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Stories from the Verse
Con Version
Chapter 23: Brown 289
Table of Contents
Previous chapter: Takano 91
Settling into the recliner in their living room, Derek was not certain whether a belch would make him feel better or worse, but then he decided he didn’t really have a choice in the matter. He could feel the heat even in the expelled gas.
“Are you alright?” Vashti asked.
“Well, I think it’s good that we decided to play before we ate,” he answered. “I don’t think I’ll be playing for a while.”
“Oh, I’m sure it’s not as bad as that. You’ll get over it.”
“Yeah, you say.” He closed his eyes. A free lunch was a free lunch, but he felt worse after eating it than he did before. He was going to have to think about this. At least Vashti had no trouble with the food. She was going to eat well; he was going to, well, eat.
When he felt a bit better he would go out and try to get a rabbit for dinner.
There was a call from the front porch. “Yo, Mista Hunta! Youze home?”
Derek and Vashti looked at each other, neither certain what to do.
“‘S’me, Maurice!”
Derek hopped up, burped again, swallowed, and went to the door; Vashti followed him. He opened the door, and a boy about his age, black and carrying what was obviously a trombone case, spoke again before he could.
“Ah was lookin’ fo’ Mista Hunta?”
“You must be Maurice--Maurice--” he glanced at Vashti.
“Howland,” she provided.
“Right. The trombone player. Hannah Johnson said we should meet you.”
“Oh? An’ how is the Widda Johnson?”
That answers a question for us, he thought.
“Missus Johnson seems to be well, although I’ve only just met her. But my wife and I--oh, I’m Derek, by the way, Derek Brown, and this is my wife Vashti. Anyway, we played at her restaurant for the lunch crowd today, and she suggested that you might help us turn our duo into a trio.”
“What, an’ play fo’ Miz Johnson?”
“She didn’t exactly say that, but I suspect that’s a possibility. Anyway, why don’t you come in and show us what you can do.” He held the door open as the boy entered.
“So, weah’s Mista Hunta?”
Derek looked at Vashti, realizing that just about any explanation he could give would sound like the kind of explanation that might be given by a murderer who had disposed of the body and moved into the house, but he couldn’t help that.
“He didn’t tell us where he was going; he just asked us to take care of things while he was gone, and left us here.”
“So, you play?” Maurice asked.
“Trumpet,” Derek answered. “And Vashti plays an instrument I’ve never seen before, called a ney, which is kind of like a flute or something. Anyway, play something for us.”
Setting down the case across the arms of the recliner and so depriving Derek of his seat, Maurice removed a well-used instrument, set the mouthpiece, wiped it out, blew the spit valve, ran the slide up and down a few times, brought it to his mouth and down again, looked at them, and then said, “What d’you want me t’ play?”
“Anything you like,” Derek answered. “Obviously, something you know.”
With something like an uncertain nod, he raised the trombone to his lips again, and played what was unmistakably the melody to Amazing Grace. He wasn’t one of the great trombone players of the jazz age, but he had the notes right and in tune, and a decent tone quality. As he was reaching the end of the verse, Derek pulled out his trumpet and nodded to Vashti to get her ney. As the song ended, he blew a few notes, said to Vashti, “Key of F”, and then said, “Play it again, Maurice.” As the song restarted, Derek began playing a harmony above the melody, and Vashti provided a lacy counterpart. It wasn’t great, but it was a first try, and as they finished, Derek said, after belching once again and excusing himself, “Yeah, I think we could make something of that. Do you know ‘When the Saints Go Marching In?’ If we put in some work today, maybe you can join us to play for lunch tomorrow.”
“Ah’d like that. Miz Johnson makes some real tasty food.”
“Well, we’ll have to talk to her about it, but since she mentioned you to us I don’t expect it will be a problem.”
They worked with him on several of their songs, and went over Amazing Grace a few more times. Then they did the trio of Stars and Stripes Forever, and when they got to the end Maurice played this descending line that Derek realized was the interlude. He hadn’t tried to play it before because it really was a bassline--tubas and trombones, with the trumpets playing a small part. But it would add a lot to the song. He tried to remember the corresponding trumpet part, and although it took them several tries they soon had three parts on that, as well, and worked out how it connected the end of the part they already knew back to the beginning of that same part.
“Obviously you played that one before,” Derek said.
“No, ah don’ reckon so,” Maurice replied, “but ah heard it, an’ I sorta figired it out as we went.”
“That’s going to be a useful skill.”
“Ah thought that was how all the Dixielan’ people did it.”
Thoughtfully Derek answered, “I expect you’re right. Anyway, let’s do all these again, and then I’ve got to go hunt up some supper, and if you’re back here tomorrow morning we’ll see if Missus Johnson will let us include you in our lunchtime band. Good to meet you,” and he extended a hand which, after a moment’s surprised hesitation Maurice shook with a big toothy grin.
“Ah’ll see you in the mawnin’,” he said.
There is a behind-the-writings look at the thoughts, influences, and ideas of this chapter, along with eleven other sequential chapters of this novel, in mark Joseph "young" web log entry #501: Characters Orienting. Given a moment, this link should take you directly to the section relevant to this chapter. It may contain spoilers of upcoming chapters.
As to the old stories that have long been here:
