James Kelman - Dirt Road

It was true but. People worry, why do people worry? Dad would just be

oh jees, Dad.

But what could he do? nothing. Dad was coming and that was that because Dad was Dad and Dad just like whatever: that was Dad. Murdo shut his eyes, only a moment: he pulled on the accordeon. Dad was a worrier. People were worriers. Other people werent. Murdo settled the accordeon then stood still and sang a song for Dad:

I was born and raised in Glasgow

in a Glasgow tenement

and when people spoke of my bonny land

I didnt know what they meant

For I have seen the Highlands

I have seen the low,

And I will brag of my native land,

Wherever I may go.

On the shores of foreign brothers

we’ll lay no robber’s hand

all we ask is to toil and live

in our own native land.

The song for Dad was a song for Dad’s own father — Murdo’s grandpa. That was Grandpa Macarthur and he used to sing it himself. Oh and he was a grumpy old guy right enough, who kicked the cat when he lost his temper and wouldnay emigrate to America when people wanted him to. Murdo didnt sing it like grandpa who sang it in a certain way like how he explained it, his own country wasnt his own country:

when people spoke of my bonny land

I didnt know what they meant

because rich people had it all, and tried to keep out the poor people who didnt get the chance to see it and were stuck in filthy stone buildings and filthy stone streets, never allowed out to see the mountains and lochs and great places, woods and sea and sandy beaches and like whatever, rich people had it all, kings and queens and millionaires, landowners and robbers. Grandpa stood to sing it but he always talked, he stopped and talked and granny would give him a row. Sing if ye’re going to sing! We dont want a lecture! People laughing, Mum and Dad.

Murdo sang it. They were all there. Everybody. Eilidh was laughing. Grandpa liked Eilidh, he always liked Eilidh, he smiled with her.

He liked Murdo too. “Just you sing son, you sing!” Murdo sang. He wanted to sing! And that was the song; so what. He was just glad about stuff, just about being here. Today was today and here he was. Tonight was the gig and just everything was like everything.

When he finished the song he went straight into a jig, capering about.

People were watching. A few adults, kids and toddlers. A wee girl in a football jersey came forwards. She was like eight years old and the jersey she wore showed the colours of Barcelona FC. Kids wore the same jersey back in Scotland. She held out a dollar. His empty coffee carton was there on the bench. Murdo winked at the girl and nodded towards it. Beyond her he saw the mother smile. The girl dropped in the dollar, stepped back and returned swiftly to her parents. Other people stopped. A few looked foreign and were taking pictures. A couple of guys and lassies roundabout his own age stayed for two songs. The accordeon brought them. Not his voice!

He played on, maybe three quarters of an hour. It was so worthwhile just doing it, and out of nothing. He hadnt meant to do anything like that. It was just everything! A whole combination of stuff. He took his time putting away the accordeon and getting his stuff together. He was keen to see how much money was in the old coffee carton but didnt want to look when people were watching. Then he was able to count it: $11.70. Ye would call it a wage. His first wage in America. This was it! That was like two sandwich meals or one big one, two catfish. It was just brilliant.

If Dad had been there. Not like to hear Murdo play but to realize that he could earn money for doing it. It wasnt just a boy growing up like a wee hobby. He was a musician and musicians earned money. It was like a job. Ye do it and ye keep doing it. If ye stop playing ye stop playing. So ye cant stop, ye have to play play play. If ye go wrong ye get the chance to make it right. But the chance only comes in the playing. If ye dont stick with it ye dont get it, ye dont right the wrong.

That is what it is; that is what happens. People watching wont notice, unless they are musicians and pick it out. Like how Chess Hopkins knew when Murdo moved the wrong way on “Bonaparte’s Retreat” but pulled it back, and nobody knew. Except Chess. But that let Chess relax and run with his own thing, because he knew he could trust Murdo. Murdo was up to the task. So that allowed Chess to make room for Clara. He was freed up from the fiddle, and did back-up vocal for her. Murdo provided that. Him on guitar set Chess free to give Clara what she needed. Murdo on guitar meant Clara could sing.

It made ye laugh but it was true. That was how it worked. Declan Pike saw that. That was the compliment he gave Murdo at the Gathering, You got her singing son: that was what Declan said.

Bands can do that. The exact same with Queen Monzee-ay. The exact same. She could rely on Murdo. She knew she could, she bloody knew. That was how come she wanted him, right from the start, from the second tune he played on the porch back in Allentown! That was the whole damn thing, she could relax and just like play, just go and go wherever, wherever. Jees, sometimes…it made ye angry. It made Murdo angry. It made Murdo so so angry.

What? What did?

Something, just bloody something. He walked on fast. Where to? Just someplace he just bloody was angry. He needed something to eat. As if he could ever let her down! Ha ha fucking ha, fucking ha, ha ha. Queen Monzee-ay for God sake, never ever, never ever. He felt like crying jeesoh, jeesoh man, he walked fast, lugging the accordeon-case.

*

Early afternoon he found the road out to where the Jay Cee Lounge was located. It seemed a long way away. He wondered whether to walk it there just to see the place and make sure of finding it later. He didnt have to be there until nine o’clock tonight; eight o’clock to be on the safe side.

He returned to the main festival area. Already there were crowds of people. Maybe because it was Saturday. Exciting. And music music all the way, begun from the Cajun beat but Zydeco in there too and the French connection in both. It was interesting. And made sense too with Queen Monzee-ay and Aunt Edna each speaking French. He headed for the lunchtime venue.

The poster read “Lancey’s Cajun All-Stars” but her name was missing. He stood outside listening for several minutes. He didnt want to pay money to go in if she wasnt playing.

Then he discovered the sign saying “entrée gratuite/free admission”.

Inside people wandered around; an all-aged audience, including old people and family groups; children playing and chasing one another. Some tourists too, phones out and photographs. Mostly white people but a few black and all like ordinary together; the usual with clothes, all different outfits, cowboy hats and short trousers. Then the music itself! Jeesoh. Folk were just dancing, dancing along the sides of the space and the gap between here and the seated area which held maybe five to seven hundred people. Plenty seats taken but plenty available.

Murdo threaded his way through behind the rear of the seated area and found a spot to stand with a clear view of the band: Queen Monzee-ay on her cream-coloured accordeon, just a member of the band and nothing special; seated to the side of Lancey himself, on fiddle and lead vocal. Then a bass guitar and drums; electric guitar, acoustic guitar and triangle. No Sarah.

Lancey also had an accordeon next to his chair. He sang directly to Queen Monzee-ay and she sang in reply to him. Both sang in French and called to each other in high-pitched voices. It was rocking along and fun all the way. Some in the audience laughed at quips the musicians made, so they knew French. Others were foreign, were maybe Chinese and Japanese and from countries in Europe or wherever.