Zydeco dont travel, said Aunt Edna.
Oh we get around some, said Queen Monzee-ay.
Only they dont like to pay, muttered Aunt Edna. Oh please come please come; please come play for us Miss Monzee-ay you are a legend, an all-time star of the world; you are the Queen of Zydeco music. Only we cant pay you no money!
Queen Monzee-ay chuckled. She still gets angry!
Sure I get angry. You got to live on fresh air.
Sarah’s brother Joel had brought them coffee on a tray. He also brought drinks for Murdo, Sarah and himself; fizzy stuff with ice and bits of ginger and green herb leaves floating, but tasty.
Oh Aunt Edna, said Sarah, tell Murdo about the band not getting paid that time like when you brought out the “piece”!
You tell him. Aunt Edna said, I need to smoke.
Yeah, said Queen Monzee-ay, taking off her accordeon and propping it against the wooden surround. She rose to her feet, massaging her side.
Both the older ladies smoked. They lifted their coffees and moved from the porch to where chairs were set on the grass. They sat there smoking cigarettes. An older man came to sit with them and they chatted, out of earshot.
Sarah continued the story: You know a “piece” is a handgun Murdo? Aunt Edna helped Gran and the band out sometimes, like on the road? Organising the money. Joel and me grew up on these stories and they are so wonderful. Our mother told us too, from when she was a kid. Gran took her on the road.
Jeesoh!
Yeah, said Joel. All over. That was Mum’s education like dives and joints and blues clubs man Zydeco and jazz and like whoh! She like…man, that was her, that was her education.
Murdo laughed.
You play in a band? said Sarah.
Yeah well… Murdo looked at her.
You always want to play music?
Murdo shrugged. Yeah
She’s a writer, said Joel.
I’m not a writer.
Yeah you are.
Sarah sighed, closing her eyes. I want to be a writer.
She’s going to do the course, said Joel. It’s like a college course?
Dad says I should go to New York City but Mum says it’s too cold.
She means dangerous, said Joel. New York City is dangerous.
It’s not dangerous.
Mum says it is. Dad too.
Oh yeah they want the west coast, but how dangerous is that, like LA? My God! They take pistols to class.
No they dont. Joel chuckled.
Yes they do.
No they dont.
I dont care, said Sarah, they got courses anyplace you want to name; Creative Writing Programs, and it’s like anything you want; poetry and fiction-writing; feature movies; documentary you know like politics; even a novel, imagine a novel! Oh my God! Sarah danced a step, then paused and sighed. Gran lived on the west coast for years. Her and the band… Sarah sighed. Dad says I dont need to go anywhere, they got courses here in Mississippi.
Huh! Joel shook his head.
Yeah, said Sarah, but it’s the program’s important Joel and they got some closeby. Dad says so. Mum too.
Oh yeah, yeah, they just want you home.
Sarah was silent for a moment. How come you are here Murdo?
Oh. Well, yeah… Murdo frowned.
Like here in Allentown?
Yeah. I dont know, we just eh…we were traveling to Alabama and that is east really; so how come Allentown like heading south, yeah, I dont know. I looked at the map in the bus station and it was like how come we landed here if it should be east?
Didnt you know this was Mississippi?
Mississippi? No, I mean like not Dad either, my father, I dont think he knew either.
Sara and Joel grinned.
Dad’s doing the directions. I think it was bad information up in Memphis like us getting a bus from there then like missing the bus here; even the bus driver I mean he was not helpful.
You missed the bus here? said Sarah.
Yeah well anyway who cares.
Queen Monzee-ay was watching from her chair, and she gave a wave. Murdo waved back, and got a bad feeling in his stomach. It sounded like he was poking fun at Dad and he wasnt. He didnt mean to. It was me anyway, he said. I forgot my phone so like for directions. Murdo shrugged. My Dad’s fine, he said. Really, he’s fine. It’s not his fault at all, it’s mine. Missing the bus was my fault like I mean not his. It’s just eh we dont talk that much really, being honest. My mother died eh… Murdo smiled. Sorry, he said, just eh…
Oh Murdo, said Sarah.
He scratched his brow. Yeah, quite recent, so it’s…it’s been tough I suppose really, ye would say. Dad especially because like my sister…
Sarah was staring at him.
God, he said and breathed in. What I mean like she died as well sorry, I dont mean to be saying this like I mean sorry, it’s a long time ago like I was only nine, jees I mean a long long time ago.
Oh God Murdo.
Yeah, she was only twelve. Murdo smiled, not looking at Sarah; nor at Joel, but away way over their heads, the heads of people; almost like he was floating, his voice coming from someplace else.
Sarah’s hand was on his wrist. Oh Murdo.
He opened his mouth to take in air. Joel was looking at him as well. Murdo shrugged. Just to tell ye, he said, it was a tumour, like hereditary. Through the female line. Murdo bit on the side of his lower lip. Males dont get it, he said. So the likes of me, I’m okay and Dad I mean. It doesnt affect us. It’s weird with Eilidh but — my sister — even just now, I open the door and it’s like I expect to see her.
Murdo grinned. She’s more of a pal. I think of her like that; a pal, a pal that died. Jeesoh, sorry. Murdo scratched his head. The turquoise accordeon was where he had left it.
He made a movement towards it, he wanted to play one for Sarah. Joel too but Sarah especially. Joel wouldnt mind; brothers and sisters. Brothers and sisters were fun. This tune too, it was a fun thing he had been learning; an old fisherman’s song, just stupid stuff about being fed up with the cod-fishing and then getting married and being fed up with that too if yer wife was ordering ye about all the time, so ye were like glad to go back to the fishing again. And ye had to know what a cod was like: cods are huge! And wives, wives are wives but they are girlfriends too.
He reached for the box, pulled it on and started right in on it, playing right into Sarah so she had to step back, and she was so taken by surprise she kind of shouted and it made people look. Joel laughed. Murdo sang the lyric when he played it, jigging about on the chorus. It was how he practised too. He wasnt great on vocals and didnt do it much but on this one he did.
Across the garden he saw Queen Monzee-ay and Aunt Edna smiling and clapping hands. Four or five kids returned and joined in on the jig. Murdo moved them here and there threading a way between them like the Pied Piper. It was good fun. People liked it and him being stupid too when he was singing. It didnt have to be the right words; if he didnt know the real ones make them up, just make them up. Who cares! Long ago he learned that. Half the time he wasnt singing words at all
doo doo doo, dih doo doo doo,
dih dih doo doo doo doo,
la la la, lih la la la.
As long as he kept it going and didnt stop. Never ever. If he messed up someplace keep it going keep it going, and he kept it going, some way or another. The fast-foot dance maybe. He called it that. He made it up himself. Maybe not, maybe he copied it from somebody. He liked seeing other players and how they did stuff.
He did slow walks too. Some airs he played very still, not moving hardly at all, so people focused. They had no choice, ye forced them into it and they had to do it. For some tunes they had to listen; if they didnt they would never get it, and ye wanted them to get it, and people had to be ready for that, ready to listen. Ye saw good performers and that was what they did. They led the way for the audience, they brought them along. He liked seeing the old-time players because of that and ye saw all different ones on YouTube. Sometimes ye thought “crafty”, oh that’s crafty, that player’s crafty and ye wanted to give him a wink — maybe the fiddler because ye knew what he was up to!