James Kelman - Dirt Road

He knew where Dad kept the emergency money. Six hundred dollars. Murdo took four $50 notes which was the very very minimum. Everything depended. $200 was not enough if he didnt get any lifts and had to pay full bus-fares there and back. Plus accordeon. But he couldnt take anything more.

From the fridge he used the cheese and cold meat to make four sandwiches. Aunt Maureen wouldnt worry. She would be glad he took it. As many slices as necessary. He gathered some fruit together and found her store of brown paperbags.

Next was Aunt Maureen’s notepad to write a letter to her and Uncle John, and one to Dad too, just apologising and saying about the gig, and he would be back on Sunday but would phone and not to worry. Then the telephone rang, it kept ringing. Murdo walked to the hallway but didnt lift it. Maybe Dad from Uncle John’s cell phone. Probably it was. Jeesoh. It rang again. He went to lift it this time but left it, he just left it. He couldnt speak to anybody. When he checked the time it was after half past eight. How many miles was that?

Maybe he should have answered the phone. So now they would worry. If it was Dad. Maybe it wasnt, but if it was. If it was he would worry. He would ask Uncle John to turn back, to see things were okay. He would need to. That was Dad, that is what he would do. No he wouldnt. Maybe, maybe he would. Murdo wrote down the telephone number and house address in the back page of the Road Atlas book, and again on a scrap of notepaper which he put into the rucksack, and a third time on another scrap of notepaper which he stuck into his jeans pocket.

He positioned the two letters on the kitchen counter, propped up against mugs. He checked the patio door was locked and drew the curtains, then last call to the bathroom, last look round the house. He opened the front door. Nothing else. He stepped outside and closed it.

The street was quiet. Murdo walked quickly to the corner and all the way along past the red-brick church, and to the bus-stop on the main road.

He was the only one there. Five minutes and a bus arrived. The doors opened and he stepped up, and held coins at the ready. The driver ignored him. The doors closed and the driver continued to ignore him, then jerked his thumb back the way. So Murdo was not to pay money, or what? The driver accelerated, still ignoring him. Grumpy drivers, that was like home. Murdo walked to the nearest empty seat. Only two other people were on the bus but more got on eventually, and a few who looked like students.

The bus went right into the downtown area. Murdo ate a banana while crossing the road to the bus station. On a wall inside was a large map marked with the main bus routes which he studied, working it out the best way, tied into the route to Allentown, Mississippi.

He was prepared for expensive tickets but it was extortionate, and even more extortionate if he had gone west to begin with. The trouble there was keeping sideways rather than going north to Memphis; he did not want to go back there. It felt like bad luck or something; although what was luck, ye make yer own in this life. People said that.

South of Birmingham the bus was full: he sat on the aisle seat. On the inside was a wee thin guy. What age? Thirties maybe, worrying about whatever and looking agitated. Something bad was going to happen! He hardly noticed Murdo at all, he had his phone out, scrolling down, checking messages, scrolling down. Then he put it away and brought it back out again, then kept it in his hand and stared out the window.

Murdo was tired now and just glad to be sitting there and like going to sleep if he felt like it, if he could. The wee guy had closed his eyes too and looked to be dozing then was awake again checking the phone and chewing the edge of his right thumbnail, and muttering: The goddam buses dont move. Want them to move they dont move. Aint my fault man. People blame me. It aint me. It aint me man.

He half turned to Murdo as if surprised to see him and wondering like Oh am I talking inside my head or out?

Murdo stared ahead. He wouldnt have minded a snooze. But the bus had been going a while and if he missed the connection it was a disaster. Buses didnt wait. If ye made it fine but if ye didnt ye didnt. There were other stops along the road and ye had to be careful. Other people would have felt the same the way they were watching roundabout.

The wee guy closed his eyes now and ye could see the worry there on his forehead. He began muttering again, moving his head in such a way he could have been speaking to Murdo: Fucking bus driver man he aint no bus driver. Got a brother’s a bus driver never drove so slow. What you think he’s doing man I’ll tell you what he’s doing. Forty em pee aitch is what he’s doing. You think I dont know? I know man; fucking been there man I been there.

What like driving? asked Murdo. Ye mean ye were driving?

The wee thin guy stared at him. Aint my fault; they blame me. Aint me man.

Murdo said, What are ye late?

Late. Yeah. The guy shifted to see out the window then shook his head, glanced at the phone.

Murdo waited for him to say something more. He didnt. Murdo had his book out from the rucksack and tried to concentrate. A couple of folk had laptops open. A few with phones and a couple reading books. Two guys were talking together, loudly.

People were just ordinary, worrying about ordinary stuff. That was this wee guy, whatever it was. Funny how people could blame ye for things that had nothing to do with ye. That happened to Murdo in Glasgow once, he was waiting at the train station and a foreign woman came up and started shouting at him. People were staring. They thought he had done something like stolen her bag. Probably she was ill. He tried to talk to her but she didnt let him. He had to walk away. There was nothing else he could do. These things happened. Ye wondered about other people, if it happened to them too or was it just like maybe who knows, who knows, it couldnt just be him.

Murdo dozed. When he awoke the wee thin guy had gone. The bus was stationary and only a quarter full. Outside people walked about, smoking and just stretching their legs. A few stood by the side luggage compartment awaiting the driver. Murdo was uncomfortable and sweaty but if he went for a walk what would happen? Imagine it went away without him. He moved into the window seat, rested his head against the glass, the feel of it cool against his forehead. He took the last orange from the rucksack and peeled it. It was good and juicy. Juicy oranges are just the best. He had a couple of sandwiches but was saving them. He wiped his fingers on his jeans.

Then the wee guy was there and glowering at him. Murdo moved immediately, out from the window seat into the aisle one. The guy shoved a small carrier bag into the overheard luggage rack, then squeezed in past Murdo, muttering as he went: I was at the bathroom, what you cant go to the bathroom!

I didnt know you were coming back, said Murdo.

You dont reserve no seats here.

Well I know that I mean I paid a ticket. Murdo shook his head.

Oh yeah you paid a ticket like what you think I dont?

No. I’m not saying that.

We all pay the fucking ticket man. The guy shifted on his seat, gazing out the window and doing the muttering again, We all pay the fucking ticket. He took out his phone.

I didnt know ye were coming back, said Murdo. Like if ye had just said to me ye know I mean like I would have kept yer seat. Ye didnay have to worry.

The guy turned to Murdo. He stared at him. Murdo shrugged. The guy glanced back out the window, seeing down to the main luggage compartment on the side of the coach. He stared down at whatever it was then nudged Murdo, pointing to where the tops of people’s heads were visible: Look at that now see that, he is leaving. He is father of that baby and he is leaving. Look man see his girl, she’s got the baby in her arms man this is them man and he is leaving, that is what he is doing; and she dont want to see it, dont want him to go man. Look…