Dirt Road. James Kelman
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the label. It says four forty-nine but the machine charged more, I watched it. The same with everything. Your machine charged more, it’s just like every single thing it added on money. The total’s all wrong.
She stared at him. Oh you’re talking about tax, she said. You got tax on these things.
Tax?
Each one you got there it’s got the price then it’s tax on top. Is that what you’re talking about, tax? The girl held her hand out for the money. You’ll see it on the receipt.
It totalled more than thirty dollars. He didnt have enough money. He showed her the twenty-five. You’ll need to take stuff out.
Huh?
Murdo passed her the lettuce and the yoghurt. Does that make it? he asked.
Mm. She started packing the food into a brown bag, paused to place the two tins on a tray behind her. To the side of the cash register was the basket of loose bananas. She did a new cash total and gave him the receipt. He was waiting to see the change. A little more than one dollar in coins. How much for bananas? he said. Can I get two please?
Pardon me?
Murdo held out the change to her. Can I get two bananas please?
She packed in two bananas beside the rest of the food and pushed the full bag across.
Thanks, he said.
Sure. She watched him lift the bag. Where you from? she said.
Scotland.
Scotland?
Yeah.
Mm.
He held the bag close to his chest and exited the shop, up along the street and the main road. He started smiling. Because it was good. He felt that. Just everything. America. He liked it. It was different. Had she even heard of Scotland! Ha ha, maybe she hadnt. It was strange to think. America, an American girl. Imagine she smiled at him. Maybe she did. She could have.
Mum would have liked it here. Everything was new; away from the old stuff. Fresh air and breathing. Fresh breathing. Everything! Murdo felt that strongly. He didnt care about stuff. School and the rest of it. They would all wonder where he was. Ha ha. Here. Thousands of miles away. It was great, just bloody great, and he walked fast: food to eat. Dad too, he must have been hungry.
It was dark by now. He remembered the toilet rolls. In the motel reception office the guy was on the computer. He had a wee pile of books beside him. He must have been a student right enough. Murdo said: We dont have any toilet rolls.
Huh?
I mean like toilet rolls?
You need toilet rolls huh?
Well we dont have any.
The guy turned and opened a cupboard door, withdrew two and gave them to him.
Do we not get any towels?
Huh, you want towels?
Yeah well there arent any.
Okay.
Are we not supposed to get towels?
Sure, yeah. Who’s in the room?
Me and my father.
The guy opened the same cupboard door, brought out two towels and handed them across.
Thanks, said Murdo.
Sure.
Back in the room the television was on but he could see Dad had been dozing. Dad yawned, watching him come in the door and carry the towels and toilet rolls into the bathroom. Murdo laid the food and drink along the foot of the single bed then knelt to unlace his boots.
Dad said, Well done son.
The office guy was fine. He just gave me the stuff.
Good, said Dad. What about the shop? How was the walk? Did ye meet anybody?
No.
Dad yawned. Did ye get teabags?
Instead of answering Murdo knelt to retie the bootlaces.
Did ye not get any? asked Dad.
No but I will now, said Murdo, quickly knotting the lace on his left boot.
Dont bother.
No Dad I’ll go.
No ye wont.
Dad ye need tea.
I dont.
Ye do.
I dont.
Dad, ye need tea!
Calm down.
But Dad
I dont need tea. We have needs in this life but tea isnay one of them. I’ll survive. Dad lifted the towels and toilet paper and entered the bathroom.
Murdo sat a moment then switched on the television. He watched it while preparing the food. When Dad came out the bathroom he saw it on top of the cupboard. Good stuff, he said, well done.
I’ll go for tea in the morning, said Murdo.
Dont worry about it.
No, he said, I’ll go.
***
Last thing in the evening he went in for a shave. He hadnt done it for a while. The mirror over the washbasin was more a large flat tile but it worked alright for looking into. There were these pimples around his chin. When he shaved the safety-razor cut them, it cut off the tops. The risk was more pimples. The blood out a pimple caused that to happen. It made them spread. Ye had to be careful if ye scratched them, it could leave scars and brought plooks and boils. Ye were better patting yer face dry with the towel instead of wiping it.
Mum used to give him a separate towel. It was her told him about patting instead of wiping because wiping makes pimples spread. His werent as bad as some. But he didnt have a heavy growth. Some guys did. Dark hair meant ye shaved more. If ye were black ye wouldnt go red at all. How could ye? Then with pimples, probably it disguised them. Ye wouldnt see them as easy if ye were black. He could never imagine that girl in the shop having pimples. Girls get pimples but ye dont think of it. Sarah. It was a good name. He liked her and he could imagine her; she had good lips. People have different lips. He saw his own in the mirror and what did they look like? Thin; thin lips. A guy he knew played the pipes and he had thin lips where ye might have expected thick ones. Because playing the pipes, it was what ye would expect. Some guys were horrible-looking; gross, the worst imaginable. Yet they had girlfriends; wives and children too. So they got kissed. Gay guys kissed each other. Everybody kisses and gets kissed.
When he dried his face there were spots of blood on the towel. The usual wee cuts round his chin and neck. He splashed on the cold water again, patted his chin dry. Dad had the television on when he appeared. He looked over. Murdo said, I was shaving.
Oh.
Murdo shrugged. He sat on the bed with his back to the top end. It was relaxing watching television, except Dad kept the volume low and there were no good programmes and the adverts were like every second minute, the voices droning on, but it was comfy, and thick pillows just like sinking in. Dad woke him later. Ye’re better getting inside the sheets, he said.
Murdo undressed and got inside the sheets. A while passed and he was awake again. This time it was the middle of the night. The bedside lamp had been switched off. Although the curtains were drawn light came through the underside. He thought he heard voices. The television was off. One voice mumbling. Was it Dad? Was he praying? Murdo couldnt tell, not individual words. He didnt want to listen. Dad prayed when Mum died. Murdo didn’t—except only before with the pain Mum suffered ye needed to block it out, how she held his hand, gripping it, because with the pain, gripping his middle three fingers like squashing them tight, the pain she was in. Please God make her not in pain, please God. But she was, except with the medication heavier and ye saw her eyes, poor poor Mum, inside her eyes, just