Dirt Road. James Kelman
onto a wooden patio. He headed outside. It was a good size of a garden, bounded by hedges tall enough to block off the neighbours’ view, but cluttered with junk; old-style garden furniture and children’s outdoor toys mainly, including a chute and swings, and a scooter and a bike with a wheel missing. There was an old garden shed too whose roof looked set to collapse. He prowled around. A football. What a find! It needed air but could be used. He kicked it around, tried a few keepy-uppies but soon stopped. So very warm and with the clear blue sky. Ye forgot about the sun how good it felt. This garden was so so different from Sarah’s but enjoyable in its own way. Ye would appreciate the privacy too, if ye wanted to sunbathe, and it was good for that here, definitely.
***
Murdo had returned downstairs and shoved on his swimming shorts. It was a new pair bought for coming here and they acted like ordinary shorts as well as for swimming. Between two cupboards in the corner of the room he found a stack of books on the floor by the wall. The first one he lifted was cowboys and indians and it looked interesting. He took it upstairs. Aunt Maureen found a huge towel for him. More like a blanket. He had to pass Dad outside on the patio. There was like a roof here; spars of wood across the top gave shade. Dad was at the table reading.
Down by the far hedge Murdo spread out the towel on the grass, took off his T-shirt for a tan and lay down on his front.
Dad hadnt noticed him anyway. Although maybe he had and it just didnt register. When Dad was reading he switched off from everything. Murdo didnt. He wished he could. His concentration wandered for nothing, away thinking about stuff, until then he “came to”: Where am I? Dad tried to get him to read books. Once he started he enjoyed it but it was just starting. The one he brought from the basement was good. Okay, cowboys, but a not bad story and he was quite enjoying it: Cherokee Indians and settlers.
After a while Dad called: Alright there!
Hi Dad, yeah!
Watch out for the sun!
Okay.
Too much of it isnay good.
Yeah.
They went back to reading again, then Murdo stopped and lay on his back, shielding his eyes from the sun. Later Aunt Maureen appeared from the house and called him onto the patio. A tray of sandwiches and a coffee each for him and Dad. Usually he didnt drink coffee. The smell put him off when he was young and he hadnt quite got over it. The only thing worse was cigarette smoke. He opened the slices of bread to see inside. Cheese salad.
Dad waited until Aunt Maureen had gone, and smiled. What ye looking for inside the sandwich?
I was just seeing what it was. Cheese salad . . .
So what would have happened if it wasnay a cheese salad, would ye have sent it back to the chef?
Murdo smiled, but Dad lowered the book. Seriously? he said. I know it’s just a habit.
Well that’s all it is.
Some habits are good son but some arent. The bad ones are there to be broken. Somebody gives ye a sandwich ye dont open it up to see what’s inside. Know what I mean? It’s actually bad manners. Think about it.
Murdo sniffed. Dad resumed reading. Murdo lifted the sandwich and the coffee, about to return to his spot in the garden. He hesitated then sat down at the patio table. He didnt want Dad thinking he was huffy. He bit into the bread. He wasnt even hungry but Aunt Maureen made the sandwiches especially. He had to eat one. Anyway, better for cleanliness to eat at the table. That would be Dad. If ye dropped crumbs at a table ye could wipe them up whereas in the garden, if ye dropped them on the grass ye didnt see them again.
Although birds came to peck. That was good if ye fed the birds. But what about the crumbs that landed on the earth? causing wee tremors. Insects would feel it. As soon as the food landed that would be them. The earth tremors would tell them. Hundreds of insects arriving from miles around; there they were, heads poking out the soil: snap snap snap. If they missed the grub they ate one another. Insects didnt worry. Did they even know who was who? That’s my granny I better not eat her. Or if it was a lower species of insect, they would eat them. Insects fed off one another.
Dad had finished his sandwich and lowered his book onto the table. He lifted the coffee. I take it ye’re not missing school!
Ha ha.
Dad was smiling.
I never want to go back. I dont Dad. I really dont.
Aye well there’s things we have to do in life Murdo, we dont always want to do them.
Not school though.
School. Work. You go to school I go to work.
I want to go to work.
Dad sighed.
I do. I want to go.
Ye will soon enough.
Aye but Dad I really want to, really. I do.
So ye keep telling me.
Because it’s true.
Dad shifted on his chair, raised the book and gazed at it for several seconds, then lowered it. Where’s all this come from? he said. Ye’ve only got a few months to go and that’s you.
Dad
Less than a year.
Murdo groaned.
One year.
Dad it’ll no work like I mean it wont.
What ye talking about?
Me at school Dad it’s not working, it’s hopeless.
Oh God.
It’s me. I’m just like—I’m hopeless.
Of course ye’re not hopeless. Ye’re not hopeless at all.
I am.
Ye’re not. What ye talking about?
Well what I mean I’m not able to do it. I hate it. I really hate it and I just—I cant do it. I wish I could but I cant.
Ye’re bright enough.
Dad
Ye’re only repeating this year because how things have been at home. It’s nothing to do with being stupid or hopeless or some such nonsense, it’s because of what’s happened, it’s because of like just . . . the past year and Mum being ill Murdo. Just stick in. Stick in. Ye’ll catch up.
I wont Dad.
Ye will. Then next year it’s college.
Aw Dad.
Ye’re only repeating this one year. That’s all.
Dad
Naw. No more.
Dad I’m only saying
Dad groaned. He looked at Murdo. Murdo shrugged. He lifted the remains of the sandwich and stood, shifting back the chair. He didnt feel like the coffee but took it anyway.
Dad said, Watch ye dont burn. It’s into the mid eighties.
Murdo nodded, returned to his spot on the grass. Dad glanced across but Murdo pretended not to notice, lifted the cowboy book and lay down on the towel. He stretched out on his front, the sun on his back.
He turned to his page in the book. It was good having an actual ordinary book and ye just marked a page and whatever. Quite an interesting story too. But he wanted back down the basement. Except if he went it was being huffy. It wouldnt occur to Dad there was a reason, like music, thinking about music. Okay if he had a headset or something but when ye had nothing, jeesoh. Really it was playing, he needed to play. He really did and he couldnt. He wanted to and he couldnt.
That was Dad: Ye cannay bring the accordeon.
How come! How come he couldnt? How come Dad didnt let him? What was the big problem? It was just stupid. It wasnt like Dad had to carry it. God, just bloody hopeless.