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Stories from the Verse
Con Version
Chapter 39: Brown 295
Table of Contents
Previous chapter: Takano 96
They had barely started playing that afternoon when a knock interrupted, followed by the voice of Pierre. Derek leapt up and walked to the door, on the way he said, “Vashti, I think we’ll need to bring one of the chairs from the kitchen.” He saw her scurry that direction while he opened the front door and greeted their guest.
“Pierre! You must be eager to play. Come on in and let’s hear what you can do.”
The man had a canvas case that resembled the flying saucer Derek and Vashti had recently flown, between three and four feet in diameter and a rounded edge about six inches thick with the center just over a foot. It did not seem at all easy to carry, but it had wheels of a sort, and Pierre was managing it.
“Well, Mister Brown, there aren’t a lot of places where people want to hear tuba music. It really is an instrument designed to play in a band.”
Derek remembered having a recording of a musical children’s story about a tuba who wanted to play the melody in the orchestra. It really was the case that bass instruments were traditionally used only to support other instruments. But it was the formal use of his name that bothered him.
“Mister Beaufoy, if we’re going to work together I’m going to have to call you Pierre, and for me to be comfortable doing that, you’re going to have to call me Derek. And I believe I did introduce Maurice, and my wife Vashti.”
“Most pleased to meet you,” he said.
“The pleasure is undoubtedly ours,” Vashti said, bringing the chair from the kitchen. “Will this be alright, or do you maybe need the divan?” It occurred to Derek that Vashti and Pierre were at least loosely part of the aristocracy, having grown up in aristocratic homes, and both could put on splendid manners at need.
Pierre eyed the chair for a moment, and said, “I think I can manage with that. Let me put this together, and then you can hear it.”
Some assembly required, Derek mused. As Pierre opened the case, he saw that the bell was detached. He had of course seen Sousaphones before, but not, he thought, disassembled like this. Pierre stood the ring of brass tubing perpendicular to the floor, and juggled the bell over the wide opening. Once he had it settled in place he tightened a few thumb screws, picked up a mouthpiece from the case, and then hoisted the whole over his head onto his left shoulder with the lower end resting against his right hip. He fit the mouthpiece, and seemed to adjust the entire contraption slightly to put it in a comfortable place for his mouth.
“What should I play?” he asked.
“What can you play?” Derek replied.
Pierre nodded, adjusted himself again, and then started playing a familiar lilting melody.
“Ah knows that song,” Maurice said. “That’s Silent Night.”
As Pierre finished, Derek sat silently, thinking. The tone quality was not as good as Maurice, he thought, but that would require practice. He was impressed by the range, and the breath control. The intonation wasn’t perfect, but then, his own wasn’t always right on either.
Realizing that Pierre must be waiting for him to say something, he spoke. “That,” he said, “was really rather good, particularly as you haven’t been playing long. Let’s see how you do playing with others. Our signature song, as it were, is When the Saints Go Marching In. I assume you’ve heard it but let us play it for you our way, and then we’ll get you playing with us. Sound good?”
Vashti and Maurice scrambled to pick up their instruments, and Derek began the slow opening verse. They had been doing this for quite a while, and knew the changes cold, so they got through it easily. As they finished, Derek and Maurice wiped their mouths on their sleeves and blew their spitvalves, and then Derek said, “I know that’s a lot to remember, but I don’t expect you to get it all right on the first try. Give it a go?”
“Ready whenever you say,” Pierre replied, so Derek raised his trumpet and started once again from the beginning.
At first, Pierre seemed to be looking for the notes on the slow verse, and sometimes he seemed to be taking notes that Maurice had played; but the improvisational trombone player simply found a different note, filling in the chord. Then as it picked up, the Sousaphone showed its value, doing an oom-pah baseline that was perfect for the piece. By the time they had reached the end of the song, he had the sense of it.
“That was pretty good,” Derek said. “I don’t know about you guys, but I think he can add a lot to what we’re doing. Let’s do a long practice this afternoon and try to have him ready to play at least three or four songs with us at lunch tomorrow. Unless someone thinks otherwise?”
“Jes’ don’ step on mah notes too much,” Maurice said, “an’ we should git along jes’ fahn.” He then grinned in a way that said he was kidding, and everyone laughed.
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 #503: Versers Progress. 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:
