Dirt Road. James Kelman
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He saw the girl at the side and tried to smile but couldnt, but he called to her: I’m not spying.
Now she recognised him and she raised her arm. Hey! I know him! He came in the store last night.
This aint the store, said the guy.
Oh he’s foreign Joel. Hear him talk, he’s not American.
The lady with the fancy hat said: The poor fellow! Not American! Mon Dieu!
He didnt know about tax! said the girl.
Both women laughed. The guy who had caught Murdo was still annoyed but no longer angry-looking. He was older than Murdo but not that much.
Murdo shouldnt have been there at all because it was other people’s gardens. He knew that. It was just the music. I heard the music. Murdo said, I was going to the shop. I heard it and just eh—I followed it round.
The two women found this funny. The accordeonist said: Hey now children he is enjoying my music. You think I didnt see him? I saw him from early. He’s audience! You think I wont see audience?
She dont get that much nowadays, said the other lady.
The accordeonist raised her hand. I saw him the moment he come in these trees there! She studied Murdo:You like the music?
It’s great.
Great huh! She gazed at him.
Yeah. He shrugged. I play too.
She continued to gaze at him. Oh now, she said, I know you play. I saw how you were looking. What you play boy Cajun? You play Cajun?
Eh . . .
Come up here! she said. Murdo went immediately to the porch. You Irish? she asked.
No eh, Scottish.
Scotland, said Sarah.
It’s another country, said Murdo. It’s near Ireland, and the music’s like not too different I mean like eh . . . Murdo sniffed, and gestured at the older lady’s accordeon. I would play, he said. If ye think I mean eh if ye wanted me to I mean . . . Murdo stopped, aware of Sarah watching him and he blushed immediately, tried to stop it but couldnt. Last night she was almost angry. Now she was friends and really she was beautiful. Her name too, Sarah, an old name. Old names were good. The name “Sarah” was right. As soon as ye said it ye knew it was hers.
The accordeonist made a comment in French to the lady with the fancy hat, then studied Murdo. She nodded to Sarah: Go get him a box honey, get him the turquoise.
Sarah went to the house behind the porch.
So boy what’s your name?
Murdo.
Murrdo. She grinned, stressing the “r.” Well now Murrdo my name is Miss Monzee-ay: people call me Queen Monzee-ay. Can you say that?
Queen Monzee-ay.
This here is Aunt Edna.
Welcome, said the other lady.
Queen Monzee-ay waved at the guy who had surprised Murdo. He is Joel, he is my grandson. Sarah on rubboard is his sister.
Sarah is my granddaughter. So now you know us. So how come you are here?
Well I was going to the shop like I mean the store.
No now boy I’m talking here, in this place, this town. This is Allentown, huh? How did you come by here?
Aw, well, what happened, we missed the bus. Me and my father eh . . . we missed the bus, like that’s why. We’re just passing through.
Aunt Edna clapped hands. Now he’s got it!
Queen Monzee-ay chuckled. Sarah returned now. She was wearing a hat; a daft round thing, but it looked good and made ye smile to see. She held the accordeon out to him. The top she was wearing didnt have sleeves so her shoulders were bare like last night. Thanks, said Murdo. He took it from her, pulled it on and touched the keys.
Queen Monzee-ay said, Now Murdo you play how you play.
The accordeon was tuned to B-flat. He hadnt played for a while and his fingers were not flexing right. A strange sensation too like the skin on his fingers was too tight or something and he was wanting to widen the gap between the tips of his fingers and the fingernails. People were watching but he was okay. They were wanting him to play properly. He knew they were and he wanted them to hear. That was that, he played a jig he had learned a few months earlier. He was still with the band at that time, before Mum’s health deteriorated. It was fine, he knew it was fine. Some kids were here and he hoped they might dance. They didnt but it was okay anyway. Aunt Edna applauded: Bravo m’sieur.
Queen Monzee-ay said: Want to play it again?
The same one?
The same one.
Off he went the second time. He saw her preparing to play, then she did. In she came, she played a rhythm almost like straight into him. Brilliant. Murdo played the jig a little differently now; shifting ground was how he thought of it, but it meant him doing fast steps. Mum had described it as “capering.” She enjoyed it when he “capered.” He sometimes did it with the band, jigging about, just depending how it went and if he was taking the lead. If he was playing a jig he was doing a jig. That was how he thought of it. Ye were not just playing for the tune ye were in it. He did it here with Queen Monzee-ay, and she played into him. Her name fitted: a real Queen, real music, real style.
She played another of hers with Sarah on le frottoir—which was rubboard in French. It was a fast number, swinging, rocking. Just so good. Queen Monzee-ay looked for Murdo coming in like she had on the jig and he was ready for it. She was fast. Thinking of
somebody old, she said how she was slowing; not her brains but
her fingers. Murdo didnt think so, my God. Arthritis she said but it was a joke how she said it. She was not slow at all, not lightning fast but near to that.
“Zydeco” was the name of the music. Murdo knew nothing about it and had never even heard the name before. He had heard the name “Cajun” but not music so much as a place, like a land or a country, the “country of Cajun.” But he had never heard the word “Zydeco” before.
Sarah was laughing, and that daft hat she was wearing, just so—how to describe it? Murdo didnt know except it made ye grin, make anybody grin. More like a sailor’s cap. Back home ye saw rich guys on yachts wearing them. Sarah was great. She was fun. A real lassie just laughing. That was her! She was just like special! Ye knew it! Anybody would! The real granddaughter. She was Queen Monzee-ay’s real granddaughter.
Queen Monzee-ay led in on another uptempo number, with a smashing chorus line where Sarah joined in, emphasizing the Frenchness. It was sexy how they did it and it made ye laugh, really, good fun:
Ooo la la something something
Com si com sa something something
And Aunt Edna too, whooping and clapping, her right hand beating time, wrist jerking, the flicking and cutting movements; shouting comments in French; all just kidding on, she was kidding on and kidding him on too. He knew she was. He didnt care. It was just the best, really, for Murdo it was the best fun and he hadnt had it for a long time, for a long long time.
At the doorway of the next house a man and woman appeared and were listening. Sarah came up close to Murdo: Ma and Dad, she said.
Queen Monzee-ay wanted one from him now and he played a Canadian waltz; from Newfoundland, the nearest part of Canada to Scotland. It had a cheery effect. Sarah’s Ma and Dad danced to it. Queen Monzee-ay played a harmony line and at the end she said, Hey now Murdo, see what you can do with this one. And it was another good rocking tune of her own, she called it “Fresh Air Does You Good!” L’air frais fait du bien! Just add the croutons, she called.
Midway through she stepped aside, keeping a rhythm and pushing for him to take the lead, urging him on. Show me show me. She may as well have been shouting. But it was fine and in he came,