James Kelman - Dirt Road

How come he hadnt taken a lift off the guy in Allentown? How come? How come he didnt take the lift! Jeesoh!

Probably nothing. Or else what? Ye just had to be careful. Things ye pick up about people. Ye dont know them and ye meet them and think to yerself, I’m getting out of here. That was it with traveling, like buses or whatever, hitching, ye were never sure and had to be so so wary. Murdo turned to the woman on the bench. No eh I was just wondering, he said, about something like about traveling, just about hitching.

She gazed at him.

About hitching a lift, he said, I mean do ye ever hitch a lift or like people ye know I mean do they ever hitch a lift?

What? She frowned but with a kind of a smile.

No eh

What did you say?

No eh I just eh I was wondering about hitching… He could not speak further; his face was red again, and his throat felt like it had seized up. She was glaring at him. You making a joke? she said and she was so angry.

Murdo stared at her.

You making a joke at me? she cried. Dont you dare make a joke at me. Dont you dare!

But I’m not, I’m not. I only mean like if ye dont have money, if people dont have money and have to like hitch I mean if ye dont have money, that’s all I’m saying.

I got money! What you think I’m trying to steal your money? I aint stealing no goddam money, your money not nobody else’s money. I aint no thief! What are you saying to me?

Nothing. Nothing at all.

You think I’m stealing your money?

No! Not at all, I’m not saying anything at all.

The woman lifted her bag and got up from the bench.

I’m not saying anything, said Murdo.

She walked off to a bench on the other side of the bus station entrance. Murdo stared at the ground. Just horrible and stupid. He raised his head. An older woman was watching him. Just so stupid. How did it happen? Total misunderstandings. That was voices, people saying the same words but their voices different, so different.

When it came time for the bus the woman was still sitting on the other bench, she held her phone in her hand but wasnt looking at it. Murdo gathered his rucksack and accordeon-case. She hardly moved. She must have been staying there, probably waiting for another bus. Murdo was glad she was not going on his. It was selfish but that is what he felt. He hoped she had money and was not just sitting there because she had no place to go. Although if she didnt, what if she didnt? This bus was the last of the night through Lafayette.

It was full by the time Murdo climbed aboard. The driver had jammed the accordeon-case into the side of the luggage compartment; it wouldnt budge an inch. He kept hold of his rucksack. Some people preferred aisle seats. This man was one of them. Murdo squeezed past him into the window seat. He was wearing a denim jacket, jeans and a greasy-looking baseball cap, just sitting there staring to the front.

It had begun raining again, pattering the bus windows, making people peer out. Murdo was glad to be inside. He hoped she was too. Could she have been homeless? Ye werent sure with people at bus stations. She was young. What age was she?

People’s lives and the things that happen. If ye are a girl and dont have money or a place to go. Maybe she didnt. So if she was a prostitute. She could have been. Whatever lives people have. Girls especially. For being a prostitute too, they had to be something; good-looking, good shapes, if ye think of shapes. They had to be something.

The lights were off now and he was glad the guy on the aisle seat wasnt reading. It was good in the dark just to be sitting, just sitting there; beyond relaxing. He was tired. More than tired.

How come? What had he done? Nothing. Taking buses and walking places. But if he went to sleep, imagine sleeping, then ye wake up! Whereabouts? Miles away. Miles and miles. Three thousand miles divided by whatever, that was days.

The man in the aisle was talking to him. Going to Galveston. You know Galveston?

The man hadnt changed his position a fraction, except maybe his eyes moved. Smelling of tobacco and whatever else. He spoke again: Job down there. Nephew’s doing the hiring and firing. Brother’s boy.

Aw. Murdo nodded.

Brother dont like me none. The man’s eyes moved again. He maybe waited for Murdo to say something. Got that song, “Galveston”. Galveston Galveston. You know that song?

I’m not sure.

The man nodded, staring at the seat in front. Kinda nice.

I’m going to Lafayette, said Murdo.

Oh yeah…

Murdo might have said about the gig but he didnt. People were people and had their own lives. You have something and they have something. Everybody ye meet. He shouldnt even have said that, Lafayette, who cares.

Guys in front were loud and sounded drunk. Murdo saw the tops of their heads shifting about, speaking about poker. Somebody won a lot of money and somebody else lost too much for a game that was supposed to be with friends. How could ye be friends if ye took all their money? Working offshore.

So that was oil workers same as Declan Pike, going back to work. Maybe they knew him. Imagine they did. Ye met guys on a bus in a foreign country with millions and millions of people, and when ye said somebody’s name they knew him. Murdo was gazing out the bus window. Then a large neon sign, and he turned his head following it, swivelling on his seat:

LAFAYETTE INTERNATIONAL FESTIVAL BIENVENUE FESTIVAL INTERNATIONAL DE LOUISIANE

Ahead were the lights of the town itself. Murdo settled back on the seat and was about to say something to the man next to him but didnt. Soon the bus arrived in Lafayette. Murdo lifted the rucksack and moved out. Cheerio, he said.

So long, said the man.

*

He had expected most of the passengers to be leaving the bus but only six of them did. The driver dragged out the accordeon-case. Murdo checked inside: the accordeon was fine. He set off walking from the bus station into the festival area. It was quite a distance. Along the way he lifted leaflets, flyers and a free map of the festival site. He stopped under a street light to read through the stuff, searching for the Queen Monzee-ay gig and there she was in the main festival programme, but listed as one of the guests in “Lancey’s Cajun All-Stars”, a lunchtime gig. That didnt sound right. According to Sarah’s message the venue was the Jay Cee Lounge and the gig was late evening. Queen Monzee-ay was supposed to be opening for a band called the Zadik Strollers. He couldnt find the Jay Cee Lounge even listed as a festival venue. Then he found its address in the index to the map but there was no proper information. He shoved the stuff into his rucksack, lifted the accordeon-case.

People were gobbling takeaways and drinking beer. Everywhere ye looked. Hamburgers and stuff. He needed to eat. When did he last eat? Ages ago. Baton Rouge, an apple. He ate his last sandwich on the bus, the last one. That was past the Mississippi River; he couldnt even remember eating it, he just ate it. He had money. If ye were starving, ye had to spend it. He was starving. Even an actual restaurant, he could spend money for that except he wasnt going to. Plenty foodstalls were here. At one the menu was brilliant how it was written for the song: Jambalay, Crawfish pie, Fillet gumbo. Hot Sos to Taste. Po-boy, what was Po Boy? I am just a po boy.

That was the trouble, not knowing what stuff was. In one place a girl was serving hamburgers, hotdogs and VGBugs. VGBugs. Maybe veggie. Murdo would eat it. Same as Dad. Dad ate anything. Murdo was the same. He waited by the counter. The girl served somebody to the side of him. Maybe she didnt notice him. He stood another couple of minutes. The girl served two other women. That was that, deliberate, because she had seen him, she was just ignoring him. He left the stall and continued walking. He was enjoying the sights and sounds anyway. Although it would have been nice to sit down. He was quite tired. He was used to lugging about the accordeon but at the same time a seat would have been good.