by James Kelman
When they reached the red-brick church with the square tower and the pillars there were younger women and small children by a side door entrance. Round the corner was the bus-stop listing information on times and destinations. Probably a bus from here would connect to the downtown area where they had a main bus station. Murdo had wanted to check this out but Dad tagging along made it awkward. When they approached the bus-stop Murdo said, Look Dad a bus-stop. I wonder where the buses go?
Dad also was interested. They paused by the information listing. Shuttle? Murdo asked, What is that Dad “shuttle”?
A shuttle bus, it shuttles ye from one place to the other. Back and forth.
Yeah but where?
Downtown probably, or else the shopping mall – this is the road.
Murdo scanned the information for a few moments longer.
Dad was looking at the sky and checked his watch. Okay? he said.
Yeah, it’s just interesting seeing the buses.
It’s going to rain later.
They continued walking. The traffic was heavy; big long trucks that tooted and had flags and fancy decorations round the driver’s cabin. Some traveled the length and breadth of the whole country.
The actual cars were like back home, and not like television or the movies where ye saw the straight-line ones with the big long bonnets. One difference here was the different styles of pick-up trucks. Dad was looking at them too, maybe thinking about his driver’s licence and if he had brought it what would have happened?
Lafayette, Louisiana! Ha ha.
No chance. Even if Dad had brought it. He would never have hired a car all that time. Although for one weekend, yes, maybe. He could have afforded that. Leave Friday, back Sunday. Or else Saturday, if they picked up the car early Saturday morning, did the gig Saturday night then delivered it back Sunday morning. They would have managed that. The route was dead easy and like straightforwards, Dad would have done it no bother at all. It would have been brilliant. How brilliant, ye could imagine, just amazing! It didnt matter anyway. Although it did, in a way.
The Tennessee Valley in a couple of days. Dad talked about it like it was exciting, and it was exciting. Friends of Uncle John and Aunt Maureen were going with them too; an older couple who were at the Gathering. If possible they would all stay overnight. Be nice if we did, said Dad.
Yeah, said Murdo. Although he wasnt going with them. Really. That was that. He wasnt. And it was relaxing to know.
Imagine horses and a wagon train.
Car after car after car, trucks followed trucks. But that traffic was okay, wherever it all was going: nowhere; round and round, back and forward; who cares where it was going except the people inside, the ones doing the driving, their families all waiting for them to come home.
It was true but. Murdo was not going with them: the Tennessee Valley, he was not going. That was that.
Dad was talking away. I felt a couple of drops, he said.
I didnt, said Murdo.
I think we should head for the mall.
Just now?
Yeah, said Dad, it’s not too far. We could grab a sandwich and you could check out the music store. D’ye fancy?
Eh…
It’s definitely going to rain. If it’s very heavy we can get a taxi home. Dad shrugged. Be nice to look about, get a coffee. Fancy it?
Eh…
You’re not that bothered! Dad smiled.
No I mean if you are eh just like if you think.
If I think?
Yeah well…
So you’re not bothered?
No but Dad if you are then fine, fine. If you want to go. I mean I dont mind. Murdo stopped walking.
Dad had stopped before him, and he said, So it’s not yer preference?
I dont mind.
So will we head back or what? I take it you’re happy to head back? Your preference son, what is your preference? Obviously ye’ve got a preference.
A preference?
What do ye want to do? Dad sighed. I’m asking what ye want to do?
Just whatever.
Right, okay. Dad smiled with his eyes closed. Okay, he said, and that was that, they headed back.
Close of day. Nothing. Murdo was glad. Not close of day but nearly. Close of day was Thursday evening when Uncle John returned from work, and after the meal, when everybody had gone to bed: that was close of day. The day after was Friday. Friday was Friday.
*
Early that Thursday evening Murdo was downstairs studying the Road Atlas book. Uncle John had phoned to say he would not be home until seven o’clock. So they wouldnt be eating until half past, at least. Aunt Maureen would have served the evening meal before then but Dad and Murdo were happy to wait. She worried about him. Not because he was ill but the life he led at sixty-eight years of age: up by 6.30 every morning, out the door by 7.15; a fifty-mile drive five days a week and every other Saturday, plus emergency call-outs. But that was that and if ever he retired what would he do? He laughed about it but Aunt Maureen didnt.
Most of the Tennessee Valley preparations had been done by her during the past couple of days. They planned to leave early and were prepared for an overnight stop; perhaps even two, Friday and Saturday, depending how things went. Dad told Murdo to pack extra in case they did. Of course he was packing extra but for where he was going himself. So when he said, Okay Dad, it wasnt ordinary conversational talking it was like a lie, an actual lie, each time Dad spoke to him.
Except the only thing: it was right what he was doing. He was not going with them. If he did that was him for the rest of his life. For everything. Although he was telling lies to do it, it was the right thing. So so right it was not even a decision. It fitted.
The route from Allentown to Lafayette missed out Mobile altogether. The road went down the side of the Mississippi River down through Vicksburg, small roads to Jackson where Sarah’s father wanted her to go to college. Maybe he could hitch some parts and save money. No. He just needed more money. $90 was not enough. He needed more, a lot more – another $100, maybe $150 like if it was an accordeon on top of the bus-fares. If he could save money he would but how could he do that? Unless if he hitched part of the way. Why not? People did. At home they did. They did here too; ye saw it on the movies although then it was like the Horror Channel; chainsaw massacres and vampires ripping ye limb from limb. It depended on Allentown. Everything was fine if he got a lift down with Sarah’s family, and the loan of an accordeon too; maybe the turquoise if Queen Monzee-ay thought it was okay. If not, it was just money, he needed money.
But like pocket money anyway. Imagine the pocket money Dad owed him! He never gave him any! Ha ha.
It was true but. Dad forgot. He wasnt mean, he was just like forgetful. It was a bloody fortune! Ever since Mum died. When ye thought about it. He would pay it back anyway. However much he took, it was borrowing, Murdo was going to borrow. It was just like a loan.
He shut the Road Atlas book. He stretched out on the bed. No music. Maybe he didnt want any. Not just now.
Aunt Maureen too, jeesoh, whenever he passed her she smiled or said something cheery about tomorrow. It was hopeless, acting like it meant something. And what did it mean? Nothing. He was just lying. Looking and speaking. Just everything. He lied and lied. Really, he was just a bloody liar. And the greatest people in the world, that was Aunt Maureen and it was Uncle John too.
He got up from the bed and opened the door, waited for the all-clear then upstairs to the bathroom. He shut the door and snibbed it. The bathroom mirror.
He didnt mean to see his face but he did. So he had to look, to really look and really just
jeesoh, his stomach. He splashed cold water on his face and the back of his neck, to get fresh.
He didnt like his eyes. What was his eyes? He didnt like them. His eyes were not, they were not something. He needed to smile. It wasnt a smile. Ha ha. Not a smile.
Strange about lips, that wee bit on the upper one shaped like a V and that wee va
lley bit up to between the nostrils. That was yer body and how it worked. Things fitted. That was like tunes and how ye made one up, this note came before that note, and ye just went with it and then looked at it later and shaped them all out, making it smooth, making “it” smooth. “It” was one urge all the way through.
Maybe he needed a shave. Maybe he didnt. He didnt have to, unless he thought so. Seeing his face. He wanted Eilidh and Mum to be there.
He made a smile. It was his smile.
He didnt have as many pimples. Probably the sun. His face and neck were red but hardly any suntan on his body. Maybe he had a body that didnt go brown. Some people’s bodies stayed white, or else just red.
He did a thing and everybody else was affected. Ye look in the mirror and see other people. They are seeing you. Ye see yer own face but these other folk too, how come they are all there? You make a decision but it is their life too.
They know what you are thinking. They say it to ye: Oh I know what you’re thinking. Nothing gets hidden. Nothing can be hidden. Ye cannay even tell a lie because the truth is always there and somebody knows, somebody knows. Dad is close and Mum is closer, yet both are further because Eilidh is inside, she is inside, so ye cannot hide, nothing ye can do is hidden, like no private access for anything, damn bloody anything, stupid nonsense shit and porn sites, and any damn anything not caring because who cares if everybody knows, ye just say it and do it like life if that is how ye live, who cares, who hears, everybody is nobody. Except the person left behind, always a person left behind. That is the plus one.
Then about lies too, how ye could say it wasnt a total bunch of lies never-ending, not like an infinity, because if ye took away that one most basic lie, then nothing else was there, it all just disappeared. A tissue of lies. One lie made the tissue. Take away the one and there wasnt a tissue. That bigger and bigger pile of lies was really just the one: he said he was going and he was not going.
He heard a door closing. Uncle John had come home from work.
*
They didnt start eating until 8 o’clock. Uncle John opened a bottle of wine and included a wee one for Murdo. Dad just smiled. They were going home next Tuesday. Murdo’s head was so full he had forgotten. He sipped the wine, it was tasty. Wine could be tasty although never quite like what ye expected. Beer was better.
He hoped Dad and Uncle John would go the last hour to the pub but they were too busy with packing and stuff; Aunt Maureen too, dotting between the house and the driveway. It suited Murdo because he could stay downstairs. Later Dad sat in the lounge by himself watching television. So that was Murdo’s chance: Will I go and tell him now?
When he told Dad Dad would tell Uncle John and Aunt Maureen. They would think he was ill. Viruses were everywhere. Uncle John made jokes about medical care in America. It cost ye a body part to pay for the medical bill. Ye went in with a broken leg and the operation cost ye a liver. They would worry then come downstairs and like Oh what’s wrong with ye son are ye ill? No. What’s wrong? Nothing’s wrong I’m just like eh
whatever.
They would see he wasnt ill. Maybe he is coming down with something. He isnt ill just now but tomorrow he might be. Maybe it is a mental issue. Too much stress. Would they be upset? Yes. But not a big bit. Dad would still be going. They had other friends that were going too so they wouldnt call it off. They would just wonder.
Murdo stayed in the basement. Whatever time it was. Then Aunt Maureen had been in her own room for ages. Murdo was wanting to say goodnight to her. Maybe she was in bed reading a magazine. So it was too late.
It was, it was too late.
And Dad and Uncle John were in the lounge, probably with a beer. It would have spoiled everybody’s night.
*
Next morning people were up and about on the final preparations. It was the last chance. He didnt want to see Uncle John and Aunt Maureen and waited downstairs until it was Dad in the bathroom, then waiting for him to come out, the door to open, just that moment. He didnt feel bad, just his stomach and nerves nerves nerves, that jumpiness ye get, having to do it, do something, whatever. When it did open Murdo was upstairs quietly. Dad held the door for him but Murdo said: Dad can I speak to ye a minute?
What’s up? said Dad.
Nothing, just eh
Is there something wrong?
No Dad I just eh Dad I need to speak to ye. Sorry Dad I just eh… Murdo sniffed and returned downstairs.
Dad followed. Inside Dad closed the door over. Murdo was standing by the foot of the bed, maybe four yards away, and he felt better there and even like limbering up, like running on the spot, that was how felt. The most stupid thing but just silly silly and he had to breathe in, standing as still as he could, put his hands in his pockets and was going to start crying, Oh Dad
he was going to start crying, Oh Dad.
What’s up? What’s up?
Dad I cant go. Murdo shook his head. Dad…I cant go. I cant go. I just cant. I cant. Dad I cant.
Why not?
Dad I cant. Murdo closed his eyes, lowering his head and he breathed in deeply.
Son what’s up? Dad made a movement towards him and hesitated.
Dad I’m so so sorry.
Calm down.
Murdo breathed in.
What’s wrong?
I just cant go Dad I’m sorry like the thought of it Dad, being away and just like being with people and the whole day and everything, just sitting there and everything like all the talking and everything, everything, Dad I dont eh I dont… Dad I’m so sorry, I’m so so sorry; but I just feel I need to opt out, I need to opt out.
Dad was nodding his head.
Dad I’m so sorry I’m so so sorry. Dad…
Dad put his arm round Murdo’s shoulder. Dont worry, he said.
I’m so so sorry.
Dont worry.
They stood for several moments; Murdo gazing at the floor, shoulders hunched and his hands in his pockets and it was like he couldnay raise his head, not able to look at Dad, he felt so bad like just going away forever, just forever.
Take it easy, said Dad. He patted Murdo on the shoulder. Ye okay?
Yeah.
They’ll be disappointed.
I’m so sorry.
Dont worry. If ye change yer mind…we’ll, be another half hour. Okay?
Murdo nodded.
Dad left the room and it was over. Everything. Murdo listened to his footsteps.
Aunt Maureen would be upset especially. But so would Uncle John. Dad was going but, that was something. They wouldnt have to worry either like how sometimes Murdo and Dad like if they werent talking or there was bad feeling between them. Without Murdo it wasnt a worry.
But he didnt want to see them right away, and he sat down on the edge of the bed. Soon after he heard the 4x4 doors slamming shut and rushed upstairs, but they were still packing stuff into the boot. Uncle John called to him: Alright son!
Yeah, thanks.
Uncle John smiled, he continued the packing. Murdo went between the door from the dining area into the patio and the driveway outside the house, helping Dad pass him various bags and items. At one point Dad seemed irritated but maybe he wasnt. Aunt Maureen arrived with her last two bags which she put in on the floor by the rear passenger seat, then made to enter. She looked twice when she saw him. Hey Murdo! she said. She brandished her right fist: You’ll wish you had come!
Murdo smiled.
Dad said nothing but was looking straight at Murdo. Uncle John walked to the driver’s door. Now Dad looked set to say something but didnt.
Murdo returned the look, before shifting stance. He folded his arms. Dad walked to the front passenger side and pulled open the door. Uncle John gave Murdo a short salute: Be midnight the time we’re home Murdo boy. If we’re staying on we’ll phone.
We’ll phone either way, said Dad.
Murdo nodded.
Aunt Maureen had opened the rear passenger window. You know where there’s food son huh!
Dont burn the house down! Uncle John chuckled.
Dad was inside now, and closed the door. Murdo walked forwards. Once Uncle John had switched on the engine Dad let down the window to say, Don’t lock yerself out. Whatever ye do!
No.
I mean if ye go out a walk.
Murdo nodded. Have a good time, he said, then stepped back.
The 4x4 pulled outside onto the street. Murdo walked to the side then behind, waving, then returned up the driveway. He watched the car until it disappeared round the bend towards the main road. He stood there an extra moment. Maybe they would have forgotten something. The longer they didnt show the more unlikely it was.
How much distance does a car travel in five minutes? Thirty miles an hour is fifteen for a half hour, is seven and a half for fifteen, is five for two and a half: two and a half miles in five minutes.
Murdo returned downstairs and sorted through his clothes and essentials, packing quickly. Past eight o’clock and he needed to move fast. The buses was the problem. The thing with America was how big it was. Ye dont think that until ye see it on the Road Atlas book pages and work out the time it takes to get from place to place. Jackson looked quite near but it was hours away passing through Birmingham then change up to Allentown, he would have to change someplace. A car would go faster because ye could choose yer roads and drive as long as ye wanted without having to stop at wee towns to let people off and on, or else change buses. He packed the two CDs, the USA Road Atlas plus a book for reading.
That was him now. He lifted his jacket, had a last look round then went upstairs to the bathroom. Would he need a towel? Yes but the one Aunt Maureen had given him took up a lot of space. He went into her linen cupboard and lifted a small one for hands.
He knew where Dad kept the emergency money. Six hundred dollars. Murdo took four $50 notes which was the very very minimum. Everything depended. $200 was not enough if he didnt get any lifts and had to pay full bus-fares there and back. Plus accordeon. But he couldnt take anything more.
From the fridge he used the cheese and cold meat to make four sandwiches. Aunt Maureen wouldnt worry. She would be glad he took it. As many slices as necessary. He gathered some fruit together and found her store of brown paperbags.