Ye expected one thing in music then it was away someplace else. How did it happen? But it did. Everything was in that song how these two guys played it, and the men fighting and the women suffering and all everything that happened, all just stupid. They were telling ye and if ye didnt like what they were telling ye then hard luck.
It was special, so so special. Murdo was lucky, how could he be so lucky like just being here and just like everything, everything. He was wanting to play, it would have been good to play. He got up onto his feet and that was that, not looking at anybody; kept his head lowered, stepping to the side of the area, having to go round the back to get out.
There were plenty gaps in the audience. Less people here than Murdo thought. Maybe a few had gone earlier. He didnt look too closely in case Dad was looking, he just needed away.
*
Stalls and tents mostly were closed now; people shifting things into cars and pick-up trucks. The places doing business were for food and drink. The busiest cooked bar-b-que. Folk sat inside or on chairs outside, having a smoke and drinking beer, laughing and talking. Their voices carried. People had gone home and would return for the Hielan Fling. Most but not all. Ones who had traveled a distance would be staying during the in-between time.
Today was the first gig he had been to in ages. Since before Mum died. And being in the audience was good. That strong effect it had inside ye. The music into the body, connecting ye. Sound wasnt just mental it was physical, made up of these tiny wee particles just like anything else; yer hair and yer teeth, yer socks and shoes; yer entire body: sounds were part of it.
The field at the other side of the Gathering area. Murdo had been walking and arrived here without knowing. Earlier on boys and a couple of girls were playing football. At one stage the ball trundled towards him and he did six keepy-uppies, then passed it back. The boy who collected it did a weird flick trick with the ball between his ankles, then kneed it to one of the others who trapped it on the upper part of his foot. So ha ha to you!
It was true but, Murdo wasnt good at football. Dad was a lot better. Dad played for actual teams when he was a boy. He used to come out with other dads. They played in a patch of spare ground down the street where they lived. The boys and the fathers together. That was fun.
It was still hot and Murdo had the jacket slung over his shoulder. He only brought it for the pockets. He reached the fence at the far end of the field. There was a break in it. He could walk through. Beyond was a clump of trees. Ye could cut through here and be away altogether.
The sound of a helicopter; there in the sky circling. Where had it come from?
He kept walking. Cattle! Cowboys riding through gulches and canyons. In the old days in Scotland ye got cattle drovers from the Highlands driving the herds down to the big Glasgow market, cutting open the veins in the cattle to let out blood for food; mixing the blood with porridge oats.
Cattle look at ye. Captured and chopped. What happened to the horns and tails? Hamburgers and sausages. A lassie in school said how all the disgusting bits made hamburgers. She was a veggie, but what she said was right enough. She had her own style, and her own laugh too; a real laugh, sounding like a gurgle or something, and ye could make her laugh.
That certain way a lassie laughs. Guys can make them laugh. Ye make a lassie laugh, that would be special.
Imagine walking through the trees. Imagine he had brought the rucksack and his stuff was all inside, so ye could just like head off into the mountains. Maybe that was the way to LaFayette, marching to Georgia, that would be him, and Murdo laughed. There by himself, he did, he just laughed; not for long.
What time was it anyway? Who knows. There was a lot going on about America and a history to this place too, the south. Horrors. Ye just didnay think about it.
Declan Pike’s playing was excellent but that other side too, how he performed and how some didnt like it. That was politics. Some clapped and thought it was great. Others didnt seem to, maybe they hated it. Imagine hating music. It wasnt music it was what ye said. But if what ye said was in the music, if it was part of the music, so like it was the music… So then they would hate the tune, hate the words and hate the singer.
*
Murdo strolled towards the marquee. A big truck was parked behind it. Guys were unloading musical equipment in through a rear entrance. A Scottish Country Dance Band was providing the evening music. Murdo heard music, not via the speaker system but from inside. The session: he had forgotten about it; scheduled between the afternoon and evening events. People chatted by the front entrance. More smokers. It would be good to smoke. Ye could just disappear and nobody worried about how come ye were disappearing: Oh he’s away for a smoke. That would be great in school. Imagine the teacher. Where is everybody? Please sir away for a smoke.
The session took place not on stage but in the audience area. Chairs had been shifted to create a space. Declan was there on guitar, sitting on a chair and finger-picking. Chess Hopkins was with the guy in the fancy waistcoat and other older people. They hadnt long been started and people had drifted away, including the family. Murdo moved to a chair on the fringes. Declan sang another then passed his guitar to a man who sang a folky song about animals. It was good fun for a session. He did another then Declan took back the guitar, did a country-style song with little flourishes here and there. He laughed a lot in his playing and ye felt ye were sharing a joke with him. Some players never smile let alone laugh. He looked for Chess at the end of it. You about ready? he asked.
Yeah, said Chess then hesitated.
He was looking for the fiddle. Murdo had seen it; it was near the raised platform, placed parallel to its bow on a chair. He waited a moment but Chess wouldnt see it from where he was sitting. Murdo rose to collect it, also the bow which he held upright while walking. Fiddlers were fussy how ye held the bow. Murdo once got a severe row about it. A fiddler with a bad temper, it wasnt unusual.
Chess watched him. Murdo handed them over. Chess said, Thanks son.
I saw them when I sat down, said Murdo.
You did huh. Well I’m glad you did.
Instead of going back to his old seat Murdo sat on the edge of the main group. He had a fiddle at home but for learning only. Nothing like the one belonging to Chess. What was it about fiddles? His made ye smile! Macpherson on the scaffold. Imagine ye were there and he threw it high in the air. Whoever catches the fiddle gets to keep it! Everybody scampering about.
A couple more drifted in. Younger ones were way to the side. Four of the kilted guys in the Glengarrys returned to their same table, not far from the raised platform and talking quietly, not to distract from the music. This was like back home. Nobody expected people to stop talking, just not to be rude. Only if they had too much to drink their voices got loud. Then it was hopeless.
Another one new to Murdo. So much of this was new to him. Soon enough Chess was in on the fiddle and Declan was whistling. The song called for whistling. There was religious content but it was okay. More joined in on the chorus which amounted to whistling the tune. Not as easy as ye might have thought. People had a laugh doing it. Good fun. The young ones at the side were trying to whistle and stare each other in the eye at the same time. What ye noticed with a song like this was how it brought people into the company. At the end ye seemed to know the ones sitting next to ye.