Dirt Road

FIVE

South of Birmingham the bus was full: he sat on the aisle seat. On the inside was a wee thin guy. What age? Thirties maybe, worrying about whatever and looking agitated. Something bad was going to happen! He hardly noticed Murdo at all, he had his phone out, scrolling down, checking messages, scrolling down. Then he put it away and brought it back out again, then kept it in his hand and stared out the window.

Murdo was tired now and just glad to be sitting there and like going to sleep if he felt like it, if he could. The wee guy had closed his eyes too and looked to be dozing then was awake again checking the phone and chewing the edge of his right thumbnail, and muttering: The goddam buses dont move. Want them to move they dont move. Aint my fault man. People blame me. It aint me. It aint me man.

He half turned to Murdo as if surprised to see him and wondering like Oh am I talking inside my head or out?

Murdo stared ahead. He wouldnt have minded a snooze. But the bus had been going a while and if he missed the connection it was a disaster. Buses didnt wait. If ye made it fine but if ye didnt ye didnt. There were other stops along the road and ye had to be careful. Other people would have felt the same the way they were watching roundabout.

The wee guy closed his eyes now and ye could see the worry there on his forehead. He began muttering again, moving his head in such a way he could have been speaking to Murdo: Fucking bus driver man he aint no bus driver. Got a brother’s a bus driver never drove so slow. What you think he’s doing man I’ll tell you what he’s doing. Forty em pee aitch is what he’s doing. You think I dont know? I know man; fucking been there man I been there.

What like driving? asked Murdo. Ye mean ye were driving?

The wee thin guy stared at him. Aint my fault; they blame me. Aint me man.

Murdo said, What are ye late?

Late. Yeah. The guy shifted to see out the window then shook his head, glanced at the phone.

Murdo waited for him to say something more. He didnt. Murdo had his book out from the rucksack and tried to concentrate. A couple of folk had laptops open. A few with phones and a couple reading books. Two guys were talking together, loudly.

People were just ordinary, worrying about ordinary stuff. That was this wee guy, whatever it was. Funny how people could blame ye for things that had nothing to do with ye. That happened to Murdo in Glasgow once, he was waiting at the train station and a foreign woman came up and started shouting at him. People were staring. They thought he had done something like stolen her bag. Probably she was ill. He tried to talk to her but she didnt let him. He had to walk away. There was nothing else he could do. These things happened. Ye wondered about other people, if it happened to them too or was it just like maybe who knows, who knows, it couldnt just be him.

Murdo dozed. When he awoke the wee thin guy had gone. The bus was stationary and only a quarter full. Outside people walked about, smoking and just stretching their legs. A few stood by the side luggage compartment awaiting the driver. Murdo was uncomfortable and sweaty but if he went for a walk what would happen? Imagine it went away without him. He moved into the window seat, rested his head against the glass, the feel of it cool against his forehead. He took the last orange from the rucksack and peeled it. It was good and juicy. Juicy oranges are just the best. He had a couple of sandwiches but was saving them. He wiped his fingers on his jeans.

Then the wee guy was there and glowering at him. Murdo moved immediately, out from the window seat into the aisle one. The guy shoved a small carrier bag into the overheard luggage rack, then squeezed in past Murdo, muttering as he went: I was at the bathroom, what you cant go to the bathroom!

I didnt know you were coming back, said Murdo.

You dont reserve no seats here.

Well I know that I mean I paid a ticket. Murdo shook his head.

Oh yeah you paid a ticket like what you think I dont?

No. I’m not saying that.

We all pay the fucking ticket man. The guy shifted on his seat, gazing out the window and doing the muttering again, We all pay the fucking ticket. He took out his phone.

I didnt know ye were coming back, said Murdo. Like if ye had just said to me ye know I mean like I would have kept yer seat. Ye didnay have to worry.

The guy turned to Murdo. He stared at him. Murdo shrugged. The guy glanced back out the window, seeing down to the main luggage compartment on the side of the coach. He stared down at whatever it was then nudged Murdo, pointing to where the tops of people’s heads were visible: Look at that now see that, he is leaving. He is father of that baby and he is leaving. Look man see his girl, she’s got the baby in her arms man this is them man and he is leaving, that is what he is doing; and she dont want to see it, dont want him to go man. Look…

The guy shifted on the seat enough for Murdo to lean and see out. He saw a young man and a young woman holding a baby. They stood apart, he held a bag and was ready to board the bus.

She saying to him write, write. That’s what she’s saying, write write. He wont write man. He’ll phone. That’s what he’ll do. Six month down the line man know what I’m saying? Hey conchita I ees sorry man.

Yeah, said Murdo.

I been there man I been there.

Soon the passengers had returned and the coach was back on the interstate. Murdo wished he could doze but it was best not to. He didnt want to in case like whatever, just whatever. The bus was moving and he would get there. People got to where they were going. Sooner or later they did. If it was sooner it was sooner which meant sooner than expected. “Sooner”. Nothing was sooner anyway, just later. Things were always later. Sooner was later than now.

In Jackson Murdo got up from his seat. The wee thin guy was staying on until wherever. Cheerio, said Murdo. The guy raised his arm in a short salute.

Less than an hour later he was back in Allentown, and glad to be back, passing through the waiting room and out into the main street. He crossed to the old-time Wild West shop and the pawnshop. The accordeon was not in the window. The ashtray was still on the window ledge; a quarter-smoked cigarette lay on it. Murdo peered through both windows. Guitars were the main instruments, including a beautiful-looking bass. Murdo liked bass guitars. How come? Just something about them. He didnt have one, but if he did. It would just be good having one.

Two saxophones and a clarinet; harmonicas that looked special. The shop door opened, triggering a security chime; a familiar tune. An older woman stepped out. She was quite big and Murdo made way for her. She stood by the doorway, lifted the quarter-smoked cigarette from the ashtray, soon had it alight, puffed a cloud of smoke, folding an arm and resting the other elbow on it, puffing again and watching folk pass by. She said to Murdo, How are you today?

Fine.

Aint it just so peaceful! She patted her bosom as though experiencing heartburn.

Yeah. Murdo gazed into the window.

So so peaceful, she said. I give praise to Jesus.

Murdo smiled and resumed walking, along towards Sarah’s family store. It was more than a mile away, maybe two. When he arrived he stepped up onto the porch and pushed open the door. At the cashier’s desk an older woman stared at him. An elderly man was about to be served. Murdo waited behind him. The elderly man waved him on ahead, but impatiently so ye felt like saying No thanks. But Murdo said, Thanks. I was wondering if Sarah was here? he asked the woman.

If Sarah was here? No, she aint here.

Is she at home?

I dont know. I cant say where she is.

Thanks, said Murdo although he felt like saying Ha ha, but what good would that have done? He heard the elderly man say, What’d he ask for?

He closed the door behind him and continued round the side of the building to the house. There was no one around. Then a boy about twelve or thirteen years old appeared. Who you looking for?

Uh — Joel.

Joel?

Or Sarah?

Oh. The boy nodded. They aint here; they gone away.

D’you know when they’ll be back?

No I dont. Joel’s ma now she’ll tell you.

Thanks.

Sure.

Murdo thumped again on the door. There was a bell. He rang this too but nothing. Nobody was in. He stepped to peer in the window. The boy was still watching and called: She aint there?

Murdo tried the door again.

You try the back? Usually they’re to the back.

Thanks. Murdo stepped back to the pavement and saw a man approach. Murdo waited. The man said: You got business there? The man looked him up and down. What you doing here?

Nothing.

Nothing!

Well like just friends. I thought they’d be in.

They aint in.

Aw. Murdo stared back at the house.

You know these people?

Yeah.

Who d’you know, Henry? You know Henry?

He’s Sarah’s Dad. It’s really Sarah and Joel I know.

Okay. Okay… The man was staring at Murdo. Henry’s up in Clarksdale, he said. He’ll be back later. The rest gone to Louisiana, gone with Queen Monzee-ay.

Aw jees.

Big music festival.

Yeah.

Is that a problem?

No. I was just hoping to go with them. I thought maybe like I would catch them before they went.

Right.

Is Lafayette far?

The man shrugged. Hit the I-55 take a right through Baton Rouge, that’s the I-10 — which way you facing? The man peered sideways. You got a car?

A car?

You aint got a car?

No.

Right. You come on the bus here?

Yeah.

Okay.

Actually I was wondering, do people ever hitch? I mean like hitch-hiking?

Hitching a ride?

Yeah.

You come on the bus here. You take one out of here. Okay? Dont you go hitching.

Okay.

The man waited while Murdo adjusted the rucksack and walked on. Murdo glanced back at him. Thanks, he said.

The man nodded, but hadnt moved. Murdo should have said to tell Henry. Probably he would. Definitely he would. He glanced back but the man wasnt there. It was all very well saying not to hitch a lift but if ye didnt have money and ye had to get someplace what else did ye do? apart from walk! A mile here and a mile back. It was the time ye spent too. This was the afternoon already! Time time time, ye just like always were having to watch the bloody time. He began striding.

Less than a minute later a small truck pulled up alongside him and it was the same man. The passenger side window rolled down and he called: Hey. Alright? Come in here, I’ll take you. The bus station?

Yeah.

I’ll take you. The man gestured Murdo inside.

Aw ye dont have to!

No. The man laughed a moment. No, he said, I dont. Come on in.

Murdo hesitated a moment. No, really, it’s okay, but thanks. I’m just going to like…thanks, I’m fine walking.

The man smiled.

I’m fine walking.

You sure about that?

Yeah I mean… Murdo shrugged. Thanks.

Okay. The window closed and the man drove off.

That was funny. Murdo was nervous. It wasnt anything. He was but, just like — nervous. Although a lift, if he had wanted one. Although it wasnt far to the bus station. Only he had to move fast. He strode on.

Outside the pawnshop he faced into the window while checking his money. The original $290 sounded a fortune but once ye spent money on bus-fares it wasnt so much. Then an accordeon, jeesoh. Money didnt last. The one displayed here had no price tag that he could remember.

Entering the shop set off the security chime. A part security grille was fixed round the counter. So people couldnt jump over and grab the stuff. Plenty interesting: rifles, knives, handguns, tools and some brilliant electronic stuff like if he had the money: phones, tablets and headsets; good stuff, plus all the musical instruments; diamonds, rings and jewelry things. Two men were at one section examining power tools and heavy-looking outside equipment. Nobody was serving. Then from the rear room came the same older woman as before, the smell of tobacco strong on her. Hi, she said. You buying today?

Eh well maybe.

We got a good sale on some fine quality goods. You interested in buying?

Yeah well the accordeon, there was an accordeon.

Oh, yeah.

I saw it in the window a few days ago.

You certainly did. That most beautiful accordeon.

It was down in price, said Murdo.

Mm. If we still got it. The woman vanished into the rear. She soon returned lugging the accordeon. I got it! she said. She hoisted it onto the counter and stood a moment to regain her breath. She smiled, admiring it, then looked to see Murdo. Selling for eighty-five dollars only now can you believe it? This most beautiful beautiful thing. That is a sale. Was a hundred and twenty-five and we’ve reduced that price to sell to you this very day.

Can I try it?

The woman smiled, but had not understood him. Murdo gestured at the accordeon. Can I try it?

Oh my dear why surely you can try it! Of course you can try it. The woman opened the wire grille. Murdo lifted it through to examine. It belonged to a proper musician, she said, a real proper musician. He was a smart man too. Yes he was.

Murdo slipped the strap on over his shoulders. The woman watched with interest. He played a little, listening and getting the feel of it. It’s not too bad, he said.

The woman smiled but uncertainly. Was a hundred and twenty-five and we’ve reduced that price to you.

It’s actually not as good as it looks, said Murdo.

Eighty-five dollars. The woman smiled.

Has it got a case?

A case? Oh now, she said. Eventually she returned with one from the rear. She laid it on the counter and made out the receipt even although he hadnt said he was buying. The case had a separate price tag. The woman glanced over at the two men checking out the tools, then took the price tag off the case, and said quietly, Eighty-five dollars and the box goes with it.

Thanks.

She smiled. You play something for me? Something nice?

Murdo adjusted the strap and began on “The Bluebell Polka”. The woman was taken aback. She maybe expected a novice. Murdo had been playing this since he was a boy. It was one of the first he learned properly and was just about the first request he ever got from old people, beginning from his granny and grandpa when they were alive.

The pawnshop woman watched and listened. Oh my dear, she said, that is God’s gift, that is just God’s gift.

The two men were looking over too. Murdo played into a quite popular slow tune, and a particular arrangement he had been trying recently. It got an emotion he liked, just something good.

He ended the playing. Okay, he said, that’s fine. He opened the box then shrugged off the accordeon, laid it in the case. The buckle fastening was strong enough although maybe a little tightening would have helped. The woman was watching. That thing is heavy, she said, passing him the receipt.

Yeah. Murdo brought the money from his pocket. Once he had the change of two $50s he crossed the street to the bus station.

That was him now. That was the trip worthwhile. It didnt matter about Sarah’s family all being away, he would just pay the full bus-fare money and that was that. Even if he changed his mind, it was too late.

Allentown bus station: he felt comfortable just walking in the door. The woman behind the ticket and information counter was the same as before. She looked at Murdo. Maybe she recognized him.

The bus to Jackson was busy but the one from there to Baton Rouge was only a third full, so a double seat to himself; it was great. He had one sandwich left. He also had an apple and a banana. The banana skin had gone black but fine inside when peeled. He ate it then brought out the book he was reading, and laid it on the pull-down tray. He settled back, closing his eyes. It was not a great accordeon but it was okay. He smoothed his hand over the box, then opened it to see inside. No point lifting it out.

He was still hungry. Maybe he would eat the sandwich. It was late now and still a while to travel.

The worry was the bus from Baton Rouge to Lafayette; how many were there and how late did they run? The trip back to Allentown had been costly in money and in time. But it was necessary, and the accordeon was okay, not bad. He was lucky getting it for eighty-five dollars. When he was buying it he was thinking of pounds, so really it was only like ten for fifteen is four for six is sixty-four quid. Eighty-five dollars was sixty-four quid, so it was a good buy.

Definitely no point lifting it out the case, although he fancied seeing it. He would have to stand in the aisle to pull it on. Maybe he could! Busking the bus. People did it on trains.

He was sitting on the right side so he could see the Mississippi River. By his reckoning the road went down that way and at some stage had to cross it. Maybe not.

A tune was in his head; boats and the sea. A sailor’s tune from Canada. The Mississippi River was supposed to be wide in places with boats going up and down, and even had wee islands in it, making ye think of home. He missed seeing the water. That was something. He hadnt thought of that. He lifted the book off the pull-down tray but laid it down again. It was true. Alabama had only that wee bit of coast. Louisiana was different, it looked amazing with all these wee islands. There were more than seven hundred in Scotland but how many in Louisiana! Even more? Maybe.

Buses were good. Going someplace where ye werent. Ye werent someplace and were passing through. Ye had never been and never would be. These places where ye werent. Ye werent already, so just being there. I want to be in that place because I’m not there.

I came to the place

where the lone children lay

Murdo’s usual thing was not talking. There were things to talk about but he didnt want to. The more ye did the more there was to tell. Ye heard yerself and it hardly sounded like you at all. Ye were telling the truth but it seemed like a story ye had made up.

Why would ye lie about that kind of stuff? Sometimes it seemed like boasting. Imagine boasting about somebody dying. People did that. Yer mother died and they are like Oh wait till ye hear about me. Then you are like What are you talking about I’ve had two people. Oh yer sister died as well! So then they know something even worse again. My fucking dog died. Oh sorry to hear it. Then they ask ye about the actual people and dont listen when ye tell them. Ye see their eyes looking away.

What did Dad think about? People think about stuff. Him thinking about Eilidh, whatever he thought; Clara Hopkins singing, if he listened, where the lone children lay

how sweetly I sleep here alone.

Ye imagine Eilidh and just like whatever. What is that? That makes ye cry, never mind on a bloody bus and all that damn stupid school crap like in school the Guidance Teacher. Dad was like, Oh you’ve got to talk.

What about?

Who did Dad talk to? He even fell out with his brother, then Uncle John losing his temper in the restaurant, whatever that was, tickets.

This leaving wasnt the worst thing Murdo had ever done. Pretty bad but not the worst. His life was different to the lives of other folk. He had pals back home but he wasnt like them. Everything that went on he had to deal with. Who else was there? Only Dad.

They were stuck with one another.

For Dad it was only Mum. She was the only one. Who else? Nobody. So real love. After that what could there be? Nothing. That would be Dad till he died. Never the same love again.

What if he never told her? The man doesnt tell the woman he loves. Then she dies and that is it finished. It might have been the same for Dad. Maybe he never knew he loved her until after she was dead. Only then he realized the truth. The love he had was a real love, she was it, and he never told her. That would have been the worst. It explained things about Dad. One night he did something daft and didnt come home. He never said what it was. When he phoned he sounded drunk. Maybe he was. It hadnt happened before and Murdo thought it was funny. Dad kept apologising but at the same time was dead serious. He stayed the night in Glasgow, probably at Uncle Robert’s because where else? although they werent talking, so how come?

In the early days Mum kept walking round the ward and the day-room; round and round she went. It made her feel she was trying, and if she could keep on trying ye never know; wonder drugs and new inventions.

So that was that.

Taking the money was the worst. Aunt Maureen would be disappointed. He took the money huh, how much did he take? Two hundred dollars. Jeesoh, two hundred. It was a loan but for the accordeon and getting there on the bus. People didnt want ye hitching so what were ye supposed to do? Says it’s a loan huh. My Lord! How much we talking there? $200. Well ye have to do it because with the price of bus-fares added to the accordeon.

Dad would be like, Ha ha. An accordeon! Ha ha. What happened to listening and learning! Use yer ears and the brains in yer body.

Right Dad okay and not just them in my head. Somebody once told Murdo he had fast fingers. You’ve got fast fingers son. Not fast fingers, brainy fingers. His brains were everywhere. Nerves were brain-ends and fingers were full of them. Fingers needed to be fast so they were fast. They werent fast to begin with. They had to be fast for the song. The song made them fast. They were part of it and couldnt not be. Even if they tried they couldnt be slow. If they were it would be a different tune! That was fingers!

Dad didnt get it because he didnt “hear” music. They say that about some people, how they dont hear notes connected to one another, just a pile of things all scattered about haphazard.

The $200 was a loan and he would pay it back. He needed that accordeon and had to buy it. If he could have paid it himself he would have. He couldnt because he couldnt.

Oh jees, the feeling in his stomach.

What was that, nothing, staring out the window, what at, nothing. The two letters. They wouldnt have found them yet. Unless they came home early. Why? To make sure he was okay. So he didnt get up to mischief. A naughty boy. They were supposed to be going away for one night or else two. But now it was one night because of him. Dad would never stay away longer, he would just be worrying. They all would. Oh maybe he’ll burn the house down! Then Dad would read the letter.

Jees.

Aunt Maureen would stick up for Murdo. Oh now he’s a boy he just wants adventures.

That was true. What was wrong with adventures? Where would ye rather be: sitting on a porch reading a book or else doing a gig with Queen Monzee-ay? Oh Louisiana, dont you cry for me, there’s a banjo on my knee; what was that song?

Dad would be like, Oh he doesnt even know where Lafayette is! He thinks it is next to Chattanooga!

But what did Dad know. Murdo had the Road Atlas book anyway. Aunt Maureen gave him it. She gave him it. He didnt steal it!

Oh but he doesnt listen he doesnt listen! That’s why he’s behind at school. He doesnt listen and he skips away and he disappears for whole days at a time. Where does he go! Glasgow? Who knows.

No, he stays in his room all day playing music!

Coming up for seventeen and repeating a year. The oldest pupil in the school. How would they like that? Nobody would like that. Uncle John said it too when Murdo told him, I dont fancy that.

It was true. Who would fancy it? Nobody. Just stupid rubbish.

Who cares anyway. Who can be bothered. Imagine being bothered. It was all just stupid.

At least he had written the letters. That was good and Aunt Maureen would think it was good. Uncle John too. It was just Dad.

It didnt matter now because it was too late. It was finished.

That was something, all finished, yer family, it is only you. That is that and no more.

In Baton Rouge it was an hour and a half wait and he was hungry. He had one last apple. He ate it on a bench outside the bus station. Just great getting fresh air. He held the rucksack over one shoulder; on his lap the Road Map Atlas. The accordeon was by his feet and he wished he could bring it out the case. He needed to play. Why couldnt he? It was peaceful; people hanging about waiting for a bus, smoking, quiet talking. Maybe he could. People would want a tune. Maybe they wouldnt. The bus people wouldnt let him. They would if it was out on the street. How could they stop him? Maybe it was against the law. He laid his hand on the case.

A woman was here, sitting about three feet away on the other side of the bench. Not old at all. Maybe in her mid twenties. She had her phone in her hand but was not looking at it, she was just gazing up the way. The night sky.

Other people were like travellers from foreign places, quite small people too, how the women wore leggings a particular way; maybe from Pakistan or India although could it have been South America, maybe. Some folk didnt seem to be traveling, just having a rest. Maybe they couldnt afford a ticket. Ye had to watch what ye spent every minute of the day. If Murdo hadnt made the sandwiches in Aunt Maureen’s house that would have been fifteen dollars at least. Would his money last? He didnt know, and wouldnt know until after the gig. That was Sunday morning, whatever was happening then. If Sarah’s family could give him a lift up to Jackson or someplace where he could make a good bus connection. It would save money if they did. But if they couldnt?

Ye had to watch for emergencies. Ye couldnt go spending money in cafés. Even if ye were hungry. It would just depend. People said “emergencies” but what were “emergencies”? If ye were starving. But if ye were starving and had money and didnt eat. So then it wasnt like an emergency, not a real one. Otherwise ye would just spend the money. But then ye saved money by walking instead of going on a bus and ye bought food with the money. Ye would be entitled to because you saved it yourself by walking. It would be your money for just like whatever, whatever ye wanted to spend it on.

What about the woman on the bench? Maybe it was the same for her. Did she have luggage? Murdo couldnt see a proper suitcase, only a big sort of handbag thing. She was tired-looking, bored maybe, sitting here for hours. If she had been. Probably she had. People just waited around. So probably a tune would be good, if he played one. People would enjoy it. She would too. She glanced at him. Jeesoh. She didnt catch his eye but she did glimpse him, definitely. Really, she did.

She was looking at him now, almost like not staring but nearly. She had seen him looking at her. Murdo shifted position. His face was pure red now he knew it was. Although she wouldnt maybe know, not in the shadows. Where you headed? she said.

He looked at her and looked away, then back to her.

Where you headed? she asked again.

Aw eh Lafayette.

She squinted at him.

Murdo spoke slowly, I’m eh…I’m headed to Lafayette, the town Lafayette. He raised the Road Atlas book and pointed at the open page. Louisiana, he said.

The woman leaned a little closer to see where he was pointing. The perfume smell from her and the T-shirt she was wearing, the tops of her boobs and even like nipples standing out. Jeesoh but they were, just like

They were. He moved slightly away from her in case she had seen him, and would think he was trying to look and he wasnt, it was just like how ye couldnt not, ye couldnt, ye just had to see, if ye looked at her, because if ye did ye saw them. Murdo scratched the side of his head. Straight run from here, she said.

Thanks.

Uh huh. She breathed sharply in through her mouth; maybe she wasnt feeling good or was worried about something. Was she waiting for him to speak? Maybe she was. People got nervous in bus stations. They could panic when a bus was due to leave, jumping up trying to see the schedule and stuff. Also when the police were there. They had been in an hour ago checking who was here, looked at Murdo too. That was weird. How come they looked at him? He didnt smile. Uncle John told him that about the cops, never look at them if they are looking at you and never ever say anything funny — like trying to make a joke or something. Never ever do that.

Not only were buses expensive the actual prices changed. He heard people talking, they went online and saw daily deals and special offers. One day it was $40 the next it was $70, and that was the same journey. How come? Even walking from one town to the next would save money. Then if ye hitched a lift for one clear stretch of the journey, that would save a good few dollars and that would be great, that would buy ye a meal. Then if yer luck was in and the driver was going farther on, and didnt mind taking ye.

How come he hadnt taken a lift off the guy in Allentown? How come? How come he didnt take the lift! Jeesoh!

Probably nothing. Or else what? Ye just had to be careful. Things ye pick up about people. Ye dont know them and ye meet them and think to yerself, I’m getting out of here. That was it with traveling, like buses or whatever, hitching, ye were never sure and had to be so so wary. Murdo turned to the woman on the bench. No eh I was just wondering, he said, about something like about traveling, just about hitching.

She gazed at him.

About hitching a lift, he said, I mean do ye ever hitch a lift or like people ye know I mean do they ever hitch a lift?

What? She frowned but with a kind of a smile.

No eh

What did you say?

No eh I just eh I was wondering about hitching… He could not speak further; his face was red again, and his throat felt like it had seized up. She was glaring at him. You making a joke? she said and she was so angry.

Murdo stared at her.

You making a joke at me? she cried. Dont you dare make a joke at me. Dont you dare!

But I’m not, I’m not. I only mean like if ye dont have money, if people dont have money and have to like hitch I mean if ye dont have money, that’s all I’m saying.

I got money! What you think I’m trying to steal your money? I aint stealing no goddam money, your money not nobody else’s money. I aint no thief! What are you saying to me?

Nothing. Nothing at all.

You think I’m stealing your money?

No! Not at all, I’m not saying anything at all.

The woman lifted her bag and got up from the bench.

I’m not saying anything, said Murdo.

She walked off to a bench on the other side of the bus station entrance. Murdo stared at the ground. Just horrible and stupid. He raised his head. An older woman was watching him. Just so stupid. How did it happen? Total misunderstandings. That was voices, people saying the same words but their voices different, so different.

When it came time for the bus the woman was still sitting on the other bench, she held her phone in her hand but wasnt looking at it. Murdo gathered his rucksack and accordeon-case. She hardly moved. She must have been staying there, probably waiting for another bus. Murdo was glad she was not going on his. It was selfish but that is what he felt. He hoped she had money and was not just sitting there because she had no place to go. Although if she didnt, what if she didnt? This bus was the last of the night through Lafayette.

It was full by the time Murdo climbed aboard. The driver had jammed the accordeon-case into the side of the luggage compartment; it wouldnt budge an inch. He kept hold of his rucksack. Some people preferred aisle seats. This man was one of them. Murdo squeezed past him into the window seat. He was wearing a denim jacket, jeans and a greasy-looking baseball cap, just sitting there staring to the front.

It had begun raining again, pattering the bus windows, making people peer out. Murdo was glad to be inside. He hoped she was too. Could she have been homeless? Ye werent sure with people at bus stations. She was young. What age was she?

People’s lives and the things that happen. If ye are a girl and dont have money or a place to go. Maybe she didnt. So if she was a prostitute. She could have been. Whatever lives people have. Girls especially. For being a prostitute too, they had to be something; good-looking, good shapes, if ye think of shapes. They had to be something.

The lights were off now and he was glad the guy on the aisle seat wasnt reading. It was good in the dark just to be sitting, just sitting there; beyond relaxing. He was tired. More than tired.

How come? What had he done? Nothing. Taking buses and walking places. But if he went to sleep, imagine sleeping, then ye wake up! Whereabouts? Miles away. Miles and miles. Three thousand miles divided by whatever, that was days.

The man in the aisle was talking to him. Going to Galveston. You know Galveston?

The man hadnt changed his position a fraction, except maybe his eyes moved. Smelling of tobacco and whatever else. He spoke again: Job down there. Nephew’s doing the hiring and firing. Brother’s boy.

Aw. Murdo nodded.

Brother dont like me none. The man’s eyes moved again. He maybe waited for Murdo to say something. Got that song, “Galveston”. Galveston Galveston. You know that song?

I’m not sure.

The man nodded, staring at the seat in front. Kinda nice.

I’m going to Lafayette, said Murdo.

Oh yeah…

Murdo might have said about the gig but he didnt. People were people and had their own lives. You have something and they have something. Everybody ye meet. He shouldnt even have said that, Lafayette, who cares.

Guys in front were loud and sounded drunk. Murdo saw the tops of their heads shifting about, speaking about poker. Somebody won a lot of money and somebody else lost too much for a game that was supposed to be with friends. How could ye be friends if ye took all their money? Working offshore.

So that was oil workers same as Declan Pike, going back to work. Maybe they knew him. Imagine they did. Ye met guys on a bus in a foreign country with millions and millions of people, and when ye said somebody’s name they knew him. Murdo was gazing out the bus window. Then a large neon sign, and he turned his head following it, swivelling on his seat:

LAFAYETTE INTERNATIONAL FESTIVAL BIENVENUE FESTIVAL INTERNATIONAL DE LOUISIANE

Ahead were the lights of the town itself. Murdo settled back on the seat and was about to say something to the man next to him but didnt. Soon the bus arrived in Lafayette. Murdo lifted the rucksack and moved out. Cheerio, he said.

So long, said the man.

*

He had expected most of the passengers to be leaving the bus but only six of them did. The driver dragged out the accordeon-case. Murdo checked inside: the accordeon was fine. He set off walking from the bus station into the festival area. It was quite a distance. Along the way he lifted leaflets, flyers and a free map of the festival site. He stopped under a street light to read through the stuff, searching for the Queen Monzee-ay gig and there she was in the main festival programme, but listed as one of the guests in “Lancey’s Cajun All-Stars”, a lunchtime gig. That didnt sound right. According to Sarah’s message the venue was the Jay Cee Lounge and the gig was late evening. Queen Monzee-ay was supposed to be opening for a band called the Zadik Strollers. He couldnt find the Jay Cee Lounge even listed as a festival venue. Then he found its address in the index to the map but there was no proper information. He shoved the stuff into his rucksack, lifted the accordeon-case.

People were gobbling takeaways and drinking beer. Everywhere ye looked. Hamburgers and stuff. He needed to eat. When did he last eat? Ages ago. Baton Rouge, an apple. He ate his last sandwich on the bus, the last one. That was past the Mississippi River; he couldnt even remember eating it, he just ate it. He had money. If ye were starving, ye had to spend it. He was starving. Even an actual restaurant, he could spend money for that except he wasnt going to. Plenty foodstalls were here. At one the menu was brilliant how it was written for the song: Jambalay, Crawfish pie, Fillet gumbo. Hot Sos to Taste. Po-boy, what was Po Boy? I am just a po boy.

That was the trouble, not knowing what stuff was. In one place a girl was serving hamburgers, hotdogs and VGBugs. VGBugs. Maybe veggie. Murdo would eat it. Same as Dad. Dad ate anything. Murdo was the same. He waited by the counter. The girl served somebody to the side of him. Maybe she didnt notice him. He stood another couple of minutes. The girl served two other women. That was that, deliberate, because she had seen him, she was just ignoring him. He left the stall and continued walking. He was enjoying the sights and sounds anyway. Although it would have been nice to sit down. He was quite tired. He was used to lugging about the accordeon but at the same time a seat would have been good.

People were dancing going along the street, brightly lit in the dark. A real mix. Guys wore cowboy hats, waistcoats and jeans. Women wore everything, shorts and short skirts; sandals, fancy-coloured cowboy boots, high heels, long skirts, jeans, whatever. Plenty young folk.

He found a public payphone near a grass square and had enough change to try it but there wasnt enough light to decipher the instructions. He sat the accordeon-case by his feet, lifted the receiver and dialed the number. Nothing. Put in the money and dialed the number. Nothing. Dialed the number and put in the money. Nothing. He tried to speak to an operator, but nobody. Ye couldnt speak to anybody and ye couldnt read any damn thing. No wonder Dad had got angry trying to phone Uncle John. This was a nightmare. If ye couldnay read the damn instructions it was just stupid.

He would have to ask somebody how to do it but that was tricky late at night. What time was it anyway? He returned to the main festival area where there was more light. He needed a sit-down; a proper rest. He was starving too, jeesoh. Nowhere to go either.

Cops. Funny how ye see cops; ye always seem to.

That was a thought, nowhere to go.

He didnt have any place. If he had expected to meet Sarah walking about, that was so so unlikely. Not now anyway. Places were closing for the night. Some already had. Sarah had offered about staying the night with family friends but it could only happen if he made contact, and he didnt have any contact number, no address, no nothing. That was just silly, not thinking about that. But so what if he had? It was Sarah should have done it.

Foodsmells. A foodstall with good lighting. Nobody queued. The guy working there wore an apron and a baseball cap. He stood behind the high counter phone in hand. Murdo walked over, laid down the accordeon-case. A sign said “Traditional cuisine de louisiane”. The menu was in Spanish, English and French; hand-written and scrawled, and difficult to read. Murdo studied it, trying to find something easy.

The guy was waiting and watching. Eventually he turned to read the menu himself. He said something to Murdo in Spanish, then in English, You want something?

Eh like a hamburger? a hot dog?

The guy shrugged, pointed at the menu.

Murdo tried to read it again but he couldnt. He just could not decipher the actual writing. Have you got any hamburgers or hot dogs? he asked.

Hot dog is cat fish, said the guy.

Murdo looked at him.

No hot dog, cat fish. The guy smiled and pointed to a place on the menu. Catfish. Is cheap and drink goes for the deal.

Murdo saw the price. Please, yeah, thanks.

You want catfish?

Please yeah.

Sure.

Murdo watched him scoop the food from the containers and dish it onto the paper plate: rice, onions, relish and lettuce too, and bits of tomato; thin strips of onion; plenty lettuce, rice. The guy smiled. Hungry eh?

Yeah.

What drink you want?

Do ye have orange juice?

The guy sighed. No orange juice. He gestured at the glass-fronted, chilled drinks cabinet. You want coke? We got 7 Up, orange fizzy.

You got tea?

No tea. Fizzy. Coke, Doctor Pepper. We got 7 Up.

Have ye got water?

Sure, water. The guy got him a bottle of water. He pointed at the accordeon-case: Hey man you play?

Yeah.

Good, good. The guy smiled, and hesitated, then added: Me too.

You too?

Si, I uh…

What the accordeon? you play the accordeon?

Si, I play.

Murdo grinned. The guy stood the bottle of water on the counter next to the paper plate. He straightened his baseball cap, waved round the foodstall. I got kids man you know, I earn money: got to earn money. He made a mournful face, but chuckled. He wagged his finger at Murdo. One day!

Murdo chuckled. Me too. He paid a $10 bill over the high counter, lifted napkins then collected the change; three single dollars and coins. A tips jar was there. Murdo dropped in the coins, stuck the dollars into his jeans pocket.

The foodstall guy frowned at him. Hey man!

Yeah? Murdo smiled.

The guy gestured sharply with his hand. How much you put in there?

Pardon?

How much? You put in there, how much?

Eh?

The guy wagged his finger at Murdo. You put in thirty-five cents! Is change I give you, thirty-five cents. No, is not good. The guy pointed at the tips jar: Put in a dollar man put in a dollar.

A dollar? Murdo looked at him.

One dollar. The guy shook his head. A dollar man, you know.

Murdo sniffed and took out a dollar, he shoved it into the tips jar.

The guy shrugged. Is what you do man.

Murdo nodded, he put the bottle of water in his rucksack, lifted the paper plate and the plastic fork. The guy said, Salsa?

No thanks. Murdo turned to leave.

The guy raised his hand to stop him. Hey you will be glad I tell you. You gotta tip a guy man.

Okay.

Yeah. Adiós.

Okay. Murdo walked on, and continued where the pavement led out of the lighted area and farther along where there was grass, like a little park, and two old-fashioned benches about twenty yards apart which were both empty. He chose the first, laid down the accordeon-case, swung off the rucksack and plonked down on the bench, utterly knackered. His first seat since whenever, the bus!

Then he opened the food, used the fork to break up the fish. It was tough and the fork was made of soft plastic.

He had heard of catfish but just really the name. It was a good-sized solid fish. Did it look like a cat? He lifted it up in his fingers. It was quite stiff, ye could hold it and just eat it. He took the first bite. And it was tasty, jees, a real mouthful. He used the fork to get some of the relish: onions were in it and a liquidy kind of stuff. He coughed and swallowed a mouthful of water. Usually he liked it peppery. It was chopped-up red chillies. He tried some of the relish on his finger. Very hot, but tasty. He was eating everything. Even the lettuce. Lettuce was good; he liked it. He never used to. Now he did.

Another customer at the foodstall, a wee man. Him and the guy that worked there were chatting, laughing together. Probably they knew each other and were speaking in Spanish. Hot dog cat fish. Ha ha ha. Maybe laughing at Murdo. A dollar tip. So what? Ha ha. He was enjoying the food. He ate the lot, wiped his fingers and sat an extra five minutes sipping the water then was onto his feet again. He kept the napkins and stuffed the rubbish into a bin which was about overflowing. It was getting cold. Not cold so much as cool. He had other clothes in the rucksack, if it got like cold as in really really cold where ye were shivering and not able to get warm. This was just cool. Not really cold at all. He pulled on the rucksack, gripped the accordeon-case handle, then was walking again. Where? Where was he going? He walked a while, not thinking about stuff, or not seeming to think about stuff; maybe he was but not registering what it was; just like whatever, a mix of stuff. His mind did that like one thing to another, just leaping about, stupid. Because where was he going? Maybe there was someplace. Where? He would see it when he got there! His feet would lead him. People said that, Oh my feet led me. Ye closed yer eyes: Right feet, on ye go, then they tripped up and ye fell on yer face.

Later he laid down the accordeon-case and cupped his hands, blew into them. He stood for a while. The streets were quiet, very very. He was by the entrance to a venue now closed for the night. He felt like he had been walking for hours. Had he ever stopped? Yes, to eat a fish. He sat on a bench and ate a fish. His hands were still greasy.

He just had to keep walking. It was important. Why? Just because. Because what? Something would happen. What? Something. Definitely.

One thing was the toilet: he hadnt been since Baton Rouge. Whatever they called it here, washroom, restroom. But if ye couldnt find one? What did ye do if ye couldnt find one? An actual lavatory. Ye couldnt take a chance and just do it someplace because if ye got caught, like the cops or somebody just seeing ye and shooting ye down in cold blood.

He lifted the accordeon-case and continued walking.

But if ye couldnt find one and didnt have a choice like if ye were bursting and really needed to go, like really really, ye were desperate, then ye had to, because ye had no choice ye had no choice.

The next street corner. He would get to there. Then the one after that, he would just walk to there, jeesoh. Could he do another one?

Probably there werent any toilets. He had the festival street map in the rucksack but was wary of taking it out to read. Nobody was walking. If anybody came along and saw ye with a map they would know ye were a stranger and that wasnt good, that was risky.

Maybe turning back was best.

Where was he?

Ha ha.

That happened; ye turned a corner then another and another and ye wound up lost. But it wasnt good to stand still.

Ye dont do anything standing still. Ye have to walk. Murdo did, just forwards, but then maybe not, maybe best just

What? Thinking about it first. Was it best to go back? Where to, the bus station! Ha ha.

That was the trouble, he wasnt thinking, he wasnt thinking at all he was just like — whatever, just whatever, walking, walking and walking.

Whereabouts? Where was he?

Ye aye hoped ye were on a square so ye turned a corner and followed a straight line backwards or forwards and then ye would be out but what if the streets went at an angle so then ye went wherever, north instead of west. Angle lines are straight. Even the line of a circle! When is a circle not a circle? Please sir infinity. Please sir three right sides, a point a point a point.

Maybe he was lost. Was he lost? Maybe he was. Not lost but just away from everything. Not everything, just everything that is like

He walked closely by the wall of a building where the light was a little better.

A block farther on the pavement became more shadowy; this building of an older type with ordinary doorways and in one was an edge of something

like a body

like wrapped in a blanket, a body.

It was. A tuft of hair poking out. A man’s head. Jeesoh. A man’s head; a man asleep, African-American, snoozing, but ye couldnt hear him, ye couldnt hear his breath.

Murdo had stepped aside along by the edge of the kerb, turning the next corner and walking fast, faster, just in case of whatever, guys sneaking up and jumping ye, and on into another street, wee and narrow. Dark and like pitch black even; and not a sound. He was not worried; definitely not worried but just like where was he going where was he going! Jeesoh. Having to take the chance but this was for a pee, he could pee, jees, it was so so dark. He stepped in at the side of where it was, set down the accordeon-case, stepped a little way off and urinated wherever wherever, into the street just, hoping, hoping, doing it as fast as fast made possible, just like — oh God…

Then grabbing the accordeon-case he was quickly walking walking yes thank God, thank God, thank you God, keeping to the outside edge of the kerb and away from the wall.

He glanced into doorways and spaces where a body could hide or even just sit to keep out the road like if ye had to if it was raining, just to shelter.

Way along he saw two figures. The cops here had guns and holsters, sticks and handcuffs and that other thing they had that reminded ye of a ball and chain for knocking off people’s heads. That spiked ball thing like dangling at the end of a chain; they used them back in the olden days, knights in armour, and swung them round and round then crash, knocking the head off yer shoulders. The cops here were tough and killed people. Dont ever make jokes. Then a voice, somebody shouting at somebody, farther along the street. Then an actual person across the street. Somebody, Jesus Christ, Murdo walked fast on. Leaning against the wall or just a shadow maybe a shadow. Creepy. Dont stop. Along another street and onto a wider street there was grass. And a certain building. Grass and a certain building. And there the public telephone he tried to use earlier. It was, it was the same public telephone. The grass was the same grass square. On the other side of there was the catfish foodstall now with the shutters drawn, and the benches, and the road that took ye back to the main festival area. Thank God.

He walked round the other side where there was a little bit more light, and a bench. But two people were there already. He kept going; farther along there was one empty. It was. He set down the accordeon-case and the rucksack at one end of it, he sat down.

Later his head was full of stuff, but away in the distance someplace and ye had to grapple to discover what it was. Spots of light down the end of a tunnel. Then ye were at the end and nothing except feeling kind of cold, yer body. He shouldnt have been cold but he was and his teeth did the rapid shiver-click he used to get as a boy, trembling out the bath and Mum wrapping the towel round ye: dih dih dih dih dih dih dih, dih dih dih dih dih dih dih, oh Mummy Mummy Mummy. Are ye cold? I’m freezing I’m freezing I’m freezing.

Not freezing, but cold. He opened his rucksack and brought out his other top, took off his jacket and pulled it over the one he was already wearing then put the jacket back on. He had spare socks. Yes he did. He could put them on too. Maybe later. He sat a moment, then extracted the belt from his jeans and tied it through the handle of the accordeon-case and the rucksack to connect round his wrist, so if anybody tried to snatch them it would alert him. He could even doze off and be safe, although he didnt want to; risky stuff. First thing in the morning he would phone home. If they were back. Of course they were back. They were back right now. They never would have stayed overnight. Then the letter. Dad would have read it! They all would know. He says he will phone, thank God. Then it would be Dad, Oh why hasnt he phoned, he said he would phone.

Ye said ye would phone and ye didnt! Yes Dad but if ye dont have yer own and there arent any landlines that work.

He tried to phone and the damn bloody thing didnt work. It wasnt his fault. How could it be? If it didnt work it didnt work, people couldnt bloody use it, they couldnt use it. Jeesoh. Jees, jees. Ye said ye would phone. Yes but. Yes but.

He folded his arms in tightly, hunching in his shoulders, bent forwards, elbows resting on his thighs, rocking back and forwards a little bit but stopping that and just hunching in and hunching in, the heat in, keeping the heat in like trapping it, trapping yer heat, oh mammy daddy mammy daddy mammy daddy, then shoving his hands in his pockets, leaning forwards.

Later again he was awake so he must have dozed; definitely. He looked to the sky. Probably about whatever. Who knows. Three o’clock maybe.

The bottle of water. He unscrewed the lid and sipped.

He should have brought a blanket, he was quite shivery. Aunt Maureen’s big towel. He brought a wee one instead. He was shivery and it was cold, it was, jees like jees jees jees, really. Getting up and stamping his feet was what he felt like doing but he didnt, he just sat there tighter in, in, not wanting to move at all because even the slightest most minute fraction would take the heat from his body. Socks could be gloves. Socks and towels for warmth for warm, heat warming, body warming, and extra socks and yer teeth drrrrrrr drrrrrrr drrrrrrr drrrrrrr, that was ringing not shivering ringing ringing, ring ring, ring ring

Oh hullo Dad.

It was just round and round and round, things things things and whatever the tunes would be then they would be that, whatever they were, tunes shivery and doh doh doh, doh.

A mental sort of a doze. What like was it? Horrible. That was him, for however long he had no idea except cutting off consciousness if ye can say that, something dark and switched off.

Except when he woke it was the real nightmare, this guy staring at him; some madman. A bloody madman. Just a fucking scary scary madman staring at him on the side of the bench farthest away just sitting there, less than two feet away oh Jesus Christ scary scary scary, he was scary, he was scary scary, just like a real real scary guy. That is the truth. Murdo kept looking at him. The one thing maybe was holding his gaze. Not looking away. But straight into his eyes just looking. Because then what could he do? Nothing, not with Murdo looking straight straight at him,

and while he did he was pulling the belt out through the accordeon-case handle and the rucksack straps, then coiling it into a rucksack compartment, and rising to his feet still looking at the guy, and now off the bench he backed away, gripping the accordeon-case and rucksack in either hand, and he set off walking in a kind of curve so like if the guy tried anything Murdo would see him. Beyond the foodstall he crossed over the street, round a corner and crossed another one and round another one but then was on a main street and he kept along this.

Murdo didnt feel like a coward. So what if he was? Guys had knives. Some of them did, hidden in the blankets like if they were homeless and sleeping rough, they were ready to fight. So if somebody went to get them they would leap out with the knife and stick it right into them. Ye couldnay blame them either. Things happened. In Glasgow ye had them begging on the street, they sat on the pavement even if it was raining; ye saw their trousers soaked. Some from foreign countries. They didnt have any money. Nothing. How even did they get to Scotland? It was incredible. A lassie he knew put a £5 note into one of their paper cups. Murdo didnt see it himself, a guy told him. They were up in Glasgow and were just like walking down the street and she saw a beggar and she went and put in a £5 note. A beggar. A fiver. That was lassies. No guy ever would give a fiver. It was just like incredible.

It was safe now. He still had his money. He counted it. The guy couldnt have robbed him. But if the dollar notes had slipped out his pocket? While he was hunched up dozing?

Imagine they had! What would he have done? He would have had to go back. He would have had to. So if the guy was still there? Okay. It didnt matter because it was the money so he would have had to go. What choice? None. To get his money, if that was it, he would have gone, he would have had to.

Anyway, it didnt matter.

A sandwich and a carton of hot tea! If he could find a 24/7 store. Maybe a garage; garages had shops. One foodvan he passed was advertising OPEN ALL NIGHT but it was closed. An all-night foodvan that closed during the night.

Although it was morning. Nearly. The quality of light. That smell of dampness. A fresh morning. How near was the sea?

Tonight was the gig. Amazing to think. Because he was here. Dad would be sleeping or else awake worrying. But that was that.

More people around; early workers, morning strollers, a couple with dogs. Maybe somebody the same as him, nowhere to go and just walking about. Homeless people. Murdo was one.

Then an amazing foodsmell, a wee café-style restaurant open for business bloody hell it was just oh man what a smell, just this beautiful foodsmell like aroma through a wee kind of alleyway and music coming from inside, a lone voice singing; a French guy and a French song; just him and the guitar jeesoh, bloody beautiful. What was he doing! Everything and nothing. Murdo stopped about thirty yards from the café entrance, listening. Food in the song too — le plat de fricassée. Just beautiful that nice nice guitar. What was he doing! Hardly any damn thing at all! How do ye get that? How do ye just make it like that? How is it people can do that? They just like do it, they do the song, they sit and they have the guitar like they just

What an amazing-mazing thing! Murdo didnt want it to end, he strode on fast before it did. Because too he needed to play, he really did. Things press on ye. Tonight was tonight. One of the flyers showed Queen Monzee-ay featured as a guest at an afternoon Cajun session, traditional style, but no information on the evening gig. That was okay. The venue was a regular Zydeco and Blues Club and he had the street address. Things went on there all the time and he would find it. It was only the playing, he needed to play. Time was going and he needed to play.

Okay there was no actual place but if it was dry he could play anywhere. So anywhere becomes a place.

The wee grass square. What was wrong with the wee grass square? If the maniac was there so what if it was daylight. People were out and about. What could he do? Nothing. Not in daylight, not in front of witnesses. And like the cops too, if they were there, they would just shoot him.

Murdo felt fine. Not much sleep but okay. Imagine Dad. What happened what happened are ye okay are ye okay! Yes Dad. Why didnt ye phone why didnt ye phone! A bloody grass square ye spent the night! Did anything bad happen? No Dad just this scary maniac.

But he wasnt a scary maniac. He was scary but not a maniac; a scary guy. A lot of guys are scary. They can be. Ye just have to tell them, Fuck off, away and scare somebody else.

*

He found a store. It sold sandwiches and hot donuts. No hot tea but hot coffee and a bottle of water for later. A turkey salad sandwich for the best value. Turkey wasnt tasty but it filled ye up, and that was what ye wanted. People looked in bins. Imagine looking in bins. Oh there’s an old crust.

Murdo would have eaten the sandwich while walking but the accordeon-case made it tricky.

Ahead was a bus-stop. He put down the accordeon-case then took off the rucksack and placed it next to it, and sighed, and floated somewhere off, off

then opened the sandwich packet and scoffed everything. The coffee was scalding! He laid the carton on the pavement.

He stood at this bus-stop for a while. No buses came. He was glad of that. What if one had come? Maybe he could have got on it, gone to the terminus and back. Worth it for the comfy seat. Maybe he could play them a tune. Good to get the fingers moving. The driver would be like Oh good, that’ll cheer people up. First thing in the morning everybody is all sad, going to school, going to work. Slavery. Oh here’s a nice waltz and ye dance along. Loudspeakers at street corners.

Murdo eventually gathered up the stuff and headed along the road. Ye could play while ye walked, strolling players, who’ll come a-waltzing with me, waltzing Matilda. A waltz can be sad.

But how come? If ye are dancing. Could ye dance and be sad? Maybe ye could. But if ye have a girlfriend and are dancing with her, how could it be sad! Although if it was yer last time together, if she was seeing somebody else and it was yer last time, yer last waltz. Or if it was yer girlfriend dancing with you but like thinking about somebody else.

But it didnt matter. You were playing the tune. So you would be happy. Even if it was a sad tune, so what? Okay bawl yer eyes out but I’m happy, I’m just the musician.

None of it mattered except you got it right. Queen Monzee-ay was thinking drums and bass but did she need it? Maybe not, it was up to her. Maybe it didnt matter. Their guitarist was the best according to Sarah. Usually he rehearsed with them but couldnt last Sunday. He was away someplace with his own band; he played in two different ones. So probably he was good.

For Queen Monzee-ay the bonus was Murdo’s accordeon. He wasnt being big-headed. She said it herself and it was true. Two accordeons made it exciting. She was powerful, so so powerful, and the whole thing, like jeesoh he just needed to play, needed to get his fingers moving he was rusty rusty, so so rusty, just rusty. His fingers were like carrots.

The payphone!

Here he was. He rested the accordeon-case against the wall and read the instructions, coins at the ready. He finished dialing the number, and waited. Nothing the first time but the second time it rang Aunt Maureen answered. Aunt Maureen herself. Murdo smiled.

Yeah? she said. Who’s calling there?

Aunt Maureen it’s me, Murdo.

Murdo?

Yeah.

Murdo!

Yeah, how are ye Aunt Maureen?

Oh now Murdo.

Sorry for phoning so early. I’m just wondering about my Dad, is he there?

No — my Lord! Murdo he aint now he’s gone. Murdo, he’s gone.

Pardon?

He aint here. Forty-five minutes they’ve been gone son, they’ve gone to Birmingham. Your Uncle John is driving him down there right now. Right now son, they are driving right now. You hearing me? Your father is catching a bus and he’s going to meet you son.

…

You hearing me? Meeting up with that musician fellow now what d’you call him was singing at the Gathering huh, the Irish fellow, your Dad got him now, Uncle John got him the number.

…

You hearing me son? You in Louisiana? Is that where you are?

Yes.

You got him so worried.

Is he okay?

He’s okay. Murdo now you should have phoned: last night like you said. We waited and waited.

I couldnt.

We waited.

Yeah but I couldnt, I couldnt Aunt Maureen I dont have one I mean…

You said you would.

Yeah but just like a landline and I couldnt get through and

Didnt sleep a wink hardly at all then first thing this morning him and your Uncle John. My Lord Murdo…

Yeah but the phone wasnt working, I couldnt get it to work and it was very late.

You took the money son. Why’d you take the money? I could have given you money. You didnt ask! Why didnt you ask me? You should have asked me son.

I just needed it. Aunt Maureen I’m going to pay it back, it’s just like a loan I mean I’ll pay it back.

Well it aint the money Murdo. Tom is so worried. Where’d you sleep? You eating? What you doing son? In Louisiana, what you doing there?

Murdo didnt answer. Aunt Maureen began repeating bits of what she had said and more that related to it but Murdo couldnt take it in properly — as much as he tried, he tried.

He needed the phone call to finish. He had to finish it. She was talking on and he cut in: Aunt Maureen! Aunt Maureen…

When she paused he said, I’ve got friends here Aunt Maureen. They’re musicians and I’m staying with them so dont anybody worry. I’m completely fine I mean like I’m just phoning to tell ye.

I would have given you money son, if only you said.

I know you would have Aunt Maureen I mean so like I’ll see ye soon. I’ll see ye soon. ’Bye!

Oh son you’ll take care now?

Of course. Of course. Okay Aunt Maureen I’ll see ye soon.

Oh Murdo.

’Bye. He replaced the receiver, maybe not cutting her off. Probably he had. He stood a moment. He would see her soon anyway. He looked one way then the other. He just wasnt sure about stuff. But how could he be? He couldnt phone back.

He started walking then stopped along the pavement to look back. The accordeon-case. Inside the case the accordeon. Where he had left it by the wall next to the public phone. He was about twenty steps away. Imagine leaving it.

But weird seeing it. What was it? Just nothing. A machine. It was him made it work. The handle of the accordeon-case fitted snugly in his hand. It was no effort to lift it. He could have smiled, but whatever, crossing the road to the wee grass square and to the same bench as last night.

The scary guy was gone and the bench was empty. Although maybe it was “his” bench, if he was a homeless guy and that was where he usually slept. He scared him away so he could get “his” bench back. Probably he wouldnt recognize Murdo if he saw him again.

The sun was good, even this early. Blue sky was great. Back home it was clouds, clouds and grey clouds; purple clouds, red clouds, orange clouds; yellow clouds and almost black clouds, palest blue clouds, almost white clouds.

He took the leaflets and flyers out of the rucksack and checked through once again for information on the Jay Cee Lounge gig. All he could find was Queen Monzee-ay featured among “Lancey’s Cajun All-Stars” in an event scheduled for lunchtime. Sometimes “All-Stars” was a label for anybody available on the day. Murdo put away the leaflets and flyers and opened the case. He pulled on the accordeon, adjusted the straps and began on a thing that got the fingers moving. He had Queen Monzee-ay’s set in his head and needed to go in and work but not too fast. Ye could go too fast. Sometimes ye did and it was a waste of time. It didnay work and ye had to blank it all out, and go for it again. Okay if he had been playing like usual like every day, then it would have been easy. But if ye werent playing regularly ye lost the feel and did things that were only there to guide ye in. Once ye were in ye dumped them. Ye just had to judge it, and go with it, and move fast: push it push it push it and not be scared.

Not a great accordeon but it would do. It would be his American one; he would leave it at Uncle John’s house, then the next time him and Dad were there he could use it again.

This was a public place and people were walking now, and walking was moving, moving to the beat, dogs this way and that. Kids there too. Ye got it anywhere. Joggers, strollers; fast power-walkers, shoulders going and Murdo moved on with a kind of two-step thing in line from what he had been hearing off the two CDs, the bare thing itself then thickening it out — making it thick was how he thought of it: beginning on the bare thing then over and over and over, opening it out but bringing in what else could be there and that was crucial.

If he had had a guitar he would have played in a rhythm the way he did for Chess Hopkins. Just to get himself in. Once in that was that. Here he didnt have the guitar, he went with the fingers, where the fingers led him, geared towards the tunes he had been listening to these last many days.

Where did it take ye? Wherever, just wherever. Ye didnt know till there ye were, and that was that in the best kind of playing, the best kind of players. Queen Monzee-ay would be leading and you would know which way to follow, you would find it. You go that way how you think, you go that way how you think, how you think, oh jees yeah on ye go, just like whatever, whatever. Ye could shiver in that kind of playing; and hearing it in other musicians. After it ye needed a gap, not talking to people; the audience were there and however they heard it, okay, but you needed to disappear.

However long Murdo was playing on the bench he didnt know but it felt good and his fingers were fine just moving from what he had been hearing these past days down the basement. It was his learning, whatever that was, it was his to work from. That was enough. Once the band was in he would be in. Queen Monzee-ay was leading the way. He would be with her, he would be with her. She knew he would. That was all she wanted. She was only asking for that.

A crashing noise from the catfish foodstall. A woman had unlocked the shutters and pushed them up. The guy’s wife maybe. He was home with the kids as in turn and turn about. Two jobs, sometimes three. The husband and wife too. One worked then came home. Then the other one went out. One night and one day.

Murdo took off the accordeon. It was a beautiful beautiful morning. He walked a few paces exercising his shoulders and arms, swigged from the bottle of water. Two people were already at the foodstall counter, waiting for the woman to serve them. Nearby the bench three birds pecking into the grass by the verge; crumbs in the dirt, birds look for crumbs; people too. The bird with the human face. Maybe it was there. Aunt Maureen thinking of him. Thinking was worrying. She was worrying. She didnt have to. Aunt Maureen! You do not have to worry! Murdo is alive-alive-oh! Where is that bird! Away and tell Aunt Maureen! Murdo says dont worry.

It was true but. People worry, why do people worry? Dad would just be

oh jees, Dad.

But what could he do? nothing. Dad was coming and that was that because Dad was Dad and Dad just like whatever: that was Dad. Murdo shut his eyes, only a moment: he pulled on the accordeon. Dad was a worrier. People were worriers. Other people werent. Murdo settled the accordeon then stood still and sang a song for Dad:

I was born and raised in Glasgow

in a Glasgow tenement

and when people spoke of my bonny land

I didnt know what they meant

For I have seen the Highlands

I have seen the low,

And I will brag of my native land,

Wherever I may go.

On the shores of foreign brothers

we’ll lay no robber’s hand

all we ask is to toil and live

in our own native land.

The song for Dad was a song for Dad’s own father — Murdo’s grandpa. That was Grandpa Macarthur and he used to sing it himself. Oh and he was a grumpy old guy right enough, who kicked the cat when he lost his temper and wouldnay emigrate to America when people wanted him to. Murdo didnt sing it like grandpa who sang it in a certain way like how he explained it, his own country wasnt his own country:

when people spoke of my bonny land

I didnt know what they meant

because rich people had it all, and tried to keep out the poor people who didnt get the chance to see it and were stuck in filthy stone buildings and filthy stone streets, never allowed out to see the mountains and lochs and great places, woods and sea and sandy beaches and like whatever, rich people had it all, kings and queens and millionaires, landowners and robbers. Grandpa stood to sing it but he always talked, he stopped and talked and granny would give him a row. Sing if ye’re going to sing! We dont want a lecture! People laughing, Mum and Dad.

Murdo sang it. They were all there. Everybody. Eilidh was laughing. Grandpa liked Eilidh, he always liked Eilidh, he smiled with her.

He liked Murdo too. “Just you sing son, you sing!” Murdo sang. He wanted to sing! And that was the song; so what. He was just glad about stuff, just about being here. Today was today and here he was. Tonight was the gig and just everything was like everything.

When he finished the song he went straight into a jig, capering about.

People were watching. A few adults, kids and toddlers. A wee girl in a football jersey came forwards. She was like eight years old and the jersey she wore showed the colours of Barcelona FC. Kids wore the same jersey back in Scotland. She held out a dollar. His empty coffee carton was there on the bench. Murdo winked at the girl and nodded towards it. Beyond her he saw the mother smile. The girl dropped in the dollar, stepped back and returned swiftly to her parents. Other people stopped. A few looked foreign and were taking pictures. A couple of guys and lassies roundabout his own age stayed for two songs. The accordeon brought them. Not his voice!

He played on, maybe three quarters of an hour. It was so worthwhile just doing it, and out of nothing. He hadnt meant to do anything like that. It was just everything! A whole combination of stuff. He took his time putting away the accordeon and getting his stuff together. He was keen to see how much money was in the old coffee carton but didnt want to look when people were watching. Then he was able to count it: $11.70. Ye would call it a wage. His first wage in America. This was it! That was like two sandwich meals or one big one, two catfish. It was just brilliant.

If Dad had been there. Not like to hear Murdo play but to realize that he could earn money for doing it. It wasnt just a boy growing up like a wee hobby. He was a musician and musicians earned money. It was like a job. Ye do it and ye keep doing it. If ye stop playing ye stop playing. So ye cant stop, ye have to play play play. If ye go wrong ye get the chance to make it right. But the chance only comes in the playing. If ye dont stick with it ye dont get it, ye dont right the wrong.

That is what it is; that is what happens. People watching wont notice, unless they are musicians and pick it out. Like how Chess Hopkins knew when Murdo moved the wrong way on “Bonaparte’s Retreat” but pulled it back, and nobody knew. Except Chess. But that let Chess relax and run with his own thing, because he knew he could trust Murdo. Murdo was up to the task. So that allowed Chess to make room for Clara. He was freed up from the fiddle, and did back-up vocal for her. Murdo provided that. Him on guitar set Chess free to give Clara what she needed. Murdo on guitar meant Clara could sing.

It made ye laugh but it was true. That was how it worked. Declan Pike saw that. That was the compliment he gave Murdo at the Gathering, You got her singing son: that was what Declan said.

Bands can do that. The exact same with Queen Monzee-ay. The exact same. She could rely on Murdo. She knew she could, she bloody knew. That was how come she wanted him, right from the start, from the second tune he played on the porch back in Allentown! That was the whole damn thing, she could relax and just like play, just go and go wherever, wherever. Jees, sometimes…it made ye angry. It made Murdo angry. It made Murdo so so angry.

What? What did?

Something, just bloody something. He walked on fast. Where to? Just someplace he just bloody was angry. He needed something to eat. As if he could ever let her down! Ha ha fucking ha, fucking ha, ha ha. Queen Monzee-ay for God sake, never ever, never ever. He felt like crying jeesoh, jeesoh man, he walked fast, lugging the accordeon-case.

*

Early afternoon he found the road out to where the Jay Cee Lounge was located. It seemed a long way away. He wondered whether to walk it there just to see the place and make sure of finding it later. He didnt have to be there until nine o’clock tonight; eight o’clock to be on the safe side.

He returned to the main festival area. Already there were crowds of people. Maybe because it was Saturday. Exciting. And music music all the way, begun from the Cajun beat but Zydeco in there too and the French connection in both. It was interesting. And made sense too with Queen Monzee-ay and Aunt Edna each speaking French. He headed for the lunchtime venue.

The poster read “Lancey’s Cajun All-Stars” but her name was missing. He stood outside listening for several minutes. He didnt want to pay money to go in if she wasnt playing.

Then he discovered the sign saying “entrée gratuite/free admission”.

Inside people wandered around; an all-aged audience, including old people and family groups; children playing and chasing one another. Some tourists too, phones out and photographs. Mostly white people but a few black and all like ordinary together; the usual with clothes, all different outfits, cowboy hats and short trousers. Then the music itself! Jeesoh. Folk were just dancing, dancing along the sides of the space and the gap between here and the seated area which held maybe five to seven hundred people. Plenty seats taken but plenty available.

Murdo threaded his way through behind the rear of the seated area and found a spot to stand with a clear view of the band: Queen Monzee-ay on her cream-coloured accordeon, just a member of the band and nothing special; seated to the side of Lancey himself, on fiddle and lead vocal. Then a bass guitar and drums; electric guitar, acoustic guitar and triangle. No Sarah.

Lancey also had an accordeon next to his chair. He sang directly to Queen Monzee-ay and she sang in reply to him. Both sang in French and called to each other in high-pitched voices. It was rocking along and fun all the way. Some in the audience laughed at quips the musicians made, so they knew French. Others were foreign, were maybe Chinese and Japanese and from countries in Europe or wherever.

The audience laughed at something Lancey was saying, then loud applause; whistling and cheering. It was for Queen Monzee-ay. She gave a wave to the audience. They were all appreciating her. They all seemed to know who she was. Everybody. All clapping her, including the band, who were all quite old themselves. Murdo hadnt noticed until now. Maybe they were genuine all-stars.

Queen Monzee-ay was leaning to chat a moment with the bass guitarist and drummer while Lancey was pointing to folk in the audience he knew and some were known musicians too. He spoke in French and repeated some of it in English.

It was brilliant. This is what Murdo felt, so strongly. He was just lucky. So so lucky. If only this! It was another world. An amazing-mazing thing. Lancey introduced the next song, tradeesheeonalll. People got up to dance to the front and down the sides. A few stood having a smoke and chatting, moved aside to allow the dancers space.

With the dancing going other spare seats became available, including at the very back row and Murdo found one fast. He placed the accordeon-case by his feet and removed the rucksack altogether. He sat a moment then breathed out slowly, at last, just being able to breathe. Not worrying about stuff. Hearing the music, watching the band.

All the different styles too, and seeing the dancers; everything, just relaxed, here he was and everything was okay.

That was a thing here how folk were relaxed, just like chatting, whatever. Even with the band playing. Back home there were guys Murdo played with got irritated by people talking. But what is wrong in people talking? They are having fun, and being friendly. What is wrong with being friendly!

Aunt Edna! Jees! Aunt Edna! She was on the edge of the third front row, way down from Murdo but on the same side, next to a guy in a cowboy hat which was black and studded.

Aunt Edna had that upright way about her. Even sitting down. Her and the cowboy guy were making comments, their heads turning to each other, cheery comments and laughing. Sarah was farther along from her, sitting next to a guy. Joel was there too, but Murdo didnt recognize the guy sitting beside Sarah.

He was sitting beside her. He was with her. Seeing how close they were sitting, he definitely was. Murdo raised himself up from the seat to get a clearer view. The guy was close in to her. Even like their shoulders touching; they looked like they were. Squeezed in. Although other people were too. It was funny but. Not funny, it just meant — whatever. What did it mean? It meant like they were sitting close together and it was as close, closer, than her and Joel. Joel was on the other side and there was a big space between them, and he was her brother. So ha ha. Whatever that was. It meant something; whatever it meant, that is what it meant.

While the next song was being introduced, Aunt Edna and the guy in the black studded cowboy hat got up and strolled to the smoking area. Aunt Edna was a smoker but the guy wasnt, he was just keeping her company.

Aunt Edna turned to gaze in Murdo’s direction but would never see him unless he waved. He didnt wave. He didnt, otherwise

He didnt feel like talking.

Ye think things and they are stupid.

Sarah was saying something to the guy, half turned to him, and their faces like close, how could faces be so close? Obviously they couldnt. If yer face was as close as that ye would have been touching, touching faces: touching faces is kissing. What else is kissing?

Murdo sat back on the seat.

Things that are daft. This is life. Ye think things. Just stupid. Girls are girls and guys are just like, just the usual.

How could he go home? He didnt have enough money. The bus cost too much. He would have to hitch. He would hitch. The road out of Lafayette was okay for hitching, it wasnt like a real interstate where ye couldnt stand. Hitch it to Baton Rouge and then up the way to Jackson and over to Birmingham, although Birmingham, ye wanted to pass it by because of that damn church and what happened to the girls, where they were killed; that bloody bomb, that was like America, that was America, that was ha ha ha, killing and bombing and battering and just bloody horrible and he wanted away, away away away, he wanted away.

Murdo crouched forwards, arms folded and resting on his knees, just how he was feeling was the stupidity, just like stupidity. Murdo and stupidity. Dad would say it. Life. Murdo’s life. Stupidity. Talk about stupidity, that was him, he was just daft. Daft. Some guys got lassies but he didnay; beautiful lassies, he didnay get any. He didnay. He had a girlfriend before and she went with another guy. Imagine that. Just like

That is what happened. That guy had sex with her and Murdo didnt. That was the truth and he knew it for a fact. She had sex with him but not with Murdo. How come? Ye just like — ye have to think, ye have to think…ye have to, ye just like worry worry, ye worry about it, if ye’ve done something wrong, something like whatever; if it is your fault, ye wonder, or maybe like if ye are gay, so it is like maybe I’m gay and that is what it is, like if the lassie doesnay fancy ye, how come? if ye are gay, maybe ye are. The guy in the toilet. Then him in Allentown offering a lift, jeesoh, how come? How come these guys

like if it was a real lift, how come Murdo didnt take it? Ye wonder about that. How come he didnay take the lift? If ye want to hitch it then somebody offers and ye dont take it. How come?

Just something. Something. Probably nothing; probably he was a good guy and just helpful. He knew Sarah’s father. It would just be stupid, just Murdo like how — whatever, he was daft, he did daft things, said the wrong things. Grow up, why didnt he?

Ye got sick of it, sick of yerself. Everything was mixed up. The guy was trying to be helpful and ye said no. He was black. So if he was white? Was that something? People were white, or else black. Sarah was black and American. Murdo was white and Scottish. White and Scottish. He twisted on his seat, pulling on the rucksack, set to leave. He breathed in and it made a snorting sound. He closed his eyes and sat there, and settled the breathing, forcing it measured, measured; one two three; one, one; one two three, one two three. He breathed in.

He gripped the handle of the accordeon-case but didnt get up off the seat, he just breathed in; breathing in, breathing out, breathing in, breathing out, because he didnt want to get up off the seat but just stay there and nothing. None of it was like anything; nothing at all; everything was something else. He let go the handle of the accordeon-case and slunk even further down, still on the edge of the seat. He shouldnt have put the rucksack on but he had and he couldnt take it back off without getting up off the seat and he didnt want to in case anybody saw him. He wasnt going to the gig tonight, he was not going. Never.

What is life? “Life”? When Mum died her face changed. Her actual face and like the shape of it, the cheekbones maybe. It wasnt Mum’s face. Was that pain? Maybe it was. Twisted up with pain. Heavy heavy morphine drugs. They gave her morphine. Somebody said that. Who told them? Why not Murdo? If you are the son how come they dont tell you? Oh Mum is dying, maybe ye can find out for yerself. Oh well. Life is life. Sarah and she’s got a boyfriend. What did Queen Monzee-ay think? There was Murdo and there was whoever. People see ye. Ye get these thoughts about people too, that they know what you are thinking. They say it to ye: Oh I know what you’re thinking. But do they? They cant see into yer brain. So if a guy looks at ye and he is gay then is that you? Maybe it is, so if ye are, so what? Dad is like Oh ye have to do this and ye have to do that. It was just daft bloody nonsense, so if ye were gay, however life is, so what, it is all just plus 1, everybody and nothing. It was all just stupid. Ye look in the mirror and see other people. Because they are seeing you. Ye see yer own face but these other folk too, how come they are all there? They say something so you have to go along with it. You make a decision but it is their life too.

If it had been night-time he could have got up and walked out and nobody would know. Here the sky was blue, the sun was shining, Saturday afternoon and the broadest daylight ever ye could get. On stage Lancey introduced another one and on they went, him on fiddle, another waltz

oh but sad sad sad bloody sad, that voice this morning, the French guy doing the French song, how did he get that sadness it made ye bloody cry just so so sad. Stupid stupid stuff, that was music and just fuck, how they got that sadness. How do they do it? Musicians just get it. Some get it, Queen Monzee-ay in her playing, sitting there, the all-stars, she was just staring; where she was staring, ye would never ever know. Never. Never never. She was sitting there staring off, and that sad waltz rhythm. What was she staring at? Nothing, only her eyes were open. She was the centre. Ye knew it. Ye had to watch her. Murdo had never seen anybody, never seen anybody, whatever she was she was just, she was just like what, the minute-most minute

Murdo was onto his feet now gripping the accordeon-case handle, not looking to the front but squeezing his way sideways out. He could not stay because people would see him. Out from the row of chairs Aunt Edna was standing with the guy in the black studded hat. They were to the side of the space away from the seated area and people milled around next to her. She had glanced in Murdo’s direction but wouldnt have seen him if he didnt do anything. He waved to her. Aunt Edna, he had to. She saw him coming and laughed a real laugh, introduced him to the older man in the black studded cowboy hat; a musician. Diego Narciso. Murdo had never heard of him.

Aunt Edna spoke in Spanish to the man, and Queen Monzee-ay’s name was mentioned, then added to Murdo: I told Diego you aint ever heard of him Murdo, he says you got no education!

Diego extended his hand to Murdo and they shook hands, and clapped Murdo on the shoulder. Hey Murdo: you play with Queen Monzee-ay?

Murdo grinned.

Good. Diego nodded, turned to one of four young guys who were standing not far away, and spoke with him in Spanish. The four listened to Diego, seeing Murdo and the accordeon-case.

Aunt Edna put her arm round him drawing him to her, and whispered: He is telling them about you. These young ones are his band, they play tonight Murdo. Diego is very famous here: one of the finest players — from Texas but you know like Mexico? Aunt Edna kissed Murdo on the cheek. People will be very pleased to see you here. Aunt Edna pointed over to where Sarah was sitting. You see Sarah and Joel there? Gene too. You know Gene? sitting with Sarah, a fine guitarist Murdo, he plays with you tonight.

Aunt Edna broke off to join the applause for the end of a song, then dropped her cigarette to the ground, and tried to crush it beneath the heel of her boot, but it kept burning. Murdo stepped on it. The band leader Lancey was telling the audience in a mixture of French and English that Queen Monzee-ay would now play one of her own songs. Lancey bowed to her. This song also from our tradition, Zydeco tradition. Zydeco, Haricot, Queen Monzee-ay! La maestra, magnifica, Queen of Zydeco music!

There was applause. Aunt Edna shook her head. Oh he dont know, she said, he dont know.

Diego touched her hand. Miss Kwankwan, he said.

Aunt Edna shook her head again. She saw Murdo looking and smiled, but only a moment, and he didnt know what it was, if he had missed something. Queen Monzee-ay had remained seated and she replied to Lancey’s introduction with good humour: Merci Lancey, full of beans as usual! Full of shit as usual!

The audience laughed.

Okay, she said, I sing one of my own songs here, and ask Sarah — Sarah! Queen Monzee-ay beckoned Sarah forwards: My beautiful granddaughter!

Murdo shuffled sideways at the mention of her name, keeping out of view behind people.

Come play alongside your beautiful grandmother! called Queen Monzee-ay.

Sarah stood up. Gave the guy beside her one of these jokey type of looks between couples, and a wee punch on his arm. She walked along and up onto the stage, donned her rubboard. During the applause from the audience Queen Monzee-ay squinting in Murdo’s direction, but it wasnt Murdo it was Diego, she had recognized Diego, and she laughed: Señor Narciso!

She pointed him out to the audience: Mesdames et m’sieurs, un bad hombre in from San Antonio! Diego Narciso: the one and only!

People were surprised and pleased, including Lancey and the band members who shifted and strained forward to see him. Diego took off the cowboy hat and did a sweeping bow with it.

Diego is playing someplace. I dont know! Queen Monzee-ay called to him: Diego! Appearing today! Where and when?

Diego dismissed the question. Queen Monzee-ay smiled. Sometime today!

But the four young guys from his band moved fast; one went to the edge of the platform where he raised a pile of flyers in one hand. He shouted: Esta noche! Las siete y media! Tonight is seven o’clock! Place is Scene Kiosque à Musique!

The other three had bundles of flyers and began passing them out to the audience. Diego shook his head but was smiling. He exchanged words with Aunt Edna.

Then Queen Monzee-ay led Lancey’s band on one of her good fast songs and members of the audience were up onto the floor dancing. She played it on the porch back in Allentown and it was good seeing how she was doing it here. Murdo would have stayed beyond the opening minute except he had to leave before the song, and when it ended, and Sarah came down from the stage.

Aunt Edna was engrossed in the performance and he could have escaped except he couldnt, not without saying; he couldnt do that. Aunt Edna, he said, I’ve got to go now.

To go Murdo?

Eh it’s eh, my father. He’s coming like eh so I’m going to have to go and meet him. Murdo smiled and turned to leave.

Aunt Edna hesitated. They’ll be disappointed you’ve gone.

Yeah but I’ll be there tonight. I just have to go just now. But I’ll eh — it’s just like my father eh…

Things okay with you Murdo?

Yeah.

Aunt Edna gestured at the front row. Joel’s sitting there. And Gene — you know Gene?

Yeah but I just need to go.

How is your father son, how’s he doing?

He’s fine. He’s fine. If ye just tell eh Queen Monzee-ay like I mean I will be there.

Okay Murdo.

Thanks, said Murdo and turned to leave. Two guys from Diego’s band were watching him; they made to speak. One was the guy who had shouted the information earlier. He put his hand out, gesturing at the accordeon-case. Hey! You play with Queen Monzee-ay? Tonight like the Jay Cee, you play with her?

Yeah. Murdo nodded and stepped on. The guy put his hand forwards quickly, pointing at himself. Esteban, he said, then pointing at the other guy: Santiago.

Murdo waited. Santiago grinned, reached to shake hands. Esteban indicated the other two members of the band who were handing out flyers to some of the audience. We four, we are with Diego. Esteban shrugged. We play with him, concert.

Santiago jabbed his finger at Murdo’s chest. Queen Monzee-ay? You play?

Yeah.

Your name?

Murdo.

Murrdo! Santiago nodded. Murrdo! Comp ticket! Santiago handed him a ticket. Is tonight. You come maybe?

Yeah.

Is comp ticket.

Thanks.

Seven o’clock, said Esteban. You are late, we are early. You come.

Yeah, thanks. Murdo shoved the comp ticket and a flyer into his jeans pocket and walked off fast, through the dancers and fringe audience, heading for the rear exit.

*

In the wee grass square the benches remained occupied. He had been waiting for one to become free. He checked for dog shit then sat on the grass, his back to a bush. Later he was awake, his head bent forwards. When he moved it it made a weird crunching noise in his ears. His neck was sore. He rubbed it with his right hand. The accordeon-case and rucksack were secured to his left wrist with his belt. His bum was numb. He must have been sleeping. Probably he had been. He looked for his bottle of water, swallowed a mouthful. He slackened off the belt and inserted it back through the loops on his jeans. How long had he been here? An hour and a half maybe. Late afternoon and warm.

No wonder he was tired. His last sleep was Thursday into Friday and tonight was Saturday into Sunday. The gig was set for 9 p.m. but probably didnt start until half past. So by the time he got to bed. Wherever that was. Back here. Unless the friends of Sarah’s family were still offering.

He was hungry. The same foodstall was there and that was a place. An actual café would have been better, so he could wash his hands and face. They had these festival-type WC cubicles but they didnt have washing facilities. The toilet he had to use was too gross even to talk about like diarrhoea, totally disgusting, the pong was just like the worst imaginable. Whoever used it last must have been ill.

The idea of a shower. This was Saturday and he had been wearing the same stuff since Thursday. People going between venues would see him as a tramp. Maybe he was. Murdo lifted the rucksack and pulled it on, lifted the accordeon-case, and started walking. Where to? Ha ha.

Unless if he went to Diego Narciso’s gig. He checked out the flyer again. It was like a major concert! Murdo had never even heard of him. The trouble was it started at seven, so then it was like getting to the Jay Cee Lounge in time for the nine o’clock kick-off, although nine o’clock might mean nine thirty. The guys in Diego’s band said it would be okay for time but would it? Maybe it wouldnt, and he couldnt be late. Because he definitely was doing the gig with Queen Monzee-ay. He thought he wasnt but now he was. For definite. It didnt matter about Sarah. She was nice and that was that. He was foreign and she was nice to him. So then it was like Oh she must love me. Stupid shit and his own stupid fault because he was so damn stupid, damn bloody daft, that was all.

Only how come she touched him? That was the one thing. She did touch him. So if ye touch somebody. Girls touch a guy and it is like nothing to her but for the guy it is like the guy is getting touched. So ye shiver! Ye just shiver. Sarah touched him and he shivered. How come? Like if a lassie has a boyfriend, well, touch him but dont touch somebody else if ye have a boyfriend already.

It didnt matter anyway.

Turn a corner and bumping into Dad: imagine. Where have you been? Walking about. Sleeping on the grass. What!?! Yeah well how long does money last like I mean Lafayette to Huntsville, plus accordeon? Could ye even buy a return it was so damn expensive? Maybe ye couldnt.

Dad would find him. Nose in the air, sniff sniff: he went thataway. Good that Declan Pike was there. Dad got stressed with people but Declan was different, Declan knew about stuff. The Jay Cee Lounge for Zydeco and Blues. Probably he knew it already. Probably he had been there. Your boy is doing a gig with Queen Monzee-ay so he will be there, he will be there. It’s an honour. Declan would tell him. Declan would know.

The foodstall was ahead: same place same guy. He approached the counter, settling the accordeon-case on the ground. The guy waited for the order. Murdo smiled. Could I have the fish again eh the catfish?

Catfish, you want catfish?

Please, yeah.

The guy went into one of the food compartments, got a catfish fillet and tossed it onto the hotplate. You want hot sauce?

Yeah. And what goes with it, is that rice?

Rice, sure. The guy spooned hot sauce onto the fish and began the frying.

Murdo studied the different side foods. I think it was salad you gave me the last time.

Salad, si.

Are ye busy? asked Murdo.

The guy grunted something and turned from him to see the listed meals and meal deals.

Murdo thought to say something again but the guy waved him aside. Another customer was there, a big man wearing short trousers. The foodstall guy took his order. Obviously he didnt remember Murdo. But the festival was busy and thousands of people were here. A bottle of coke and a packet of doritos. That was the customer’s order, and he dropped coins into the tips jar.

The foodstall guy watched the man open the packet of doritos with his teeth while heading along to the main festival area. He yawned and shifted a step, looked at the catfish, flipped it over. He folded his arms and stared way over Murdo’s head.

Murdo turned to see the grass square and the people going about. After several moments he said to the guy: I’m playing tonight eh…doing a gig.

The foodstall guy glanced at Murdo who gestured at the accordeon-case. The guy turned to rearrange something on the shelves behind him, wiped his hands on a dishtowel.

We dont go on until after nine o’clock, said Murdo.

Mm. The guy used the dishtowel to wipe along the counter top then ripped the cellophane surround from a pile of paper plates. He extracted one and set it on the counter. What drink you want?

You’ve not got any orange juice?

No orange juice.

You have water?

Si water. The guy lifted the catfish up off the hotplate, and slid it aboard the plate. He picked a bottle of water from out the glass-fronted cupboard: You want salad?

Please, yeah. Murdo had taken the flyer for Diego’s gig from his pocket and read the details. I’m going to a gig, he said, this other gig. It starts at seven. Scene Kiosque à Musique.

The guy was pronging out the lettuce and tomato. While he did that Murdo read aloud from the flyer. The guy jerked his head to the left, spooning a dollop of rice to the plate. Diego Narciso, added Murdo, he plays kind of

Huh?

The gig eh, Scene Kiosque à Musique.

Diego Narciso? said the guy.

Yeah.

Is Diego Narciso? You are going al concierto Diego?

Yeah.

Whohh! The guy laid down the paper plate and patted himself on the chest. Diego! I listen to him, I play his music. Here…! He reached for his phone. See Diego, his music!

You like him?

Si I like him, si: Diego! The foodstall guy laughed.

I’ve got a ticket.

Good! Lucky.

I actually met him. This afternoon.

The guy squinted, listening. Murdo passed him a $10 note. The guy took it and held it a moment. I met him this afternoon, said Murdo. I mean I was like introduced to him. That’s how I got the ticket… Murdo brought out the comp ticket and looked at it, then showed it to the guy.

The guy studied it and replied, Is backstage.

Yeah.

The guy nodded and half turned from Murdo to collect the change from the till. He laid the money on the counter in front of Murdo. He smiled, lifted the dishtowel and flicked at the hotplate.

Murdo let the money lie. The truth is, he said, I cant actually go. I dont have enough time. Because like my own gig, where I’m playing, I’ve got to be there for something like eight o’clock. Diego’s gig is seven o’clock.

The foodstall guy was listening but not maybe understanding.

Murdo said, I mean you could go. He reached over the counter, gesturing with the comp ticket. You take it.

The guy smiled, shaking his head.

Honest. You take it. It’s a comp. No money. Just take it.

No.

No?

The guy shook his head. No. Gracias.

Murdo said, I know you are working just now but could you not get somebody to maybe let ye away or whatever?

The guy didnt answer. He moved back from the counter and involved himself somewhere beneath it. Murdo waited but that was that. He lifted his change from the counter and put a dollar bill into the tips jar, stuck the bottle of water in his pocket and lifted the plate of food.

He walked along past the bench from last night. There was space at one end but he didnt want to sit there. He kept going to the next and sat down there.

Back at the foodstall the guy stepped outside for a smoke, had lit his cigarette and just stood there gazing into space. He had the phone in one hand but wasnt looking at it.

But it wasnt Murdo’s fault, whatever it was. Having to work there instead of playing music. Being married with his wife and kids, having to work at that job. Night-shifts and long hours; her days, him nights. Whose fault was that? Who was the guy blaming, Murdo? How come? If ye want to play music and ye dont. Who do ye blame? If ye blame somebody, who is it? Cooking grub for folk. Murdo would have hated that. Then if it was you hungry and you had to cook for them. Who wants to do that! Just like a servant. So a guy comes up to ye and asks for a hamburger. But it’s you wants the hamburger. And you’ve got to cook it for him. Ye would be angry. Aw here ye are and ye would just bloody throw it at him, there’s yer fucking hamburger, catch. No wonder ye got angry, anybody would. Ye would be in a daze all day dreaming and just like fantasizing; one day this and that. But then it is day after day after day here’s a hamburger, no hamburger, catfish. That guy loved Diego. Murdo didnt know who he was. It wasnt his fault. That was life. Murdo should have left the ticket on the counter and went away. Then the foodstall guy, whatever he done with it was up to him. Dump it or keep it, go ahead, instead of blaming Murdo. A guy gave him the ticket. Whose fault was that? A guy from Diego’s band. It wasnt Murdo’s fault. Only offering him the ticket. Maybe he shouldnt have. How come? It made the person feel low.

But a present? The ticket was a present. He gave the guy a present. A present is a present. What is wrong with a present? Why didnt he just take the ticket then he could have ripped it up afterwards, or sold it. He could have sold the thing! Who cares. It was like being too proud. Oh I’m not taking a present off you, who do ye think ye are. Oh ye play accordeon, well ha ha, so do I. That was like school, just daft nonsense.

*

The end of the road widened out near a railway line and Murdo saw the Jay Cee Lounge way across the other side, no longer a road, just a free-standing building on an open stretch, with a large parking place to the front. Quite a few vehicles were parked. A big man was by the door; African-American and dressed like a cowboy; the hat and waistcoat, jeans and boots. Murdo paused to switch hands on the accordeon-case. There was nowhere else he could be headed except to the club entrance. The man watched him until he arrived then held up his hand to stop him: Where you going?

Murdo would have had to push past him to enter. To one side of the doorway was a large glossy poster advertising The Zadik Strollers and Special Guest Queen Monzee-ay: $15 cover. To the other side of the doorway was a cardboard notice: RU25? The doorman pointed at the RU25? notice, crooked his right forefinger: ID. ID!

Murdo looked up again at the notice and at the poster.

You are way too young, said the doorman. I need some ID.

I’ve not got any.

Not got any?

I’m not American.

The doorman stared at Murdo and at the accordeon-case. I got to see some ID. You are way too young.

Do ye mean like a passport? If it’s my passport like I mean I left it at home. Murdo pointed to the poster. I’m playing with Queen Monzee-ay.

Other people were coming forward and the doorman waved them on into the club. They glanced at Murdo. Murdo repeated it, quietly: I’m playing with Queen Monzee-ay.

What do you say? Playing with Queen Monzee-ay? The doorman pointed to the name on the poster. You playing with her?

Yeah.

The doorman nodded, he sniffed and said: Okay. Now I will know if you aint. Understand what I’m saying. I will know and I will come looking.

I am playing with her.

I hear you boy I hear you. The doorman pointed his right forefinger at Murdo’s nose. You go in there and you stay put. You dont do nothing. You hear me? No beer no nothing. You dont leave that stage area. Old man tending bar see you doing something man he will shoot you. Old Vinnie man you know who he is! He gotta shotgun man he will shoot you.

The doorman stared at Murdo until eventually Murdo nodded. The doorman said, Okay. He shaped his hand like a pistol, directing Murdo into an L-shaped lobby. Taped music played; a rhythm and blues thing that was so measured and so just moving ahead; piano, sax and drums, one voice: baby dont turn me down, baby let me hold your hand, dont turn me down. A few people were here; a cloakroom and attendant. Murdo passed along, lugging the accordeon-case, rucksack over his shoulders.

Two women were by a small table taking tickets and issuing tickets. A $15 cover. They looked at Murdo and he made to pay across a $20 note and get the $5 change, thinking just like save hassle, save hassle. One of the women smiled, jerked her thumb sideways. Thanks, he said, putting the money back into his pocket. He heard them laugh, probably about him. A white boy, or just because he was young, whatever, playing with Queen Monzee-ay, who cares. It didnt matter. Through the doorway now into the main hall, by the side of a long bar. And it was hard not walking to the beat, in the singer’s own rhythm, feeling like a clown, please dont turn me down baby,

please let me hold your hand,

baby let me hold your hand

and if I hold your hand

The platform stage was set up; instruments in place, and ready for use. Mainly black people but not only. The place was half full already and they werent due to begin for another hour. Nobody paid Murdo any attention, except for the bartender who was quite old-looking and wearing a hat, not a cowboy one but like a gangster or a businessman. Murdo realized he was watching him, beneath the rim of the hat hiding his eyes while opening bottles of beer for a customer.

Then he moved his head and it was for Murdo, nodding him along and to the side there. Murdo saw a door, leading backstage. By the other side of the stage, way to the opposite end of the space from the bar, were tables along the wall. Two were side by side. Aunt Edna and Joel were there with Sarah’s parents. No sign of Sarah or Queen Monzee-ay. He was glad not to see Sarah.

He headed to where the bartender indicated, through the door into a corridor. Along here the music faded. Murdo stood in half light, a blue light. He didnt want any more. It would have been on him and he wanted shadows. Sometimes ye felt like hiding. Although he knew why he was here. Coming all this way. Maybe he was daft. So what? Maybe he did mistake the situation. Who fucking cares, if everything was stupid and everything was crap and so damn bloody horrible, who cares, people looking and everybody knowing. Stupid shit. He heard music and it was good. Faint music but good, just fading how it fades; breath going from the body, breath entering the body. Murdo heard and it was a waltz. Probably in his own head. When he was playing his mind stayed out of it; same with listening, ye hear it but ye dont; it enters through the skin, yer actual skin, the pores in yer skin.

Imagine silence. Everybody shuts up at the exact same moment. Suddenly nothing.

Murdo opened his eyes. He saw faded posters and old-style photographs lining either wall; signed photographs. Great musicians down through the years. He wandered along seeing the faces and reading the names: Boozoo Chavis, Clifton Chenier, Little Walter, Queen Monzee-ay, Beau Jocque, Professor Longhair, Queen Ida, Lightnin’ Slim. Then he put the accordeon-case down for a wee minute, looked back to the door into the main area. He saw the light there and didnt want ever to go back. Oh jees never and he was just wanting to cry, that is what he wanted. Right here. It was this right here. Even the smell. Old and fusty, damp. The atmosphere was just like thick. That is what it was: thick; the most most wonderful ever imaginable. Ye could never ever imagine it. That was the shiver. Nothing like anything except itself. Oh jees, he was just looking forwards to playing, he was just wanting to play, just like so so wanting to play, taking yer hand. What else? Nothing, only holding me, please please let me.

How come he was here? To bloody play. It was his life. Sarah was Sarah and that was her — Gene, who cares about Gene. People have their own life. This was Murdo’s. Nobody else’s. Not Dad’s. Not nobody. Whatever he did was him. Ye just go ahead, this is what ye did and ye just bloody lived. That was that, like Mum, that was Mum, ye just wanted to cry and he always did and that was that he bloody cried, standing there in the corridor so had to wait there, wherever Sarah was, if she came out a room and saw him.

He was controlling it. He managed this by not doing anything until the water stopped flowing. It stopped flowing because he didnt do anything. He didnt try to stop it. He didnt try anything. That was the best way. And he didnt wipe his eyes because that just smeared and left streaks, yer eyes went red and people noticed. Who cares anyway. That is people, whatever they do, that is up to them. Ye cannot hide, who can hide, nobody.

He lifted the accordeon-case. Ahead was the emergency exit door and it was ajar, enough to peer through. The smell of tobacco, cigarette smoke. Queen Monzee-ay was outside on a wooden dining chair. He pushed open the door.

It was a small patio, more like a wooden platform; big enough for about four chairs. Queen Monzee-ay sat drinking tea, gazing over a wide empty area that looked like it had been a place for factories or warehouses but now was cleared of everything except the concrete foundations: she was gazing to the evening sky; a redness there that was quite amazing. Where did that lead? Away west, wherever that was, the Pacific Ocean. But what ye knew about was tomorrow, that it would be a beautiful day, the very best; the sky was telling ye.

She seemed not to know he was there, until then she spoke, barely so much as moving her lips: Hey Mister Murdo you going to play with me?

Murdo grinned. He kept grinning.

You going to play with me?

That would be great.

What you been doing all day?

Walking about.

You didnt stop and say hullo this afternoon now why was that? Edna said you were there and Sarah went looking. You disappeared.

Queen Monzee-ay shifted on her chair, she studied him. Murdo lowered his gaze, switched hands on the accordeon-case handle. She massaged the side of her back a moment then lifted her bag from the floor, pointed to the emergency exit door. Get a chair from in there, she said.

Murdo did as she bade. When he returned and was seated she gestured at the accordeon-case. Let me see that thing.

Murdo brought out the accordeon. Queen Monzee-ay looked at it. I dont like its face, she said. It play okay?

Not bad.

I got you the turquoise.

Did ye! Aw! Thanks! Thanks! Really I mean thanks, thanks.

Queen Monzee-ay chuckled. You like that one huh?

Yeah I do, yeah. Yeah, I do.

Yeah, that old turquoise got a history… Hey now you make Diego’s show?

No.

Okay. Queen Monzee-ay nodded. They were wanting you there, Diego’s boys, wanting you to hear what they do. I would have gone myself but these venues got no place proper to sit Murdo and I got this back.

She rubbed at her back and at her sides again. And a weird thing happened: Queen Monzee-ay was looking away to the front someplace but at the same time was talking to him or seemed to be. Except he couldnt hear anything, if she was speaking it was so quietly, hardly at all, like saving her breath.

Also the light, her facing to the sunset and him seated behind her, not able to see her face properly. This wee patio was a special place. A place so quiet ye could go to sleep, sitting right here. And if ye were weary, really really weary, and Murdo was weary, just so so weary, if he even had a mind, if he had one

The chair screeched on the wood. His chair, on the wooden floor.

Diego would have been good for you to hear, said Queen Monzee-ay. Got his own style of playing but he goes rocking along.

Mm.

Life in us old-timers huh? Come over here, she said. Murdo dragged his chair closer. Queen Monzee-ay reached to touch his left wrist and she stroked it. Sarah said you would come. And Miss Edna said it too. Oh he’ll be here, that is what she said.

Queen Monzee-ay held onto Murdo’s left hand and he couldnt have taken it away, and she kept looking at him until he raised his head to meet her eyes properly. He smiled. You laughing? she asked. What you laughing at Murdo?

Murdo chuckled.

Boy you laughing at me! You are too young to be laughing at me! Queen Monzee-ay made a fierce face at him. You know who my people are!

No.

You dont know who my people are!

Queen Monzee-ay kept a hold of his hand and he could not withdraw it; he would have preferred to. He didnt like being held by people. Although it was her and she was different. What you got to say for yourself? she asked, and Murdo could not raise his head. He studied the floor, the spars of wood, chipped and one edge rotted away. Queen Monzee-ay continued: You got to talk son. Women like a man to talk. Not all the time but some of the time. You got to talk some of the time Murdo.

Sorry.

What you mean sorry? Dont you be sorry.

Murdo put his right hand to his eyes, shielding them.

Hey now, ssh, let me say about Sarah, you met her mom who is Carrie. Carrie is my own daughter but she aint like me. You think I’m tough! I aint tough, not one little bit. Carrie is tough. But now Sarah, Sarah is sweet and she is my girl, she tells me everything.

Murdo took his hand from his brow. Queen Monzee-ay was peering at him. I know about your sister. I know about your Mother. I know how hard it’s been; I know it son. My Sarah tells me. Sarah is my girl; my most close friend — next to Edna.

Murdo smiled.

You laughing again! Miss Edna make you laugh! Hey now people quake with Edna! I’m talking men, rough tough men! She is Miss Kwankwan, you know who that is!

Murdo looked at her.

Woah, they walk in fear boy, you know what fear is! Queen Monzee-ay let go his hand, she tilted her head and squinted at him: What name do you call me?

Eh.

Queen Monzee-ay waited a moment. Murdo was frowning, thinking about this, until she said, Yeah Murdo, you got it now: you dont call me nothing.

No but

You dont.

Well because it’s hard to say like I mean Queen and ye’re not my grandmother.

No now I aint your grandmother! Queen Monzee-ay glared. You call me Miss Monzee-ay.

Murdo smiled.

Say it.

Miss Monzee-ay.

Monzee-ay, she said. No secret there son it’s my own family name. Aint Cajun. Dont go mixing that up; Edna wont speak to you ever, not ever. We got our French they got theirs, we were here first son. We didnt come from no Canada. You know about that?

Murdo was looking at her. Queen Monzee-ay reached to the other side of her chair, lifted a cigarette pack and extracted one, flicked the lighter to light it, and inhaled.

Murdo said, I’m not sure what ye mean.

No, they aint big on history here. Queen Monzee-ay exhaled smoke. You got to make your own space in this country Murdo. People dont give you that. You got to take it. You’re American. White is American.

Murdo looked at her. Queen Monzee-ay raised her hand. White smooths the way, she said. Makes it easier for you. Black dont make nothing easy. We make a space we take a space. Queen Monzee-ay studied him, and smiled. It aint against you son. How long you in this country?

Two weeks.

Two weeks. My Lord, two weeks. You got it already. You walked in that door and here you are. That is the most amazing thing ever could happen. You come in our home. Our family. Queen Monzee-ay smiled, shaking her head.

Yeah but you invited me. Murdo shrugged.

Okay but you got to come. Someone invites you you got to come. You got invited and you came. That is what you did. You came. People dont do that. Folks want to give them something and they wont take it. They dont take nothing, only they will grab it. When you aint looking, they will push you out the road; they will stab you and they will beat you. Queen Monzee-ay paused in talking. She said, What you got to give they dont want. They take what they want. You know what I’m talking about?

Yes.

Queen Monzee-ay nodded. Now we got a little time left son and I will see you soon.

Thanks.

You do one tonight? Huh Murdo, want to do one?

Do one, yeah!

Okay.

Murdo grinned.

Go talk to Sarah and Gene about where you play now I dont want to be falling over your feet.

Well ye wont.

No. Queen Monzee-ay chuckled.

I only mean like I wont get in yer way.

I know you wont. I know that. She pointed round the side of the building. Go round there, she said, then pointed to the rucksack and the accordeon-case: Leave them in the truck. Joel’ll bring you the turquoise.

Thanks.

Murdo walked closeby the wall of the building and this brought him out near the carpark which was busy now. A queue had formed by the club entrance. The big cowboy doorman was exchanging comments with people, having a laugh while ushering them in. Murdo saw Sarah standing near Joel’s pick-up truck. The guy was there too, leaning against the side of a car parked next to it. Sarah was talking, moving about and waving her hands in that excited way she did. But how could ye not look at her? Any guy at all. Ye would. She had a tough way about her till ye knew her then she wasnt. He would never have come except for her. It was her, that was why he came.

Queen Monzee-ay thought he could talk to her. That was just stupid. Although he had to. It didnt matter anyway. He gripped the accordeon-case. More people queuing and cars arriving. Sarah saw him and waved, and came forwards. Murdo was already walking towards her. She called to him: I knew you would come Murdo!

She put her arm round his waist and leaned into him like a cuddle. He was still holding the accordeon-case. I knew you would, she said.

Yeah, he said and smiled. I went to yer house yesterday.

We left early morning.

Yeah the afternoon it was.

You came in the afternoon? Oh but you should have called.

I didnt have yer phone number. Ye forgot to give me it!

I did? Oh my God.

It doesnt matter anyway, I dont have a phone.

Oh Murdo.

No, well, I mean…

I am so sorry!

No like I was going to Allentown anyway so…I needed an accordeon.

But we were bringing one for you!

…

We were bringing one for you Murdo.

Murdo smiled. He said, It’s just I needed to rehearse a bit so like I knew there was one in the pawnshop.

Sarah gazed at him.

You come by bus? asked Gene.

Murdo didnt look at Gene. Then he did look at him. He was just ordinary, looking back at him, expecting him just to say what it was, whatever: I came by bus, yeah. Murdo nodded.

Sarah made to touch his hand. Murdo shifted position slightly. It was the wrong Lafayette, he said.

Pardon me? said Sarah.

There’s all these different Lafayettes like on the map…? Ye didnt tell me which one. So the one I thought was in the state of Georgia. Near Chattanooga.

Oh God.

Then I found out it was the state of Louisiana. It was another Lafayette altogether. Lucky I had a map.

What about your Dad? Didnt he know?

What?

Where Lafayette was? Didnt he know?

No. No, he didnt — well I didnt ask him. I mean I did and I didnt. What I mean is like well I didnt tell him. I didnt tell him I was coming.

Sarah was puzzled.

He would just have said no.

Oh Murdo.

Murdo shrugged. My Dad is just like… I didnt tell him because there was no point.

He’ll be worried.

Yeah well maybe, but he doesnt have to be. Murdo sniffed and shook his head. He knows I’m here now anyway so it doesnt matter. He’s coming.

Oh that’s good, said Sarah.

Murdo looked at her. He lifted the accordeon-case and gestured with it. Yer Gran said to leave my stuff in the truck.

Hey… Gene took the accordeon-case from him, opened the boot of the car next to the truck. Safer in here, he said.

He settled the accordeon-case inside. Murdo passed him the rucksack. Thanks, he said.

You bet. We better get ready.

Yeah. Sarah smiled at Murdo, then touched his hand. It is so good you came.

Yeah, he said. It is, it’s great. He pointed at the venue. What a brilliant place!

Sarah laughed.

Gene said, The old Jay Cee; cant ask for more!

Sarah walked on in front. Gene hesitated, waiting for Murdo. Murdo also hesitated, so then Gene walked on, following Sarah around the side of the building, across the little platform and in through the emergency exit door. Before entering Gene turned to Murdo: You know the Zadiks?

No.

We got their drums and bass man they are tight, they are tight. Yeah.

They’re playing with us? asked Murdo.

Yeah.

Brilliant.

Yeah. Gene grinned.

*

Along the corridor Gene and Murdo waited ahead of Sarah. Behind her Queen Monzee-ay sat in the tiny room where she and Sarah dressed. Soon Joel appeared down by the entrance into the main area, and paused there with his hand on the door handle. He grinned seeing Murdo: Hey Murdo!

And he gestured at them to come forward. Gene walked on, then Murdo, with Sarah immediately behind, and out into the main area. They had to pass the bartender, the old guy with the hat who stood there with his arms folded. By now the club was more than half full and all tables taken. They stepped up onto the stage and into their positions. Joel had set out their instruments. Murdo pulled on the turquoise accordeon and tinkered with it. Gene was tuning his guitar and Sarah was leaning to talk to somebody down from the stage whoever that was, Murdo didnt see and wouldnt see, was avoiding the slightest eye contact with the audience and anybody in it. It was just something, he didnt do it. Getting into his own space. Although if Dad was there. Maybe he was. It would be good if he was. It didnt matter about stuff anyway because that was that. Although he felt like laughing, laugh laugh, hoh di hoh; he touched the keys: that particular sound the turquoise had, jees, yes, beautiful. Okay. That was that, his teeth clicked, they were clicking. Oh well, that was teeth, teeth clicked. The drummer and bass guitar from the Zadiks were onto the stage and chatting to Sarah. Probably they knew her. Of course they did. Everybody did! Queen Monzee-ay’s granddaughter. Murdo saw them looking at him, and he nodded; they smiled in reply. So whatever. The time it was now, ha ha, he looked at the ceiling. Sarah was by the edge of the stage talking to somebody, whoever, Murdo looked to the rear, the drummer getting ready, the bass talking to Gene.

Then a silence, scattered applause. Murdo glanced around. Queen Monzee-ay had appeared at the backstage doorway. The old bartender held her accordeon and waited with it. She was wearing a type of gown that made ye think of Africa. She stood in that upright way the same as Aunt Edna. When she came forwards she did it like a march, hands at her side and pausing only by the step up onto the stage. This was one of the greatest moments in Murdo’s life. The musicians as well as the audience applauded while she raised slightly the right side of her dress, and stepped up onstage. Murdo laughed suddenly but stopped. Greatest moments ever, in his entire life. He felt this as strongly as ever he could feel anything. Queen Monzee-ay circled the front of the stage, still in a march, gazing out at the audience. She paused by the centre mic, and raised her forearms. Now the bartender stepped up and handed the accordeon to her, her accordeon, the fanciest ever ye saw, just this beautiful beautiful amazing-mazing thing. Queen Monzee-ay said: Thank you Vinnie, and he returned offstage. She stepped behind the mic while pulling it on and adjusting the straps; she was staring out at the audience like ensnaring them, looking straight into their eyes because then what could they do? nothing, nobody could do a damn thing because she was in control, this was Queen Monzee-ay, and she was looking straight at them, she was the one, she was the hero. She was, just the best ever; ever.

Did she wink? Maybe she did. She gave a beckoning wave, drawing everybody in, into my parlour, and delivered the opening lines of the track “C’est Moi” — one written by my sister, Queen Ida.

And she delivered the opening lines as a statement: Come listen to my story; I come from Louisiane.

And she looked around the audience, then she said, I play my music on an old accordeon. And she stepped back, but still to the mic she sang in close:

Ooo la la.

And all of the musicians and very many members of the audience responded in a shout:

Je suis comsois

People were onto the floor immediately. Queen Monzee-ay sang on from then. Sarah on le frottoir, Murdo accordeon, Gene on that strong-sounding blues guitar. On backing vocals Sarah, Murdo and the Zadiks drummer who also called line-end responses to Queen Monzee-ay in that jokey style, in French as well as English. The Zadiks bass played with great shoulder movements, like a tough guy walking, all the time looking to Queen Monzee-ay. Him and the drummer gave a fullness but a fighting rhythm that was just like the best because here she was, this was her, here in this very space, she was the tough guy walking, she was the one, she was Queen Monzee-ay. It was like what she had said about Aunt Edna: really it was her, she was the one made the tough guys quake, she was the Lady.

Once ye got it that was that. Murdo played in to the bass, so this best-sounding rhythm section; bass, drums and accordeon, freeing up Gene firing off on lead guitar, and freeing up Sarah too so she could play in to Queen Monzee-ay which was how Queen Monzee-ay wanted it herself. Sarah’s laughing eyes.

She did not smile with the other musicians unless called for in the track. So ye were just like totally in the music all the time, ye didnt see anything else except them in their music while you were in yours and all what it was doing: making sure of the next thing along, where it came and how it came, including the bits inbetween like the “silences”, except measured. So if it is like silence how can it be measured? Ha ha, the Zadiks bass and drummer knew, so did Murdo.

Each track played had been on the CDs. No surprises. Queen Monzee-ay introduced the first of her own, “L’air frais fait du bien”, going back to when Murdo first played it on her back porch, and again that morning in the wee grass square. Yeah, she said, glancing back to the drummer: fresh air does you good. Serve it with weed soup man, c’est potage. Passez-moi le poivre!

The drummer responded: Le dîner est servi, where is the croutons!

The title was the line ending the chorus. The dancers paused in the dancing to yell: L’air frais fait du bien.

And the drummer called: Where is the croutons! It was just daft but total fun.

Two more of her own followed: on the first Murdo did something a little different and for part of it Queen Monzee-ay stepped aside to shift focus onto him. Next along was “Gens comme vous et moi”, and this was different again. She raised her hand for quiet, and introduced it by telling about where she came from, to do with an island closeby the town of Natchitoches. She spoke in English and in French. The Creole people were her people, a French-speaking people from way before the Cajuns came. She directed this to the audience and for some it was special. If it was yer own family history how come people didnt know? People who were sitting stood to hear her and among them were Aunt Edna and Carrie at the family table.

Also Diego Narciso. Diego had arrived and was standing between the wall and the family table, obscured by people milling around the dancing area. His band were there too, watching from the side of the dancing area. How long they had been there who knows.

On the CD version Queen Monzee-ay sang part English, part French. Now she sang entirely in French and it brought the weary sadness even closer.

Maybe not sad, only weary; ye were picking yerself up and carrying on. This was the song; we pick ourselves up and we carry on, you and me and people like me: “Gens comme vous et moi”.

Sarah stayed close to Queen Monzee-ay, moving step to step in total concentration. Somebody so close to you, so so close, so close you would have to be crying, just such a hero, such a fighter, ye couldnt do anything else. She was glowing! Love and pride, ha ha. She didnt cry. Murdo would have cried. Murdo was a crier. Sarah wasnt. Maybe it was men, women just whatever.

Towards the end of the song Queen Monzee-ay faded on vocal, not like she had lost her voice, but that there was no voice left in the song, and she took it through an extra verse on accordeon alone, and she finished alone, the other musicians just watching her.

The audience applauded and Queen Monzee-ay bowed a little. This was the fifth song in. Queen Monzee-ay twirled a step and grinned. Hey! she was pointing offstage: Y’all know this cowboy?

People turned to see, and some recognised Diego.

Hey hombre! called Queen Monzee-ay.

He doffed the black studded cowboy hat in the same sweeping move he had used earlier in the day. The difference here was in Queen Monzee-ay. She had her hands on her hips in a swaggering stance, and she stepped from foot to foot. It looked like a dance step but it might have been an aid to her back, if she was experiencing any slight pain because her next move was to rub at the side of her hip. But she laughed, wagging her right forefinger at the floor space next to her and the mic. Hey Señor, Señor Narciso: you do one for us!

Diego was shaking his head, dismissing the idea.

Diego! I am ordering you, tout de suite, je suis pressé. Si hombre you come: now!

Laughter from the audience and band members. It was play-acting and it was funny and obvious how well they knew each other. Diego gave a tired gesture and looked to his band, then shrugged and got to his feet. Loud cheers and whistles from the audience. He lifted his accordeon from beneath the family table, and strolled forwards. His band stepped onstage without instruments. Vicenté and Esteban came to where Murdo stood. Vicenté shook hands with him and Esteban patted his shoulder. Hey Moordo, he whispered, we sing here eh.

They needed in to the mic. Murdo stepped away. Diego was in discussion with the Zadiks bass and drummer, and Queen Monzee-ay too. The bass nodded, passed his guitar to Santiago and the drummer vacated his place to Roberto. Diego moved to the centre mic, adjusting his accordeon. Murdo followed the two Zadiks musicians to the side of the stage, and caught sight of Dad way back at the bar, staring right at him. Declan Pike stood alongside drinking beer. Murdo hoped Dad was drinking one too but acted as though he hadnt seen him, like he didnt know he was there.

Onstage Diego had given a nod of the head and went straight into a song called “Margarita” which he sang entirely in Spanish, vocal backing from Vicenté and Esteban into the same mic with much whooping and on-the-spot stamping feet. Behind them Queen Monzee-ay marched across stage and back in short marching steps to the beat. She knew the song well. He was turning to play to her and calling to her in Spanish and she replied in Spanish, in French and in English. The life the fun the excitement. No time for anything else. Murdo punched the air. The Zadiks drummer glanced at him. Sorry, said Murdo. The guy was smiling. Murdo shrugged, smiled back at him.

Although things had changed with Dad being there it was like so what so what, things hadnt really changed at all. Him being there didnt have to make things awkward. It didnt have to do anything at all. Unless like if Dad wanted it to. Murdo was part of it and that was that. Santiago on bass was signaling to him, and the signal was clear in the raised eyebrows and changing facial expressions, What do you think what do you think?

And Murdo signaled a reply — a big grin and wee punching movement with his right fist — I think it is great I think it is great.

Jees and it was great. And real strong applause for Diego and the guys. They only stayed for the one. That was manners.

Queen Monzee-ay stepped to reclaim the mic. She and Diego kissed cheeks. She clapped him from the stage. Her own musicians returned. Murdo followed the Zadiks musicians back onstage where they retrieved the bass guitar and drums.

Murdo winked to Santiago and Roberto. Solid, he said.

Soleed…! Santiago grinned and slapped him on the shoulder.

Queen Monzee-ay waited by the mic until they had gone and the audience quietened while the musicians prepared: Forget the Conjunto cowboy, she said, this here is my band. And I am one lucky lady. J’ai des bons amis, très bons amis, très très bons. Queen Monzee-ay looked behind to Sarah, Gene and Murdo, then at the bass and drums. Two of these Zadiks here, wonderful musicians, all the way from Opelousas, I taught them everything they know. Yeah — showed them the fast road outa there!

The bass, the drummer and the other Zadiks jeered. Queen Monzee-ay glared at them. Okay boys okay.

She continued: Ça me fait beaucoup de plaisir. Some young friends here with me this evening, young Gene there, geetar maestro; come all the way from Vicksburg Mississippi.

Gene stepped forward to acknowledge this. She gestured at Murdo who just grinned, watching her. Mister Murdo there, she said, and paused. What you laughing at! This boy laughs at nothing! Come all the way from someplace. Where?

There was a silence

Queen Monzee-ay turned to Murdo: Where you come from boy?

The bus station! he called.

Laughter from the audience and band members. Queen Monzee-ay chuckled and blew him a kiss. Yeah, she said, Murdo is my boy. Also here with me, from Allentown Mississippi, my own sweet granddaughter Sarah, daughter of my daughter. Come forward girl!

From the family table there were extra cheers. Brought her own fan club, said Queen Monzee-ay. Okay! She stepped back from the mic now and began the next number, and followed with another; both uptempo. During the end applause she leaned to speak off-mic to Murdo: You do one for us now Murdo? Huh, you got something?

Yeah.

We all will pick up on it.

Okay.

Queen Monzee-ay spoke into the mic: Only one thing better than one accordeon is two accordeons: deux cœurs qui battent à l’unisson! Murdo here is going to lead the way on this next one now Murdo: what you going to play for us?

“I’m on the Wonder”?

Queen Monzee-ay looked at him. Son you can you play anything. You play anything you want.

Yeah, I’ll play “I’m on the Wonder”.

You want to play “I’m on a Wonder”?

Yeah.

Then that is nice, that is nice.

But you take vocal, you know the vocal?

Sure. I can take vocal. Queen Monzee-ay spoke into the mic: We’ll do now “I’m on a Wonder”, song by old brother Clifton. She stepped aside, and whispered, Take as long as you need on the opening; give folks here a chance to catch up. You been listening to Beau Jocque?

Beau Jocque, yeah.

Yeah, she said, and passed on the information to the others.

Sarah gave him a half wave and he smiled to her. He was by the centre mic. The audience waited and that was that; he started in and it was the straight blues. This was the song he could only play, whatever people thought, it didnt matter, he could play only this, and how Beau Jocque played it, going in that same way, doing it from this morning on that bench and the whole damn nightmare, from there, and where to? wherever: wherever it was leading. Queen Monzee-ay was waiting, Sarah and the guys closeby.

Murdo repeated the opening and was swaying, swaying sideways, allowing Queen Monzee-ay to the mic, and she edged into it, pulling in the band.

And that was them. It was all there in the song and playing of the song. There was nothing other, not any place. He was there in it and didnt have “to feel like he was” because he was; and not “feel like a musician” amongst other musicians because he was one. He was just Murdo and this was Murdo. So what? It didnt matter anything else, he would play whatever, anything; and just say whatever, whatever he felt like saying; he was a musician and so what, that was all. He knew it and had done for such a long long while and was so weary weary but on ye go, ye just go on, that is that, picking yerself up, here he was. Whoever else was there that was them, it was up to them. Dad could do what he wanted to do. It was his business so he could just go ahead. It was up to him. Sarah too, she was great and never a word against her. It is just how it was. Oh Murdo, when she said Oh Murdo. She knew it too. Oh Murdo. That is just like another world, Oh Murdo, if it was another world and they were in it, but they werent, they were just bumping into each other, and maybe having fun.

He was glad when the song ended. It had ended. He brought it to a close. It was his to do that. His to begin, his to end. Queen Monzee-ay waited a moment for the audience and while they were clapping she gave Murdo a kiss, their noses touching over the boxes, which was fun, and people laughed. Murdo heard them — heard them clapping, heard them laughing — he wasnt looking hardly, only at one point he did, smiling like a thanks, whatever the thanks was and what it was for, whatever, it was just everything, him and them all, he was only a part of it, just like everybody. Then Queen Monzee-ay, he was gazing at her, seeing her give one of her glares into the mic, grabbing a silence: the last song was over now here was this one: Hey, hey, hush now, mes enfants; mes petits-enfants… And she chuckled looking all roundabout at everybody, ones sitting, ones standing and all along by the bar, everybody just waiting. She whispered: Quel âge me donnes-tu? You think I’m past it! She glared at everybody, at the band and everybody else: You think I’m past it! Réfléchez bien avant de répondre!

There was laughter. Okay now, she said, we play one more; one more outa here, taking the fast road to Texas, wishing Diego and his boys fond farewells home — on se reverra bientôt. Song by sister Ida, “I-10 Express”.

*

When they left the stage people were wanting to talk with Queen Monzee-ay and Sarah stayed alongside her. Gene was with the musicians. Dad wasnt there. Murdo had thought he might be. A couple of people were looking at him and it was like ye didnt know what to do, where to look if ye saw them and they saw you seeing them. He was glad to go backstage along the corridor. He had a quick wash in the wee dressing room — before Sarah and Queen Monzee-ay came. Then he stepped outside, down from the wooden platform. He stood with his back to the wall.

It was dark and peaceful, with a mild breeze. Across was the wide empty area; no lighting there, the old foundations now unseen, whatever it had been in the past. Earlier he heard the sound of a train, long drawn out from someplace not too far away. Louisiana. It was good just standing there and thinking that. Ye heard it in songs but not much and he didnt know much. Without anybody there it was like just him, it was him there and the old place, old foundations and whatever it was, Louisiana. He didnt have to be here but he was, he came and this was him, here from the inside out, whatever it was, it made him feel something. But what? He didnt know, he just liked it, and that blues there in his napper:

I’m on the wonder

tell me why you wanna walk away

I dont wanna come back home

Lord knows I love you

but I’m living in misery

Ye had to be old to sing it. Or did ye? He wasnt living in misery. Brains just make the connection. That was brains, what do brains do, if they are for something, like ye have brains, we all have brains and what do they tell ye! Nothing, just like conduits; the mother-board; algorithm of algorithms. Ye still have to do it.

Dad being here was like from another world. The world of “the real Murdo”. Not his own world but the one where everything else went on, where Murdo was just whatever. Dad joined them together. With Dad here it was “the real Murdo”.

Time to go back inside. Only he didnt want to go back inside, talking with people and whatever, he just wasnt able to. To be being with people. He didnt want to be with people, only like being swallowed up if he could be swallowed up he wanted to be swallowed up. Jees. The darkness, the old foundations. Oh God.

Wherever Dad was. Outside with the smokers, Declan Pike was a smoker.

It would be hard for Dad saying hullo, with Sarah’s family, he wouldnt want to be pushy. Oh sorry for that time about Sunday lunch, we had to get our bus.

Murdo had to go inside. He had to go inside. Anything else was stupid. Imagine walking, walking, away in the darkness, Lord knows I love you, where would ye go? Anywhere.

He opened the side exit door and returned through the backstage corridor, aware of the old posters and photographs. He paused by the door out to the main hall and pushed it ajar. Nobody here, jees. He exited. But Santiago and the guys from Diego Narciso’s band were at the side, like as if waiting for him, they were, saw him and came toward him, excited and wanting to talk. But there wasnt time for that because Dad was over by the main door entrance and gazing across.

Murdo turned in the other direction, as though casually, crossing the floor to Sarah’s family table where he was greeted as a friend of the family, which he was anyway. He found a place on the fringe of their table. Gene was sitting close to Sarah who was telling them about some wee incident to do with the gig, and they were laughing about it. Murdo didnt get it, but didnt try to. He was glad just to sit and keep out the road, listen to the taped music. He would have to talk to Dad but not now. The truth is he was tired. His stomach too, his stomach was kind of

Nerves. He needed the toilet. But a shit! Jees, where? This was the worst. He stared at the floor to out-think it, stared at the floor. Things in considering, in considering. Stuff. Things. Two hundred dollars. Pay it back. Obviously he would, that was obvious. He still had some of it left. Everything else he would pay back. Everything, just like everything everything.

There was nowhere to go except sit here. Although it was up to him to go to Dad. Dad would never come to him. Sarah’s family table, he wouldnt intrude. Bad manners is how he would see it.

Oh well. He yawned. It was true but he needed a sleep. That was one thing. Oh but his stomach. Nerves again.

The taped music: the same guy singing as before, a nice swinging blues with piano, sax and drums. Ye could picture the old bartender as the piano player, and if ye interrupted him playing, Where’s my gun till I fucking shoot ye.

Queen Monzee-ay had appeared, over by the backstage door in her ordinary clothes; ready to leave. She was signing flyers and tickets and people were taking photographs. Her and the family were going for a meal someplace. Murdo was welcome. He knew he was but it wouldnt happen. It wouldnt happen because with Dad it would be something else.

Somebody poked him in the shoulder: Esteban from Diego’s band; he whispered: Moordo, come. Beer for you.

Murdo grinned. Esteban gestured to where the other guys were standing waiting for him. Vicenté clapped him on the shoulder. Hey Moordo!

The other two were Santiago and Roberto and it was high-fives: Moordo!

That was about all they could say, Moordo. Murdo liked “Moordo”. Moordo was better than Murdo. Santiago lifted the bottle of beer from the floor, poured it into a polystyrene cup and passed him it. Esteban said, Eh Moordo, you play with a white people band?

Do ye mean like in my own country? In Scotland do ye mean?

Si, Scotland.

Yeah.

Irish music uh? asked Vicenté.

Well Scottish.

Scotteesh! Santiago laughed and whispered something in Spanish to Roberto.

You didnt come to our gig, said Esteban.

No eh the time wasnt good.

Okay.

Moordo, you know Conjunto? asked Vicenté. Conjunto?

No.

You know Tejano? Tejano music?

Tex-Mex? said Esteban.

No.

Vicenté said, You hear us with Diego, is Conjunto. Vicenté pointed to the other three. We are Conjunto band. Looking for people.

No people, said Esteban quickly. Un accordeonista.

Si, said Vicenté, one accordeon. You want to play with us?

What?

Esteban said, Come with us in our band Moordo. We here.

You play with us? asked Vicenté. We have gigs.

Murdo grinned, he glanced from one to the other, and sipped the beer which was a kind of lager and sharp-tasting.

Santiago reached to clap him on the shoulder. Moordo! he said. He had a phone in his hand and gestured with it to take a photograph. Eh Moordo… He took one of Murdo.

You come with us, added Esteban.

Vicenté said, You did not sleep any place. They tell us, last night. This night come with us in motel.

Murdo grinned.

Santiago clenched his fist. You accordeon! Heyy!

Tomorrow we go early, said Vicenté.

Early early, said Esteban.

We go home. Vicenté said, You come with us. You play with us man. You wanna play with us?

Santiago pointed to the ceiling and wagged his finger at Murdo. Dios mío! Un accordeonista.

Is true, said Esteban. We need and you are here.

Murdo laughed but smothered it fast. Yeah, he said, but I dont have anything I mean like clothes and stuff, I’ve only got eh I mean hardly anything.

Vicenté spoke in Spanish to Santiago and Roberto, then to Murdo: You need clothes, we got clothes.

Santiago said, Si clothes, clothes.

Roberto now spoke in Spanish to the others and they laughed. Roberto high-fived Murdo who didnt know what it was about.

Is your accordeon, said Esteban. Roberto says no you — dont give shit for you!

Aw! Murdo chuckled.

Vicenté said, We are good band you know. Hey we got gigs man.

Gigs! Santiago clenched his fist, punched the air.

Murdo raised the polystyrene cup to his mouth, sipped the beer. Joel appeared by his side and whispered, Hey man.

Hi, said Murdo. Across at the bar he saw Dad watching, but acted like he didnt know, and sipped again at the beer. The others were watching him and looking at Joel. Joel said, They ask you the big question? They been talking about you all night man they want you playing the oompah ooompah stuff. Joel winked. Like you are white, they think that is cool man. Joel snapped his fingers: Get more women that way.

Esteban and Vicenté laughed.

Cómo? said Santiago.

Esteban and Vicenté translated for him and Roberto. Roberto made a shrieking noise, pointing at Vicenté. Esteban said, Is true, Vicenté, he dont get no woman!

Seis meses! said Santiago.

Vicenté formed the shape of a pistol with his right hand, pointed at Santiago’s head and made the sound of an exploding gun: Pwohhh! Pwohhh!

Aahh. Santiago staggered, kidding on he had been shot. The others laughed, Murdo too — it was funny, Santiago was funny.

Joel said quietly. Hey Murdo I gotta go.

What?

We all are leaving, gran and everybody. You want to come say hullo? Joel smiled. Hullo, goodbye?

Jees!

And it was noticeable that the tables were full again. A couple of the Zadik Strollers band were onstage footering with the instruments and preparing. They were the headline show, about to start, and people were returning from the interval. Murdo was about to follow Joel who had continued along towards the backstage area but Vicenté was tugging at his arm. Moordo you come with us; we got beds beds beds, bathrooms, shower rooms.

Bars, added Santiago.

More bars, said Esteban. Diego got one big suite. We got two rooms, two rooms, space for you.

Thanks, said Murdo.

Then tomorrow early, nos vamos.

Nos vamos, we leave early, early early, said Vicenté.

Vicenté and the guys were waiting for him to say something. Murdo saw Dad and Declan Pike coming toward him. Declan made a punching movement in salute. Murdo smiled. My father, he said, it’s my father. He indicated Dad who was behind Declan. Declan arrived first and gripped Murdo’s wrist: Sensational man! Sensational! Where d’you learn Zydeco music? you get that in Scotland! He laughed.

Dad was hanging back. Murdo smiled at him by Declan’s shoulder. Hey Dad…

Okay son? Dad reached to him, and they shook hands. Dad said, It was good.

Yeah?

Dad smiled. Murdo leaned closed to him. Sorry Dad, he said. I’m so sorry.

Ssh, said Dad.

Diego’s band were talking in Spanish together. Santiago said something and the others laughed and looked from Dad to Murdo.

Murdo scratched his head and added, Diego’s band eh…

Exactly! Declan chuckled. Now what I want to know boy: how did you do that? Diego Narciso. Declan growled: Thirty years man and boy and I aint ever seen Diego Narciso man in the flesh man know what I’m saying, he dont stray farther north than Austin! Declan kissed Murdo on the cheek. It was a smacker and Murdo wiped at it.

Declan laughed.

Esteban and Vicenté were talking together and attempting to draw Murdo into it but it was impossible and just too much, they all seemed to be talking and other people were there like the Zadiks bass guitarist passing by and giving him a wee salute, and Murdo could have said cheerio to him too but it was outside especially where he needed to be and he said to Dad, I’ve got to say cheerio to people. Queen Monzee-ay Dad, like I mean she’s leaving and eh… Murdo glanced at Vicenté and the band.

Yeah of course, said Dad.

Murdo began walking towards the main hall exit at once, but Vicenté and the guys followed on, and behind them Dad and Declan. Vicenté called: So man you got place tonight with us, okay, we got beds, bathrooms. Tomorrow night is rehearse. Go in studio, okay?

Studio! said Santiago.

Declan was looking from one to the other. Dad too, attending to it all but not knowing what was happening except maybe the word “tomorrow”. Declan said to him: Room with us too Tom, huh? Murdo?

Of course! What d’ye mean? Dad frowned and glanced at Murdo. What a room? Ye mean a bed? Of course a bed, of course. Ye dont have to ask something like that son we got an extra one in.

Murdo nodded. They passed along the L-shaped lobby. Dad said, I’m picking something up here son and I’m no sure what it is.

…

Eh?

Murdo didnt reply, but continued walking. When they stepped outside Declan made a V-sign of peace with his right two fingers, and brought out the cigarette pack, extracted a cigarette and had it in his mouth before leaving the building. The big cowboy doorman watched them exit. Dad said quietly: What the boys there were saying son… Eh? What were they saying?

Nothing Dad I mean can we talk about it after?

Dad looked at him.

Over in the parking area Gene was helping Joel with the roadie stuff, loading the pick-up truck. Queen Monzee-ay was by the corner of the building surrounded by a wee crowd. Some of her CDs had been available and she was signing them and saying hullo. Sarah and Aunt Edna were to the side of her, with Diego Narciso and Sarah’s parents. Murdo went to them. Dad followed, and Declan came too. Sarah patted Murdo on the arm. You going with the guys? she said.

Aunt Edna chuckled. Set Texas on fire huh?

Dad had overheard. Declan too. Murdo had to say something. Diego’s band, he said.

Diego’s band? said Declan.

Well not like Diego I mean like his band, the guys playing with him.

What…? Dad said.

Dad was staring at him. Murdo sniffed and looked away. He said to Sarah: You going home now?

Sarah was about to reply but Aunt Edna cut her off: Murdo, we are going to eat. And you are most welcome to come along with us. Aunt Edna said to Dad: You like salt cod sir? We are going to eat salt cod.

Sarah raised her eyebrows. It’s like chewing rubber Murdo honest to God.

Aunt Edna chuckled.

You going home after that? he asked Sarah.

Right now, yeah.

Oh… Murdo smiled, after a moment.

She touched his wrist.

No, he said, I just eh… He nodded. Vicenté and the guys had come from the entrance and were chatting with Diego. Santiago especially, doing most of the talking.

You okay? asked Sarah.

Yeah.

Aunt Edna spoke to Dad, pointing her forefinger at him: These boys are good.

Playing with Diego…! Declan smiled. Oh yeah.

Dad didnt know what was happening. It was obvious the way he was looking. Murdo avoided him and said to Declan, It’s the guys themselves. They’ve got their own band. Murdo sniffed. They think I’ll fit.

Declan said, Well sure you’ll fit son. You will fit right in there.

Murdo shrugged, glancing at Dad.

They’re all related, said Aunt Edna.

Declan growled: Where they come from everybody’s related.

Queen Monzee-ay had appeared next to Aunt Edna and Sarah. She had taken her cigarettes from her bag, passed one to Aunt Edna. She said to Dad, Your son should go.

Dad looked at her as though he didnt know what she meant, but he should have by this time because of what people were saying. Murdo said, Dad what it is their own accordeon’s been playing with another band and the guys are looking for another one who’ll just be there with them so they can get some proper rehearsal in.

Sarah grinned. Murdo smiled at her.

Aunt Edna said, I like San Antonio; river walking, honky tonking.

Diego and the guys had come forward to hear what was being said. Diego and Santiago exchanged words in Spanish. Santiago pointed at Dad. Diego stared at Dad. Aunt Edna whispered to Queen Monzee-ay and it may have been in French, then spoke quietly to Diego who nodded and raised the black studded cowboy hat to scratch at the side of his head. He peered at his wristwatch. Queen Monzee-ay said to him: The boys got some gigs lined up huh?

Vicenté called the answer: Si señora we got Matamoros through Nogales. El Paso, Mexicali.

Declan said, Conjunto circuit huh?

Si, si! So you know is for Murdo, we want him come play with us. Be good for him; good for us.

Yeah. Yeah, said Declan. He glanced at Dad although most were looking to Declan. Dad hadnt spoken a word hardly. It was like people had forgotten to include him. But Dad would speak. He was just taking things in. Dad did that. He would say it soon enough. Whatever. Him and not anybody else. Dad didnt care about anybody else, if people were looking or what. If he thought something he would say it, and it didnt matter about other stuff.

Murdo waited. Sarah was watching him. He smiled a moment then looked at Dad. Dad just shrugged. Murdo stared at the ground.

What are they talking about son? Dad said, We’re going home on Tuesday. Do you know what they’re talking about?

Dad was not smiling. Murdo could have. Dad spoke directly to Declan. I dont know what people are talking about.

Declan coughed and cleared his throat and probably would have spat except so many people were there. He was a fine musician. People here didnt know that. Murdo could have told them. To the side it looked like Aunt Edna was going to say something but she didnt. Vicenté and the guys were looking at him. And Dad, and Dad said, What’s happening here? Eh? Murdo we’re going home on Tuesday. Am I missing something here?

Murdo stared at him.

Eh? Murdo?

Yeah Dad well like if I could maybe stay on a wee bit.

What do ye mean?

Well maybe I could just stay and like, play with the guys, like if I could just stay on and maybe…

I dont know what ye’re talking about.

If I could just stay on and maybe…

Son we’re here on holiday. Dad smiled. This is a holiday.

Dad…

Sarah was watching, standing closeby Aunt Edna. In the background Diego and the band also were listening; Esteban and Vicenté translating for Diego, Santiago, and Roberto.

Dad said, It’s a holiday.

Murdo said, It’s not a holiday.

Yes it is.

Dad it’s not. It’s not.

I’m not talking about this here.

Dad, it’s not a holiday.

Aye it’s a holiday of course it’s a holiday. Dad addressed Queen Monzee-ay. It is a holiday, he said. You know that, like a vacation. We’re here on vacation.

Queen Monzee-ay didnt reply.

Murdo said, Dad I’m sorry.

What about?

Murdo noticed Sarah’s attention distracted by her parents over by the pick-up truck, there with Joel and Gene and waiting to leave. Sarah signaled to them.

What about? said Dad.

Eh, well. Murdo sniffed.

What are ye sorry about?

Nothing. I’m just like thinking maybe I would I mean eh just stay here and just like play with the guys. And come home after.

Dad was staring at him. The others were all intent on what was happening but keeping their distance. Declan too, now smoking a cigarette and standing back a couple of paces.

Murdo said, Sorry Dad.

Son ye cant. It’s not possible. Ye cannay just stay here. It is not possible.

Yeah but if I do the gigs and came home afterwards?

It is not possible.

But Dad.

Ye’ve got to listen to me here son it is not possible. Ye’re sixteen years of age.

Nearly seventeen Dad I’m coming up for seventeen.

Ye’re sixteen years of age. Dad glanced at Declan. Declan it isnay possible!

Declan sighed and nodded. It is kinda complicated, like the bureaucracy son know what I’m saying? it’s all in there, red tape and like man… Declan shook his head, dragged on his cigarette.

Dad said wearily, Visas and work permits, Social Security cards, Green Cards. Ye’ve no even got yer passport son I mean ye left it at Uncle John’s. Ye left yer passport. Dad peered at Queen Monzee-ay. The boy forgot his passport!

Well he dont need one for Texas, said Queen Monzee-ay.

No! said Sarah.

Declan chuckled, and growled, You don’t need no passport for Texas.

Diego said to Esteban: Texas? Passport?

What I’m saying is it’s ID for everything. He needs permission. Dad glanced at Murdo: Permission son ye need permission.

Aunt Edna muttered: Permission, toujours.

At the side Esteban and Vicenté were explaining things to Diego in Spanish. Santiago and Roberto were listening closely. Diego nodded. He strolled the few paces to Dad, and stood directly in front of him. Dad stared at him. Diego returned the stare, then he tapped Dad on the shoulder. Hey, he said, Moordo’s father. Amigo.

Declan said, Murdo’s father is Tom, his name is Tom.

Tom, amigo. Diego laid his hands on both Dad’s shoulders: I get permission. For Moordo. I get permission. I get permission now. He turned to Murdo, still with his hands on Dad’s shoulders: Moordo hey — Moordo, el musico talentoso.

Murdo smiled, then stopped it.

Diego said: Moordo! You need permission. I give this permission to you. I Diego Narciso, citizen San Antonio in state of Tejas — Texas — all power vested in me, ever and ever forever eternal.

Diego took his hands from Dad’s shoulders, stepped back a pace, tapped himself on the chest and wagged his forefinger at Murdo: Moordo! I give to you permission.

Diego faced Tom again, and he signed with his right hand as in a Papal dispensation: All power vested in me I do permit your son, Moordo, y una accordeon, do in hell what he wanna do, okay? Okay.

Dad stared at him. Declan chuckled, and others too, but Dad wasnt smiling and he still didnt answer.

Okay? asked Diego.

Dad still did not smile.

Hay un bar cerca de aqui, said Diego. We may celebrate? Tom, you drink beer with me?

Diego placed both hands onto Dad’s shoulders again, staring into his eyes. It was fun but it wasnt. Dad was not good. Dad was trapped. Diego was not smiling so much now. He said: Hey, Tom, boys look out for your son. Dont worry. Got gigs, got money. Your son is okay. In San Antonio is good, good with us. Family is there, I am there. Your son is very safe señor. Is all okay. He got place there. My family, they family; all people and friends. Diego shrugged, indicating Santiago: Crazy one is my nephew, son of my little brother.

Diego nodded to Dad, he smiled a moment then turned to Queen Monzee-ay and Aunt Edna and blew them a kiss. He signaled the band and clapped his hands together sharply: Okay we leave, hurry, say with Moordo for morning; all detail, motel. Hurry. Car keys? Esteban!

Esteban came forwards.

A beer, food.

Si Diego.

Diego’s team had two vehicles; a huge pick-up and a huge 4x4. Queen Monzee-ay and Aunt Edna walked with him part of the way and they were talking and laughing. Another guy was driving the 4x4 and he stood by the passenger side waiting. When Diego arrived the man opened the door for him and closed it afterwards.

Santiago was driving the pick-up truck and the other three were traveling with him. Esteban returned for a final word with Murdo, he clasped his hand firmly and said quietly, Tomorrow we come seven o’clock. Okay?

Seven o’clock?

Early early, yes. We come for you. Okay?

Murdo nodded.

Esteban whispered. You say to your father?

Yeah.

Yeah? said Esteban.

Yeah. Murdo nodded.

Okay. Esteban smiled at him a moment longer, then clenched his fist and returned to the pick-up. The others were waiting. They exchanged waves with Murdo from there.

Queen Monzee-ay pulled a wrap more tightly round herself. You find it chilly? she said to Aunt Edna. I find it chilly. Brr.

Cold huh? Stars in the sky, said Aunt Edna.

Declan said to Queen Monzee-ay: Miss Monzee-ay tonight was special and you are very very special. Declan reached to shake her hand.

Thank you sir, said Queen Monzee-ay.

Declan is a musician, said Murdo.

I know, she said.

Declan smiled.

But ye are, said Murdo, ye’re brilliant.

Well now. Declan nodded.

Sarah’s father was beckoning to them. It was like the final call and Murdo turned from them then turned back again. Eh Murdo! Aunt Edna held her arms out to him for a quick cuddle, but she gave him a longer one. You take care now ya hear!

Then Queen Monzee-ay for another cuddle but this was briefer, hardly at all. Oh we touched noses already, she said, we dont need no heavy hugging! Then she spoke quietly: Now we will be seeing you Murdo okay? You got all the info now huh! She glanced at Sarah who grinned. Emails and stuff, you got that?

Yeah, said Sarah.

Murdo nodded.

Yeah and you know where we’re living.

Murdo smiled.

Okay, she said, and put her arm round his waist and smiled to Aunt Edna: This boy laughs at the drop of a hat.

Murdo stared at her.

You are my boy, she said. You think I will forget that? I will not forget it.

Yeah.

Yeah. Queen Monzee-ay nodded. Yeah. She smiled and kept walking.

Aunt Edna called back: We are going for something to eat! Callaloo Kitchen! Mes enfants, Edna goes ethnic, we eat salt fish.

Murdo watched them walk to the vehicles. Sarah was there beside him. They exchanged looks. Sarah smiled. They started toward the carpark area, but keeping a yard apart. Sarah said, It’s wonderful you came. We needed you.

Well ye didnt really.

We did, you know we did.

He snorted.

Sarah stopped and put her hand onto his wrist. Murdo…

Ha ha! he said. The idea I wouldn’t come!

She kept a hold of his wrist. Oh Murdo.

He was trying to take his wrist away. Sarah let him do it. He looked away from her. Of course I would come. Of course. Ye just eh… I mean… Murdo had gone red, the reddest. His eyes closed a moment, he wasnt smiling. Sarah was watching him.

What? she said. Murdo, what?

Nothing.

Oh Murdo.

I just… Murdo stopped to breathe. What age is Gene?

Sarah gazed at him.

No, he said, I was just eh…

He’s twenty.

Is that his car I mean like is it his?

It’s old Murdo.

He frowned at her.

Well yeah! she said. Of course it is! My God!

They had stopped walking now, inside the carpark area. Queen Monzee-ay and Aunt Edna had entered the rear seats of one car. Sarah’s mother stepped into the front passenger side and her father into the driver’s seat. Gene and Joel were closeby.

Sarah whispered, You okay?

…

Murdo?

Yeah, I just feel a bit stupid.

Oh Murdo.

I do. He shook his head and sighed. Then he smiled. Are you still going to that college thing?

Yeah!

He chuckled and was maybe about to say more but she reached for his hand and pressed it. I got to go Murdo. I got to go now. You’ll stay in touch huh?

Yeah.

You got to.

I will.

People will want to know.

Murdo nodded. Sarah hesitated then leaned to him, put her arm round his waist and kissed him on the side of the face. Murdo remained, after she had gone in Gene’s car; she didnt look back. Her family’s car now moved off. Her father tooted the horn. The rear passenger window was down, Aunt Edna peering out. Murdo grinned, he waved to her, he waved to Queen Monzee-ay although he couldnt see her, she was on the other side.

Joel was there by the side of the pick-up and signaling him: Hey Murdo! You forgot something there?

Murdo frowned, he went forwards. It was the rucksack, Joel had his rucksack and accordeon-case, he brought them from the rear of the truck and passed them to him.

Jeesoh!

Joel clapped him on the shoulder then entered the driver’s side. We’ll see you sometime huh?

Definitely.

You going with the guys?

I think so, yeah.

Yeah. Joel nodded, switched on the engine.

Murdo stepped back. He pulled the rucksack on over his shoulders, lifted the accordeon-case, watching the pick-up roll forwards. Joel had his hand out the side window, a wave. Murdo waved in reply.

At the entrance to the Jay Cee Lounge Dad stood to the side of Declan. Declan was chatting to the cowboy doorman, smoking a cigarette with him. Murdo walked to stand next to Dad. That’s them all away, he said.

Yeah, said Dad.

When the cab arrived Dad made to lift the accordeon-case but Murdo kept a grip on it, settled it into the boot next to the ruck-sack. He got into the rear passenger seat, and Dad in the other. Declan sat next to the driver who was a white guy and knew all about the oil industry and maybe worked in it himself at one time or else knew people who did. Him and Declan spoke about working offshore and named actual rigs and famous guys who worked on them. Quite interesting stuff — Dad was listening — but Murdo was just tired, probably he dozed most of the way.

*

Dad had the key to the room which was on the ground level. A couple of chairs were along from the door. Inside two single beds and a double. The double was nearest the door and had Declan’s stuff on it. Him and Dad had six-packs of beer in the room. Declan lifted one and returned outside for a smoke.

Dad sat on the edge of the bed nearest the opposite wall. So the one in the middle was for Murdo. He yawned, lowered the rucksack and accordeon-case down on the floor between the two, and sat on the edge of his, elbows on his knees and hands clasped, gazing at the floor. Ye hungry? said Dad, after a moment.

Yeah! Murdo smiled.

There’s sandwiches in the fridge.

Great. Murdo continued to sit there.

Tired?

Yeah.

I’ll not ask what ye’ve been up to! Ye can understand but I was worried.

Yeah Dad, I’m sorry.

I dont mean for ye to apologize, I’m just saying.

I’ll pay back the money.

It doesnay matter about the money.

Well I will.

Murdo it’s not an issue. It’s just how I worry, ye know. I’m yer father. I cannay help it. People worry.

Dad I phoned Aunt Maureen.

I know, it was good ye did.

Murdo sighed, he leaned to drag over the rucksack.

Dad watched him a moment. We have to talk about things. I mean ye must know it cant happen. They’re not going to change their rules for ye son, they’re not going do that.

I’m not asking them to.

It doesnay matter what Diego said. It would be great if things worked that way, but they dont.

Murdo had unzipped the main rucksack compartment and was poking around inside. He yawned then rose from the bed with his toilet bag and some clothes.

Son ye’ve got to let me speak.

Dad I need a shower.

No. They’ve all been speaking except me.

Well I’ve not been speaking either.

Okay so now’s the time.

Yeah but if I can shower first. We can talk after. Dad there will be time.

No there wont. You’ll come out the shower and fall into bed, I know what like ye are after a gig.

Murdo groaned.

Hey, I’m not the baddy here. It’s just I’m worried. Come on, sit down a minute.

I would rather stand.

They’re all in the right and it’s me in the wrong.

Ye’re not in the wrong Dad.

Of course I am. I’m the only one saying no! no! ye’re too young, how will ye manage! Dad shook his head. Seriously, he said. Nay wonder I get irritated. They go home and sleep at night. I dont. How can I? How can I?

Dad!

No. I just lie there, worrying. Bloody Mexico! You’re no going to Mexico Murdo I dont want ye going there.

Dad it’s Texas.

It’s Mexico. That’s what they mean when they say the Valley.

Dad they mean the border, the Mexican border.

In America it’s the Mexican border, not if ye’re in Mexico; it’s the American border over there. Whatever it is it’s a border. Ye step from there to there. It’s a line son not a place.

I thought it was a river.

Dad looked at him. It’s a nightmare. That’s what it is: killings and murders; dope smugglers, private armies. I’ve got to tell ye what I think — ye might no like it — it’s a fantasy.

Dad what’s a fantasy?

This; what ye’re talking about.

It’s everybody else as well.

Yeah — except me, everybody except me. They all know and I dont. I’ll tell ye something son people here go about in a stupor. They dont seem to know anything. Dad walked a couple of steps, shaking his head. Seriously, he said, it’s kind of strange. They dont seem to know anything at all about what goes on in the world; politics and history. Geography! What a joke! It’s a bloody dream world; that’s what they’re living in.

Dad we’re only talking about music.

Oh are we! Is that what we’re talking about? I’ve been with Declan all day, away and tell him that. He’s a musician too if ye remember.

Of course I remember, he’s a brilliant guitarist.

Yeah well…

Dad, he is.

Dad shrugged. I’m no disputing it. Actually it makes my case. How come he works offshore? Eh? He hardly does any gigs at all. He’s not even part-time, he’s just once in a blue moon. That was a one-off last Saturday. And how much do ye think he got paid for it?

It’s not my business.

Seriously, how much? Think about it son. I’m talking the practicalities.

Murdo shrugged.

How much did Queen Monzee-ay get paid for tonight?

Aw Dad.

No. I’m only asking the question. Ye’ve got to. Never mind you and the girl and the other guys. Did ye ever hear about the big opera star that came to Glasgow for a one-off concert and got paid a million dollars? D’ye know what the orchestra got? Bugger all. Nothing. None of the orchestra got paid a penny.

What d’ye mean?

I’m not meaning anything except what I’m saying. If that was Queen Monzee-ay’s only gig in the past six months, how much did she get paid?

Murdo frowned.

And is that to last her another six months?

I dont know what ye mean.

Is that how long it’ll take her to get another gig?

Dad she’s retired.

Dont fall for that one, retired, it’s only rich people retire son the rest of us stagger on. It’s just people wont give ye the right wage for the job. They want somebody young because they dont have to pay them so much. So you’re left twiddling yer thumbs. What I’m saying is it’s a struggle and a fight, a total fight.

Queen Monzee-ay fights.

Sure she does. All I’m saying is ye’ve got to ask these questions. How does she get by? Is she on an old age pension?

I dont know Dad how do I know! Murdo shook his head. Jeesoh Dad.

I’m only asking.

The family has the store. That’s her store. She bought it when she was making money.

Right, replied Dad, okay. So that keeps her going. What about the rest of the family?

How do I know?

I’m only asking.

Well Dad ye’re better asking her. I’m no being cheeky.

I know ye’re not. Dad nodded. It is interesting but, when ye think about it in that way. Likes of the Gathering, when Declan played the gig, nobody paid to get in. Did ye notice?

They paid at the entrance.

That was for the actual Gathering Murdo. That was yer ticket for the whole thing. Everything that was there. That was what ye paid for. All the games and prizes and the kids’ competitions, bouncy castles, everything. Yer entrance ticket paid the lot. The dance too. That dance band, how much did they get paid? Add in yer traveling costs and the rest of it. These guys needed a truck for all their sound equipment. Plus they had two roadies.

The roadies were their pals.

It doesnay mean they dont get paid. They will. Then there were seven guys in the band. Seven guys! Motel costs, petrol, food. People have got to eat and that needs paying. Dad smiled. Ye’ve got to pay for food ye know. People dont give ye it for nothing.

Murdo stared at him.

Dad smiled for a moment. They dont, he said.

Murdo nodded. I made eleven dollars and seventy cents busking this morning.

Ye were busking!

Yeah.

Busking?

Yeah Dad why not. Eleven seventy, it was enough for a meal, more than enough. Murdo shrugged, and made to enter the bathroom, but he paused and said, I know people need to work like in an ordinary job Dad I know that. That was always Mum, that was her. Stick in at school and go to college. It was so as I could get a job and then I could like relax and play music and not have to worry about the next meal. I mean, I know that Dad. Murdo sighed.

Dad had his hands in his pockets. He glanced at the front door, then back at Murdo and he said quietly, How much did Diego Narciso get paid for tonight?

No Dad.

For talking’s sake?

No Dad no; jeesoh!

Come on, what? A hundred dollars, a thousand dollars, ten thousand dollars? What?

How do I know?

How many people went to the gig?

Murdo shook his head and stepped inside the bathroom doorway.

Just work it out, said Dad.

I dont want to work it out. I need to shower and go to my bed. The guys are coming early.

Dad stared at him.

Seven or something.

So ye’re going with them? Dad smiled. I’m not that bad surely.

…

Eh? That ye want to run away. Am I that bad? Really, am I? Dad was still smiling. He shrugged. I think I’m entitled to ask that.

Dad

No, well… Dad shrugged. We’ve been through a lot together.

Murdo gazed at him.

Eventually Dad said, I need to ask Declan something. Dad held up his hand. Just a minute son, if ye dont mind. He opened the outside door. Declan, he said, will ye come in a minute? Just for a minute.

Declan appeared in the doorway, gripping a bottle of beer by the neck. You want the heavy-weights in on this?

Naw just eh, we’re trying to bring some clarity into this.

Oh yeah so you got me, yeah… Declan yawned.

No I just mean like the practicalities, getting by as a musician.

Are you serious!

Just the basics I’m talking about; earning a wage and so on.

Declan held up his hand to stop him. Dont speak to me about no basics man, I been to Georgia on a fast train. Declan planked himself down on the edge of the double bed. You’re asking me man I’m the wrong guy. I would have cut off my nose to play with them guys Tom. Sure I would. Declan growled: Clara never got paid for nothing in her entire life, except baking cakes. Chess gigged, she stayed home.

That just makes the point, said Dad.

Folks need to live Tom I aint gonna deny that. They went gig to gig, same like most of us.

Hand to mouth, said Dad.

Hand to mouth is okay brother. Diego’s boys got a head start. You think he wont give them a leg-up? You heard him man they are family. He puts the word in they’ll find work everywhere. Like you go to the west coast man, their kind of music, they’ll get gigs. Hell Tom old Diego could fill a stadium. You come to Houston when him and the band are playing, his own band! Hey, ever hear of Lydia Mendoza? Houston lady man, born and bred.

Declan swigged beer from the bottle. He settled back on the bed lying full stretch with one hand behind his head, raised a little on the pillow. He swallowed the last of it and lifted a fresh one from the pack.

Murdo said, I need to shower Dad.

Hang on a minute.

Please Dad I’m really tired. Thursday was my last sleep. Murdo made to close the bathroom door. Does anybody need before I go? he said.

No sir, replied Declan, but go fast.

Dad shook his head.

Murdo smiled. See when ye think about it Dad: it’s all I do, is music; really, I don’t do anything else.

Ye can do it in Scotland.

Yeah, or here. I can do it here. Murdo closed the bathroom door behind him. He stood inside, looking about. Folded white towels, wee bits of soap. He had his own shampoo.

*

Next morning he was roused by Dad. Dad was over him shaking his shoulder, and whispering, Half six son ye better get up.

Murdo was dressed in moments. Dad collected the remaining sandwiches from the fridge. Declan was asleep when they left the room. Sun and blue sky, a beautiful morning. They sat eating sandwiches on the two chairs by the wall, listening to the whooshing traffic noises. A main road was not faraway, and visible between buildings; big trucks passed every few seconds. Murdo said, I think that’s the interstate road.

Mm.

Murdo glanced at him.

I do have a kind of sensitive question: ye got anything left out the two hundred dollars?

It was actually two hundred and ninety dollars. Ye gave me forty at the Gathering and Uncle John gave me fifty.

Uncle John gave ye fifty?

Yeah.

Dad chuckled.

I didnay spend anything.

Ye just saved it?

Yeah. Apart from bus-fares I’ve hardly bought a thing, except the accordeon. That pawnshop in Allentown Dad, I saw it that time we were there.

So have ye anything left?

Well only a bit.

Dad smiled. So what like’s the accordeon?

Aw no bad, fine, it’s alright. Eighty-five dollars. They reduced it from a hundred and twenty-five. It’s paying itself already, like I mean if ye count the busking. It’s not a bad sound either, although it might not look much.

Not look much! Ye kidding! It’s a beauty!

Well… Murdo smiled.

Seriously. It just glistens!

Murdo looked at him.

Even from the side of the bar, said Dad, from where I was standing. Yer playing I mean it was just… God! I’ll tell ye something too, people were knocked out; Declan too, you might not have noticed. But see that slow one ye did, the one where ye took the lead. Ye could have heard a pin drop. Did ye hear that audience? Eh! Did ye hear them! God son that was something, and that accordeon too, it was just sparkling and glistening and God! just part of it the way ye were playing. It was just special, like you, you are special.

Aw Dad.

I’m telling ye.

Dad You are.

You’ve got to stop this modesty nonsense.

Dad I’m not modest. That’s the last thing I am is modest. It’s just that you’re talking about another accordeon, you’re talking about the turquoise one. That isnay it. That belongs to Queen Monzee-ay. She just brought it for me to use. Mine’s is in the accordeon-case. And really… Murdo chuckled. It’s fine but I mean, it’s okay, it’s actually alright.

Let me see it.

Murdo got up and opened the door quietly. Declan’s bed was empty and the bathroom door closed, he was in having a shower. He collected the accordeon-case. He chapped the bathroom door on his way back out: Morning Declan!

No reply.

Outside he closed over the room door. Declan’s in the shower, he said.

Glad to hear it, said Dad.

Murdo sat down on the chair and held the case on his lap, and opened it. The turquoise was inside. It was the turquoise. Murdo frowned at it, the turquoise. They had forgotten to change it. Joel should have done it. Joel had forgotten to. He should have changed it after the gig and he didnay. Joel was supposed to collect it and take it to the pick-up truck. Murdo had left the turquoise onstage with the other instruments. So he should have taken it. He did take it. He must have put it into the accordeon-case by mistake, and brought out Murdo’s own one. He must have brought out Murdo’s own one. How come? It’s the wrong accordeon, he said.

What?

It’s the wrong accordeon. Murdo shook his head and made to lift it out, but left it instead. Joel must have seen the pawnshop one when he opened the case. It was Murdo’s case, so when he opened it he must have seen the accordeon. So he had to take it out to put in the turquoise. So he took it out, then he put it in, the turquoise. Murdo stared at it. He looked at Dad. Dad, he said, they’ve gave me it. Dad…

What?

Dad. Murdo started greeting.

Dad leaned over to him.

Murdo clenched shut his eyelids trying to stop it he just couldnt stop it, couldnt stop bloody greeting. I’m just bloody greeting, he said, I’m just bloody greeting Dad always bloody greeting.

Aw son dont worry. Dad put his arm round his shoulders. Dont worry.

But Murdo was shaking with it and had to stop just bloody stop greeting, always greeting. I’m sorry Dad.

Dont be, no; no son dont be I’m always bloody greeting.

I’m always bloody greeting Dad I cannay stop bloody greeting just myself like Dad in the bloody bathroom I just start greeting, Dad, I’m just greeting all the time. All the time.

Me too, said Dad. Me too. Jesus Christ me too. Dad was shaking his head.

Murdo blew his nose. I just cannay get over it like I just I dont know what it is — just Mum I mean — and Murdo was greeting again. He stopped and blew his nose. Ah God.

Dad was nodding his head.

It’s Queen Monzee-ay. It’s her, she’s gave me it. She’s took mine and gave me hers. Murdo took another tissue from his pocket and blew his nose. I’m sick of greeting Dad I’m sick of it.

Oh Christ.

I’m not as bad as I was but it’s still bad. Are you the same?

Yeah. Dad wiped his eyes.

Murdo shook his head. Ye know like this, Queen Monzee-ay giving me the accordeon and you asking about how much ye get paid and like I know what ye’re meaning about last night too how I never got paid.

But I wasnt meaning that. I wasnt meaning that.

I’m only saying how maybe she got paid and we didnay, me and Gene and Sarah.

But I wasnt meaning that!

Yeah but

I wasnt.

I thought ye were Dad sorry. But it’s this side of music I like, where ye just meet people and become friends. Then ye dont see them again till maybe six months later like doing a gig and ye bump into them. And like all the stories about who played with who and all the old-time guys and the old-time events and festivals that all used to be there. It’s just special Dad, it doesnay matter who. But did ye see how he bowed to her, how he bowed to her?

What?

Diego. How he bowed to Queen Monzee-ay.

Did ye not see him?

No…

Dad he bowed to her, Diego bowed to her.

Dad nodded. He got up and turned away.

*

About 7.20 a.m. Murdo was hanging about the carpark area watching the entrance off the side street. He turned back to the motel. His backpack and accordeon-case were by the room door. Declan was on the same chair as last night, scribbling address information and contact numbers onto a notepage. He finished and stood to his feet. Okay Murdo!

Declan gave him the notepage. Now that’s my address, that’s my email address and this here’s my cell phone number.

Ye on Facebook?

No son I aint and aint going to be. But I can sure pick up a phone, any time, offshore, inshore; any time. But if you got to come dont you wait. You come son, that is what you do. You leave a message and you just come.

That’s great.

Houston’s real close. You got your Atlas there huh? Declan grinned.

Yeah.

San Antone; you could walk it!

The front door opened and Dad stepped outside; he listened while Declan was talking to Murdo: Where you’re going people dont worry so much. Like officialdom? Not once you’re in. It’s good down there. Good music, good food, good people. Dont worry like your age now that dont matter. You want to work you can work. Other stuff is trickier. Your Dad is right to worry there, but it’ll be okay, you’ll be okay. Declan glanced at Dad. He’s got friends here Tom.

I hear ye, said Dad.

Declan nodded. He gazed at Murdo and Dad, then he stepped a few paces to the side, got his cigarette pack and strolled down to the carpark area, lighting a cigarette as he went.

Dad gave Murdo another notepage of instructions. I’m not being fussy, he said, it’s all numbers and stuff and ye’ll need it.

Thanks Dad. Murdo stuck the page in his pocket.

Be careful with it.

Yeah.

It’s all yer contacts!

Okay Dad.

Now phone Uncle John this evening Murdo ye buy a phone ye get connected and ye bloody phone, okay? Dad sighed.

Definitely.

We need yer address. So it’s the first thing ye do, okay?

Okay Dad.

Have ye got enough?

Do ye mean like money?

Everything.

Yeah. Murdo shrugged.

Like what? What have ye got?

The basics.

The basics?

Yeah Dad the basics.

Have ye got a change?

Jeesoh.

I mean like shoes and jeans?

Yeah.

Have ye? I thought ye had only one pair of jeans?

I’ve got a pair of joggers.

Have ye got another top?

Dad

I’ve got to ask these things, you forget.

Dad the guys are going to give me a loan of clothes.

A loan of clothes? A loan of clothes?

Yeah. Murdo smiled.

Dad stared a moment. He returned into the room.

The traffic noises were loud now. Murdo looked towards the main road. A Sunday morning as early as this yet it was busy. Big trucks were there too, quite a line of them, wherever they all were going.

Hey Murdo! Declan had glanced back at him, pointing at his wristwatch, then at the door into the room.

Murdo nodded. He opened the room door. Dad was sitting on the edge of the bed. He looked up at Murdo. Okay?

Yeah Dad.

Dad smiled. Where did ye sleep last night by the way? I’ve been feart to ask.

Well the bus was late in, coming from Baton Rouge, it was nearly midnight.

So where did ye go?

Eh well I had to walk it from the bus station, just looking about and so on because like Sarah and her family, I was supposed to be meeting up with them but because the bus was so late in it was too late. I got a place quite near the festival, not too far away, a wee grass square and with benches, and I got a bench; there was an all-night foodstall there too so it was like ye know, cups of tea and so on. I had a good meal there, fish and chips, it was good.

Fish and chips?

Yeah.

So ye slept on the bench?

Yeah.

Right, ye slept on a bench.

Well Dad it was too late for anything.

Dad nodded.

So… Murdo paused. He heard music, he glanced at the door a fraction before the knock. Declan called from outside: That’s Diego and the boys.

Murdo grinned. Dad was watching him. It’s eh… Murdo gestured at the door and walked to open it. Dad got up from the bed and Murdo held the door open for him. Outside Murdo lifted his rucksack and accordeon-case. Dad moved to give him a cuddle. Take care now, he said.

Of course.

The two vehicles had parked in the carpark area and different music came from each. Murdo carried the rucksack and accordeon-case, walking to meet them. Dad and Declan followed. Dad said, Listen son they can give ye an address ask them for an address, they must know where they’re going.

Murdo grinned at Declan.

Seriously, said Dad.

Santiago was driving the pick-up. Esteban was beside him, waved his hand out the window: Hey Moordo!

Diego let down the window of the 4x4 and saluted Dad and Declan. Esteban got out the truck and took the accordeon-case from Murdo carefully positioning it in with the other instruments, luggage and equipment.

Murdo reached to shake hands with Declan. Declan gave him a quick slap slap cuddle, then stuck some notes into a top pocket on his jacket. Murdo tried to shrug it off. Honest I dont need it!

Declan growled: Hey boy, you pay me back sometime.

Aw thanks Declan. Murdo smiled at Dad. Okay Dad?

Yeah, said Dad. He palmed Murdo a small wad of notes.

Aw Dad! Murdo grinned.

Yeah aw Dad, he said. Make sure ye get that phone.

Of course.

Dad and Murdo shook hands again. Esteban opened a rear door in the truck and he got in there leaving the front passenger seat available. Santiago chuckled. Moordo!

Murdo got in the front leaving the door open for Dad to speak. Vicenté and Roberto slapped him on the shoulder.

Dad was saying, If ye can’t phone the night then phone tomorrow. Just dont worry about it. Dont let anything put ye off, never ever. Know what I mean son never ever.

Santiago hadnt switched off the engine and now he released the handbrake.

Dad said, Dont lose contact whatever ye do. Aunt Maureen will never forgive ye. Neither will I. Then yer passport. I dont know what to say about yer passport. If ye get it or leave it with Uncle John, ye just keep it in yer front pocket at all times and never ever take it out or leave it any place. Never.

Santiago glanced at him and shrugged.

It’s the most important thing of all, said Dad, it is just so so crucial son ye keep it in yer trouser pocket at all times. Never ever take it out or leave it any place. Know what I mean son yer passport’s yer passport. Never take it out yer pocket.

Okay Dad.

And phone phone phone.

Right.

Santiago was gazing at Dad, his foot on the accelerator pedal, the truck inching along.

Dad nodded. Okay, he said and shut the door.

Gracias, said Santiago.

Murdo saw that Diego had got out of the 4x4 and Declan walked to meet him. Then Dad. They spoke together. Dad stood with his hands in his pockets.

Santiago said to Murdo, Your father hey!

Yeah.

Santiago made a sad face, then shrugged like there was nothing to be done. Soon Diego was in his car and they were moving ahead. Santiago reversed out and set off after them. Dad standing there with Declan. Murdo waved. Santiago lowered the side window for him, and Murdo waved out in a better way. Dad and Declan walked after them, then stopped by the carpark exit. Declan was waving. Maybe Dad was. Murdo couldnt see properly in the side mirror. That was that. Santiago switched on the music, a good accordeon; kind of jaunty, probably Conjunto.