Dirt Road (36 page)

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.