Murdo sat back on the seat.
Things that are daft. This is life. Ye think things. Just stupid. Girls are girls and guys are just like, just the usual.
How could he go home? He didnt have enough money. The bus cost too much. He would have to hitch. He would hitch. The road out of Lafayette was okay for hitching, it wasnt like a real interstate where ye couldnt stand. Hitch it to Baton Rouge and then up the way to Jackson and over to Birmingham, although Birmingham, ye wanted to pass it by because of that damn church and what happened to the girls, where they were killed; that bloody bomb, that was like America, that was America, that was ha ha ha, killing and bombing and battering and just bloody horrible and he wanted away, away away away, he wanted away.
Murdo crouched forwards, arms folded and resting on his knees, just how he was feeling was the stupidity, just like stupidity. Murdo and stupidity. Dad would say it. Life. Murdo’s life. Stupidity. Talk about stupidity, that was him, he was just daft. Daft. Some guys got lassies but he didnay; beautiful lassies, he didnay get any. He didnay. He had a girlfriend before and she went with another guy. Imagine that. Just like
That is what happened. That guy had sex with her and Murdo didnt. That was the truth and he knew it for a fact. She had sex with him but not with Murdo. How come? Ye just like — ye have to think, ye have to think…ye have to, ye just like worry worry, ye worry about it, if ye’ve done something wrong, something like whatever; if it is your fault, ye wonder, or maybe like if ye are gay, so it is like maybe I’m gay and that is what it is, like if the lassie doesnay fancy ye, how come? if ye are gay, maybe ye are. The guy in the toilet. Then him in Allentown offering a lift, jeesoh, how come? How come these guys
like if it was a real lift, how come Murdo didnt take it? Ye wonder about that. How come he didnay take the lift? If ye want to hitch it then somebody offers and ye dont take it. How come?
Just something. Something. Probably nothing; probably he was a good guy and just helpful. He knew Sarah’s father. It would just be stupid, just Murdo like how — whatever, he was daft, he did daft things, said the wrong things. Grow up, why didnt he?
Ye got sick of it, sick of yerself. Everything was mixed up. The guy was trying to be helpful and ye said no. He was black. So if he was white? Was that something? People were white, or else black. Sarah was black and American. Murdo was white and Scottish. White and Scottish. He twisted on his seat, pulling on the rucksack, set to leave. He breathed in and it made a snorting sound. He closed his eyes and sat there, and settled the breathing, forcing it measured, measured; one two three; one, one; one two three, one two three. He breathed in.
He gripped the handle of the accordeon-case but didnt get up off the seat, he just breathed in; breathing in, breathing out, breathing in, breathing out, because he didnt want to get up off the seat but just stay there and nothing. None of it was like anything; nothing at all; everything was something else. He let go the handle of the accordeon-case and slunk even further down, still on the edge of the seat. He shouldnt have put the rucksack on but he had and he couldnt take it back off without getting up off the seat and he didnt want to in case anybody saw him. He wasnt going to the gig tonight, he was not going. Never.
What is life? “Life”? When Mum died her face changed. Her actual face and like the shape of it, the cheekbones maybe. It wasnt Mum’s face. Was that pain? Maybe it was. Twisted up with pain. Heavy heavy morphine drugs. They gave her morphine. Somebody said that. Who told them? Why not Murdo? If you are the son how come they dont tell you? Oh Mum is dying, maybe ye can find out for yerself. Oh well. Life is life. Sarah and she’s got a boyfriend. What did Queen Monzee-ay think? There was Murdo and there was whoever. People see ye. Ye get these thoughts about people too, that they know what you are thinking. They say it to ye: Oh I know what you’re thinking. But do they? They cant see into yer brain. So if a guy looks at ye and he is gay then is that you? Maybe it is, so if ye are, so what? Dad is like Oh ye have to do this and ye have to do that. It was just daft bloody nonsense, so if ye were gay, however life is, so what, it is all just plus 1, everybody and nothing. It was all just stupid. Ye look in the mirror and see other people. Because they are seeing you. Ye see yer own face but these other folk too, how come they are all there? They say something so you have to go along with it. You make a decision but it is their life too.
If it had been night-time he could have got up and walked out and nobody would know. Here the sky was blue, the sun was shining, Saturday afternoon and the broadest daylight ever ye could get. On stage Lancey introduced another one and on they went, him on fiddle, another waltz
oh but sad sad sad bloody sad, that voice this morning, the French guy doing the French song, how did he get that sadness it made ye bloody cry just so so sad. Stupid stupid stuff, that was music and just fuck, how they got that sadness. How do they do it? Musicians just get it. Some get it, Queen Monzee-ay in her playing, sitting there, the all-stars, she was just staring; where she was staring, ye would never ever know. Never. Never never. She was sitting there staring off, and that sad waltz rhythm. What was she staring at? Nothing, only her eyes were open. She was the centre. Ye knew it. Ye had to watch her. Murdo had never seen anybody, never seen anybody, whatever she was she was just, she was just like what, the minute-most minute
Murdo was onto his feet now gripping the accordeon-case handle, not looking to the front but squeezing his way sideways out. He could not stay because people would see him. Out from the row of chairs Aunt Edna was standing with the guy in the black studded hat. They were to the side of the space away from the seated area and people milled around next to her. She had glanced in Murdo’s direction but wouldnt have seen him if he didnt do anything. He waved to her. Aunt Edna, he had to. She saw him coming and laughed a real laugh, introduced him to the older man in the black studded cowboy hat; a musician. Diego Narciso. Murdo had never heard of him.
Aunt Edna spoke in Spanish to the man, and Queen Monzee-ay’s name was mentioned, then added to Murdo: I told Diego you aint ever heard of him Murdo, he says you got no education!
Diego extended his hand to Murdo and they shook hands, and clapped Murdo on the shoulder. Hey Murdo: you play with Queen Monzee-ay?
Murdo grinned.
Good. Diego nodded, turned to one of four young guys who were standing not far away, and spoke with him in Spanish. The four listened to Diego, seeing Murdo and the accordeon-case.
Aunt Edna put her arm round him drawing him to her, and whispered: He is telling them about you. These young ones are his band, they play tonight Murdo. Diego is very famous here: one of the finest players — from Texas but you know like Mexico? Aunt Edna kissed Murdo on the cheek. People will be very pleased to see you here. Aunt Edna pointed over to where Sarah was sitting. You see Sarah and Joel there? Gene too. You know Gene? sitting with Sarah, a fine guitarist Murdo, he plays with you tonight.
Aunt Edna broke off to join the applause for the end of a song, then dropped her cigarette to the ground, and tried to crush it beneath the heel of her boot, but it kept burning. Murdo stepped on it. The band leader Lancey was telling the audience in a mixture of French and English that Queen Monzee-ay would now play one of her own songs. Lancey bowed to her. This song also from our tradition, Zydeco tradition. Zydeco, Haricot, Queen Monzee-ay! La maestra, magnifica, Queen of Zydeco music!
There was applause. Aunt Edna shook her head. Oh he dont know, she said, he dont know.
Diego touched her hand. Miss Kwankwan, he said.