But weird seeing it. What was it? Just nothing. A machine. It was him made it work. The handle of the accordeon-case fitted snugly in his hand. It was no effort to lift it. He could have smiled, but whatever, crossing the road to the wee grass square and to the same bench as last night.
The scary guy was gone and the bench was empty. Although maybe it was “his” bench, if he was a homeless guy and that was where he usually slept. He scared him away so he could get “his” bench back. Probably he wouldnt recognize Murdo if he saw him again.
The sun was good, even this early. Blue sky was great. Back home it was clouds, clouds and grey clouds; purple clouds, red clouds, orange clouds; yellow clouds and almost black clouds, palest blue clouds, almost white clouds.
He took the leaflets and flyers out of the rucksack and checked through once again for information on the Jay Cee Lounge gig. All he could find was Queen Monzee-ay featured among “Lancey’s Cajun All-Stars” in an event scheduled for lunchtime. Sometimes “All-Stars” was a label for anybody available on the day. Murdo put away the leaflets and flyers and opened the case. He pulled on the accordeon, adjusted the straps and began on a thing that got the fingers moving. He had Queen Monzee-ay’s set in his head and needed to go in and work but not too fast. Ye could go too fast. Sometimes ye did and it was a waste of time. It didnay work and ye had to blank it all out, and go for it again. Okay if he had been playing like usual like every day, then it would have been easy. But if ye werent playing regularly ye lost the feel and did things that were only there to guide ye in. Once ye were in ye dumped them. Ye just had to judge it, and go with it, and move fast: push it push it push it and not be scared.
Not a great accordeon but it would do. It would be his American one; he would leave it at Uncle John’s house, then the next time him and Dad were there he could use it again.
This was a public place and people were walking now, and walking was moving, moving to the beat, dogs this way and that. Kids there too. Ye got it anywhere. Joggers, strollers; fast power-walkers, shoulders going and Murdo moved on with a kind of two-step thing in line from what he had been hearing off the two CDs, the bare thing itself then thickening it out — making it thick was how he thought of it: beginning on the bare thing then over and over and over, opening it out but bringing in what else could be there and that was crucial.
If he had had a guitar he would have played in a rhythm the way he did for Chess Hopkins. Just to get himself in. Once in that was that. Here he didnt have the guitar, he went with the fingers, where the fingers led him, geared towards the tunes he had been listening to these last many days.
Where did it take ye? Wherever, just wherever. Ye didnt know till there ye were, and that was that in the best kind of playing, the best kind of players. Queen Monzee-ay would be leading and you would know which way to follow, you would find it. You go that way how you think, you go that way how you think, how you think, oh jees yeah on ye go, just like whatever, whatever. Ye could shiver in that kind of playing; and hearing it in other musicians. After it ye needed a gap, not talking to people; the audience were there and however they heard it, okay, but you needed to disappear.
However long Murdo was playing on the bench he didnt know but it felt good and his fingers were fine just moving from what he had been hearing these past days down the basement. It was his learning, whatever that was, it was his to work from. That was enough. Once the band was in he would be in. Queen Monzee-ay was leading the way. He would be with her, he would be with her. She knew he would. That was all she wanted. She was only asking for that.
A crashing noise from the catfish foodstall. A woman had unlocked the shutters and pushed them up. The guy’s wife maybe. He was home with the kids as in turn and turn about. Two jobs, sometimes three. The husband and wife too. One worked then came home. Then the other one went out. One night and one day.
Murdo took off the accordeon. It was a beautiful beautiful morning. He walked a few paces exercising his shoulders and arms, swigged from the bottle of water. Two people were already at the foodstall counter, waiting for the woman to serve them. Nearby the bench three birds pecking into the grass by the verge; crumbs in the dirt, birds look for crumbs; people too. The bird with the human face. Maybe it was there. Aunt Maureen thinking of him. Thinking was worrying. She was worrying. She didnt have to. Aunt Maureen! You do not have to worry! Murdo is alive-alive-oh! Where is that bird! Away and tell Aunt Maureen! Murdo says dont worry.
It was true but. People worry, why do people worry? Dad would just be
oh jees, Dad.
But what could he do? nothing. Dad was coming and that was that because Dad was Dad and Dad just like whatever: that was Dad. Murdo shut his eyes, only a moment: he pulled on the accordeon. Dad was a worrier. People were worriers. Other people werent. Murdo settled the accordeon then stood still and sang a song for Dad:
I was born and raised in Glasgow
in a Glasgow tenement
and when people spoke of my bonny land
I didnt know what they meant
For I have seen the Highlands
I have seen the low,
And I will brag of my native land,
Wherever I may go.
On the shores of foreign brothers
we’ll lay no robber’s hand
all we ask is to toil and live
in our own native land.
The song for Dad was a song for Dad’s own father — Murdo’s grandpa. That was Grandpa Macarthur and he used to sing it himself. Oh and he was a grumpy old guy right enough, who kicked the cat when he lost his temper and wouldnay emigrate to America when people wanted him to. Murdo didnt sing it like grandpa who sang it in a certain way like how he explained it, his own country wasnt his own country:
when people spoke of my bonny land
I didnt know what they meant
because rich people had it all, and tried to keep out the poor people who didnt get the chance to see it and were stuck in filthy stone buildings and filthy stone streets, never allowed out to see the mountains and lochs and great places, woods and sea and sandy beaches and like whatever, rich people had it all, kings and queens and millionaires, landowners and robbers. Grandpa stood to sing it but he always talked, he stopped and talked and granny would give him a row. Sing if ye’re going to sing! We dont want a lecture! People laughing, Mum and Dad.
Murdo sang it. They were all there. Everybody. Eilidh was laughing. Grandpa liked Eilidh, he always liked Eilidh, he smiled with her.
He liked Murdo too. “Just you sing son, you sing!” Murdo sang. He wanted to sing! And that was the song; so what. He was just glad about stuff, just about being here. Today was today and here he was. Tonight was the gig and just everything was like everything.
When he finished the song he went straight into a jig, capering about.
People were watching. A few adults, kids and toddlers. A wee girl in a football jersey came forwards. She was like eight years old and the jersey she wore showed the colours of Barcelona FC. Kids wore the same jersey back in Scotland. She held out a dollar. His empty coffee carton was there on the bench. Murdo winked at the girl and nodded towards it. Beyond her he saw the mother smile. The girl dropped in the dollar, stepped back and returned swiftly to her parents. Other people stopped. A few looked foreign and were taking pictures. A couple of guys and lassies roundabout his own age stayed for two songs. The accordeon brought them. Not his voice!
He played on, maybe three quarters of an hour. It was so worthwhile just doing it, and out of nothing. He hadnt meant to do anything like that. It was just everything! A whole combination of stuff. He took his time putting away the accordeon and getting his stuff together. He was keen to see how much money was in the old coffee carton but didnt want to look when people were watching. Then he was able to count it: $11.70. Ye would call it a wage. His first wage in America. This was it! That was like two sandwich meals or one big one, two catfish. It was just brilliant.