Patreon or PayPal Me keeps this site and its author alive. Thank you. |
Stories from the Verse
Con Version
Chapter 52: Brown 300
Table of Contents
Previous chapter: Takano 100
The crowd at the restaurant was larger than usual Saturday, even larger than usual for Saturday brunch. The buzz was that people were coming to hear the band. That was good, Derek thought; it meant they were going to earn their pay. They played the same set they had played the night before, and Derek was pleased that the meal was a bit less challenging, although he had never had chipped beef on toast before and wasn’t certain it was really breakfast food even with the rasher of bacon. Before they left they bought a bit they could reheat for dinner, along with some collard greens.
They had agreed to practice, and as they returned together to the house Lei He was sitting on the front porch. “Am I too uhly?” he asked.
“Only if waiting has inconvenienced you,” Derek answered. “Come on in, and give us a few minutes to clean up and get settled. Vash, we’ll need another chair from the kitchen, I think.” He noticed that the Chinaman had a drum that hung from straps over his shoulders and sat in front of his belly, sideways with heads on each end, something like a marching bass drum but much smaller, a bit larger than bongos. He carried a pair of wooden sticks Derek was tempted to call clubs, as they had large heads at the ends of strong rods. They also were decorated with colorful cloth streamers from the back ends.
They scrambled to get organized, a couple of them excusing themselves to use the outhouse and wash up before they began.
Derek spoke first.
“Your name, don’t tell me, it’s Lee?”
“Close. Lei He.”
“Lei He. Sorry; so many new people, lots of names. I’m Derek Brown, my wife Vashti Brown playing the ney, our trombone player Maurice Howland, and on Sousaphone Pierre Beaufoy. I’ve never seen a drum like that.”
“It is Chinese waist dlum, awe that is what you would call it in English. Is that ploblem?”
“No, actually, I think it might be really good. For one thing, if we play somewhere where we can’t sit, standing won’t be a problem. For another thing, I don’t know how many Dixieland bands there are in Louisiana, but I doubt any others are using a ney for the woodwind and a Chinese waist drum for the percussion. It makes us different.”
He looked at the others, and as none of them were frowning yet he figured they weren’t complaining yet.
“Well, we’re going to have to hear what you can do. I’ve never auditioned a drummer before; any thoughts?”
“I can play something faw you, and then if that is good I can play with you.”
Derek nodded, and Lei He stood, made sure the tassels of his mallets were free, and began playing a fast and rhythmic drum solo that kept a steady tempo while offering enough changes to remain interesting. Striking the heads at different points gave slightly different tones to the hits. The music went through several forms, with the tassels flying, then rose to a climactic ending.
The room was silent for more than a few seconds. Pierre broke it.
“That was--very good. Very, very good. Tres bon.”
Lei He smiled.
“Indeed,” Derek said.
“Whaid you luhn to play lakh that?” Maurice asked.
“My fatha taught me.”
“O.K.,” Derek said, “you heard us play last night; that’s hardly enough to ask you to play, but was there something we did that you’d like to play with us now? Just to show what you can do.”
“I think I know Stahs and Stlipes Falleveh.”
Derek avoided smiling at the pronunciation. “Good. Ready?”
“May I suggest?” Lei He said.
“Go ahead.”
“I play cadence to staht,” and he played a marching band drum cadence and nodded when the trumpet should enter.
“Sounds good,” Derek said. He looked around. “Let’s try it.”
Lei He played the cadence again, and Derek came in with the rest of the band on cue. The drums weren’t particularly fancy--until they got to the interlude, when they accented the descending baseline and the high note stingers. He then returned to the simple support rhythm for the repeat of the trio.
The room might still have been echoing when Pierre said, “I’m sold.”
“He good,” Maurice exclaimed. Derek looked at Vashti.
“Oh,” she said, “I think he adds a lot. The only question is what Missus Johnson will say.”
“Who is Missus Johnson?” Lei He asked.
“We play at her restaurant every day at lunch time. She pays us and gives us lunch--except for Pierre, who insisted on playing for free. Anyway, if you can make it to that, we’ll introduce you and she’ll have to decide whether she wants to have you play there. You are free for lunchtime?”
He nodded.
“O.K., let’s teach you the repertoire. Oh, one other thing. I know enough about the Chinese to know that Lei must be your family name and He your given name, but that given names are usually only used by family. What should we call you?
“Call me Lei. He gets confusing.”
Derek could see that.
They spent the next couple hours going over the entire repertoire so Lei could learn it. He did very well. Derek thought the King provided in surprising ways.
That caused him once again to wonder what they were going to be doing with all this.
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 #505: Versers Advance. 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:
