with Dad then returned to the book he was reading, one about a guy who came back to the town of his birth after years in an army stockade for a crime he did not commit. The sheriff of the town hated him because of a thing from childhood. It was good, set in the state of Arizona.

Dad hadnt opened his book, he was just sitting there. Usually he would have been reading in the house before coming out and was carrying on where he left off. Sometimes he read while he walked. That was Dad, a major reader. Murdo reached to turn down the hi-fi volume again but would have been as well turning it off altogether. Ye wasted brain energy trying to listen and this interfered with the music. It was worse than frustrating. It seemed a lack of concentration but it wasnt concentration at all. Ye did concentrate. It was just some of it went in the wrong direction. Or else it was a different concentration; concentrating to concentrate. Real concentration was where ye didnt have to think about it, yet took it all in.

The temperature was into the eighties now. Aunt Maureen had said it was going to be hot. Her and Uncle John had gone to church. Before leaving she came downstairs to see if Murdo had changed his mind. It was awkward saying no. But he hadnt said yes in the first place so it was not like he had changed his mind.

He carried on reading. Later Dad was coming towards him, carrying a chair from the patio. Is company okay? he asked.

Murdo grinned.

Dad gestured at the book. Any good?

Yeah.

Dad nodded, he sat back on the chair, closing his eyes into the sun. This is the life, he murmured.

Neither spoke for a while. Murdo moved to lift his cowboy novel but stopped when Dad spoke. The thing with church, he said, at one time, ye would have had nay option but to go. Whether ye believed in it or not. It’s still the same in some places.

Back home, said Murdo. Stornoway and these places.

Yeah but here too son it depends on the community. Some of Aunt Maureen’s friends, if ye didnay go to church they would send round a doctor, they would think ye were ill!

Murdo smiled.

Seriously, they’re strong on the church and ye just have to watch it.

Fundamentalists…

Not fundamentalists Murdo that’s where ye’re wrong. They’re just ordinary people.

Well Dad I saw their leaflets at the Gathering and like some of the things they were saying I mean they were just kind of — kind of silly. I’m not being cheeky.

Are ye not?

No.

Good. Ye know son I’ve got to say, maybe you dont know, how proud Aunt Maureen and Uncle John are of ye.

Murdo shifted on the chair, shaking his head and breathing loudly.

Honestly, said Dad, I think that was a wee thing about church ye know, I think they were wanting to show ye off! Because of yesterday, when ye were playing the guitar. One of their friends said they were “spellbound”; that was the word. Telling ye son that’s a real compliment. It’s a good compliment. It’s the kind of one people dont say unless they mean it. Really. That was you on guitar too…! God imagine the accordeon! Ye would have blown them away!

Murdo looked at him.

Naw but ye would have! Dad grinned. I’m no kidding ye son ye would have blown them away!

Dad I’m no wanting to blow anybody away.

No

Really, I’m no wanting to blow anybody away. Murdo sat forwards on his chair and was saying, It’s only to play with them Dad not to like beat them. How can ye beat them, ye cannay beat them, it’s daft saying it. Know what I mean, it’s just daft like it’s just eh — it’s daft. Murdo shook his head. Sorry Dad. I only mean like… I’m sorry.

Dad smiled. I’m no used to being called daft. Eh?

Murdo had lowered his head, was staring at the patio floor; and the edge of the table almost was white in places because where the sun, the way the sun affected it.

Dad clasped his hands on the table. I’m no used to being called daft.

It’s just ye see it was Chess led me. Chess Hopkins Dad he’s brilliant, he is just brilliant. Him and Clara, it’s just like great great music, just great. Clara is special; she is so so special. Like playing with them Dad, just playing with them… Murdo shook his head.

Aye well you’re special too. Dad looked away.

Murdo closed his eyes.

Ye are son.

Dad it’s not the same.

It is the same. Ye are. People thought that. That is what they thought. And they said it too. You disappeared! Dad smiled. I only wish… If ye had played the accordeon son, when ye had the chance. I mean ye had the chance. The band would have let ye play. Uncle John asked them and they said aye. He asked them for you. They said aye. It was you said no! Dad sighed. I’m not getting at ye. I just…I dont understand it. Usually ye play at the drop of a hat.