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Stories from the Verse
Con Version
Chapter 58: Brown 302
Table of Contents
Previous chapter: Takano 102
On Monday Lei debuted with the band at the restaurant. They opened with Also Sprach Zarathustra and then played Saints, and went through the entire repertoire minus Pat-a-pan, which Derek had promised they would rehearse again that afternoon before attempting to play it in public.
Lunch was again the andouille sausage mix, but the cook had learned that Derek did not do well with this and specially prepared for him a bowl of grits with gravy and a slice of ham. The gravy was a bit spicy, but nowhere near the sausage. His companions were all quite comfortable with the cajun spices, but he was not really adapting to them. Missus Johnson came over and complimented Lei on his playing; Derek thanked her for the grits.
“It’s fine, chile. Most Yankees can’t eat good cajun cooking.”
They did practice that afternoon, starting with Zarathustra to get a bit more comfortable with it, and then going though Pat-a-pan several times until they were reasonably certain of the changes. Not one of them got through it without at least one mistake, but by mid-afternoon they were able to play it adequately that Derek felt they could do it at lunch Tuesday.
On Tuesday, Derek put the new song fourth on the program, after Zarathustra, Saints, and A Mighty Fortress. He didn’t want it first or last, in case they messed it up badly. As it was, there were a few mistakes, but nothing so critical that it interrupted the song, and none by the drummer, whose solo got applause in the middle of the song. Derek hoped that Lei’s smile wasn’t going to disrupt his playing, but he had no problem. They played the rest of the repertoire, ending with Silent Night. They played the same set on Wednesday.
Thursday was Thanksgiving. The restaurant was in full swing. The band showed up and were seated at their usual table. They looked around at the crowd, which was packed; it appeared that Hannah had shifted the tables closer together and squeezed a few more around the edges.
“We should play something,” Pierre said. Derek pondered a moment, then nodded and signaled for Henry, who was very busy but managed to come over.
“Ask Hannah if it would be all right for us to play a couple songs–no charge to her, just our way of saying thank you.”
He nodded and vanished toward the kitchen. He returned a moment later, caught Derek’s eye, and gave him a thumbs-up.
“We’re on,” Derek said.
They had brought their instruments as a matter of habit, and had placed them in their nook, which was slightly closer to the expanded audience but not uncomfortably so. He opened with Saints, and there was a strong applause from the diners. Salads had been served, but had not yet reached the musician’s table, so Derek decided to address the crowd.
“Thank you, and thank God for all of you, healthy and well enough to join us here for this celebration of Thanksgiving. We’re the house band; we play here six days a week for lunch, so please come back when we’re playing a full set. Today we’re just playing a few songs for your enjoyment, and for the glory of the God who gives us all this.”
Turning back to the band, he said, “Swing Low”, and they played their upbeat Dixieland rendition of the Negro spiritual, again getting strong applause.
Derek was about to return to the table; their salads were now awaiting them. Just as he was about to stand, Pierre said, “One more.”
He raised his eyebrows and asked, “Which one? Silent Night?”
Maurice said, “Pat-a-pan,” and the others nodded agreement.
“All right,” he said. “Pat-a-pan it is. Ready?”
They seemed to be, so Derek counted them in and they played their version of the Christmas classic, complete with drum solo. The applause was stronger, and as they stood up and bowed there were some whistles in the mix. Derek waved in thanks as he came down from the stage to return to the table.
The salad had a light vinegar and oil dressing on it, and fresh buttermilk biscuits were brought around and placed in the center of the table.
“Oh, now, dat’s a temptation,” Maurice said.
“How do you mean?” Vashti asked.
“Dem buttamilk biscuits are allus bes’ fresh an’ hot,” he said, “but dey is also fillin’, so you eats too many and then can’t eat so much of dinner as you’d like.”
“I’ll be careful,” Derek said, as he took one of the biscuits, broke it in half, and gave half to Vashti, who thanked him. It was very good.
Soup was brought, a shrimp and sausage gumbo which was too hot for Derek, but Vashti enjoyed it and finished his. Then dinner plates were brought. Henry confided that Missus Johnson had cooked five turkeys, so everyone got both white meat and dark meat, plus cornbread and oyster stuffing cooked in the birds; a dressing made of some kind of squash called mirliton mixed with shrimp; and corn maque choux made of bacon, tomatoes, onions, chili peppers, and of course corn. It was a feast for which to be thankful. Derek found the chili peppers too hot, and was not particularly fond of the squash although he did pick the shrimp out of it; but the stuffing was delicious, and Vashti, who had taken Derek’s corn maque choux and was too full to finish everything, gave him most of her stuffing.
By the time the pecan pie was served with whipped cream, it was the diners who were stuffed; yet there were very few scraps of the pie left, as even the delicate pastry crust edges were delicious. Coffee was served with dessert, which was strong and a bit bitter but took well to several scoops of sugar and a healthy dose of heavy cream.
The musicians sat at the table digesting and sipping at their coffees as patrons struggled to their feet, loosened belts, and trudged to the exit. Quite a few came by and dropped a bit of change on their table, and Derek was sure to thank each of them. By the time the last of the customers had left they had collected over two dollars.
“I almost feel bad keeping this,” Derek said. “We didn’t come to make money today. Thoughts?”
“Ah don’ lakh to say no to money,” Maurice said.
“You could leave it for the waitstaff,” Pierre suggested, “as a lagniappe.”
“It is lot of money,” Lei replied.
Derek looked over at the waitstaff, who were now seated with Hannah and the kitchen workers enjoying their own Thanksgiving dinner. They worked hard; his people hardly worked.
“How’s this,” he asked. “We’ll take half of it for ourselves, and leave the other half for them?”
Everyone agreed to this, so Derek counted it, gave each of them twenty-four cents, and left the rest on the table. Pierre objected, but Derek met his objection. “You can leave it on the table, or drop it in the poor box at the church if you like, but that’s your share, and I’m giving it to you.”
They took the afternoon off, and met in time to play at the restaurant on Friday.
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:
