Dirt Road (12 page)

Aunt Maureen nodded.

They scared out the birds. Just them being there. I dont know quite what it was, but then one rose up from the marshes.

Aunt Maureen sighed, shaking her head. She smiled at Murdo then looked back to Uncle John, rubbing at her mouth.

Round the side of the pond near to where we were, he said. Not over our heads but not too far away in distance this bird rose up, a good-eating bird, just rose up into the sky and old Poppo just whohh turning and raising the rifle, aimed a moment: boom! I thought he had missed. Ye've missed I says. He didnay say anything. Ye've missed I says. No now son I aint missed he says I aint missed.

Aunt Maureen laughed, smothered it again and blinked, then laughed again.

Uncle John was shaking his head. I aint missed he says.

Aunt Maureen had a napkin wiping her eyes. Uncle John was laughing just as much. Dad too was laughing. Murdo too, seeing it in his mind's eye, Uncle John just young, and there was the bird and the old guy with the gun. In the middle of laughing Aunt Maureen managed to speak. Oh the poor thing, she said, the poor thing.

The story hadnt ended. Uncle John waved to quieten everybody down. Aunt Maureen pointed at his meal plate: Finish your food mister. You drink that wine and you forget to eat.

Okay. He smiled, took a sip of wine, calmed enough to carry on: I thought he had missed. I did. I thought he had missed.

You thought that huh? Aunt Maureen winked at Murdo and Dad.

The bird was just up there and Poppo had his shotgun down now back in his arms – you know how they hold it – just standing looking up.

What was my father doing? asked Aunt Maureen.

Oh your father, he was the same, just looking up. But he was smiling, he was smiling. Oh yeah and he told me to wait; wait he says, just wait now John you see up there, you just keep looking.

Aunt Maureen nodded; her eyes closed a moment and she had her head lowered. Uncle John touched her on the wrist, and said to Dad: Me and him got on Tommy; he was a good guy.

Dad nodded.

Uncle John smiled. And old Poppo there, the bird with its wings flapping. No son he says I aint missed. The bird with its wings; flap flap, flap; flap flap, flap, till then it stopped, it stopped flapping.

Poor thing, said Aunt Maureen. What about the dogs mister?

Oh man the dogs, yeah, they were waiting too, running in wee circles, not taking their eyes off it. It was up high too. How high would it have been? forty feet? Sixty feet! I dont know, it was high. I'm telling you that bird; that bird gave its last flap and dropped like a stone. No son I aint missed it.

My Lord…

The dogs raced each other to get it.

Did they? said Aunt Maureen.

I think so. What a shot but! And ye know something else? they didnay think it anything special.

No sir.

I came home wanting to talk about it and people just looked. Her mother and people, they just looked.

Aunt Maureen grinned. They made fun of you huh?

They laughed at me!

Sure they laughed at you, can you blame them? I cant.

All the time we were there, the first time your aunt here took
me home, all they did was play tricks on me. Naw but it's true, yer bloody sisters!

Hey! Hey now!

Yeah well they did!

Aunt Maureen peered at him. Yeah well you always always got to talk. What's your name huh? what's your name is it Scotch oh Scotch oh my oh my my…! Aunt Maureen frowned to Dad. He went round every one of them, where we lived, all our neighbours; every one, what's your name now is it Mac, is it Scotch is it Irish.

They thought I was bloody IRS!

Dad laughed.

Hey now I was young, young and proud. You would be exactly the same standing there far from home. A wee Scottish boy, that's all I was; what did I know!

Aunt Maureen made a face at him, and drawled out: Glaaaassgoww, I'm from Glaaassgow. Oh yeah we got family there says Becky, in west Kentucky we got family!

Uncle John grinned, but didnt speak. Aunt Maureen hardly had touched her food while he was speaking. She studied her plate now; moments later she got up from her chair, lifted the plate and left the room. It left a silence. Uncle John watched the door for a while. He said to Murdo. She's talking about her sister Becky.

Murdo glanced at Dad.

Uncle John added, She's dead now.

Oh God, said Murdo.

It's a couple of years ago.

Murdo shook his head.

Good people? said Dad.

They took me in and gied me a life Tommy, know what I mean, what did I know, a wee boy from Glasgow. Uncle John swallowed a mouthful of wine. He said to Murdo: How's the basement son?

Good.

Aye, she said ye'd like it down there. Uncle John smiled. So did the boys! One time me and yer Aunt Maureen were gone overnight
they threw a party. First half hour thirty kids arrived. Fun and games eh! Other kids came and they didnt let them in. They had a pitched battle. We came home and what do you think? a window broke, two chairs smashed to pieces; broke tumblers, broke plates, broke damn everything! Uncle John turned to Dad. So what did I do? I turned the whole goddam space into a storeroom. No more party time.

Well fair enough, said Dad.

Yeah fair enough, that kind of behaviour; they were too big for it. Hurting their mother. They did hurt her. We trusted them and they let us down. You put the trust in kids they got to earn it, and go on earning it. That's growing up.

Uncle John sighed. Your cousin Calum's out in Silicon Valley Murdo, that's three thousand miles away.

Whoh!

People forget that. Ye cannay just get up and go.

Not like the old days.

Not the old days either son, that's here to Scotland. That's wagon trains, crossing the Sierra mountains in the middle of a bloody snow storm. Uncle John stopped. Aunt Maureen had reappeared with a pot of tea on a tray, milk and sugar. She set it down on the table. When she was seated she said to Uncle John, You talking about something?

I was just saying about California, that time we visited. We drove the length of that coast; Seattle down through Santa Cruz; central California. That's a beautiful coast too, ye might no think it but it is.

You talking about the boys?

Not really no.

Aunt Maureen sighed. Feuding runs in families.

I know, said Dad.

Uncle John winked at Murdo. Me and the boys had a bit of a fall-out… Uncle John swallowed the last of his wine and glanced at his wristwatch: What d'ye say Tommy? Still fancy a beer?

Eh…

Aunt Maureen peered at Uncle John. You fit for driving?

Uncle John smiled.

*

It was relaxing after they had gone. Murdo helped with the clearing up then sat in the lounge watching television. Aunt Maureen came in for some of it but mostly she stayed around the hallway, doing cleaning and tidying for the people coming tomorrow evening. Then she came into the lounge with the vacuum cleaner. She gave him a big smile then battered on with it. He could have done it for her but she didnt want him to, like as if he didnt know how to do it properly! Who did she think did it when Mum was ill? Murdo did all the house chores; all the tidying, everything. Even the garden. Dad was like Uncle John with traveling; seven in the morning till seven in the evening.

Murdo left her to it. Downstairs he switched on the music and looked out a couple of the books he had found. He went back upstairs to see if he could borrow a bedside lamp. Aunt Maureen got one for him. It made all the difference. He positioned it close to the electrical point where he had the hi-fi. Now he could turn off the main light, get onto the mattress and just read and play the music. In between the sheets was even better; as good as back home. Not any better but just equal to it. Although the books were better. Back home he hardly had any apart from children's ones from years ago. If he wasnay playing music he did most stuff online. Not games so much, not nowadays. He used to but then stopped, like he just lost interest and kind of gave up. It was boring. People went on and on about games, then ye checked them out they were just like hopeless, going over and over the same routines till yer head was buzzing with it. Some folk needed music. Murdo was one of them. Music keeps ye sane. People said that and it was true. More true
was it kept ye safe. But he needed to play. Listening was good but wasnt enough. Even proper listening.

Murdo did “proper listening”. That was what he called it. He listened and took stuff in. Only if things are on yer mind. Even ye concentrate hard, they creep in, and where does it take ye? Wherever, just anywhere. Listening to music takes ye places, and ye go these places, letting in the music, how the music comes in on ye, washing over, ye think of tides, like a slow tide, an evening tide.

*

Then he was needing to be someplace else, he really really had to be and it was so so urgent, just so urgent, traveling on from there wherever he was going but to this place, where it was, and black people, and brown people too, wee people and skinny people, just people everywhere. Cowboy hats and funny-looking jackets; flip flops and big boots. Skinny girls with bare legs and blotchy skin with purple patches, the muscles in their legs hard-looking. Ye walked in the bus station and there they were; maybe they were ordinary, maybe they werent, the ones looking, who are you looking at; short skirts riding high up too so if they came up further, further and further. Maybe they were prostitutes. Ye saw guys staring and the lassies didnt care or else stared back, short short skirts and legs stretching. They were just there and if guys looked at them they didnt bother. Maybe they did. How they dressed: sexy and tough. Ye tried not to look. Cops were there. Dad too, although maybe he wasnt and it was just him himself and slow along the corridor, who are you looking at staring at me? That was them, sexy, but they would just say whatever, Murdo, seeing the lassies, and that one seeing him, just how she shifted, how she stood, shifting, seeing him, short short skirt and him just looking to see, seeing her: and her looking at him like that, who
are you looking at, and her legs just like short short skirt just beautiful, stretching up, her thighs there and just like raising her skirt was she raising her skirt? maybe she was, seeing if he was there if he was looking, if he was seeing; he was, her pants tugging down, and even if she wasnt wearing any, she wasnt wearing any, maybe she wasnt; and he was looking and seeing and she knew he was, he was there and she saw him, it was him she was looking at, and he was just like – because with her short skirt riding higher, that was her too just seeing him, looking at him and just seeing him, and still doing it, she was still doing it and it was him, she was looking at him.

He was awake and on his back lying there. The dampness.

He raised himself onto his elbows. A sliver of light through the ceiling window. He had to go to the bathroom. He lay back down.

He had to go.

What time was it? It didnt matter. He reached out for the bedside lamp; dampness and sticky. He got up from the mattress, left the basement door open to light the staircase. In the bathroom he used toilet paper and cold water to wipe clean the semen. That was it if it touched the sheets or the duvet. A wet dream because he wouldnt wank. But wet dreams were terrible because ye didnt know, they just happened and there was nothing ye could do, it was always just like wakening up, oh I need to go I need to go and that was that ye came, it was hopeless.

Back downstairs he left on the light and was in fast between the sheets, but without switching on the hi-fi. It was a thing that happened so that was that and ye would dry in the dampness. Stupid jumbles not even making sense. Ye just hug and the girl fits and if yer bodies fit then they fit. Ye see the shapes, ye dont need to because it is like ye are built for it, ye just fit in and the girl takes ye in, just sliding. Oh jees. The lassie fits into you and you fit into the lassie. That is the design: male and female.

Sarah too, not to think of her like that, because like her family, if ye know somebody's family, ye dont want to think of her that
way like bodies and yer arm round her pressing her in, nude, and just feeling her and if she's pressing

*

They were going to the shopping mall. Aunt Maureen had booked a cab for 11 a.m. It was good to be going but Murdo's head was elsewhere. He put his shoes on at the door and went outside to wait on the porch. Dad was already there, sitting on the bench by the wall. Taxi's due, he said.

Right.

Dad noticed he was wearing a T-shirt. Maybe ye should put on something else, he said.

Dad it's fresh.

Yeah I'm not talking about that, it gets chilly in the mall because of the air conditioning, Aunt Maureen was saying. People catch colds; they

Murdo didnt wait for the next bit. Back in the house he took off his shoes and downstairs to the basement. He switched on the music to a particular track he was listening to. It was on the second of the CDs, the one with the other musicians. Just the most soulful sound ye could get and an accordeon too it was a knock-out.

A sound like that, ye just didnay expect it, just how he had it, he really had it. In learning a tune there was “a thing to get”. Once ye “got it” you were fast away and could go at it and play to it and do most whatever ye wanted with it. It was not only the tune but a certain thing that gives ye more than that. When ye got that ye could go with it. Anywhere at all. Ye were just free and could do anything.

He took off the T-shirt, found a proper shirt and put it on – and took it back off, the waste of a shirt, wearing it to a mall. It was Joe Harkins said about “the thing to get”. Joe played mandolin and was pretty brilliant. He played with the band for a few weeks. Mum
was there and coming to gigs at the time so that was a year ago. She liked the sound they were getting. She said it was different.

It was different: Joe!

People said he was a cool guy but it was the way he pushed ye on. And ye had to go with him. Ye had to. It was the real stuff and ye knew it was. There were good clips of him on YouTube but what ye saw was what ye saw and not like how it was from the inside. Ye didnay get that anywhere, that was like inside their heads. Ye had to play with people for that.