James Kelman - Dirt Road

Can I try it?

The woman smiled, but had not understood him. Murdo gestured at the accordeon. Can I try it?

Oh my dear why surely you can try it! Of course you can try it. The woman opened the wire grille. Murdo lifted it through to examine. It belonged to a proper musician, she said, a real proper musician. He was a smart man too. Yes he was.

Murdo slipped the strap on over his shoulders. The woman watched with interest. He played a little, listening and getting the feel of it. It’s not too bad, he said.

The woman smiled but uncertainly. Was a hundred and twenty-five and we’ve reduced that price to you.

It’s actually not as good as it looks, said Murdo.

Eighty-five dollars. The woman smiled.

Has it got a case?

A case? Oh now, she said. Eventually she returned with one from the rear. She laid it on the counter and made out the receipt even although he hadnt said he was buying. The case had a separate price tag. The woman glanced over at the two men checking out the tools, then took the price tag off the case, and said quietly, Eighty-five dollars and the box goes with it.

Thanks.

She smiled. You play something for me? Something nice?

Murdo adjusted the strap and began on “The Bluebell Polka”. The woman was taken aback. She maybe expected a novice. Murdo had been playing this since he was a boy. It was one of the first he learned properly and was just about the first request he ever got from old people, beginning from his granny and grandpa when they were alive.

The pawnshop woman watched and listened. Oh my dear, she said, that is God’s gift, that is just God’s gift.

The two men were looking over too. Murdo played into a quite popular slow tune, and a particular arrangement he had been trying recently. It got an emotion he liked, just something good.

He ended the playing. Okay, he said, that’s fine. He opened the box then shrugged off the accordeon, laid it in the case. The buckle fastening was strong enough although maybe a little tightening would have helped. The woman was watching. That thing is heavy, she said, passing him the receipt.

Yeah. Murdo brought the money from his pocket. Once he had the change of two $50s he crossed the street to the bus station.

That was him now. That was the trip worthwhile. It didnt matter about Sarah’s family all being away, he would just pay the full bus-fare money and that was that. Even if he changed his mind, it was too late.

Allentown bus station: he felt comfortable just walking in the door. The woman behind the ticket and information counter was the same as before. She looked at Murdo. Maybe she recognized him.

The bus to Jackson was busy but the one from there to Baton Rouge was only a third full, so a double seat to himself; it was great. He had one sandwich left. He also had an apple and a banana. The banana skin had gone black but fine inside when peeled. He ate it then brought out the book he was reading, and laid it on the pull-down tray. He settled back, closing his eyes. It was not a great accordeon but it was okay. He smoothed his hand over the box, then opened it to see inside. No point lifting it out.

He was still hungry. Maybe he would eat the sandwich. It was late now and still a while to travel.

The worry was the bus from Baton Rouge to Lafayette; how many were there and how late did they run? The trip back to Allentown had been costly in money and in time. But it was necessary, and the accordeon was okay, not bad. He was lucky getting it for eighty-five dollars. When he was buying it he was thinking of pounds, so really it was only like ten for fifteen is four for six is sixty-four quid. Eighty-five dollars was sixty-four quid, so it was a good buy.

Definitely no point lifting it out the case, although he fancied seeing it. He would have to stand in the aisle to pull it on. Maybe he could! Busking the bus. People did it on trains.

He was sitting on the right side so he could see the Mississippi River. By his reckoning the road went down that way and at some stage had to cross it. Maybe not.

A tune was in his head; boats and the sea. A sailor’s tune from Canada. The Mississippi River was supposed to be wide in places with boats going up and down, and even had wee islands in it, making ye think of home. He missed seeing the water. That was something. He hadnt thought of that. He lifted the book off the pull-down tray but laid it down again. It was true. Alabama had only that wee bit of coast. Louisiana was different, it looked amazing with all these wee islands. There were more than seven hundred in Scotland but how many in Louisiana! Even more? Maybe.

Buses were good. Going someplace where ye werent. Ye werent someplace and were passing through. Ye had never been and never would be. These places where ye werent. Ye werent already, so just being there. I want to be in that place because I’m not there.

I came to the place

where the lone children lay

Murdo’s usual thing was not talking. There were things to talk about but he didnt want to. The more ye did the more there was to tell. Ye heard yerself and it hardly sounded like you at all. Ye were telling the truth but it seemed like a story ye had made up.

Why would ye lie about that kind of stuff? Sometimes it seemed like boasting. Imagine boasting about somebody dying. People did that. Yer mother died and they are like Oh wait till ye hear about me. Then you are like What are you talking about I’ve had two people. Oh yer sister died as well! So then they know something even worse again. My fucking dog died. Oh sorry to hear it. Then they ask ye about the actual people and dont listen when ye tell them. Ye see their eyes looking away.

What did Dad think about? People think about stuff. Him thinking about Eilidh, whatever he thought; Clara Hopkins singing, if he listened, where the lone children lay

how sweetly I sleep here alone.

Ye imagine Eilidh and just like whatever. What is that? That makes ye cry, never mind on a bloody bus and all that damn stupid school crap like in school the Guidance Teacher. Dad was like, Oh you’ve got to talk.

What about?

Who did Dad talk to? He even fell out with his brother, then Uncle John losing his temper in the restaurant, whatever that was, tickets.

This leaving wasnt the worst thing Murdo had ever done. Pretty bad but not the worst. His life was different to the lives of other folk. He had pals back home but he wasnt like them. Everything that went on he had to deal with. Who else was there? Only Dad.

They were stuck with one another.

For Dad it was only Mum. She was the only one. Who else? Nobody. So real love. After that what could there be? Nothing. That would be Dad till he died. Never the same love again.

What if he never told her? The man doesnt tell the woman he loves. Then she dies and that is it finished. It might have been the same for Dad. Maybe he never knew he loved her until after she was dead. Only then he realized the truth. The love he had was a real love, she was it, and he never told her. That would have been the worst. It explained things about Dad. One night he did something daft and didnt come home. He never said what it was. When he phoned he sounded drunk. Maybe he was. It hadnt happened before and Murdo thought it was funny. Dad kept apologising but at the same time was dead serious. He stayed the night in Glasgow, probably at Uncle Robert’s because where else? although they werent talking, so how come?

In the early days Mum kept walking round the ward and the day-room; round and round she went. It made her feel she was trying, and if she could keep on trying ye never know; wonder drugs and new inventions.

So that was that.

Taking the money was the worst. Aunt Maureen would be disappointed. He took the money huh, how much did he take? Two hundred dollars. Jeesoh, two hundred. It was a loan but for the accordeon and getting there on the bus. People didnt want ye hitching so what were ye supposed to do? Says it’s a loan huh. My Lord! How much we talking there? $200. Well ye have to do it because with the price of bus-fares added to the accordeon.