James Kelman - Dirt Road

But a present? The ticket was a present. He gave the guy a present. A present is a present. What is wrong with a present? Why didnt he just take the ticket then he could have ripped it up afterwards, or sold it. He could have sold the thing! Who cares. It was like being too proud. Oh I’m not taking a present off you, who do ye think ye are. Oh ye play accordeon, well ha ha, so do I. That was like school, just daft nonsense.

*

The end of the road widened out near a railway line and Murdo saw the Jay Cee Lounge way across the other side, no longer a road, just a free-standing building on an open stretch, with a large parking place to the front. Quite a few vehicles were parked. A big man was by the door; African-American and dressed like a cowboy; the hat and waistcoat, jeans and boots. Murdo paused to switch hands on the accordeon-case. There was nowhere else he could be headed except to the club entrance. The man watched him until he arrived then held up his hand to stop him: Where you going?

Murdo would have had to push past him to enter. To one side of the doorway was a large glossy poster advertising The Zadik Strollers and Special Guest Queen Monzee-ay: $15 cover. To the other side of the doorway was a cardboard notice: RU25? The doorman pointed at the RU25? notice, crooked his right forefinger: ID. ID!

Murdo looked up again at the notice and at the poster.

You are way too young, said the doorman. I need some ID.

I’ve not got any.

Not got any?

I’m not American.

The doorman stared at Murdo and at the accordeon-case. I got to see some ID. You are way too young.

Do ye mean like a passport? If it’s my passport like I mean I left it at home. Murdo pointed to the poster. I’m playing with Queen Monzee-ay.

Other people were coming forward and the doorman waved them on into the club. They glanced at Murdo. Murdo repeated it, quietly: I’m playing with Queen Monzee-ay.

What do you say? Playing with Queen Monzee-ay? The doorman pointed to the name on the poster. You playing with her?

Yeah.

The doorman nodded, he sniffed and said: Okay. Now I will know if you aint. Understand what I’m saying. I will know and I will come looking.

I am playing with her.

I hear you boy I hear you. The doorman pointed his right forefinger at Murdo’s nose. You go in there and you stay put. You dont do nothing. You hear me? No beer no nothing. You dont leave that stage area. Old man tending bar see you doing something man he will shoot you. Old Vinnie man you know who he is! He gotta shotgun man he will shoot you.

The doorman stared at Murdo until eventually Murdo nodded. The doorman said, Okay. He shaped his hand like a pistol, directing Murdo into an L-shaped lobby. Taped music played; a rhythm and blues thing that was so measured and so just moving ahead; piano, sax and drums, one voice: baby dont turn me down, baby let me hold your hand, dont turn me down. A few people were here; a cloakroom and attendant. Murdo passed along, lugging the accordeon-case, rucksack over his shoulders.

Two women were by a small table taking tickets and issuing tickets. A $15 cover. They looked at Murdo and he made to pay across a $20 note and get the $5 change, thinking just like save hassle, save hassle. One of the women smiled, jerked her thumb sideways. Thanks, he said, putting the money back into his pocket. He heard them laugh, probably about him. A white boy, or just because he was young, whatever, playing with Queen Monzee-ay, who cares. It didnt matter. Through the doorway now into the main hall, by the side of a long bar. And it was hard not walking to the beat, in the singer’s own rhythm, feeling like a clown, please dont turn me down baby,

please let me hold your hand,

baby let me hold your hand

and if I hold your hand

The platform stage was set up; instruments in place, and ready for use. Mainly black people but not only. The place was half full already and they werent due to begin for another hour. Nobody paid Murdo any attention, except for the bartender who was quite old-looking and wearing a hat, not a cowboy one but like a gangster or a businessman. Murdo realized he was watching him, beneath the rim of the hat hiding his eyes while opening bottles of beer for a customer.

Then he moved his head and it was for Murdo, nodding him along and to the side there. Murdo saw a door, leading backstage. By the other side of the stage, way to the opposite end of the space from the bar, were tables along the wall. Two were side by side. Aunt Edna and Joel were there with Sarah’s parents. No sign of Sarah or Queen Monzee-ay. He was glad not to see Sarah.

He headed to where the bartender indicated, through the door into a corridor. Along here the music faded. Murdo stood in half light, a blue light. He didnt want any more. It would have been on him and he wanted shadows. Sometimes ye felt like hiding. Although he knew why he was here. Coming all this way. Maybe he was daft. So what? Maybe he did mistake the situation. Who fucking cares, if everything was stupid and everything was crap and so damn bloody horrible, who cares, people looking and everybody knowing. Stupid shit. He heard music and it was good. Faint music but good, just fading how it fades; breath going from the body, breath entering the body. Murdo heard and it was a waltz. Probably in his own head. When he was playing his mind stayed out of it; same with listening, ye hear it but ye dont; it enters through the skin, yer actual skin, the pores in yer skin.

Imagine silence. Everybody shuts up at the exact same moment. Suddenly nothing.

Murdo opened his eyes. He saw faded posters and old-style photographs lining either wall; signed photographs. Great musicians down through the years. He wandered along seeing the faces and reading the names: Boozoo Chavis, Clifton Chenier, Little Walter, Queen Monzee-ay, Beau Jocque, Professor Longhair, Queen Ida, Lightnin’ Slim. Then he put the accordeon-case down for a wee minute, looked back to the door into the main area. He saw the light there and didnt want ever to go back. Oh jees never and he was just wanting to cry, that is what he wanted. Right here. It was this right here. Even the smell. Old and fusty, damp. The atmosphere was just like thick. That is what it was: thick; the most most wonderful ever imaginable. Ye could never ever imagine it. That was the shiver. Nothing like anything except itself. Oh jees, he was just looking forwards to playing, he was just wanting to play, just like so so wanting to play, taking yer hand. What else? Nothing, only holding me, please please let me.

How come he was here? To bloody play. It was his life. Sarah was Sarah and that was her — Gene, who cares about Gene. People have their own life. This was Murdo’s. Nobody else’s. Not Dad’s. Not nobody. Whatever he did was him. Ye just go ahead, this is what ye did and ye just bloody lived. That was that, like Mum, that was Mum, ye just wanted to cry and he always did and that was that he bloody cried, standing there in the corridor so had to wait there, wherever Sarah was, if she came out a room and saw him.

He was controlling it. He managed this by not doing anything until the water stopped flowing. It stopped flowing because he didnt do anything. He didnt try to stop it. He didnt try anything. That was the best way. And he didnt wipe his eyes because that just smeared and left streaks, yer eyes went red and people noticed. Who cares anyway. That is people, whatever they do, that is up to them. Ye cannot hide, who can hide, nobody.

He lifted the accordeon-case. Ahead was the emergency exit door and it was ajar, enough to peer through. The smell of tobacco, cigarette smoke. Queen Monzee-ay was outside on a wooden dining chair. He pushed open the door.

It was a small patio, more like a wooden platform; big enough for about four chairs. Queen Monzee-ay sat drinking tea, gazing over a wide empty area that looked like it had been a place for factories or warehouses but now was cleared of everything except the concrete foundations: she was gazing to the evening sky; a redness there that was quite amazing. Where did that lead? Away west, wherever that was, the Pacific Ocean. But what ye knew about was tomorrow, that it would be a beautiful day, the very best; the sky was telling ye.