Dirt Road

THREE

The Gathering was a two-hour drive away, more than a hundred miles distant. They left the main highway and were onto a smaller road that had a number instead of a name and went along at the foot of a mountain. Aunt Maureen thought it was known by the name of a ranch. From there it was onto a rocky road that was more like a wide trail. The cars were parked for free in regimented rows down one side of a big field. Attendants were there to guide the drivers. Once parked ye crossed and walked a tree-lined track and in through a wide gate where they took entrance fee money.

Ye werent allowed to bring in food or drink of yer own, and no guns either. Uncle John had advised them earlier: Dont take yer six-shooter. Posters were pinned onto the trees; some serious, some for fun:

ALL CONTESTANTS PAY ADMISSION

IF RAIN WEAR A HAT

NO REFUNDS ON BOUNCY CASTLE CHARGES

ALCOHOLIC BEVERAGES DESIGNATED AREAS

BEWARE FUND RAISERS

SAVE A SMOKER — DONATE A LUNG

KIDS UNDER (10) 2 GO FREE

In the evening a dance was scheduled for the Marquee Tent which they called The Hielan Fling. The entrance payment entitled ye to attend that plus the afternoon music event. Dad wanted to pay but Uncle John wouldnt let him. The people at the entrance passed out information flyers. Murdo took a few and put them in his pocket. A large poster advertised The Wee Bairn Games (0–5). Another advertised a Hunt the Sporran Competition. Some of the Kids’ Competitions finished before they arrived. It had been going since 10 a.m. and was now about 12.30. A Dance Competition for Girls was split into age groups. Jig Dancing I: (3–5), Jig Dancing II (6–11), Jig Dancing III (12–17), Jig Dancing IV (18+). Uncle John made a joke to Aunt Maureen about entering the last group. Quite a few girls wore Highland dance outfits. Adults too, wearing fancy Scottish clothes, tartan and kilts. One woman in from the entrance gate knew Aunt Maureen and was delighted to see her. Aunt Maureen introduced Murdo and Dad as her nephews from Scotland. Murdo liked her doing that. They chatted together and they walked on slowly, waiting for her to catch up. No sooner did she catch up than she saw another woman and went to meet her.

Sally Rose, said Uncle John. She’s an old friend of yer Auntie. That’s the last we’ll see of her. Look for Josie too, because she’ll be roundabout. Then who else? Quite a few, I dont know, church people. Uncle John chuckled and winked at Murdo. She’s in her element son. Just watch it with the religious aspect. Nay wisecracks!

…

Dad glanced across.

I’m only saying to watch it son. Uncle John winked. Whatever ye said to the women, just be careful.

Dad smiled. What did ye say? Eh? Murdo…?

I dont know Dad, I dont know.

They had stopped walking and moved to the side of the track to let people pass along. Was it about religion?

I dont know.

Och it’s nothing, said Uncle John, me and my big mouth.

Murdo looked at him. He couldnt remember a single thing at all about whatever he was supposed to have said except if it was personal stuff about the family, talking to Aunt Maureen maybe. But if he had said something it wouldnt have been a joke, not like a joke. Never. If Uncle John thought that… Wisecracks? What did it even mean? Jokey comments? He would never have made jokey comments. Never. Horrible even to think. Aunt Maureen and her friends. Never ever.

After a moment Uncle John said: Maybe I’ve got the wrong end of the stick. It was when ye were talking with the women son, the pot-luck night; did ye no say something? Emma-Louise and them were talking about it later. Am I wrong son? asked Uncle John.

…

What was it ye said? asked Dad.

Kids running along the track toward them, past them, making for the main area. People everywhere, everywhere. Dad tapped him on the arm. They stepped sideways to allow the kids past, running past.

Murdo kept his head lowered. Dad was waiting. Murdo didnt know. He didnt care either. Dad whatever. Dad whatever all the time. Murdo’s stomach was that weird way again. Twisted. That was how it felt. Uncle John said something. Murdo didnt hear. Dad said something back. Murdo didnt hear that either. Dad saying: We’ll walk.

Uncle John held up his right hand. Murdo son, I’ve got the wrong end of the stick.

Murdo shook his head. I dont know Uncle John I might have said something like eh I dont know, I might have said something when I was in talking with Aunt Maureen and them or else if they picked me up wrong. But I would never have said any jokey thing like wisecracks. Not to Aunt Maureen. Definitely. Never.

Uncle John said to Dad: It’s me Tommy. I’ve got the wrong end of the stick. I’m just a dumpling. Murdo son I’m just a dumpling.

It’s okay.

Do people still call ye that in Glasgow! They said it when I was a boy. Ya bloody dumpling! That was what they called ye! Worse!

Murdo smiled.

Dad was just watching. But it was Murdo’s fault for over-reacting. Uncle John was feeling bad and it was for nothing. Quite soon after he saw men he knew, men in kilts. Aw look, he said, old Charlie, I’m goni say hullo, and off he went.

The people going along the track; fat and thin, young and old; the usual. Dad and Murdo continued walking. The temperature into the high seventies. Dad had his hands in his pockets and was just looking about, relaxed. Murdo said, Dad.

Yeah?

What Uncle John said there about wisecracks. I dont know what he was meaning because I didnt say anything like that. Nothing like that. I would never ever have done it. Jeesoh Dad Aunt Maureen, she’s great. I would never ever say anything to upset her and like her friends, never.

Yeah I know. What it is Murdo, just keep yer own thoughts. Ye might have an opinion about religion and ye’re entitled to it. But be wary. There’s things here ye dont want to talk about; politics and that, the racist stuff. People dont think the same. It’s like back home Rangers and Celtic, Protestants and Catholics, ye’re aye the opposite. Whoever it is ye’re the opposite. If it’s all Catholics you’re the only Protestant, all blacks you’re the only white. The ones ye happen to be with they’re all one thing but you’re the other. So ye watch what ye say. The best thing is say nothing.

Murdo nodded.

Ye okay?

Yeah.

Ye went awful white there. Green. I thought ye were going to faint son and I havenay seen ye do that for a while. Dad smiled. I used to do it myself.

Yeah.

Dad chuckled and went into his pocket, took out a twenty-dollar bill and pressed it into Murdo’s hand. I meant to give ye it earlier.

Thanks Dad.

See how it goes. If ye need more come and ask. Dad pointed along to the various stalls and tents down the side of the field. Have a wander, he said.

Will we meet someplace? Murdo asked.

Och we’re here all day, we’ll bump into one another.

Yeah.

There’s the music on too then the dance tonight. So ye’ll no be disappearing. Dad clapped him on the shoulder then went one way. Murdo went the other, away from the main stalls and towards the far side of the area, to the edge of the field on the other side of the tents, way away from everything.

It was very warm now and he felt more like lying in the sun than trying stuff at the stalls. The scenery too; rock formations and mountains, it was so so good seeing the mountains. Ye got rivers here but not the same lochs like back home. Probably it was true what they said about Scotland: if it wasnt for the rotten weather it would be the best place in the world. Although Alabama too, once ye got to know it. Aunt Maureen said it was a beautiful state. Except where was the sea? Ye were hemmed in without it. They didnt have any except that wee bit of coast at the Gulf of Mexico.

He found a shady place. A sort of red dirt but the grass was okay. He lay down, using his jacket as a pillow. Jet streams far far in the sky. Three, four, maybe five trails. Where were they going? They already were here. Back home ye saw a plane high in the sky and it was headed for Canada. Low in the sky was England. He browsed through the leaflets he had lifted at the entrance. Global Hunger and people in prison all over the world. Good people, Christian people, suffering hard knocks, miseries and tragedy. Open your Eyes, and Open your Mind. Most was religious stuff but quite interesting. One gave information on the history of the “Henry Craig Gathering”. Henry Craig had donated the use of this place annually. He was long dead but people kept the tradition and traveled from all over.

Although based on the Highland Gathering it was not trying to be a real one. It took from the ceilidh and was an ancient ideal going back into the mists of time. Horsemen rode round the land with the fiery cross held aloft, calling the clansfolk to order. They had the clan obligation to entertain their rulers, kings and chiefs. They sang songs, told stories, danced and took part in athletic games. It was like a tax. People had no money in those days so the kings and chiefs took a percentage of their fish and farm produce, and their whiskey too which was known as uisge beatha, “water of life”. Their descendants still brewed it to this day only nowadays they called it “moonshine”.

The thud of a football.

Down the field boys were playing football and two girls with them. A kickabout would have been great, even in the sun. He shoved the leaflets back in his pocket, got up and wandered among the stalls and tents. Seeing the price of stuff. Dad had given him the $20 but did that include food? He was starving. One place sold beer but one bottle alone was $7. Other stalls sold food. People sat outside drinking, eating and chatting. At a place farther along Uncle John was sitting with two older men. He was smoking a cigarette! Uncle John! Murdo hadnt seen him smoke before.

He hung back, unseen, then went sideways between stalls.

Here they sold stuff with Celtic themes. Kilts, Scottish whisky and buckled shoes. One stall had stained glass and decorative jewelry. Swords and shields; dirks. Scottish Irish. The culture of the Celts. The folk doing the selling were dressed in the old ways: kilts and fancy shirts, leather waistcoats. Some had long hair and blue clay designs on their faces. Mixed males and females. All ages. Plenty wore Highland outfits. Girls wore short kilts. Some of the older ones were very very good-looking. Really pretty and their kilts were like the shortest, the very very shortest, and just great legs. Socks and tunic outfits. White lace on their blouses; ruffles and sashes.

Older women wore the kilt too, and tartan waistcoat tops, tartan shawls. All different hats and wee umbrellas to keep out the sun. Guys mainly wore kilts or shorts. There werent many in his age group. They wore kilts with shirts, T-shirts and vests, had tattooed arms. Cowboy hats, baseball caps, bunnets, berets and Glengarrys. Their T-shirts had printed references to Scotland but other stuff too; one said “Hands off the Ocean” and another “Hands off the Presbytery”; one had “FBI” in big writing then underneath “Federal Bureau of Integration”. A man and a woman had identical T-shirts saying, “Hi I’m Phil Campbell”. Imagine saying hullo, I saw yer town on the map.

Three old guys chatting together wore kilted outfits in the official style with the traditional curved jackets, and shirts and ties too, thick socks with dirks poking out. Skinny legs and knobbly walking sticks. Maybe they were officials. They looked like the high-up ones that did judging at the real Highland Games.

One of the tents did face painting. Kids and toddlers were having the Scottish Saltire painted on their faces and on their hair round the back of their heads. Some had the Scottish Saltire at the front and other ones round the back, the Confederate flag. Ye could research yer family history and discover Scottish Heritage; the Battle of Bannockburn and Culloden; posters of Braveheart. One said “King Arthur: Scottish?” The American Constitution, the American War of Independence, Remember the Alamo and the American Civil War.

Girls selling ye religious stuff. Although they were smiling they were not having a laugh. One held lottery tickets up to Murdo. He shook his head, expecting her maybe to say more but she didnt, she went away to somebody else. Even if he did buy a ticket, if he won a prize, how could he collect it? He should have said that to the lassie like if he was back home in Scotland what happened, did they post it to you? She would have gawped at him. Oh is he an alien! She probably hadnt even heard of Scotland. Although surely here she would have! Anyway, he didnt have money for lottery tickets.

Stalls and tents along the way offered prizes for throwing a basketball and firing slug guns at targets. $5 a go!

He found a place where ye could “score a goal!” — ye kicked a football into a bucket for $3. If ye scored two out the three shots ye won the prize. Murdo was going to try it. They had the same game back home. Ye had to chip the ball rather than kick it. Ye were lucky to land it in the bucket at all. Even if ye did and the ball hit the bottom it bounced back out. Ye had to land it in so it hit the back and swirled roundabout. It was very very difficult. Even if ye managed it the only prize was a gigantic football the size of a huge belly; more of a balloon than a ball. Probably only worth about $3. He passed on. Near the beer tents were the usual stalls where ye won prizes on games like bingo and tombola. The one thing missing was music. He couldnt find one stall. It could have been instruments or CDs; just something. Folk were selling raffle or lottery tickets supporting good causes. Mostly they were religious, talking about religious aspects of life; Christ on Calvary, the Day of Reckoning, Saved by Grace. Some of it Murdo didnt know. He knew the words but not what they meant — The Truth of God Is the Judge. Churches had individual names: Live Oak Biblical, Back Creek Historical, Ray of Light Reformed, Tyson’s Ridge Glad Tidings. They would have been Protestant. Catholic churches would have had the names of Saints. Back home they would, although maybe here was different.

Then a black guy! He spoke to folk as they passed by the tent. He had an African voice. Another black man was with him, and three black women, and white people too. Pictures of Jesus and little children all different races and colours. That was so unexpected and great to see.

But what had he expected? No black people at all.

One of their posters was brilliant: Music is the Glory of God.

They had T-shirts for sale: Redemption, Freedom, Forgiveness. Murdo was going to take their leaflets but when they didnt move to give him one he didnt offer. Some posters and pictures were not paintings but photographs of stained glass; stained glass and four girls killed

— four girls killed. Murdo read the poster, not getting too close. Four girls. A bomb did it. A bomb at a church. Was that true? It had to be true otherwise it wouldnt have been there. Four girls and killed. Four girls. Murdo stepped back from the stall. He was going to take a leaflet but didnt. Was it true? It had to be otherwise

how could it not be? Otherwise it wouldnt be there. Jeesoh! Four girls killed. Four girls killed! Murdo walked on. Imagine Sarah. She would have got angry, so so angry, just so angry. She would have talked to the black people. What happened? But it said what happened, a bomb. If ye were black ye would have been so so angry. But white too. If ye were white, what would ye feel? What did he feel? Not like talking. Maybe to Sarah. Except she wouldnt have been here, she wouldnt have come. Queen Monzee-ay! Never. Aunt Edna! Ha ha.

*

A sign at the entrance to the marquee listed the times of the day’s events: Declan Pike — 3 p.m. Session — 5 p.m. Hielan Fling: Doors Open 7.30 p.m. Round the sides of the marquee families and small groups of people picnicked on the grass. A few dogs were jumping about. A collie was off the leash and two boys were running with it. People wore kilts and T-shirts and the males had Glengarry hats. The buckles on their leather belts looked the same design. A couple of the guys had the same face-paintings as the kids. One had “Sons of Red Eagle” printed on his T-shirt.

Uncle John was there, smoking another cigarette. He saw Murdo and waved him over. He was sitting with old guys underneath a massive umbrella. He saw Murdo and held the cigarette aloft. A filthy habit, he said. Now I’m asking ye son, at all costs, dont tell yer Auntie Maureen. Or I’m a dead man.

The other men laughed.

I only do it once in a blue moon and this is the blue moon, bom di bom bom. One of these days I’ll stop it altogether. He pointed at one of the other smokers. He’s the rascal gave me it! Temptation saith the Lord. Uncle John covered his eyes with his other hand. Get Thee behind me!

Uncle John put his arm round Murdo’s waist and drew him forwards. My nephew Murdo, all the way from Scatlin.

We’re the Neighbourhood Watch! said one of the men.

Grandpop brigade, said one.

Your Dad passed here twenty minutes ago, said Uncle John. He thought this was a union meeting. These guys dont know what a union is. It’s a train line right! Union Pacific. The old Dixie line. Uncle John took a drag on his cigarette then stubbed it out, turned to Murdo: You see the Alamo stall son?

Eh…

Look for the Alamo stall. See the Scottish names! Four maybe five born Scotsmen all fought for Texas. Same with the Confederate army. D’ye see the Civil War stuff? Scots, Scots-Irish. That’s Ulster. Plus you got the ordinary born Americans with Scottish names. All the way through you got them. That’d be something for the schoolkids if ye set them a project eh, count the Scottish names.

Sounds like a lot of fun, said a man.

Uncle John chuckled. Then he stood to his feet and groaned, rubbing at the small of his back. He stepped away from the group, side on to Murdo so that his actions were shielded. He put his hand into his hip pocket, withdrew money and slipped it to Murdo.

Aw Uncle John…

Go and have some fun.

Ye dont have to do that.

Behave yerself. Just stick it in yer pocket.

Thanks, thanks a lot.

Mind now with yer Auntie, about the smoking. Dont say a word. Whatever ye do, ye must not.

Murdo smiled.

Uncle John was dead serious. Mind now.

Definitely.

Uncle John gripped Murdo by the arm and whispered: Forget about that religion carry-on, what I said to ye earlier on son I got it wrong. Completely wrong. You know what a dumpling is? I’m a dumpling. Okay?

Of course.

Uncle John smiled. He gazed at Murdo and was going to say more but instead clapped him on the shoulder. Away and have fun. He said, There’s boys kicking a ball about by the way.

I saw them. They’re a bit young.

Ach join in anyway.

Murdo grinned. Uncle John sat back down with his pals. Murdo checked what he had given him. One note. A fifty! Fifty! Jeesoh! Murdo stopped and examined the note. $50. One note for fifty dollars. Uncle John. $50. Jeesoh. Plus Dad’s twenty equalled seventy. Seventy dollars.

He was starving. Things were expensive. Weer stalls were better. At one two lasses were getting served. One fair hair and one dark; both in Hielan dance outfits. Maybe they had been in the jig contests. Probably. Short kilts. Amazing how short, long socks high up.

They were friendly to the woman serving as though they knew her. She was an older lady and had on a shawl, although it wasnt tartan. Or was it? Maybe it was an old style. Ye felt that about the Gathering, they were like old style, from bygone days.

At the side of this stall the price list for food was broken into individual items. Not actual meals but there was savoury stuff, pies and bun things; plenty donuts. In bigger writing it read:

$6 FOOD-PLATE FOR HUNGRY BEAVERS

$8 FOOD-PLATE FOR HUNGRY BEARS

$12 FOOD-PLATE FOR HUNGRY HORSES

Murdo waited behind the girls. American voices. The lady returned their change and they lifted their plates. They half turned, watching to see what Murdo would do. He wasnt sure what to order except he was hungry. There wouldnt have been much difference between what a horse would eat and a bear. Except four dollars. Bears might even have been hungrier than horses. They could tear a person limb from limb. A horse didnt. What did a horse eat? Murdo couldnt think. Oats? Did they eat meat? Maybe they were vegetarian.

The woman was waiting. I’m just wondering please what ye get, said Murdo. I mean like the difference between the plates, if ye take the six dollar or else the eight?

Huh?

The two girls had walked a little farther off, but were listening. Probably the lady hadnt understood him. Murdo said, I was just wondering please about the actual food? Do I choose it or eh…

The lady smiled suddenly. You Maureen Simpson’s nephew?

Eh… Yeah I mean eh my Aunt Maureen.

From Scotland?

Yeah. Murdo grinned. Simpson was Dad’s mother’s name before she got married.

Well now, said the lady. She signaled a man seated to the other side of the stall. Murdo had noticed him but didnt think he was part of it. He was older too and thin-looking wearing a baseball cap, sipping a cup of coffee or tea. A slogan on the cap read Duncan Bizkitz Outlawd. Duncan Bizkitz. Him there’s Chess. I’m Clara, Clara Hopkins. Now your name son?

Murdo Macarthur.

That’s right, yeah. Thank you Murdo for coming here to our table. The lady waved at the food and passed him a wide cardboard plate.

Thanks. Murdo peered at the food, moved a step to the right, seeing the various stuff. He stepped along and paused, then returned. Eh… he peered along at it all again.

Here, she said and took the plate back off him. She began putting food onto the plate herself, not asking him but just doing it. Murdo was glad. She was giving him a real pile.

Get one aboard afore the plate sinks! said the man, pointing at the donuts.

He’s Maureen’s nephew.

Huh?

Come all the way from Scotland.

Oh yeah… Guess you must be hungry son.

Yeah, thanks, said Murdo.

Dont say thanks to him, said the lady, he’s joking. She settled a donut on top then passed him the plate.

Murdo was waiting to hear what it cost. She checked what she had put on the plate then checked it again. She hesitated then jerked her head sideways, looking away from him. He waited but she ignored him, as if she didnt know he was there. He knew what it was. He was just to go away. She didnt want him paying.

The man shifted sideways and bent towards him like he was going to say something but he didnt. He sniffed and sat back on the chair, folding his arms.

Murdo said to the lady: Thanks very much.

Uh huh, she muttered.

Murdo balanced the large plateful of food between both hands and walked away. He looked to see the two girls but they werent there. Then he did see them, heading toward the tents at the side of the area, maybe for a sit-down on the grass.

*

Murdo was in the marquee before three o’clock and it was almost empty. He sat by the end of the third row, along from the corner of the stage platform. He had food on the plate and was sipping water out of a paper cup. He had forgotten to buy a bottle at the stall and didnt want to return for one. Unless he could have paid. He would have preferred that. It was too awkward if she didnt allow it and would have looked like he only went there to get it for free. So he looked to buy one elsewhere and found a church tent dishing out free water. They had big containers of it and served it in individual paper cups. It was good and would make people think about their church; ones like Murdo who were not one way or the other.

The entrance to the marquee was from the opposite side of the space where he was sitting. Ye walked in and the stage was to yer left, a raised platform. The main seating all lay to the right. A line of tables went down each side. Down from the stage was a fair-size space for dancing.

It was still quite empty when the musician arrived, Declan Pike. He wore a beard, long hair and a baseball cap, jeans and a leather jacket. He stuck his sunglasses into a pocket then moved about by the mic, checking things out, positioning a chair nearby the mic stand. In one band Murdo played with a standing joke with the older guys was technical support at small venues. There never was any! Ye would turn up at a church hall and somebody would ask the wee woman making the tea: Where’s the sound man? and she would faint. That was the joke. They didnt have any sound man here either but the PA worked.

Folk had come in by now and sat in various places. The musician noticed them. He gave the impression he was pleased to see them. He adjusted his guitar and started tuning. It was twenty past three already. Maybe he was waiting for more. He took off the guitar and propped it against the chair by the mic stand. He pulled out a pack of cigarettes. People watched him. He gestured with the pack, patted his chest as if to apologise and headed towards the entrance, withdrawing a cigarette as he went.

A few more arrived. People sat dotted around. Sometimes for a wee audience ye wished they would all sit together at the front. When they were all wide apart it just seemed what it was: empty. Although what does it matter, ye just play. The musician switched on the mic when he returned. He peered up at the overheard sound speakers and called to a couple of folk at the back. You all hearing me okay?

Nobody replied that Murdo could hear but he nodded so they must have done. Then he battered straight into “Johnnie O’Breadislea” taking Murdo by surprise! Quietly in but full-sounding every note like how ye want, and a particular quiver he was getting too, taking ye right into the story. One song and whoh! Murdo might have been first in with the clapping. The musician was surprised. He looked across and grinned. Murdo felt a bit daft but at the same time who cares. The guy introduced the next one about coal mines in Kentucky, and a wee town getting destroyed by a big company. It was strong. This one had a good chorus. He had a hard voice, occasionally rasping, but it was fine. The music piped through the system to speakers outside the marquee entrance and more people arrived. The musician called to them: Afternoon!

An older man answered: Afternoon!

He was bald with a wee white beard and wearing a waistcoat with bright colours. The musician noticed, pointed out. I like it!

This old guy paused a moment: Oh you do?

Yeah.

Well now I’m glad of that son might of gone home if you hadnt.

People laughed. The old guy then offered the musician a beer. But it was good fun, a nice atmosphere. The musician introduced himself, Declan Pike — call me Declan — and how he came from these parts but was now living in Houston, Texas. Part-time musician, full-time oil-worker.

Murdo liked hearing this. Guys back home did ordinary jobs too. Ye felt with him that he was trying for songs that were real. Stories from life. That style and voice of his, saying about the next song, written by this guy down in Texas who got shot dead in an argument over a welfare check. A slow track and that guitar just barely doing anything, ding, ding, telling the story, hear a verse, ding, ding, perfect spacing. And when he sang it he had the audience, they were just engrossed. Really it was a beautiful song, and strong applause from the audience. Aunt Maureen was among them. Murdo hadnt seen her since they first came in. Josie and another woman were with her.

The older man from the foodstall stood by the entrance, still wearing the Duncan Bizkitz baseball cap; he held a fiddle-case under his arm. The musician had noticed him and given him a nod while affixing a harmonica onto the guitar.

He had a good attitude. Some musicians act blasé, making it cool to ignore the audience. This guy didnt do that. He looked straight at people. A group of younger guys in kilts and Glengarry hats had a table along the side and he called to them: How’s it going boys?

They looked at him, surprised.

He was about to set off on the next number then gazed at the roof and spoke in a stagey growl: It’s the goddam daylight man I aint used to no daylight.

Some of the audience laughed. Aunt Maureen wouldnt have liked the “goddam”. He saluted somebody at the entrance now, a woman who was standing with people — Dad too, Dad was with them. They made their way into seats near Aunt Maureen and when they were seated the woman was next to Dad and she was saying something to him. Dad bent to hear what she was saying — it was weird, his head was quite close to hers. Not touching, it was just weird. Murdo couldnt remember seeing him sit beside a woman before.

Declan had begun on the next song, a join-in one about the railroad. A few people knew it. The old guy with the fancy waistcoat punched the air with his fist clenched, caught up in the story and angry.

Seeing people angry about a song. Ye didnt get that much. Murdo had never heard the song before but thought of the train cars down from Chattanooga having to cross the Tennessee River on boats. Ye could imagine all sorts.

When the song ended Declan adjusted the mic a little, and called to the man with the fiddle-case: You want to help me out here Chess! Then he introduced the song while Chess approached the stage:

Any Macphersons in the company? It came out like “MacFIERCEsons” the way he said it. There were a few jeers and laughter in reply but no Macphersons. My mother was a good Appalachian girl, he said, Macphersons was her people, come from Scotland some time. All dead, most of them, far as I know. Hanged them. Damn near wiped them out altogether huh! That’s what the next song’s about. Guy robbed the rich to feed the poor; yeah, Robin Hood. Was Robin Hood Scottish? No sir, he would not wear no green uniform! Declan chuckled into the mic. Scotch joke right?

A few in the audience laughed but most seemed not to know anything, but Murdo knew. Robin Hood couldnt have been Scottish because he wore a green uniform. Protestants blue and Catholics green. Murdo looked to see Dad. It was the kind of stuff he hated. And hearing it out in the open made it strange-sounding and childish.

Chess was now on stage and with his fiddle at the ready. Declan pointed at the slogan on his baseball cap: Duncan Bizkitz Outlawd! Them’s the politics I respect! Old Duncan now, he was a good old boy, fought a good fight and what happened to him? turned him into a goddam franchise.

Applause and some laughter.

Yeah, now, you all know another Macpherson? General James B?

People were quiet. The younger guys in the kilts and Glengarrys were staring at him.

Yeah, nothing worse than a Civil War, brother against brother. James B fell in the struggle for Atlanta, killed by men under the command of the bold John Hood; a hard man, a one-legged man; them two boys both Scotch descended, one north, one south, same class at West Point. Macpherson had the brains, helped Hood pass his exams. But Hood had the savvy. Declan spoke into the mic: You talk about your Beauregard and sing of General Lee;

but the gallant Hood of Texas he played Hell in Tennessee.

Yeah! called somebody, and another gave a loud piercing whistle, some scattered applause but then silence. And Declan continued: Another of the bold fellows there, Ould Paddy Clebourne from County Cork, Irish as the day is long. And a Protestant! Yeah. Some man the ould Paddy fellow. You all know he annoyed the bossclass? Asking them to emancipate and arm the slaves? Declan paused. Confederate Army General asking them old armymen to dish out guns to the slaves, free them and their families. Yessir, aint that a man.

Declan chuckled, glanced about the audience. Moral to that story: life is complicated. Okay! Listen up now, this is the bit makes me smile, some of them rebel boys — Scotch, Scotch-Irish, Ulster-Scotch, whatever you want to call it — they put their own words to this song. Folks been trying to track them lyrics down, cannot trace a single line. The men are gone so’s the words they wrote, commemorating the time they shot down James B. Macpherson, made him one Union soldier that did not go

marching through Georgia.

He had sung the last line and it was to a tune Murdo knew from back home to do with Protestants fighting Catholics. Declan looked about the audience again. No sir, he said, they stopped him dead in Atlanta.

Declan did his stagey growl into the mic: Good talking here in my home state. Cant get talking this way in Texas boy they would string me up. All them songs are histories. Lyrics I sing written by whoever, I dont know, tune goes back seventeen hundred or thereabouts. Right Chess?

Chess nodded, adjusting the fiddle.

“Macpherson’s Farewell”, said Declan leaning in to him, and added, Shoulder to shoulder.

They exchanged looks then Chess did four scrapes of the bow. Four scrapes. How did that work? Sad but not sad, not like for crying. This was straight-talking how Chess played it: here is the story this is the story, and in Declan came with it:

Fareweel, ye dark and lonely hills,

far awa beneath the sky

Macpherson’s time will not be lang,

On yonder gallows high.

Farewell. Getting put to death on the gallows. This became a fight too. But what was the fight? Murdo didnt know. But that is what he heard. Tough was Macpherson’s life and tough how he led it. Murdo knew the tune well but this was different how Chess played it and the song like how Declan Pike sang it. It was a thrilling thing and not a lament like a farewell: more of a big and loud “Cheerio guys”, a shout: “Cheerio guys!”

Just dealing with the problem, that was Macpherson. Hullo and cheerio. Up on the gallows awaiting the drop. People waiting to buy yer fiddle. Guys ye knew. Ye were maybe having a beer with them the night before. Now here they were, wanting yer stuff. Oh you’re going to be dead in a minute so give me yer fiddle. Fuck you. Maybe yer clothes too, jees, the olden days; people had nothing. You go your way they go theirs. Families and friends split down the middle, you go one way yer pals go another.

Ye expected one thing in music then it was away someplace else. How did it happen? But it did. Everything was in that song how these two guys played it, and the men fighting and the women suffering and all everything that happened, all just stupid. They were telling ye and if ye didnt like what they were telling ye then hard luck.

It was special, so so special. Murdo was lucky, how could he be so lucky like just being here and just like everything, everything. He was wanting to play, it would have been good to play. He got up onto his feet and that was that, not looking at anybody; kept his head lowered, stepping to the side of the area, having to go round the back to get out.

There were plenty gaps in the audience. Less people here than Murdo thought. Maybe a few had gone earlier. He didnt look too closely in case Dad was looking, he just needed away.

*

Stalls and tents mostly were closed now; people shifting things into cars and pick-up trucks. The places doing business were for food and drink. The busiest cooked bar-b-que. Folk sat inside or on chairs outside, having a smoke and drinking beer, laughing and talking. Their voices carried. People had gone home and would return for the Hielan Fling. Most but not all. Ones who had traveled a distance would be staying during the in-between time.

Today was the first gig he had been to in ages. Since before Mum died. And being in the audience was good. That strong effect it had inside ye. The music into the body, connecting ye. Sound wasnt just mental it was physical, made up of these tiny wee particles just like anything else; yer hair and yer teeth, yer socks and shoes; yer entire body: sounds were part of it.

The field at the other side of the Gathering area. Murdo had been walking and arrived here without knowing. Earlier on boys and a couple of girls were playing football. At one stage the ball trundled towards him and he did six keepy-uppies, then passed it back. The boy who collected it did a weird flick trick with the ball between his ankles, then kneed it to one of the others who trapped it on the upper part of his foot. So ha ha to you!

It was true but, Murdo wasnt good at football. Dad was a lot better. Dad played for actual teams when he was a boy. He used to come out with other dads. They played in a patch of spare ground down the street where they lived. The boys and the fathers together. That was fun.

It was still hot and Murdo had the jacket slung over his shoulder. He only brought it for the pockets. He reached the fence at the far end of the field. There was a break in it. He could walk through. Beyond was a clump of trees. Ye could cut through here and be away altogether.

The sound of a helicopter; there in the sky circling. Where had it come from?

He kept walking. Cattle! Cowboys riding through gulches and canyons. In the old days in Scotland ye got cattle drovers from the Highlands driving the herds down to the big Glasgow market, cutting open the veins in the cattle to let out blood for food; mixing the blood with porridge oats.

Cattle look at ye. Captured and chopped. What happened to the horns and tails? Hamburgers and sausages. A lassie in school said how all the disgusting bits made hamburgers. She was a veggie, but what she said was right enough. She had her own style, and her own laugh too; a real laugh, sounding like a gurgle or something, and ye could make her laugh.

That certain way a lassie laughs. Guys can make them laugh. Ye make a lassie laugh, that would be special.

Imagine walking through the trees. Imagine he had brought the rucksack and his stuff was all inside, so ye could just like head off into the mountains. Maybe that was the way to LaFayette, marching to Georgia, that would be him, and Murdo laughed. There by himself, he did, he just laughed; not for long.

What time was it anyway? Who knows. There was a lot going on about America and a history to this place too, the south. Horrors. Ye just didnay think about it.

Declan Pike’s playing was excellent but that other side too, how he performed and how some didnt like it. That was politics. Some clapped and thought it was great. Others didnt seem to, maybe they hated it. Imagine hating music. It wasnt music it was what ye said. But if what ye said was in the music, if it was part of the music, so like it was the music… So then they would hate the tune, hate the words and hate the singer.

*

Murdo strolled towards the marquee. A big truck was parked behind it. Guys were unloading musical equipment in through a rear entrance. A Scottish Country Dance Band was providing the evening music. Murdo heard music, not via the speaker system but from inside. The session: he had forgotten about it; scheduled between the afternoon and evening events. People chatted by the front entrance. More smokers. It would be good to smoke. Ye could just disappear and nobody worried about how come ye were disappearing: Oh he’s away for a smoke. That would be great in school. Imagine the teacher. Where is everybody? Please sir away for a smoke.

The session took place not on stage but in the audience area. Chairs had been shifted to create a space. Declan was there on guitar, sitting on a chair and finger-picking. Chess Hopkins was with the guy in the fancy waistcoat and other older people. They hadnt long been started and people had drifted away, including the family. Murdo moved to a chair on the fringes. Declan sang another then passed his guitar to a man who sang a folky song about animals. It was good fun for a session. He did another then Declan took back the guitar, did a country-style song with little flourishes here and there. He laughed a lot in his playing and ye felt ye were sharing a joke with him. Some players never smile let alone laugh. He looked for Chess at the end of it. You about ready? he asked.

Yeah, said Chess then hesitated.

He was looking for the fiddle. Murdo had seen it; it was near the raised platform, placed parallel to its bow on a chair. He waited a moment but Chess wouldnt see it from where he was sitting. Murdo rose to collect it, also the bow which he held upright while walking. Fiddlers were fussy how ye held the bow. Murdo once got a severe row about it. A fiddler with a bad temper, it wasnt unusual.

Chess watched him. Murdo handed them over. Chess said, Thanks son.

I saw them when I sat down, said Murdo.

You did huh. Well I’m glad you did.

Instead of going back to his old seat Murdo sat on the edge of the main group. He had a fiddle at home but for learning only. Nothing like the one belonging to Chess. What was it about fiddles? His made ye smile! Macpherson on the scaffold. Imagine ye were there and he threw it high in the air. Whoever catches the fiddle gets to keep it! Everybody scampering about.

A couple more drifted in. Younger ones were way to the side. Four of the kilted guys in the Glengarrys returned to their same table, not far from the raised platform and talking quietly, not to distract from the music. This was like back home. Nobody expected people to stop talking, just not to be rude. Only if they had too much to drink their voices got loud. Then it was hopeless.

Another one new to Murdo. So much of this was new to him. Soon enough Chess was in on the fiddle and Declan was whistling. The song called for whistling. There was religious content but it was okay. More joined in on the chorus which amounted to whistling the tune. Not as easy as ye might have thought. People had a laugh doing it. Good fun. The young ones at the side were trying to whistle and stare each other in the eye at the same time. What ye noticed with a song like this was how it brought people into the company. At the end ye seemed to know the ones sitting next to ye.

A discussion started about the song led by the bald guy with the wee white beard and the fancy waistcoat. He said it was an old tune from bygone days; somebody else said it was new. They looked to Chess Hopkins for an answer but he didnt give one. Declan was yawning, leaning his elbows on his guitar. He yawned again, then made to rise from his seat.

Chess called to him: You know “Bonaparte’s Retreat”?

Declan was in the act of bringing something out of his side jacket. I got to have a smoke first.

Guitar’s only an add-on anyhow, said Chess.

Oh you think so! said Declan in the stagey growl he used in his performance.

It’s a distraction.

Declan grinned, raising the guitar over his head, seeing a place to lay it. Declan hesitated, seeing Murdo who wasnt too far from him. He gestured with it towards him. Murdo shrugged, took the guitar from him.

Declan had reached into the pack for a cigarette then strolled to the exit. The woman was there who had been in Dad’s company earlier. She and Declan exited together. Murdo sat with the guitar on his lap. He knew the makes of the good ones. This wasnt one of them. Yet it was very very good, just like whatever, it didnt have a name.

People were waiting for Chess. Murdo saw how they paid attention. When he was ready he spoke out the corner of his mouth: Old Napoleon now watch him go, he’s on the retreat again.

Murdo knew the tune but different to this. The funny thing here was the actual feel Chess was getting. Murdo wondered what it was, but then obvious, it was Scottish. Was it Scottish? Murdo hadnt heard it played this way before. But he knew it and knew what to do with it. He was keeping time, tapping his fingers on the body of the guitar and whatever like he was ready to play, and he was ready to play, he was. Chess looked the question at him, how if he did want to play then that would be fine. Murdo slipped the strap over his shoulders. A wee rhythm just, to let the fiddle go. Murdo played that in, keeping it on keeping it on, watching and hearing what Chess did and going with that, a swing forwards now the fiddle was freed up.

Chess didnt look anywhere. Some look at things and some dont; some close their eyes. Chess didnt close his but neither did he look at anything. His playing was different. Maybe an older style. Murdo didnt hear playing like this much. But he liked it; there was a swing and a swagger, just happy who ye were, that was Chess and his baseball cap. He wasnt a busy type of player but he did stuff and ye could see how his head and his upper body, his neck, that control he had. Everything was measured. Ye knew he could burst out. Any time, he could explode right out. He didnt.

Murdo kept it on except a point when he veered off a fraction, brought about by something Chess did that knocked him out, but it was only that fraction and he got through. The guitar was a help, whatever it was. It had a mark like a signature so probably it was hand-made.

The tune ended. Chess nodded to Murdo who grinned. He caught sight of Aunt Maureen, hand to her mouth and gazing at him, sitting with people near the back of the marquee. Uncle John was there but Dad wasnt. Chess chuckled, tucking the fiddle under his arm. He wagged the bow at Murdo. I know what you did!

Yeah I missed that wee bit.

You did too!

I caught it though.

Yeah you caught it, you caught it. Chess wagged the bow at him again, called to the old guy in the fancy waistcoat: Hey now Bill he aint heard of no Bonaparte! Who in heck’s Bonaparte, that’s what the boy wants to know!

Murdo knew fine well who Bonaparte was.

Dad was by the marquee entrance. Murdo hadnt seen him arrive. So during the song. So he must have heard a little of it. He wouldnt have been too surprised. Maybe he would have been. He didnt come much to gigs. Uncle John would have enjoyed hearing Chess. That old style making ye think of ancestral relations from bygone days. Mum too, she would have liked it.

Chess shifted on his chair and called to his wife Clara who was one of those at the back: Hey Clara you going to sing one?

Clara looked like she was surprised by the question. Chess said, What d’you think, you want to do one here? Maureen’s nephew from Scotland?

Chess winked at Murdo. Clara leaned to say a word to Aunt Maureen then rose from her chair. She stepped along the row to the side and walked down and along to sit closer to Chess, within the main body. She smiled at Murdo. You doing okay son?

Yeah.

Thought you might want to sing, Chess asked.

Okay.

“When I Die”? Chess knocked up the side of his baseball cap, scratched at the side of his ear and said to Murdo, “When I Die” son you know it?

Eh…I’m not sure.

Chess nodded. You’ll get it.

Murdo glanced at Clara who smiled.

I dont play on this one, said Chess.

You dont play on it? said Murdo.

Chess said, I sing a little. He glanced sideways, laid the fiddle and bow on the empty chair next to him. You’ll get it, he said then looked at the ground, composing himself.

Also he was waiting for Clara. Her eyes were shut. Then she moved her head side to side and seemed to relax. She began the song and immediately was there in it, her voice so distinctive, so clear, so powerful. The word “steel”. “Steel” for strength, staying strong; strong from the beginning and strong at the end: wherever that was. This voice would not stray, it was there on the path. She had “steel” and she gave this to the song. Chess entered from the beginning, replying “when I die” to each sung statement; Clara repeating the “when I die” to begin her next statement:

when I die I’ll live again

because I believe

and have found salvation

when I die

when I die I’ll live again.

It may have been a hymn. Probably it was. An American one maybe; so ye wouldnt have heard it back home. Chess was looking to Murdo, directing him: come in as soon as ye like. And Murdo found he could, plain and speedy.

Mostly Clara sang with her eyes closed but when she did open them they seemed to fasten on somebody in particular, so the person knew they were being looked at. It reminded Murdo of something, but what? he couldnt think what. Eventually others came in on the line-endings:

when I die I’ll live again

hallelujah

because I’m forgiven

my soul will find heaven

when I die

when I die I’ll live again

hallelujah

When the song ended Clara smiled to Murdo and gave a wave to Aunt Maureen, a relaxed wave. Aunt Maureen looked pleased and happy. Chess said, That was nice son. We do one more huh?

Murdo looked for Declan before replying. He rose from the seat to see better. Uncle John gave him a cheery thumbs-up. Murdo grinned. Declan was standing beside Dad by the entrance. The woman was also there. Murdo called, One more?

Declan saluted. Dad was just watching. Murdo adjusted the guitar. Chess said, We’ll do “The Lost Pilgrim” son.

“The Lone Pilgrim”, said Clara.

“Lone Pilgrim”, yeah… Chess pointed out Murdo to the company. This is Maureen’s nephew from Scotland, Maureen and John there, you all maybe know that?

Murdo, said Clara.

Chess had raised the fiddle, he leaned to speak quietly to Murdo. I’ll give it a good-size of an introduction son; you come in when you are ready. Just you take your time. We take it all the way through and back again. All the way through son. That’s for Clara huh? So it’s right for her. You know what I’m saying, we got all the time here.

Yeah.

Chess sniffed. We need you in there. Two introductions, three, it dont matter. Okay? When you are ready, we’ll hear that nice guitar. You okay now?

Yeah.

Okay. Chess said to Clara: Just wait till the boy comes in Clara. We’ll take it through and just you know… Chess shrugged. Clara nodded.

Twice on the introduction and it was needed. Murdo watched and listened and eventually he could come in; that bit trickier than earlier. Chess was watching till when Murdo had it he returned to the beginning so they could play it through together, fully.

So it was right for Clara. It was Clara. Of course it was Clara! Murdo could have laughed. Everything was Clara. Chess needed Murdo there for her. It had to be right for her. Of course it did.

Then it was.

Her singing and nobody else.

In the story she sang she came to the place and what kind of place was it, she was singing the place; a place for the beautiful souls. So it was another hymn, like the last one. Murdo knew them now as hymns so if they were like songs, actual songs, the other name for them was hymns. This was people’s hymns. What are hymns? hymn? “a hymn”?

He didnt catch the words. He wasnt bothered about them. Beautiful souls. Memories and cheerio, goodbye beautiful soul goodbye, lost souls and finding souls.

Murdo was playing the song and when the song ended he waited, guitar on his lap, while people clapped. Clara was smiling up to Aunt Maureen. Murdo looked for Dad but couldnt see him. Declan Pike was coming towards him. Murdo stood up to lift the strap up and over his head. Declan patted him on the shoulder. Hey! he said.

Murdo handed him the guitar. It’s a beauty, he said.

Declan took it from him. Yeah.

What is it?

Huh?

What kind is it? said Murdo.

Declan growled: The good kind.

Is it got a name?

No sir, it aint got no name. Declan said quietly, Hey now what about Clara Hopkins? Aint she the lady? Man, she is something. Aint heard her sing in a long time. How d’you manage that! Clara dont sing nowadays! You got her singing son! Declan patted him on the shoulder again then prepared to leave.

Aw, are you going? asked Murdo.

Yep. I been playing a while. I need a beer. Declan repeated this in a growl: I need a beer. There’s a tent back there doing barbeque and they’re getting me a steak. I’m talking a steak. You eat steak?

Steak?

You dont know what a steak is?

Murdo grinned.

Declan studied him a moment then wagged his finger at him. Now boy I asked your father that same damn question and he said the same damn thing back to me: Steak? That’s what he said, steak. I says, You eat steak? Steak? he says, Steak? You boys from Scotland and you dont know what steak is! Declan stepped back a pace to study Murdo properly. You dont know the history of steak in this country?

The history of steak?

Shame on you! Declan chuckled, turning away. He gripped the guitar-case and saluted the people sitting around. Some acknowledged this, others didnt notice. The old guy in the fancy waistcoat gave him a clenched fist salute and called: I worked on that railroad son. I worked on it!

Oh you did huh?

Sure I did. And you know what? they didnt murder me.

Declan laughed. He had a cigarette in his mouth already. He paused to speak with Chess and Clara for a few moments, then headed to the exit. Aunt Maureen was closeby, sitting with people. She saw Murdo looking across and waved to him. Murdo waved back. His jacket was lying on a chair. He didnt even remember putting it there.

*

The dance proper began at 8.00 p.m. It wasnt late but when ye were hanging about it was like the distant future. If Murdo had been with guys then okay but he wasnt. Nobody to talk to and nothing to do. That is how it was. Find a chair, sit on the grass, go for a walk. He had gone for a walk a few times, got to know people’s faces, and they looked at him. How come he’s here again?

The stalls and tents shut long ago. Only actual foodtents were open and more for meals than snacks. No sign of Dad. Maybe he was in with people. Folk had bottles of wine and it looked expensive. He would have preferred a bag of chips or a hamburger maybe, something to eat while ye walked. Maybe ye didnt get chips.

Younger people were over by the field but not the two girls from Clara Hopkins’ foodstall and he wondered if they had been at the session. Maybe they had gone home. Probably they had, if their parents had been there; no choice. Time to go home and ye went. That was the unfair thing about it, if ye wanted to meet people, ye werent able to. They come into yer life then go out.

He had reached the exit by the parking area. This was outlaw land; ye could imagine their hide-outs in the mountains; secret canyons. The road coming here was dirt and stones; probably a trail from the old days. If ye didnt have yer own transport ye couldnt come. How did people manage? That was the thing with America, how did ye get places?

A family coming towards him; a man, a woman, a boy and a baby. The baby bounced along on the man’s shoulders. They wore ordinary clothes but the woman had a tartan shawl across her shoulders, pushing the baby buggy with the boy hanging onto the side of the handle. Murdo moved aside to let them pass. He wasnt going any farther, otherwise he would exit past the pay-to-enter table. Although nobody was there taking money so he could just walk back in again. He returned along the path. Declan appeared, with the woman who had been talking to Dad. The guitar-case was slung round his shoulders. The woman was talking and gesturing with her hands, but stopped when she saw Murdo. Declan shook hands with him. How’s it going? You doing okay?

Yeah.

Doing good huh? You know Linda here? My driver?

Linda ignored him and gave Murdo a little wave.

Declan said, Linda here dont approve of the Gathering. Declan chuckled. She dont care for the kilt.

I care for it, said Linda.

Not on men you dont.

Certain men.

Certain men! Men with thin legs?

Murdo smiled.

It’s not a joke, she said.

Murdo flushed.

Linda said, Sorry, not you.

Declan said, She dont like being here Murdo.

Not with them I dont.

Declan said, How about you now did you enjoy the day? Bit of fun huh? Declan swung the guitar-case to one side and brought out his cigarettes.

Yeah…the music, what you did, it was strong.

Thanks. Declan gazed at him, then nodded and lit a cigarette. Thanks, he said again.

Linda groaned, closing her eyes. These people hated what you did!

Hey now! Declan raised his hand.

What you said and what you sang. Every last word! You know who I’m talking about.

You’re talking some and you got some everywhere. I dont take “these people” Linda, “these people”. These some are my people and they are your people.

Oh God. Linda shook her head, stepped farther along the path, before stopping.

I get worse down Texas any night of the week. Any night at all. Declan glanced at Murdo. They throw knives down there.

They hated what you said! called Linda.

They did huh! Got to be doing something right then huh! Declan smiled. He said to Murdo: They still dress like that in Scotland Murdo?

Murdo smiled. Declan raised his eyebrows.

No, said Murdo, no. They dont. Maybe some right enough. Usually it’s just guys at a football match or rugby maybe like international games. Or else like weddings: guys wear them to get married.

Special events huh?

Yeah.

Do they carry the fiery cross? called Linda.

I dont know. I think it’s just traditional. Christenings as well. Murdo smiled.

Declan had shaken his head. Linda said, Hey I’m sorry. That was real fine playing.

Murdo gazed at her.

Real fine. Linda smiled. She turned from them and continued walking.

Declan said, Accordeon you play huh?

Yeah.

Your father was saying. Declan nodded and made as if to say something more, then nodded again, looking after Linda; he raised his hand in a farewell.

Murdo started to speak and stopped. Declan waited. No, said Murdo, I was just wanting to ask eh I mean have you ever heard of a music kind of event in a town LaFayette?

Well sure I have if you’re talking Cajun music.

Murdo grinned.

You are huh. That is what you’re talking about.

Yeah! And Zydeco?

Sure, yeah, that’s Lafayette. Declan chuckled and signaled to Linda to hold on a minute. She stopped along by the exit, at the pay-to-enter table.

Near Chattanooga? asked Murdo.

Chattanooga…?

I dont mean in it but near to it.

Aint Chattanooga son.

I saw it on the map.

Chattanooga!

I thought it was quite near I mean if it’s just like well if ye’re going down the interstate road and that’s you crossing into Georgia.

Georgia! Lafayette aint in Georgia Murdo! No sir, that’s a whole different Lafayette. Spell that one with a capital F: L A capital F. Declan growled. Got its own history there boy! No sir, one you want is Louisiana: Lafayette, Louisiana. A different state altogether son. You’re talking Cajun music, you’re talking Zydeco music. Whoh now! Declan shook his head, chuckling, inhaled on his cigarette then dropped it and ground it out.

The state of Louisiana?

You got it. What you planning a trip? That is one nice little festival.

Murdo grinned.

You take care now Murdo.

Thanks.

Yeah. Declan continued along the path; he and Linda walked on together. Murdo returned to the main area.

Dad was at a foodtent, sitting at a table with Aunt Maureen, Uncle John and people. Murdo kept out of view. Dad would have wanted him to come and eat food with them. He didnt want to. He wasnt hungry — he was but he wasnt. He wanted to go home. It would be good hearing music. He was just wanting to lie and just — just listen.

Murdo didnt care if Dad went with him. He had already said it was stupid. If he went he went and if he didnt he didnt it, was up to him. But Murdo was going. If he wanted to. He would go if he wanted to. He did want to. So he was.

Seventy dollars. Yesterday he had nothing. It was how yer life went. Up one day down the next.

Murdo skirted round the blind side of the food tent, down the central part moving in the direction of the marquee. A girl stood in front of him. She had a phone in her hand and a flyer. Two others were with her, wearing leggings and blouses. The tallest had a white flower in her hair. The first girl was smaller and thinner but sharp the way she was looking at him; a lot of freckles. You sign your name for me? she said, holding the flyer out to him. With her other hand she held up the phone for a picture. Murdo glanced at her then signed the flyer. Is it okay? she said, indicating the phone.

He shrugged. She moved to take a selfie with him. She took another photo then studied his signature on the flyer. You from Scotland huh?

Yeah.

You go to school here?

Eh no. In Scotland. He looked at the other two.

You go to school in Scotland! The girl grinned to her pals who were watching. He goes in Scotland. She squinted at his name on the flyer. What does it say? she asked.

Just my name.

Murdo, she said, not including Macarthur. She passed the flyer onto her pals. You play in a band, like a real band? Somebody said you did.

Who?

Somebody.

Was it my Aunt?

He noticed the other two girls and it was the one with the white flower in her hair — she looked away, she had gone red, and turned so it was hard to see but it was easy to see, she had gone so very very red, like a pink, the pinkest red possible; and himself too jeesoh he couldnt stop it, he was blushing too. He lowered his head.

What age are you? asked the first girl.

He made to leave.

What age are you? she said, hitting his arm. Sixteen huh? You sixteen?

Murdo looked at her.

Huh! She laughed to the other two: He’s sixteen!

The girl with the white flower walked away. The third girl followed her. The first girl pointed after them to Murdo and mouthed something which he didnt understand, then rushed to catch up with them.

Stupid blushing, he couldnt stop it. People’s lives werent like his. That is what he knew. Girls didnt know about him, except he didnt say funny stuff or whatever, because what are ye going to say, what are ye going to talk about? If lassies are to smile, oh it is a girl, ye should get her smiling. Guys say that. But what about! People found TV programmes funny that he couldnt even look at, and wanted to cover his ears and just block everything out; these stupid old guys making their stupid jokes round a table and people in the audience Oh ho ho ho. Ye felt sick hearing them, yer actual belly, oh jeesoh man I’m going to puke. How come people laughed? Probably they had to, probably it was like an order from the people in charge. Oh ye have to laugh even if the jokes are stupid, this is a TV programme and people are watching all over the stupid world. If ye feel like dying, ye still have to laugh.

Maybe they didnt get told. Maybe they just laughed. Folk did laugh. Ye spoke to them about nothing at all and they laughed. In the supermarket ye asked somebody stacking the shelves, Where is the cheese please, do ye have any cheese? Oh yes it is the next aisle! and they laugh at ye.

What for? Weird sounds breaking up their breathing, that is laughs. Imagine an alien and ye heard people laughing: weird noises from nowhere, uh uh uh uh uh, ah ah ah ah ah, hih hih huh hih hih huh, he he he he he, ho ho ho ho.

What did it remind ye of? Noises in the jungle. After midnight down the woods, insects and animals; all different ones.

What age were they? Thirteen or fourteen maybe; not fifteen, Murdo didnt think so, although she was good to look at, her with the white flower, hot; and a nice thing about her too like if ye were poking fun at her, if ye tried, probably she would not let ye or else would poke fun at ye back. The flower made ye think that. Her blushing made ye think about poking fun at her, but the white flower meant she could poke fun back at ye. Otherwise how come she was wearing it? That was lassies. Although he wouldnt have poked fun at her anyway. He didnt even know her. Even if he did so what because what did ye talk about? If something was funny, so she would smile. Ye wanted her to smile and not be sad. The world was sad but if ye could smile, maybe ye could, if ye could say something to her. Something funny, but ordinary too, and it would make her smile, a thing to make her smile.

*

He could have gone home. Right now, he could have. If somebody asked What would ye rather do? Go home, I’ll just go home. Back to Scotland? Yeah. Jeesoh ye like Scotland? Yeah — even the bad bits!

But why go home? Oh God so he could play so he could play, so he could get ready. He just needed to play, play play play, to practise, to practise; the fingers, just the fingers. He felt that with the guitar, he needed to just like play…!

Home tomorrow then back next Saturday with the accordeon, his own accordeon. All he needed was the plane-fare. Dad, any money!

Ha ha.

Imagine but! He would go home to come back. Home to come back.

Why not? If he had money. People did that, like musicians, to get yer own stuff. If they needed it. Why not?

The marquee was closed. He hadnt expected that. People were preparing it for the dance. Okay. It was quite quiet. He heard shouts from somewhere but it just sounded like people having a laugh. That was twice today lassies looked at him, counting the ones at Clara Hopkins’ foodstall. They looked at ye because ye played. Mum laughed about it, if it was a gig and she saw a lassie standing or whatever, like smiling or just like whatever, looking at Murdo.

Even playing sometimes ye could see a girl’s face, if she was looking at ye. Then it was like what are ye going to do? If she waits behind. Just go outside with her, or what? Other guys did, they said they did and had sex and all that. So they said, some of them. If ye believed them. Some of them ye did. Other ones ye didnay, just the usual crap boasting shit.

Murdo hardly talked after a gig anyway. Sometimes he forgot where he was. Usually he was tired. People maybe were wanting to chat. He just nodded as if he was listening but most times he wasnt. He couldnt concentrate; the conversation going on and on. Sometimes he needed to get away, outside the actual venue. A fiddler in the band smoked hash and he would be somewhere. Murdo just walked round the building. One time he did it and the venue was a church hall. When he went round the back it was a graveyard and the fiddler was there smoking and jumped out his skin. Telling the guys later he called Murdo Count Dracula! Standing there having a smoke and out he comes like up from a coffin.

But it was funny. Ye got a laugh in bands. Murdo missed it, he missed playing, missed the company, having a laugh with the guys.

He kept around the edge of the area. Much of the space was empty now, cleared of tents and stalls. The marquee was still closed.

He didnt want to go in until the band started. People would be sitting about. Then it was Oh there’s Murdo, and saying hullo and all that, Oh you’re Murdo, hullo. Hullo back.

It was okay if it was Aunt Maureen, he could speak to her. Uncle John too. Dad would want to know what he had been up to and where had he been? Ye disappeared again? I didnay disappear Dad I just went a walk. People go walks. I was just walking, just like whatever, what does it matter.

*

Inside the marquee the tables had been shifted to accommodate the dancing and two rigged together as a sandwich and refreshments bar. Beer was available as well as soft drinks. It wasnt as busy as people expected but it was still okay and a cheery atmosphere. Dad and Murdo sat with Aunt Maureen and Uncle John who had managed to get a table down the far side. Dad had given Murdo another twenty dollars which made $90 all in. He still hadnt spent anything.

The musicians came from someplace up near Canada. They played ordinary Scottish-style country dance stuff but it was lively and brought people onto the floor, and ye had to respect that. They were playing a medley of reels when friends of Aunt Maureen and Uncle John stopped to say hullo, and pulled over chairs to sit with them. They hadnt been at the pot-luck night. The conversation was to do with how things were at the Gathering, not as good as years gone past and how things had changed. They were talking about traditional country dancing. Uncle John made a comment about the dancers that made them smile. He called to Murdo: The Hielan Mishmash son eh!

Murdo grinned.

Tell us what it is?

Eh…

Murdo’s a musician, said Uncle John. Accordeon son eh?

People gazed at him. Aunt Maureen was smiling. Dad smiled too.

You play accordeon? asked a man.

Yeah.

The Hielan Mishmash! Uncle John chuckled.

Murdo said, It’s just where people dance but they dont know what they’re dancing and just like clump about. He shrugged and drank a mouthful of apple juice. They were waiting for him to say more but what else was there?

That was Dad. Dad must have told Uncle John about it. The Hielan Mishmash was the name the guys gave country dancing back home when people just clumped about the floor. Take your partners for the Hielan Mishmash! They didnt know the steps and just pushed, pulled and twirled roundabout with plenty of hooching, hand-clapping and feet-stamping. Why not? Who cares if it is a reel, a jig, a waltz, a two-step or a polka, or a jive, if ye were there for a good time. It wasnt school.

People could be snobbish about Scottish country dancing and that included musicians. Ye had to play this, that and the next thing and ye could only do it in a certain way. Up to a point okay but ye needed room for yer own take. Even traditional stuff. If something was necessary ye did it. It was good when ye heard a tune ye knew and it turned into something else; it started from there and ended there, but where did it go in between! That was the fun, that was exciting.

This band werent like that. They did the usual. The usual was good, just maybe not all the time. Except for dancing, ye had to have dancing.

At the table Aunt Maureen said how nobody was calling the moves like happened in the old days and people were agreeing with her. But sometimes back home they still did it. It was good fun. Take your partner by the hand, lead them down right to the band, turn and curtsey how do you do, clap clap hands and boogie boo; the twos step up now threes and fours, back you go straight down the floor — everybody moving in a neat formation. Murdo spotted the couple with the Phil Campbell T-shirts on the floor. Ye felt like saying, Hullo, how are ye, I’ve seen ye on the map. He pointed them out to Aunt Maureen. She made a sad gesture at the band and at her own ears. The music was too loud for her. She called a question to him: You enjoying yourself son?

Yes.

She had asked him twice already. But he was. Dad had asked him as soon as he sat down. Probably because he didnt have anybody his own age. Uncle John asked him too, Ye enjoying yerself son? Yes. So how come ye arenay dancing! Why dont ye grab a lassie!

Uncle John seemed to think ye just went up to a girl and said, Hullo may I have this dance? If ye did they would just look at ye. Probably they thought he could dance. He couldnt. People think ye can because ye play the tunes. But ye cant. You just play the tunes, they do the dancing. Musicians dont dance. That was the good side of the Hielan Mishmash: ye just got up and that was that.

The conversation shifted to the music from this afternoon, not the event with Declan Pike but the session that followed with Clara, Chess and Murdo.

Guitar isnay even his instrument, said Uncle John, it’s accordeon! Is that right son?

Murdo sipped at his drink. Yeah, he said, I suppose.

Aunt Maureen was smiling. So was Dad, but half looking at the table at the same time like he was a bit embarrassed.

Eventually Uncle John and one of the men went to the bar to place an order. A beer would have been good. Maybe Uncle John would buy him one. He had made a joke about it earlier on.

The one thing missing was a pal, so ye could just hang out, go for a walk or whatever, check things out. Then if ye did see a lassie, usually there were two together, so if a pal was with ye it made it like a foursome. On yer own it was pretty hopeless. Ye dont usually get “one girl”. A lot of “one guys” but lassies go in twos. Ye cannay ask one and not the other. Three together made it okay for one to ask one so if it was like the three girls from earlier on ye could ask one. Two would be left behind but that was okay. If the one with the white rose was there maybe Murdo could ask her. Maybe.

Aunt Maureen was chuckling, enjoying something Dad was saying to her — about Murdo, Murdo as a boy. Dad was talking about him. Another woman was listening to what Dad was saying and she peered at Murdo.

Murdo smiled at her, then got up and went a walk. He knew what Dad was telling them about, it was actually a story: The boy who fell down the pit.

Murdo headed across past the refreshments bar. It wasnt an actual pub so maybe there were no age restrictions. A beer would have been good. But $6 a bottle! That was what they were charging. He could have bought one and taken it outside to drink. Murdo continued along, skirting the dance area. People stood around the exit, smoking and toing and froing the portable toilets.

Outside it was quite deserted beyond the marquee area. Most every stall and tent had been taken down. This made it possible to see over to the carpark which was only a fraction full compared to the afternoon. Those who operated stalls and tents had dismantled them and just gone home. Murdo strolled for a little bit. It was kind of odd being here, in this landscape, the Scottish country dance music blaring through the external speakers, though it wasnt blaring and didnt carry all that far.

When he returned inside Uncle John was by the entrance, chatting to a couple of older guys who were both wearing the kilt. Murdo! he said. Where’ve ye been? I was looking for ye!

I was only out a minute!

Ye’re aye disappearing!

No I’m not.

Uncle John put his arm round him and drew him closer. My nephew from Scotland, Murdo.

Hi Murdo, nice to meet you. You know the isle of Skye?

Yeah.

I went over three years ago with my wife and daughter. It was wonderful.

The other man pointed at the kilt he was wearing. This is the Macleod tartan. You know the Macleods?

Yeah.

I’m a Tormod. There’s Torquils and Tormods.

Okay, said Uncle John. He smiled at the two men and led Murdo a few paces off. He spoke quietly: So ye enjoying the music son?

Yeah.

What do ye think of the accordeon player?

Yeah… He’s fine.

Uncle John held him by the elbow. Ssh, he said, I had a wee word with him. Ye’re alright for one. Just wait till the break. Then you go up.

Murdo hardly heard.

Uncle John said, I asked him for ye.

Murdo nodded.

What I’m saying son I asked him for ye. I’m talking about doing one on the accordeon. They’ll be taking a break in a minute then you go up. Uncle John smiled.

No. Thanks but eh no.

It’s fine son ye just go up during the break.

No what it is Uncle John, really, I’m not eh…

Son it’ll be alright, it’s no anything to worry about.

I know, I mean I just eh… I would rather not.

Uncle John gazed at him.

Is that okay?

Of course. No bother at all son, it’s only if ye wanted to. The guy’s happy to oblige. Ye would just go up at the break. Uncle John said, Nobody’s forcing ye!

Thanks.

It was only if ye wanted to.

Thanks Uncle John.

Uncle John patted him on the side of the arm, then returned to the company of the two older men.

Murdo walked along by the rear of the marquee. A row of chairs was lined closeby the canvas with a passageway between it and the second end row. The good thing back here was the shadows. Only the dance area was brightly lit. He might have sat down except it was tricky finding free space. Couples sat together and ye were too close to them. They would think ye were trying to whatever, listen in.

The idea of playing one, it was not on. There was nothing wrong with Uncle John asking, it was just impossible. He was still there with the two old guys, now standing aside to let pass a woman with a laden tray. Ye could see her smiling, so he had made a jokey comment. Uncle John was good. He tried to help and make things happen for people. Maybe Murdo could have played.

He couldnt.

Aunt Maureen was talking to Dad now. More stories. Dad glanced roundabout, probably wondering about Murdo. Where Murdo was sitting was quite shadowy and Dad wouldnt have seen him. So this was him disappeared again! That was Dad, disappeared. The story about “The boy who fell down the pit”. It was one Dad told them when he was wee, him and Eilidh. He would have been four, so Eilidh seven. It was one with a moral to it. Ye were not to wander off or bad things would happen. The wee boy in the story used to wander off by himself and his Mum and Dad were fed up giving him rows about it. One day he went into the forest and fell down a pit. Help me help me! Get me out! Nobody heard his screams. His Mum and Dad thought he was lost and gone forever. He was trapped down there for days and he had to eat worms and spiders and beetles. All the creepy crawlies. He had to eat them all or starve to death. Except not the frog! He would not eat the frog. There was a frog down the bearpit but the boy wouldnay eat it. Frogs come from tadpoles and the boy liked tadpoles.

Murdo knew that was right because he liked tadpoles as well. Eilidh didnt. She was like Oh of course he would eat it. Why wouldnt he? Of course he would! That was Eilidh. He would have to eat it else he would starve to death! If it was France he would eat it. People eat frogs’ legs in France. They nibble them.

Are the frogs wearing them? said Murdo.

Good question, said Dad who told it to Mum. Are the frogs wearing their legs when people nibble them?

The boy didnt eat the frog because the frog was his pal, and nobody would eat their pal! If he had he would never have got out the bear pit. Because that was how he escaped. He climbed on the frog’s back and out they hopped. It was a good story. Dad used to tell them. Even if he gave ye a row; after the row was over and ye were getting put to bed he sat down with ye and told ye a story, Murdo and Eilidh, just the two of ye there and him sitting, and quiet, ha ha, that was Dad.

Last song before the break: A Dashing White Sergeant. Some knew the steps but most didnt. Ye could learn if ye wanted. The web was full of these instruction videos. But who cares? Ye want to relax and not have to go and do stuff.

What was interesting here was how the fiddle took the lead and that gave it an American feel. Murdo thought so. But it might just have been hearing the fiddle, thinking of Chess Hopkins — it wasnay Macpherson played the fiddle on “Macpherson’s Farewell”, it was him. The fiddler here was nowhere even close to Chess Hopkins.

But so what, if he was doing his best? Maybe he was.

There was a sadness in music. Even if it was cheery, or supposed to be cheery, ye still heard it. Even The Dashing White Sergeant.

*

During the break he walked about. He was back at the table when the band began a medley they introduced as “The Happy Hoedown”. There was a cheer and an immediate rush for the floor when people heard the opening tune. They grabbed partners, whooping and punching the air.

A man had been talking to Aunt Maureen and Dad and they were straining to hear what each other was saying. Murdo wasnt trying to listen. He couldnt hear anyway. The man had a beer in one hand and kept giving angry looks at the band. But it wasnt the band’s fault. Dad and Aunt Maureen seemed to agree with the man but surely if people wanted a conversation they should have shifted to the back of the marquee? Uncle John was away doing that, sitting with a couple of men at the side, but that was them. Most people wanted to dance. They were there for a good time. What was wrong with that?

A woman was heading towards Dad, coming straight towards him. There was no mistaking this; stretching out her right hand, her forefinger pulling and beckoning him to come to her. Murdo hadnt seen her before. Aunt Maureen called to her: Hi Ruthie!

The woman seemed not to see Aunt Maureen and was wagging her finger at Dad like she was giving him a row. It was quite, in a way, comical, seeing Dad like this. But weird. When she took both his hands and yanked him up off the chair he allowed it. He smiled at Murdo and Aunt Maureen like Oh I’m helpless, I’m helpless. Then he was on the floor with her and standing, they were looking for a gap, then they were dancing. Dad. Dancing.

Murdo sipped his juice and watched how he was doing it. He knew a few of the steps. The woman was good. She looked to be leading Dad, holding his waist and guiding him through bits. They stayed on the floor for the next dance too.

That was something, Dad, imagine Dad.

One tune the band played was the “Ballad of Glencoe”. Murdo could have grabbed the accordeon for that. He could sing it too:

Oh cruel was the snow

that sweeps Glencoe

and covers the grave o’ Donald

It was a waltz. Dad was still there with the woman. Aunt Maureen was gazing at dancers too. There was a spare seat next to her. Murdo moved onto it. Hi Aunt Maureen.

Well hi Murdo you enjoying yourself?

Yeah.

It’s nice.

Yeah.

And he was enjoying himself. Although nothing was going to happen. He knew that. It didnt matter. Being here was great and just seeing everything, how everything was. Okay if he had had a pal they would have had a laugh, maybe chatted to a couple of girls or whatever.

Dad and the woman danced past. Aunt Maureen smiled seeing them. Ruthie Lawrence, she said.

Later Aunt Maureen was still smiling. It was another tune by then. Just that way she was looking at the people on the floor, that smile, smiling to see them. Murdo could have drawn her, if he had had a pen or a pencil, to try and get how she was looking, this way she was watching the dancers like even she wasnt watching them at all but over the tops of their heads, and her eyes and just below the lines there, that was the lines from smiling, she did smile, worrying too. She didnt dress up much but tonight she had.

And this necklace she was wearing. She had on this necklace and it was like sparkling, really sparkling. Murdo hadnt seen it before. Maybe she hadnt worn it before. Not during the day anyway. Definitely not. Maybe it was diamonds? It could have been. Murdo leaned to her. Aunt Maureen, he said, that’s a brilliant necklace.

She squinted round at him.

It’s really…it’s just, it’s really really nice.

He still gives the presents Murdo, he still manages to do that. Aunt Maureen smiled, fingering the necklace.

Do ye fancy a dance? he said.

Huh? You want to son?

Please, yeah, if eh…

I dont mind. Aunt Maureen stood to her feet carefully.

That’s great, he said. She put one hand out to him and he held it, walking with her onto the floor. Ye’re looking great, he said, I think ye’re just…

Aunt Maureen frowned.

No, he said.

Oh yeah you can flatter huh! It’s a family trait I reckon.

Murdo laughed. When they were on the floor they stood by the edge. He put his hands to Aunt Maureen’s upper arms. She glanced at the other dancers. What is this one? she asked.

I think it’s a jig.

Huh, I thought it was too.

Aunt Maureen I’ve got to say, I’m a hopeless dancer.

She nodded. We’ll try a two-step Murdo, a fast one. One two shuffle, one two shuffle but kind of fast. You wont fall down. Jigs is kind of tricky.

She adjusted his hands and waited, looking to see a space; they set off. Aunt Maureen slowed to a stop. Now Murdo you’re going backwards, she said, dont you go backwards: you got to lead me; you are the man here.

Okay.

Dont watch the floor too much.

Yeah but if I kick ye?

Dont worry about that, she said. Where I come from people wear boots and it dont stop them. Throw the sugar on the floor and off they set. You know what a clod hopper is?

No.

You dont huh. They got them clogs and go hop hop hopping along.

People were coming and Murdo was going to side-step away but Aunt Maureen kept him on the same track. She was good at dancing. He had expected that. They danced a path round the edge of the dance area but were not going as well as all that. They seemed to be then lost the rhythm. It was Murdo’s fault. Aunt Maureen smiled. You just got to concentrate Murdo, that’s what it is.

Murdo felt his hands sweaty and was aware of them on her dress, his hands maybe gripping her so they creased the material instead of just holding her, palms and fingers. He wasnt sure if Aunt Maureen noticed. She was humming under her breath. Murdo kept going, one two shuffle, not thinking too much, one two shuffle, one two shuffle.

*

Late night on the road home, the 4x4, Uncle John driving, Dad in the front passenger seat, Aunt Maureen and Murdo in the rear. Murdo was awake but must have been dozing. Silence but for the hum of the car engine. Uncle John and Dad talking, they were talking. Not now, and no radio. Murdo yawned. Aunt Maureen had noticed and smiled, then gazed back out the window. The silence continued until Uncle John said, Of course he’s Irish…

I thought he was American, said Dad.

Talking family, he’s a descendant.

I thought his mother was from Glasgow.

Aw yeah, from way back but Declan! Know what I mean that aint Scottish. Who’s called Declan? It’s Irish. A name like that. Oireesh. He’s Oireesh. I dont know about her; the woman he came with.

Linda, said Dad, I think she came with other people.

Mm.

Aunt Maureen called: Lives in Springfield Missouri Tommy; same as your cousin John. I know Linda, she is one nice girl, and she knows young John too.

Dad twisted on the seat to see round at Aunt Maureen. Aunt Maureen winked at Murdo then was staring out the window again.

Cousin John was Uncle John’s elder boy, the one he didnt talk to. But Aunt Maureen talked to him. Two days ago Murdo had come out the bathroom after a shower and she was on the phone to him. Murdo heard enough to work that out.

Uncle John had started talking again but more quietly now and Murdo had to shift on the seat and strain to hear.

We saw a television programme, said Uncle John, Irish-Scotch or whatever the hell, Scotch-Irish! I was angry watching it Tommy, so would you have been. King James and all his rebels right enough. Dont call me Scotch. I tell them that in the bastard work, ye want Scotch go to the bastard pub. Excuse the language, he said. Uncle John sniffed, but an angry sniff. Call me Scottish, that’s what I tell them, I’m not Scotch, dont call me Scotch. I get a bit annoyed the way everything here’s Irish, know what I mean — Oireesh!

Dad spoke quietly. The guy’s from Alabama but Uncle John. He only works in Texas.

I’ve got nothing against him — whatever he is, dont get me wrong. Only it aint a thing to talk about; not in that company. You got to know who you’re talking to. Religion like that! He’s a bloody singer! He’s paid to sing! That Billy Boy stuff, Protestants and Catholics and all that. In the name of God Tommy what century is he living in! Know what I mean, it’s insulting. Uncle John glanced at Dad. How does he know anyway?

He works beside Scottish guys. Dad said, Offshore, there’s a lot of Scottish guys work offshore; he hears the banter.

Banter! Uncle John shook his head.

Murdo looked to the rear-view mirror but couldnt see his eyes. He sat back on the seat now. Dad knew he was listening. Uncle John was silent. That was something how he didnt like Declan. And other people didnt too. That was what upset Linda, and she got angry. Declan just laughed. He took buses everywhere and made jokes about it. He said he appreciated buses because he wrote songs traveling on them. Nobody wrote songs driving an automobile. Declan said that, if they did they would crash! Everybody has a laugh but Declan had a good one. There was a quality to it; the same when he was talking between songs. It fitted in with that stagey growl he did, kind of macho but like a kid-on, dont take it serious.

Aunt Maureen was dozing.

They were passing through a built-up area. Uncle John was doing his cheery wee whistling now, hardly making a sound other than the breath escaping, how it escapes sometimes like how with the pipes the bag expels air, the breaths, huh hih huh hih huh hih, and the drone, that drone