Dirt Road

by James Kelman

  They walked by the edge of the carpark, along the side of the building. Their room was way towards the end. Only five cars were in the carpark. Did that mean only five rooms taken in the whole motel? No. He saw lights in a few of them so other people were here. Up on the outside corridor laundry hung on the rail to dry. Farther along two people sat on chairs on the open landing gazing out over the carpark. There were no tall buildings. No hills either. They would be seeing right over to wherever. An old man and old lady. The old lady didnt look at them but the man did and he called down: Howdy!

  Murdo waved up to them: Hiya!

  This was the first he had spoken to an actual American. Along at the room Dad could hardly open the door. The handle was shaky and about to fall off. Then the key wouldnt go in the lock. Then when he managed it the key would not turn. Now he had to grip the handle but it shook like it would fall off. Maybe he was forcing it too much. He stood for a minute breathing in and out. Then he got it to work. Bloody squirt of oil, he said, that is all it needs.

  The room had double and single beds and an old-style television on top of a cupboard. One wardrobe. It only had three hangers inside. They werent unpacking so it didnt matter. Dad sat on the end of the double bed, still in his jacket and shoes.

  Murdo checked out the fridge. He was starving. Dad must have been too. Completely empty inside; sticky patches and not too clean. The microwave was working but ponging. Although ye get pongs cooking food so it didnt matter too much. When had they last eaten? Maybe there was a takeaway someplace.

  The cupboard underneath the television smelled of damp but contained cups, plates, plastic cutlery and an electric kettle. In the bathroom there was a shower as well as a toilet bowl and washbasin. The handle on the toilet bowl wouldnt pull properly. Murdo jerked it a couple of times but couldnt get it going. No toilet paper! Murdo couldnt find any. He didnt need it, but what if he did? No soap either. He rinsed his hands. And no towel!

  He came out the bathroom wiping his hands on his jeans. Dad was lying stretched out on the bed, hands clasped behind his head and staring at the ceiling. No toilet paper, said Murdo.

  Dad sighed.

  Maybe people bring their own.

  What a thought.

  Murdo shrugged. No towels either.

  Dad raised his head to see him. Just use yer own, he said. Dad paused a moment, then added: Did ye bring one?

  No.

  I told ye to bring one. I deliberately told ye.

  I was keeping space.

  Keeping space? What ye talking about keeping space? What are ye not goni wash? A two and a half week holiday?

  Murdo looked at him.

  Eh? Murdo, I’m talking to ye.

  Sorry Dad.

  How are ye goni dry yerself at Uncle John’s? Run about the house and cause a draught?

  Dad, they’ll have towels.

  Who’ll have towels? Who ye talking about?

  Uncle John and Aunt Maureen.

  Murdo, we’re visitors. It’s called “being polite”. People bring towels when they’re staying with people. That’s why I told ye to bring one: not because Uncle John and Auntie Maureen dont have any of their own. Of course they’ve got towels. We’re guests, and we act like guests. We look after ourselves. Things like towels, toothbrushes, toothpaste, that’s what ye bring; ye bring them with ye.

  Dad shook his head, unlaced his shoes and kicked them off, then stretched back out on the bed.

  Murdo said, Dad maybe it’s a mistake, like the guy in the office, maybe he just forgot to put the stuff in. They might keep it all in the office.

  Dad’s eyes were closed.

  Will I go and ask? said Murdo. I was wondering about teabags as well. They’ve got the cups and the kettle so maybe they’ve got teabags too; maybe they keep them in the office.

  Dad opened his eyes.

  I was thinking too if there was a takeaway roundabout.

  Dad raised his head again. A takeaway? he said.

  I’m quite hungry.

  Aye well I’m quite hungry too but it’ll keep till morning.

  There is a shop.

  I never saw any shop.

  We passed it in the taxi.

  Forget it.

  Dad it’s not far. I’ll go myself like I mean I know where it is. It’s only round the corner.

  I know ye’re hungry son I’m hungry too. It’s good ye’re offering but we dont even know if it’s open.

  It was when we passed.

  Aye well it might not be now.

  The reception guy’ll know. Dad they’ll have sandwiches and stuff, bread or whatever, a packet of cheese; cold meat or something.

  Dad sighed. Murdo, he said, I’m knackered, it’ll wait till morning.

  Can I not just ask the guy? He’ll tell me. If he cant I wont go like I mean it’s easy to do and just having a walk Dad… Murdo shrugged. I’m really hungry. The microwave’s working too I mean like maybe I could get stuff to cook like a frozen meal. Beans and toast or something.

  That’s getting complicated.

  Well just sandwiches.

  After a moment Dad said, Okay. But nothing that needs cooking. See if ye can get a loaf of bread and the cheese separate. And teabags, get teabags.

  Will I get water?

  Check with the guy, maybe tap-water’s okay to drink. Dad took money from his pocket while Murdo pulled on his boots. He passed him a $20 note. Will that be enough d’ye think?

  I dont know, said Murdo.

  Dad passed him another $5.

  *

  He checked with the guy in the office. The shop opened till late. He forgot to ask about toilet rolls and towels. He would do it on the way back. It was just good to be walking. Warm and with a nice smell, and different sounds; insects and birds maybe. For a Saturday night it was quiet; not like a town. No pubs or anything, cafés or takeaways; nothing like that. The houses were mostly single-storey buildings made out of wood. Some gardens were cluttered with junk; others stoned over as parking spaces. At one house music from an open window. People sat outside, laughing and talking; black people; kids too. They saw him passing.

  He reached the traffic lights and turned the corner. The lights were still on in the shop. There was hardly a pavement. It was quite strange; ye had to walk on the street or else on the edge of people’s gardens. Roots of trees were growing in some and ye could have tripped over. Two young guys were on the porch entrance to the shop, just hanging out; watching him. They looked about fourteen.

  It was an ordinary kind of shop but with all different stuff, including magazines and books and like a medicine counter. Murdo lifted a basket and saw the girl serving. She was good-looking, with bare shoulders and a blouse that was loose. What age was she? Just about his, whatever, sixteen or seventeen. She saw him and was staring. He was white and a stranger. Other customers were black. He passed along the first aisle. He didnt know what things were there or what they cost. Some were the same as back home; same tins and packets, soups and breakfast cereals. Other stuff ye had to look at twice or else see the labels. He was thinking for sandwiches. Dad wouldnt care except how much it cost. They would save money if they made their own.

  Murdo found the bread but the shelf was near empty; only wee loaves left. He took two. But for butter ye would need a whole tub of butter and that was too much. And how much cheese? Not that much. Unless there was cold meat. The cold counter had big thick sausages that looked good but maybe ye had to cook them. He picked up a packet to see and saw the girl looking across like if he was going to steal it! Ha ha. A packet of sausages. They were no good anyway if ye had to fry them. Farther along he lifted a pack of cold meat then checked out the cheese counter. A pack of ready-cut cheese-slices. Cheese was cheaper than cheese-slices but ye needed a knife to slice it. Tomatoes made good sandwiches too but ye needed a knife for them.

  The girl was watching him again. How come? She knew nothing about him except he was white. Probably she thought he was American. He kept on down the aisle
but his face was red now, if she really did think he was stealing. He had to lift stuff to see the price. He didnt have any option. Prices were on everything and he was able to check it against the $25. Cheese and bread, a carton of orange juice and one of milk. A packet of lettuce and a bottle of water; a wee tin of beans and a carton of fruit yoghurt.

  The girl was serving a woman but looking across at the same time. So was the woman. Maybe they both thought he was stealing. If ye took too long people thought ye were waiting yer chance. He was just working out the money. If there was change out the $25 he would buy a couple of bananas. A few were a reduced price in a basket next to the cash till. Bananas made good sandwiches too. They were overripe but would be fine inside. He queued behind the woman.

  The girl’s name was Sarah: the tab on her blouse said it. An old-fashioned kind of name. Murdo gazed at the floor not to look at her, then away towards the door. Really she was beautiful. A girl’s bare shoulders always look good but hers really really did. And just a beautiful face. That is what ye would say. A smooth face like ye get with lassies and her hair pulled back so it was like her forehead was really smooth too, and how her neck went, then her boobs too like her cleavage, she was just really good-looking.

  Then it was his turn and she ignored him. She didnt even look at him. Although he was the customer and she was the server it was like up to him, he was to talk or whatever. That was wrong. Definitely. And he was blushing again. She lifted the grocery stuff out his basket, scanning it through the machine.

  Then he noticed the prices on the screen, they were different to the labels. Everything was dearer. Every single thing.

  Murdo waited to see the total. It was way more than it should have been. She didnt say a word, not looking at him, just waiting for the money. Except he didnt have enough. It’s too dear, he said, it’s charging too much.

  Huh?

  Yer machine’s charging too much.

  She frowned at him, not understanding him. He lifted the first thing to show her, the packet of cheese, it dropped out his hand. She picked it up. He pointed to the price on the label. It says four forty-nine but the machine charged more, I watched it. The same with everything. Your machine charged more, it’s just like every single thing it added on money. The total’s all wrong.

  She stared at him. Oh you’re talking about tax, she said. You got tax on these things.

  Tax?

  Each one you got there it’s got the price then it’s tax on top. Is that what you’re talking about, tax? The girl held her hand out for the money. You’ll see it on the receipt.

  It totalled more than $30. He didnt have enough money. He showed her the $25. You’ll need to take stuff out.

  Huh?

  Murdo passed her the lettuce and the yoghurt. Does that make it? he asked.

  Mm. She started packing the food into a brown paperbag, paused to place the two tins on a tray behind her. To the side of the cash register was the basket of loose bananas. She did a new cash total and gave him the receipt. He was waiting to see the change. A little more than one dollar in coins. How much for bananas? he said. Can I get two please?

  Pardon me?

  Murdo held out the change to her. Can I get two bananas please?

  She packed in two bananas beside the rest of the food and pushed the full paperbag across.

  Thanks, he said.

  Sure. She watched him lift the paperbag. Where you from? she said.

  Scotland.

  Scotland?

  Yeah.

  Mm.

  He held the brown paperbag close to his chest and exited the shop, up along the street and the main road. He started smiling. Because it was good. He felt that. Just everything. America. He liked it. It was different. Had she even heard of Scotland! Ha ha, maybe she hadnt. It was strange to think. America, an American girl. Imagine she smiled at him. Maybe she did. She could have.

  Mum would have liked it here. Everything was new; away from the old stuff. Fresh air and breathing. Fresh breathing. Everything! Murdo felt that strongly. He didnt care about stuff. School and the rest of it. They would all wonder where he was. Ha ha. Here. Thousands of miles away. It was great, just bloody great, and he walked fast: food to eat. Dad too, he must have been hungry.

  It was dark by now. He remembered the toilet rolls. In the motel reception office the guy was on the computer. He had a wee pile of books beside him. He must have been a student right enough. Murdo said: We dont have any toilet rolls.

  Huh?

  I mean like toilet rolls?

  You need toilet rolls huh?

  Well we dont have any.

  The guy turned and opened a cupboard door, withdrew two and gave them to him.

  Do we not get any towels?

  Huh, you want towels?

  Yeah well there arent any.

  Okay.

  Are we not supposed to get towels?

  Sure, yeah. Who’s in the room?

  Me and my father.

  The guy opened the same cupboard door, brought out two towels and handed them across.

  Thanks, said Murdo.

  Sure.

  Back in the room the television was on but he could see Dad had been dozing. Dad yawned, watching him come in the door and carry the towels and toilet rolls into the bathroom. Murdo laid the food and drink along the foot of the single bed then knelt to unlace his boots.

  Dad said, Well done son.

  The office guy was fine. He just gave me the stuff.

  Good, said Dad. What about the shop? How was the walk? Did ye meet anybody?

  No.

  Dad yawned. Did ye get teabags?

  Instead of answering Murdo knelt to retie the bootlaces.

  Did ye not get any? asked Dad.

  No but I will now, said Murdo, quickly knotting the lace on his left boot.

  Dont bother.

  No Dad I’ll go.

  No ye wont.

  Dad ye need tea.

  I dont.

  Ye do.

  I dont.

  Dad, ye need tea!

  Calm down.

  But Dad

  I dont need tea. We have needs in this life but tea isnay one of them. I’ll survive. Dad lifted the towels and toilet paper and entered the bathroom.

  Murdo sat a moment then switched on the television. He watched it while preparing the food. When Dad came out the bathroom he saw it on top of the cupboard. Good stuff, he said, well done.

  I’ll go for tea in the morning, said Murdo.

  Dont worry about it.

  No, he said, I’ll go.

  *

  Last thing in the evening he went in for a shave. He hadnt done it for a while. The mirror over the washbasin was more a large flat tile but it worked alright for looking into. There were these pimples around his chin. When he shaved the safety-razor cut them, it cut off the tops. The risk was more pimples. The blood out a pimple caused that to happen. It made them spread. Ye had to be careful if ye scratched them, it could leave scars and brought plooks and boils. Ye were better patting yer face dry with the towel instead of wiping it.

  Mum used to give him a separate towel. It was her told him about patting instead of wiping because wiping makes pimples spread. His werent as bad as some. But he didnt have a heavy growth. Some guys did. Dark hair meant ye shaved more. If ye were black ye wouldnt go red at all. How could ye? Then with pimples, probably it disguised them. Ye wouldnt see them as easy if ye were black. He could never imagine that girl in the shop having pimples. Girls get pimples but ye dont think of it. Sarah. It was a good name. He liked her and he could imagine her; she had good lips. People have different lips. He saw his own in the mirror and what did they look like? Thin; thin lips. A guy he knew played the pipes and he had thin lips where ye might have expected thick ones. Because playing the pipes, it was what ye would expect. Some guys were horrible-looking; gross, the worst imaginable. Yet they had girlfriends; wives and children too. So they got kissed. Gay guys kissed each other. Everybody kisses and gets
kissed.

  When he dried his face there were spots of blood on the towel. The usual wee cuts round his chin and neck. He splashed on the cold water again, patted his chin dry. Dad had the television on when he appeared. He looked over. Murdo said, I was shaving.

  Oh.

  Murdo shrugged. He sat on the bed with his back to the top end. It was relaxing watching television, except Dad kept the volume low and there were no good programmes and the adverts were like every second minute, the voices droning on, but it was comfy, and thick pillows just like sinking in. Dad woke him later. Ye’re better getting inside the sheets, he said.

  Murdo undressed and got inside the sheets. A while passed and he was awake again. This time it was the middle of the night. The bedside lamp had been switched off. Although the curtains were drawn light came through the underside. He thought he heard voices. The television was off. One voice mumbling. Was it Dad? Was he praying? Murdo couldnt tell, not individual words. He didnt want to listen. Dad prayed when Mum died. Murdo didnt – except only before with the pain Mum suffered ye needed to block it out, how she held his hand, gripping it, because with the pain, gripping his middle three fingers like squashing them tight, the pain she was in. Please God make her not in pain, please God. But she was, except with the medication heavier and ye saw her eyes, poor poor Mum, inside her eyes, just like hollow, a hollowness. People said, Oh ye must pray. Murdo tried it before. Not after because what did it matter. People prayed at the funeral. What for? So they wouldnt die? Oh God please make me live forever.

  The voice had stopped talking. It must have been Dad. Unless it was Murdo talking out loud. Or in his sleep so he woke himself up. That happened. Dreams woke ye up. Or nightmares. Or something between. Not dreams and not nightmares, and not like wet dreams or whatever, and not music although sometimes music but weird music just like systems and things to do with planets, alien worlds and spirit worlds; worlds for dead people. Stupidities all crowding in, crowding out yer mind; the last nonsense ye heard on television, the more stupid the better. Why did they not just shut up? Some voices Murdo hated and ye wanted to drown them out.