A science teacher played the class music to do with rain and water. Big dollops of rain on a corrugated roof; soft pattering on a shallow pond; a rushing river; drip trails on a pane of glass. People were impressed but it wasnt as big a deal as all that. The fiddle makes the sound of a train blowing in from a distance, disappearing into nothing. A mouth organ did as good a train sound as a fiddle. Trains coming and going. Ye could do stuff on accordeon too, or plucking a guitar string. It depended who was doing it and what they were doing it for. But it was always people doing it. Take away the people and there wasnay anything. That included computerised sound-systems, multi-track mixing and whatever, it was still you had to programme it in. The teacher was right about that.
But it was obvious anyway. Trains never arrive any place. Only the person. A train is there and then it is there and inbetween it is there, and there, and there it is again because it doesnt go anyplace. A person never goes anyplace, it is only the train. The train moves and the person arrives. “Doh” starts and “doh” finishes. When ye get to doh ye arrive, ye have arrived. And take off if ye want!
That was Murdo right now, he felt like that. The world moves but you dont, you are still sitting there.
Music helped ye work things out. From “rain” to “train” ye added a “t”. Then there was “tee” as in la tee doh. “Tee” is always getting someplace and never arrives, not until “doh”. “Tee” needs the “doh”. “Me” stands alone.
What sounds do people make?
The sound of Mum.
Did Dad make sounds after she died? Murdo didnt, he couldnt. Didnt because couldnt. Couldnt couldnt. Whoever could would. He couldnt. His head didnt work. Only for stupid stuff. What was a hospice? He didnt know. Imagine that. Ye have to be dying. The doctor tells ye, Oh ye have to go to the hospice.
But I dont know what a hospice is.
It means you are dying.
Oh.
Dad told Murdo the night he heard the news. Murdo had a night off from hospital and was fooling about with a couple of pals. He came home before eleven o’clock, intending to make toast and tea then skip upstairs to his room except Dad was waiting by the door, waiting for him. They sat down at the kitchen table. Dad wasnt looking good. He was trying to be okay but wasnt good at all. It was just like jeesoh ye knew something. Eventually Dad spoke. Mum’s being transferred to the hospice. He stared at Murdo then gave a wee smile.
Oh Dad that’s brilliant!
That is what Murdo said: brilliant. The exact opposite from what it was. He thought hospice was good. He thought it the next thing up from a hospital. He thought a hospice was where the patient went as the next stage in the recovery process. Go into a hospice and then go home after. Could ye get more stupid? How could a person be so stupid? So utterly utterly just the stupidest most stupidest
Dad didnt know he had misunderstood and it was about two days before Murdo realized the truth. Nobody told him. It was how people reacted when they heard him say it. It was like Oh God… And Murdo saw their faces.
Imagine seeing into somebody’s head. A surgeon does it but only for bones, brains, arteries and stuff, not to see actual thoughts or hear what somebody is thinking. Inside the head is the skimpiest imaginable bit of noise, like the weest tiniest particle possible. It begins from a thought in the brain which sets off a vibration. These vibrations add to the noise of the world. Dad’s too; sitting on the bench; this wee town in America; staring at nothing; his arms folded and mouth open — it was, it was open. Dad sat with his mouth open; an old man! He wasnt staring at nothing, but into the distance, the street out of town. In his head it was the same as in Murdo’s: Mum and Eilidh. Dad and Murdo, Mum and Eilidh. Two and two: two alive and two dead.
At the funeral the Minister was talking about God’s creation. Created and cremated: the letter “m” turned the live creation into the dead cremation. “M” for Minister, “M” for Mum, “M” for Murdo.
Some letters can be good. Murdo liked “b” and “s” and “z” but not so much “d”; “t” was okay. Dad was “t” for Tom. “M” for “mee” was good as in doh ray mee. “Mee” is a cheery note. Not for a death. Ye make that sound deep in yer throat; mmmmmmm, a humming sound, going on and on and on. It can last forever. But when the breath is gone the “m” is gone.
Murdo leaned his elbows back on his knees and sat forwards, staring at the ground.
Soon after came the police patrol car. This was the third time. It passed slowly, the cops staring at them, just like out a movie; quite scary. The car looked heavy and powerful. Probably they were suspicious characters. If they made a wrong move the cops would arrest them. If they tried for a getaway they would catch them easily or kill them. They would! If they thought ye were dangerous. Maybe ye werent dangerous but so what, if they thought ye were: bang bang, Aaahhhhh. Oh he is innocent. Sorry, I shouldnt have killed him.
A 4x4 approached. One of these solid big things, built like a tank.
Uncle John! said Dad.
It was. He had the window down and saluted them with his arm outside. Another man was with him. Both wore baseball caps. He did a U-turn, pulled up beside them and jumped out.
Tommy! Uncle John laughed loudly and grabbed Dad for a cuddle, slapping him on the back. It was strange to see. Dad just stood there but he was laughing too. He never gave cuddles except to women. Murdo didnt expect it either but the same happened. Uncle John grabbed him by the shoulders: cuddle thump thump thump. Then he stepped away, looking him up and down. Murdo Murdo I was expecting a wee boy for God sake what age are ye now, ye’re near bigger than me! Jees Dave look at the size of him.
Dave was the man with him. Uncle John grabbed Murdo by the shoulders once again: cuddle thump thump thump: Tommy Tommy, what age is he! Honest to God I was expecting a kid! How old are ye son?
Sixteen, coming up for seventeen.
God love us! My own big sister’s grandson Murdo that’s who you are! She never made it but you have. Uncle John laughed then shook hands with Dad a second time. Tommy son I never thought to see ye. I feel weepy! He sighed, then introduced the other man. A good friend. Dave Arnott. Got the Macdonald blood in him. Eh Dave!
Dave smiled and shook hands with Dad then Murdo. Uncle John meanwhile lifted Dad’s suitcase. Dad said quickly, That’s heavy.
Uncle John gave him an amused look and hoisted it into the boot of the 4x4. Although much older than Dad he lifted the suitcase easily. Murdo made to shove his rucksack into the boot but Dad did so instead. Uncle John closed the boot and showed Dad into the front passenger’s seat. Dave and Murdo were for the rear. Murdo sat on the side behind Dad. While they were finding the seat-belts Uncle John said: Tommy son, how in hell you ever end up in Allentown, Mississippi!
Dad sighed.
Uncle John laughed. One for the storybooks eh!
He drove in a relaxed way, chatting to Dad with one hand on the wheel, shouting occasional comments back to Murdo and Dave, while the radio played country music. He lived in a small town someplace on the outer regions was how he described it: I call it Scotstown. Every second person ye meet. Take Dave’s family now the Arnotts, they been here since forever, eh Dave?
Couple of hundred years, said Dave.
Hear that? Puts us all to shame! Then you got Macleods, Macleans, Macsweens, Macaulays, Johnsons — Johnson’s a Scottish name Tommy?