James Kelman - Dirt Road

No wonder he was tired. His last sleep was Thursday into Friday and tonight was Saturday into Sunday. The gig was set for 9 p.m. but probably didnt start until half past. So by the time he got to bed. Wherever that was. Back here. Unless the friends of Sarah’s family were still offering.

He was hungry. The same foodstall was there and that was a place. An actual café would have been better, so he could wash his hands and face. They had these festival-type WC cubicles but they didnt have washing facilities. The toilet he had to use was too gross even to talk about like diarrhoea, totally disgusting, the pong was just like the worst imaginable. Whoever used it last must have been ill.

The idea of a shower. This was Saturday and he had been wearing the same stuff since Thursday. People going between venues would see him as a tramp. Maybe he was. Murdo lifted the rucksack and pulled it on, lifted the accordeon-case, and started walking. Where to? Ha ha.

Unless if he went to Diego Narciso’s gig. He checked out the flyer again. It was like a major concert! Murdo had never even heard of him. The trouble was it started at seven, so then it was like getting to the Jay Cee Lounge in time for the nine o’clock kick-off, although nine o’clock might mean nine thirty. The guys in Diego’s band said it would be okay for time but would it? Maybe it wouldnt, and he couldnt be late. Because he definitely was doing the gig with Queen Monzee-ay. He thought he wasnt but now he was. For definite. It didnt matter about Sarah. She was nice and that was that. He was foreign and she was nice to him. So then it was like Oh she must love me. Stupid shit and his own stupid fault because he was so damn stupid, damn bloody daft, that was all.

Only how come she touched him? That was the one thing. She did touch him. So if ye touch somebody. Girls touch a guy and it is like nothing to her but for the guy it is like the guy is getting touched. So ye shiver! Ye just shiver. Sarah touched him and he shivered. How come? Like if a lassie has a boyfriend, well, touch him but dont touch somebody else if ye have a boyfriend already.

It didnt matter anyway.

Turn a corner and bumping into Dad: imagine. Where have you been? Walking about. Sleeping on the grass. What!?! Yeah well how long does money last like I mean Lafayette to Huntsville, plus accordeon? Could ye even buy a return it was so damn expensive? Maybe ye couldnt.

Dad would find him. Nose in the air, sniff sniff: he went thataway. Good that Declan Pike was there. Dad got stressed with people but Declan was different, Declan knew about stuff. The Jay Cee Lounge for Zydeco and Blues. Probably he knew it already. Probably he had been there. Your boy is doing a gig with Queen Monzee-ay so he will be there, he will be there. It’s an honour. Declan would tell him. Declan would know.

The foodstall was ahead: same place same guy. He approached the counter, settling the accordeon-case on the ground. The guy waited for the order. Murdo smiled. Could I have the fish again eh the catfish?

Catfish, you want catfish?

Please, yeah.

The guy went into one of the food compartments, got a catfish fillet and tossed it onto the hotplate. You want hot sauce?

Yeah. And what goes with it, is that rice?

Rice, sure. The guy spooned hot sauce onto the fish and began the frying.

Murdo studied the different side foods. I think it was salad you gave me the last time.

Salad, si.

Are ye busy? asked Murdo.

The guy grunted something and turned from him to see the listed meals and meal deals.

Murdo thought to say something again but the guy waved him aside. Another customer was there, a big man wearing short trousers. The foodstall guy took his order. Obviously he didnt remember Murdo. But the festival was busy and thousands of people were here. A bottle of coke and a packet of doritos. That was the customer’s order, and he dropped coins into the tips jar.

The foodstall guy watched the man open the packet of doritos with his teeth while heading along to the main festival area. He yawned and shifted a step, looked at the catfish, flipped it over. He folded his arms and stared way over Murdo’s head.

Murdo turned to see the grass square and the people going about. After several moments he said to the guy: I’m playing tonight eh…doing a gig.

The foodstall guy glanced at Murdo who gestured at the accordeon-case. The guy turned to rearrange something on the shelves behind him, wiped his hands on a dishtowel.

We dont go on until after nine o’clock, said Murdo.

Mm. The guy used the dishtowel to wipe along the counter top then ripped the cellophane surround from a pile of paper plates. He extracted one and set it on the counter. What drink you want?

You’ve not got any orange juice?

No orange juice.

You have water?

Si water. The guy lifted the catfish up off the hotplate, and slid it aboard the plate. He picked a bottle of water from out the glass-fronted cupboard: You want salad?

Please, yeah. Murdo had taken the flyer for Diego’s gig from his pocket and read the details. I’m going to a gig, he said, this other gig. It starts at seven. Scene Kiosque à Musique.

The guy was pronging out the lettuce and tomato. While he did that Murdo read aloud from the flyer. The guy jerked his head to the left, spooning a dollop of rice to the plate. Diego Narciso, added Murdo, he plays kind of

Huh?

The gig eh, Scene Kiosque à Musique.

Diego Narciso? said the guy.

Yeah.

Is Diego Narciso? You are going al concierto Diego?

Yeah.

Whohh! The guy laid down the paper plate and patted himself on the chest. Diego! I listen to him, I play his music. Here…! He reached for his phone. See Diego, his music!

You like him?

Si I like him, si: Diego! The foodstall guy laughed.

I’ve got a ticket.

Good! Lucky.

I actually met him. This afternoon.

The guy squinted, listening. Murdo passed him a $10 note. The guy took it and held it a moment. I met him this afternoon, said Murdo. I mean I was like introduced to him. That’s how I got the ticket… Murdo brought out the comp ticket and looked at it, then showed it to the guy.

The guy studied it and replied, Is backstage.

Yeah.

The guy nodded and half turned from Murdo to collect the change from the till. He laid the money on the counter in front of Murdo. He smiled, lifted the dishtowel and flicked at the hotplate.

Murdo let the money lie. The truth is, he said, I cant actually go. I dont have enough time. Because like my own gig, where I’m playing, I’ve got to be there for something like eight o’clock. Diego’s gig is seven o’clock.

The foodstall guy was listening but not maybe understanding.

Murdo said, I mean you could go. He reached over the counter, gesturing with the comp ticket. You take it.

The guy smiled, shaking his head.

Honest. You take it. It’s a comp. No money. Just take it.

No.

No?

The guy shook his head. No. Gracias.

Murdo said, I know you are working just now but could you not get somebody to maybe let ye away or whatever?

The guy didnt answer. He moved back from the counter and involved himself somewhere beneath it. Murdo waited but that was that. He lifted his change from the counter and put a dollar bill into the tips jar, stuck the bottle of water in his pocket and lifted the plate of food.

He walked along past the bench from last night. There was space at one end but he didnt want to sit there. He kept going to the next and sat down there.

Back at the foodstall the guy stepped outside for a smoke, had lit his cigarette and just stood there gazing into space. He had the phone in one hand but wasnt looking at it.

But it wasnt Murdo’s fault, whatever it was. Having to work there instead of playing music. Being married with his wife and kids, having to work at that job. Night-shifts and long hours; her days, him nights. Whose fault was that? Who was the guy blaming, Murdo? How come? If ye want to play music and ye dont. Who do ye blame? If ye blame somebody, who is it? Cooking grub for folk. Murdo would have hated that. Then if it was you hungry and you had to cook for them. Who wants to do that! Just like a servant. So a guy comes up to ye and asks for a hamburger. But it’s you wants the hamburger. And you’ve got to cook it for him. Ye would be angry. Aw here ye are and ye would just bloody throw it at him, there’s yer fucking hamburger, catch. No wonder ye got angry, anybody would. Ye would be in a daze all day dreaming and just like fantasizing; one day this and that. But then it is day after day after day here’s a hamburger, no hamburger, catfish. That guy loved Diego. Murdo didnt know who he was. It wasnt his fault. That was life. Murdo should have left the ticket on the counter and went away. Then the foodstall guy, whatever he done with it was up to him. Dump it or keep it, go ahead, instead of blaming Murdo. A guy gave him the ticket. Whose fault was that? A guy from Diego’s band. It wasnt Murdo’s fault. Only offering him the ticket. Maybe he shouldnt have. How come? It made the person feel low.