After that memorable and yet uneventful evening with Alan. I went to see Alan play each low tide at the club. Each time I would grab a corner seat, and everytime I was blow away by his performance. I had an extra room at my place so I decided to take Alan in, having more then just a musical intrest in him.
After Work each tide I would go to the club and listen to Alan. After 7 tides the club started getting packed. One evening while there I noticed a friendly, or at least as friendly as they get here, face. A former brother in arms you might say. Normally, after all this had passed, or more correctly had stopped passing. I wouldnt have really cared. But I noticed something strange. He was with a young woman.
For Micheal, those kinds of relationships had always been, how to say, against his tastes, and he was using some form of sign language to converse with her. As time wore on, the mike opened up. Alan reveling in his newfound talent to play stayed on stage, playing with newcomers and veterns alike.
I watched as Micheal urged her on stage. She passed all the intruments and walked up to the mike. As she passed Alan she placed a piece of paper in his hand. Noticing Alan's smilie I strode over to the stage and whispered into his ear the name of the song she had picked.
I decieded to take up the drums that evening as I began tapping out the soft beat of "One for my baby" on the symbols with, if I dont say so myself, an expert touch. As I moved into the snare Alan begain to play. The song started out soft, and lovely before the young lady broke into with the first lyrics
t's quarter to three, there's no one in the place
Except you and me
So set 'em' up joe, I got a little story you autta know
We're drinking my friend, to the end
Of a brief episode
Make it one for my baby
And one more for the road
the room grew silent, the girl's voice carried around the bar. Echoing and finding its way to every patron. She just didn't look as though she had such a set of pipes hidden away in the that mousey frame. She followed the music flawlessly...
I know the routine, put another nickel
In the machine
I'm feelin so bad, I hope they make the music
dreamy and sad
I could tell you a lot, but it's not
In a gentleman's code
Make it one for my baby
And one more for the road
With ever line she held every person in that bar in her hand. We felt every word of the song to our very core, and no person could take there eyes off her, as her voice melted everyone in the joint...
You'd never know it, but buddy i'm a kind of poet
And i've got a lot of things i'd like to say
And if i'm gloomy, please listen to me
Till it's talked away
Well that's how it goes, and joe i know your gettin'
Anxious to close
Thanks for the cheer
I hope you didn't mind
My bending your ear
But this torch that i found, it's gotta be drowned
Or it's gonna explode
Make it one for my baby
And one more for the road
As the son drew to a close and she finished her part the room eruptted into wild applause, blushing and beeming she took Mike's hand as she resumed her seat. Much to the disappointment of all. The next low tide, I returned to the club, Apprently Stan knew a good thing when he heard it. In the Small smokie clup on the 17th pier in the Vine District of the southern docks a bit of heaven had nesteled its way into that pit of horrible eternity...If I had thought it any good I would have prayed for it to stay...
When we got to my building I led the way up to my room. It was a crappy old building, made from ash and blood bricks it was as if someone had taken black clay and formed it into a crude apartment building.
As we got to my room, I realized Alan had grown quiet. Seeking to break the awkward silence, I walked over to a drum set in the corner of my place.
"Take a seat Alan, I would love the chance to play for an audience." I lied.
In truth I hated playing in a non-open mike setting. but anything was better than the stony silence that came to cloud the air even more then the ash that constently did, it was defienitly better than the guilt that had settled into my gut.
As I started out with something slow and rythmic, it grew harder and heavier. I realized why the feeling was bothering me so much, it had been literally millenia since I had last felt it. Why, I wondered, was I feeling this....nothing I had done...nothing had made me feel this way since I got here.
I remeber clawing my way over a pile of screaming people to be the first on land. I remeber turning my back on all of them...and not giving a damn...I've robbed, stolen, and cheated. Yet nothing effected me...yet Alan did.
Eventually as the timeless evening wore on, he ended up where I had orginally planned. Side by side in my bed. However....we did not do what I had planned instead..we layed there. Eventually, I spoke my voice almost catching in my throat.
"Alan, do you remeber anything about your past life?" I asked
"I....I don't really remeber anything besides waking up....out there.." he shuddered.
"What?!! You mean the docks right?" I asked suprised.
Whenever a person blocks out there memory they always start from the moment they were resqued from the pits. Yet he claimed his started in the pits...no ones mind could be that sadistic...
"No...I remeber..I was feeling so peaceful and content...then all of a sudden it begain to feel hot all around me...I never even knew what was going on." Alan seemed to whisper his voice seemed to shudder.
"Alan.." I silenced him gentely with my finger. I looked into his sightless eyes...they seemed so sad, so peircing even though they could not see, I felt stripped to my core by them, and even a kind of quiet innocence. On anyone else those words would be hollow, present company excluded of course, but with Alan....it fit him.
The tide drifted in and out as we lay there and gently drifted off to sleep....my thoughts were of him...
As he raised the sax to his soft lips. His hands moved across the sax like the hands of a man across his lover. Knowing every inch, gentely coressing as the music flowed from it. I had spent centuries in the Blues area of the music here, it was amazing. If tears could play upon the strings of the heart...or something poetic like that. I lack the words to descripe what his music sounded like.
As the music flowed from the sax, all movement stopped. Everyone stood; staring lost in the music, even the pianst (good as he was) hands were stilled by the haunting and sad melody that Alan played that night. It could have been years, or months, or days since he started playing, I could not tell. Lost in that music...
The sax left his lips, and only silence remained as his notes faded softly from the room. Everyone stood stunned, Alan pulled his hood down covering as much of his face as possible.
As he begain to step down, someone started clapping and before long the whole club was alive once more. Clapping even a few whistles, a good responce considerng the patrons and the area the club was in.
Alan sat down at the table smiling for all the world, like a child that figures out how to ride a bike for the first time. Deep down inside me something wrenched my guts....
"Alan...that was amazing." I said, my voice strangly soft almost a whisper.
"Was it? I couldn't tell. I didn't even know I could play...it seems so strange.." he trailed off.
"You want to grab some fresh air?" I inquired my voice finding itself once more.
"Sure."
As we begain to leave the club manager caught us on the way out. Through a hurried and hushed conversation Alan got himself a new job, working at Stan's. I was glad, he was too nice and his current profession of being "used" by the dock workers suited him not.
As we watched the shore I commented..
"The tide is still low, the night is still young and it is a lovely evening in hell" We both chuckled as we stood there watching the tide roll in and out as we walked towards home....
((To be continued.))
Personally I wouldn't have bothered to, but thats just myself. But anyways, we kept running into each other as the weeks passed. After another month I decided to arrange a night with him.
That day we met at low tide, I had decieded to take him to my favorite club. It was a small place, local joint, in the worse part of the docks district. It was called simply "Stan's Place" or so the sign had always told me. We entered into the club.
"Evening Stan" I greeted the owner with a wave.
"My My, what a cutie we have here." Stan said refering to Alan.
"Table for two Stan, who is playing tonight?"
"Who knows, I've been without a band for a couple of weeks now. Singer, Pianst, Sax, I lost em all." Stan said sadly "but we got open mike and we've had some really good cats play through here."
"Sounds interesting, I wasnt expecting open mike, or I would have come prepared." I replied.
For future reference, hun: in hell, there is no food and drink is hard to come by so we take our music much like people did with food when they were living.That is to say, we have "table manners." In an open mike, if you play or sing it is considered rude to not participate. This is especially true if someone really starts laying down a good tune.
"For you, or your friend even, I would be willing to lend you one, should it be nessesary." Stan smirked.
Finding ourselves a table near the far corner of the stage, he went on to attend to other guests.
"You play at all Alan." I asked
"I don't know...I can't remember." Alan said softly.
"If you want to try...we have eternity, the club owner and I go way back. If you remember something,
or just want to try let me know."
As we spoke a man, walked up to the piano. The club grew quiet, leaving only the sound of the smokers exhaling the smoke that wafted its way around the room.Giving it a look that reminded me of clubs back when time actually mattered. To say he knew how to play was an understatment. His hand danced across the keys, laying down a tune that took even my old, cynical, tired breath away. Another patron, moved by the song,but looking embarassed, step on stage. He begain to work the Sax he was decent, not bad, but nothing compared to the pianst behind him. I noticed Alan's face cringe whenever the poor guy missed a note. Eventually the man sat down--embarrassed. I then put my hand on Alan's shoulder.
"Why don't you try for a bit Alan? Im sure you couldn't be much worse than that last guy." I whispered.
"Ben...I don't know...I wouldn't know what to do.." he stammered.
Pushing him forward out of his chair towards the stage I called after him.
"10 paces forward, turn 180 degrees, the saxophone is next to the stool on the right."
Alan was wearing simple blue jeans and a white T. with a black hoodie, the hood pulled over so that no one could see his eyes. He pulled it more snuggly down over his head as people looked strangely at him.
Stumbling forward over the stage lip he found the stool; his hands found the sax and ran his fingers over its body. He sat there listening to the pianist for a time...letting the music work its way through him. Slowly he raised the sax to his lips....
((To be continued.))
It's not all that uncommon, although rather in frequient now. For souls to wash up on our shores. They were swept farthest out or down and it took them centuries to float into sight of the city.
Alan was one of those, I remeber working on the metal docks. Oh, yeah your still new here...I was working on these docks, we have these cords made of some kind of magical super metal the fallen angels made for us. Liquid metal sticks to them. All around the city we constently dredge for metal. To make anything we can to take our minds off this boring continuious existance.
Alan was one of those, that washed up. I was working at the docks at the time, I wasnt the one that rescued him, I didn't even rush over to help...since you cant really die here. I just continued my dredging. Just another soul to join the flock, just another day for me.
A few weeks later, I heard from dock gossip that Alan was coming to work with our crew. Again not somethign that uncommon. Most people that are rescued usually come to help those that rescue them. Everyone, even those with no memory (or espically those with no memory) seek out any kind of connection to others that they can.
Needless to say, considering the majority of the company that makes up the city...he was used badly. It didnt help that he had a trait others considered a sign of true perversion. He was blind....in a place where no injury was permenant, where all suffered equally, he was blind...and anywho those scum dredgers at the docks see it as a "go nuts" sign.
I always used to wonder back then, what cause disabilities of the soul like that. Needless to say, we arnt really alive you know. We are souls not true bodies...yet even his soul was blind...I can understand how that may have been scary to others.
((to be continued.))