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.