Dirt Road

by James Kelman

Aunt Maureen said to Murdo, You’re thinking about the drive home son huh? You worrying about that? Aunt Maureen was opening her purse; she withdrew the car keys. This what you’re worried about? She jerked her thumb at Uncle John, and snorted: You think I’d let him drive huh? You want us to land on top of Old Smokey?

  Murdo grinned. I wasnt thinking that at all!

  Oh yeah! Uncle John chuckled.

  I wasnt!

  This guy sees everything! laughed Uncle John.

  Dad smiled, looking from one to the other. Aunt Maureen closed her purse. Dad said, I knew ye were a driver Aunt Maureen but not the 4x4, I didnt know ye drove the 4x4.

  Oh you didnt huh!

  No!

  Aunt Maureen touched Dad on the wrist.

  Murdo said, You liked driving the wee car Aunt Maureen.

  Yes I did son thank you for saying. Scoot here and there huh.

  Uncle John smiled, but didnt say anything. After a moment Aunt Maureen glanced at him: Dont go blaming yourself now mister we had to sell it.

  Yeah.

  We didnt have the choice.

  No.

  Aunt Maureen nodded, and said to Murdo, He dont want me going on buses Murdo.

  Murdo smiled.

  But Aunt Maureen frowned at Uncle John: So how am I to get any place huh? Cant go on a bus and aint got no car.

  I know, replied Uncle John.

  You dont know mister: stuck in the house. What happens when these boys go? Huh? What happens then?

  We’ll miss them. Uncle John sipped at his beer.

  Sure we’ll miss them. Sure we’ll miss them.

  You’ll go down in the dumps. Uncle John winked at Murdo.

  I wont, said Aunt Maureen.

  Is that a promise!

  Oh now you want to promise to phone Springfield, Missouri? she asked.

  Uncle John gazed at her.

  After a few moments she winked at Dad, jerking a thumb in Uncle John’s direction and she said, He thinks I dont know about walking Tom! I walked them mountains when I was a girl and I can keep walking them.

  Uncle John frowned, I’m not saying a word.

  No sir, she said.

  On the road home Murdo sat in the front passenger’s seat. He was not sure whether to speak to Aunt Maureen or not and was wary of disturbing her concentration. Her gaze rarely strayed from the road ahead and it seemed like her preference was silence. In the rear seats Dad and Uncle John didnt speak hardly at all.

  *

  Be sociable.

  What is “be sociable”? There was nothing wrong with lying down. That is what bedrooms are for, ye go to relax and just like escape. Sometimes ye needed that. Not having to talk to people. Putting on the music. Reading a book or anything at all. Nothing at all. Why has it got to be something? Think about nothing. So what if it was the afternoon? Ye need yer own space. Bedrooms are a space. Dad was annoyed because Murdo was lying down but so what if he was lying down if it was his room? Surely he could be in his room? Dad went to his and Aunt Maureen went to hers so why couldnt Murdo? It had been raining the last couple of days so what else was there to do? Ye couldnt go in the garden. Ye had to stay in yer room or else go to the lounge, except if ye did somebody else might be there so ye had to say hullo and start talking. And obviously ye couldnt play the music: obviously.

  He didnt want to read anyway he was sick of it.

  Uncle John spoke about an Indian village they visited, a real one someplace where they had wooden houses. Indian descendants showed them historical things and they felt it creepy but not the ones showing them, they didnt bat an eyelid.

  So what, that would have been Murdo, exactly the same.

  That prayer on the leaflet at Mum’s funeral. The minister read it out. Oh Thou who are present in every place and from Whose love no space or distance can ever separate us. Grant us to know that those who are absent from one another are still present with Thee. Ha ha. Was Murdo supposed to cry? Memories memories. Ye cry about the past and memories are the past. If the person is with ye then she is with ye so how come the tears? No tears. That is crap. Let Jesus take the strain. Ha ha.

  Screams from the basement. Tortured screams. Dig deep beneath the floor, going down beyond the foundations, way way down, down into the dark earth that used to be lush fields and dirt trails; the black soil ye rub between yer fingers where the maggots are, places where Indians camped, where they buried their dead.

  Dad didnt cry either. People felt sorry for him. Why not Murdo? If things were tough for Dad, it was the same for him. Poor Dad. What about Murdo! Grant us to know that those who are absent from one another are still present with Thee. That is like ha ha.

  Rows, moans and grumbles all the time having to think about him. Why not him about Murdo? Who was the father and who was the boy? Murdo was the boy and Dad was Dad. How come he was to feel sorry for him? It was bloody nuts. The son shouldnt have to feel sorry for the father. Jesus didnt feel sorry for God.

  The son wants to get there but the father is there already. The father is always there and the son never is. That was Dad, Dad Dad Dad. He sat beside Murdo at the funeral and listened to the minister. Everything the minister said Dad heard like it was a real conversation and not just a sermon. Murdo didnt listen at all. It was Dad the minister was saying it for anyway, and when people listened they listened for the poor man, the poor poor man, what is going to happen to him? Is he going to be okay? Or else go mad! Maybe he will. People do go mad. Mum was there in the coffin. Imagine that. People fling themselves on the coffin. Imagine Dad. Dad could have done it, he could have jumped on the coffin. And Murdo saving him, it would have been Murdo: Dad Dad dont jump, dont jump, come back, come back. All the people looking, Oh look at Tom Macarthur, he’s mad; that is grief, he is mad with grief. So who is going to save him?

  Bloody Murdo that’s who. Dad took pills. Unless he had stopped. Maybe he had. People take pills to calm down. Then they forget them and go crazy. Dad didnt. He just had silences. His silences went on and on. He went to his room. What did he do in his room? He read books. Anything else? Stared out the window. Dad could sit at the window and see out. He was at the front of the house so he saw the street. If Murdo wanted to see out he stood up on a chair and reached higher. All he saw was the sky. Although he liked the sky. The sky was good in Alabama.

  A chap at the door.

  Murdo got up and opened to Aunt Maureen. Brought you something! She passed him a muffin on a plate and a mug of tea. Low pressure all over, she said, right from the coast. All along they got it torrential.

  Oh well.

  Aunt Maureen nodded, and smiled. Murdo held the muffin and the mug of tea. Thanks Aunt Maureen!

  He placed them on the bedside table and made to close the door. But Aunt Maureen wagged her finger at him. Now son you ask good questions and I got one for you: you reckon they could cure cancer?

  Cure cancer?

  They go spending millions on weapons and guns going into other people’s countries. So why not look after their own huh? Shouldnt that come first? Whoever will do that? You think there is someone but there aint; no sir, black, brown or white. That aint their prerogative. Forget medicine. That aint what they do with our tax money. That’s for something else huh. Well, I get cross about that son, I do. We were talking about it in church. Things just aint right. That’s what people are saying. That was the talk, like a discussion? that is what you would call it. You enjoy a talk son that was a talk.

  Aunt Maureen reached to grasp him by the wrist. Her hand was light and he could have brushed it away. She had a thin hand, thin fingers and the flesh felt silky. She said: That is one beautiful name, Eilidh. That the old language of Scotland Murdo?

  Yeah, it’s Gaelic.

  Well it is beautiful, it is beautiful. Aunt Maureen nodded then she smiled and shook her head slowly. You maybe think about next Sunday son huh?

  …

  If you want to come with us to church you would be so very welcome.

  Oh.

/>   Your Dad is coming.

  Dad! Is he?

  Aunt Maureen smiled. It’s a welcoming church Murdo. She touched him on the wrist: Now do I get a hug from you or what!

  Murdo stepped to her and they hugged. She returned upstairs.

  Murdo closed the door. No matter what she was the very very best. Life was just like whatever, who cares, except Aunt Maureen. Whatever else happened.

  *

  The rain teeming down. Murdo was up in the chair peering out the window. It was the sky. The rain was there but sometimes it seemed to merge. Aunt Maureen said it got in everywhere. Talking about the rain. The roof wasnt good any more but she didnt want Uncle John clambering up to mend it. He was good at jobs about the house but she worried about him falling off and breaking his neck. All the time she worried about him. Oh I’m not going to bed until he comes home. Same as Mum. It was Dad she waited for.

  She did! Oh Murdo here’s yer meal. Where’s yours Mum? Oh I’m waiting for your father.

  Ha ha.

  That was something. It was great seeing. He loved seeing it. Dad walking in the door and Mum seeing him walk in the door. And she always did. That was her in the hospice. She always saw him walk in the door. How come?

  She was watching for him. While Murdo was there. Murdo was talking to her and she was watching for Dad. Is that not something? What is that?

  What it was. Murdo didnt know what it was.

  Although he did. Mum loved Dad. Ha ha. She loved Murdo too.

  Listening to stuff. No music and the sounds. Inside yer head like gas pipes, zzzzzz.

  Thoughts go back thoughts go back, way way back. It was true but. That was a family.

  The worst for Dad was Murdo dead and him alive. That was the worst of all. For Dad it was. The very worst imaginable. He wouldnt want to be alive.

  But as soon as they got home he was leaving school. Dad had to understand that. If he didnt then he didnt understand anything. Murdo was not staying for one last year. He was not staying for one last day. He was not doing good and was never ever going to. Never ever. How come Mum thought he could? That was Mum. Mum was Mum, she was a mother. She thought he was brainy. He wasnt. People were good at their lessons. He wasnt! He was just bloody hopeless, he needed other stuff or the same stuff done different. That was it with teachers: Oh I think I know what it is but it’s different to what ye think.

  Oh God, like gas pipes inside yer head, that last time when he was leaving, he didnt look, at Mum, he didnt look at her. He was not able to. He walked out the room.

  He needed away, to get away. Leave and love. I leave but I love.

  Oh hullo son, how are ye? Fine. How’s yer Mum? Fine. Fine fine fine; everything

  *

  He had $90. Uncle John and Dad gave him it to spend. He didnt. He kept the lot. He got through the whole day at the Gathering without spending a penny. It couldnt have happened without Clara Hopkins. She gave him like two meals for the price of one, and he didnt even pay for that. Dad was supposed to give him pocket money but didnt. This was not because he was mean. Maybe he was mean but that wasnt why he forgot the pocket money. He just forgot. Murdo should have told him but didnt.

  That $40 was food money. If ye took away the food money how much had Dad given him? Nothing. Uncle John’s $50 was the pocket money. If there was emergencies, that is what it was for, like Lafayette and buses, how to get there, that was an emergency. Take away that and he had nothing.

  Not in the whole world. This is why he had to leave school. He needed his own money. Not to buy toys. To get by in the world. Ye couldnt get by without money. So if yer parents didnt give ye it. Ye had to work or else rob a bank. Uncle John and Aunt Maureen were ordinary people. They had a nice house but that was like from years ago when they bought it; three jobs and all what they did. Murdo knew that. He wasnt daft. All that stuff about growing up. Ye wanted to but people didnt let ye. Ye had to find it all out yerself. Murdo knew about saving money. Everything was saving money. That was poor people the wide world over.

  So it was rob a bank.

  Where would ye go if ye did? There were good places to hide in Alabama; the same back home. Guys talked about that. For Murdo the best place wasnt England or Ireland. For robbing a bank the best escape was sailing a boat around Ardlamont Point and up by Crinan. That is how Murdo would go because who would expect it? Nobody. They would all think oh Glasgow and then like a train to England. For Murdo it was like get past Islay but not to Ireland, it was Canada or Greenland. The Atlantic Ocean. All ye needed was a boat and ye could get a boat.

  Oh but $90 wasnt enough. Lafayette was bus tickets and an accordeon; snacks and juice, bottles of water. That was what it meant for going. Ye needed money. A lot of money. How much was an accordeon was a daft question. Ye could get a cheap one or an expensive one, or something inbetween. The pawnshop in Allentown had one that was not bad-looking. Ye would only know when ye played it, if the reeds were damaged or whatever. If he went on the Friday he could meet with Sarah and the family and get a lift down.

  These were the thoughts.

  *

  He wandered upstairs to see what was happening. Aunt Maureen was in the kitchen. Murdo stood with her watching the Weather Channel. Rain’s off, she said.

  Murdo hesitated then returned downstairs, lifted his jacket and headed back up, knelt at the front door to put on his boots. Dad appeared from out his room. Where ye off to? he asked.

  Eh just round the block Dad like I mean I was eh…

  Okay if I come with ye?

  …

  Eh, is it okay?

  Of course.

  Murdo waited for him to get ready. Aunt Maureen appeared from the kitchen. You boys going out a walk huh?

  Yeah.

  Good thinking; rain’s coming on later.

  You could come? said Murdo.

  Thanks son. I got things to do.

  It would be good if ye did.

  Oh now I would Murdo but I just dont have the time now huh I got things to do.

  Dad had arrived and stood to the side while she was speaking. Now she opened the door for them and waited until they were beyond the garden path onto the pavement then she waved to them. Farther along the street Murdo turned to see her still there by the door. She waved again and he waved in reply. Dad also waved. Dad said, She likes to see us getting out!

  Yeah. Murdo smiled.

  Which way?

  I was just going eh… Murdo pointed to the next corner and shrugged.

  Anywhere in particular? asked Dad.

  No.

  They continued walking. Pools of water lay around but it was warm and quite a stuffy feel to everything. Before long Dad took off his jacket and walked with it slung across his shoulder. He had noticed a certain smell. Might be hickory or maple, he said, ye get them here. Different types of plants and trees. Different wild life too. Quite an interesting place Alabama.

  Yeah, said Murdo.

  Dad seemed cheery. Maybe something nice had happened. What was nice for Dad? Unless going home next Tuesday. Maybe he wanted to go and was glad it was coming. In some ways it was okay but in other ways not.

  In most ways not.

  Was there even one was okay? A horrible day here was better than a good day there. The truth is there werent any good days back home. Even if there were so what? If they were good what happened? Nothing. Good days and bad days were the same; just like nothing at all.

  So if Dad had emigrated back when he was a boy then they would have been here and Murdo wouldnt have had to go home because this would have been home. Except Murdo wouldnt have been here because Dad and Mum would never have met and married, so bla bla bla, him and Eilidh: a different mother means different children and they would have been American, whoever they were. Dad would have married an American woman like maybe Linda so that would have been them.

  Murdo was going to say something to Dad about it but didnt. It was good just walking, and Dad was enjoying that too. He was noticing wee things in wa
lking and drew attention to the flags on houses and the similarity of the gardens and garages. He was interested in the actual houses and when they were built then he seemed to be guessing the number of rooms in particular ones, and the idea that most houses were on the level like what ye called bungalows back home, maybe with basements; so if a basement might have had two rooms, three rooms or whatever, maybe just one big games room with things like pool tables or their own wee bars or whatever. There werent as many “add-ons” as back home, said Dad, where people had added extensions to their houses to make them bigger.

  He spoke about other stuff too but Murdo didnt catch it all, something about his job and the kind of job Uncle John did, and things to do with working, and he also spoke about next year and how it would be “life after school” for Murdo. It was funny the way Dad said it but there wasnt anything he could say back. The truth is he didnt hear much at all because he was not listening, not to everything. Things were calm and that brought its own sound. Hardly a breeze at all, no traffic. Peace and quiet. This was a great place for walking just like for yer head so ye didnt have to really think. It was weird how ye felt yer own walking made echoes, although it didnt make any echoes.

  Maybe the dampness, a kind of dampness, it maybe had something to do with how calm it was. Maybe calm before the storm. Rain was due later. Water deadens sound. Or changes it. The rain dampening the earth and a noise becomes more thudding or thick. Rain on a roof, heavy rain, not heavy but not going away, insistent, incessant. In a garden towards the end of the street an elderly woman was bent over tending plants inside plant-holders; she was wearing a large straw hat, an apron and trousers tucked into wellington boots. Puddles of water. She raised her head to see them properly. Murdo thought Dad didnt notice her but he called, Hullo.

  She didnt respond. Murdo wasnt surprised but it was a wee bit disappointing too like as if she knew they were foreign and wasnt interested in knowing about them. She returned to what she was doing.

  It would have been good if Aunt Maureen spent more time in the garden. She mostly worked about the house. “Pottering” is how she described it. Gardens were open air and would have been better for her.