cwilleford.cockfighter-第15部分

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　　As　the　drunken　crowd　applauded　wildly　and　stomped　their　feet　on　the　floor；　I　ran　across　the　room；　pushed　aside　the　curtain　to　the　hallway；　and　rushed　blindly　into　the　dressing　room。　I　supposed　Lee　Vernon　meant　well；　but　I　was　angered　by　his　announcement。　Not　only　did　I　want　to　quit；　I　wanted　to　punch　him　in　the　nose。　In　view　of　his　stupid　announcement；　he　would　be　damned　well　embarrassed　when　I　played　the　same　three　songs　forty　minutes　later。
　　There　was　an　open　bottle　of　bourbon　on　the　dressing　table。　I　hit　it　a　couple　of　times　and　smoked　five　cigarettes　before　my　next　appearance　on　the　stand。　Tmy　James；　the　bass　player；　came　and　got　me。
　　〃You're　on；　Mansfield。〃　He　jerked　his　thumb。　〃Dick's　announced　you　already。〃
　　I　returned　to　the　stand　and　got　out　my　guitar。　The　room　had　twice　as　many　patrons　and　the　air　was　blue　with　smoke。　Vernon's　announcement　had　created　a　morbid　interest。　The　bar　crowd　had　pushed　their　way　in　and　standees　blocked　the　way　to　the　service　bar。　The　moment　I　picked　up　my　instrument　and　strummed　a　few　triplets；　there　were　shushing　sounds　from　the　tables　and　the　room　was　silent。
　　Indifferently；　expertly；　I　played　through　my　three　numbers　without　pause。　The　applause　was　generous。　I　put　the　guitar　back　in　the　case　and　made　my　exit　to　the　dressing　room。　When　the　door　closed　on　the　last　James　Boy　I　took　a　pull　out　of　the　open　bottle　of　whiskey。　Lee　Vernon　entered　the　room。　His　face　was　flushed　and　he　was　laughing。　He　held　out　a　hand　for　the　bottle　and；　when　I　handed　it　to　him；　freshened　the　drink　in　his　left　hand。
　　Watching　him　sullenly；　I　took　another　drink　out　of　the　bottle。　Vernon　let　loose　with　a　wild　peal　of　happy　laughter。
　　〃Those　are　the　only　three　songs　you　know；　aren't　they？〃　he　said。
　　I　grinned　and　took　another　short　drink。
　　〃That's　wonderful；　Frank；〃　he　said　sincerely。　〃Really　wonderful！〃　He　smiled　broadly；　showing　his　big　white　teeth。　〃Did　you　make　them　up　yourself？〃
　　I　nodded。
　　A　frown　creased　Vernon's　flushed　face；　and　he　placed　his　glass　down　carefully　on　the　narrow　ledge　in　front　of　the　mirror。　He's　going　to　fire　me；　I　thought。　The　moment　I　put　the　five…dollar　bill　in　my　pocket　I'm　going　to　knock　his　teeth　out。
　　〃I　think　that's　terrific；　Frank。　I　really　do。　Any　fool　can　take　a　few　lessons　and　play　ordinary　songs　on　a　guitar。　Hell；　I　can　play　a　little　bit　myself；　and　if　I　sing　while　I'm　playing；　I　can　drown　out　the　mistakes　I　make。　But　youHe　shook　his　head　ically。　〃To　deliberately　master　the　damned　guitar　the　way　you　have　and　pose　your　own　songs…well；　I　can　only　admire　you　for　it。〃　He　picked　up　his　glass　and　raised　it。　〃To　Frank　Mansfield！　You've　got　a　job　at　the　Chez　Vernon　for　as　long　as　you　want　to　keep　it！〃
　　He　drained　his　glass　and　opened　the　door。　His　shoulder　hit　the　side　of　the　door　as　he　left；　and　he　staggered　slightly　as　he　walked　down　the　hall。
　　I　closed　the　door　and　sat　down；　facing　the　back　of　the　chair。　If　a　man　accepts　life　logically；　the　unexpected　is　actually　the　expected。　I　should　have　known　he　wouldn't　fire　me。　A　nightclub　owner；　by　the　fact　that　he　is　a　nightclub　owner；　must　necessarily　accept　things　as　they　are。　Vernon　had　accepted　the　situation　cheerfully；　like　a　peacetime　soldier　who　finds　himself　suddenly　in　a　war。　There　was　nothing　else　he　could　do。
　　I　had　wanted　to　quit；　but　now　I　was　unable　to　quit。　I　was　in　an　untenable　position。　I　had　only　one　alternative。　Every　time　I　played　my　twenty…minute　stint；　I　would　have　to　improvise　something　new。　If　I　couldn't　do　it；　I　would　have　to　walk　away　and　not　even　stop　to　collect　the　five　dollars　I　had　ing　to　me。　It　was　unfair　to　keep　playing　the　same　three　songs　over　and　over。
　　I　took　another　drink；　a　short　one　this　time。　I　was　beginning　to　feel　the　effects　of　the　whiskey　on　top　of　the　beers　I　had　had　earlier。　I　made　my　decision。　When　my　turn　came　to　play　again　I　would　improvise　music　and　play　something　truly　wonderful。　After　Dick　James　announced　me；　I　sat　quietly　in　my　chair；　the　guitar　across　my　lap；　a　multicolored　pick　gripped　loosely　between　my　right　thumb　and　forefinger。　The　room　was　filled　to　capacity。　Under　the　weak；　colored　ceiling　lights　I　could　make　out　most　of　the　faces　nearest　the　stand。　There　was　a　hint　of　nervous　expectancy　in　the　room。　Here　is　a　freak；　their　silence　said；　a　talented；　deaf…and…dumb　freak　who　plays　music　he　cannot　hear；　who　plays　for　applause　he　can　only　feel。　This　was　the　atmosphere　of　the　Chez　Vernon；　caused　in　part　by　Lee　Vernon's　earlier　announcement；　and　by　my　last　session　on　the　stand　when　the　listeners　had　heard　a　different　kind　of　music。　Vernon　sat　at　a　table　close　to　the　platform；　his　face　flushed　with　liquor；　a　knowing　smile　on　his　lips。　On　his　left　was　a　young　man　with　long　blond　hair；　dressed　in　a　red　silk　dinner　jacket；　white　ruffled　shirt；　and　plaid　bow　tie。　On　Vernon's　right；　a　tall　pink　drink　before　her；　was　a　woman　in　a　low…cut　Kelly　green　evening　gown。　She　was　in　her　early　forties；　but　she　was　the　type　who　could　pass　easily　for　thirty…nine　for　a　few　more　years。
　　Her　lips　were　wet　and　shiny；　and　her　dark　eyes　were　bright　with　excitement　as　I　caught　them　with　mine　and　held　them。　She　nodded　politely；　put　long　tapering　fingers　to　her　coal　black　hair。　The　woman　and　the　young　man　at　Vernon's　table　stood　out　from　the　crowd。　Most　of　the　patrons　were　wearing　short…sleeved　sport　shirts。　Only　the　younger　men　with　dates　wore　coats　and　ties。　Lee　Vernon　raised　his　glass　and　winked　at　me。
　　The　microphone　was　less　than　a　foot　away　from　my　guitar。　I　tapped　the　pick　on　the　box。　The　sound；　amplified　by　six　speakers；　sounded　like　knocking　on　a　wooden　door。　Scratching　the　wooden　box　of　the　Gibson　produced　a　sound　like　the　dry　rasping　of　locusts。　The　lccusts　reminded　me　of　the　long　summer　evenings　in　Mansfield；　Georgia；　and　I　thought　about　the　bright　silvery　moths　circling　the　lamp　on　the　corner；　down　the　street　from　Grandma's　house。
　　I　played　their　sound；　picking　them　up　and　flying　and　flickering　with　them　about　the　streetlight；　teasing　them　on　the　〃E〃　string。
　　Down　the　block；　swinging　to　and　fro　on　a　lacy；　metal　porch　swing；　the　chains　creaking；　plaining；　a　woman　laughed；　the　joyful；　contented　laughter　of　a　well…bred　southern　woman；　a　mother　perhaps；　with　two　young　children；　a　boy　and　a　girl；　and　the　little　boy　said　something　that　amused　her　and　she　laughed　and　repeated　what　the　child　said　to　her　husband　sitting　beside　her。
　　I　played　that。
　　And　I　repeated　the　solid　rumbling　laugh　of　her　husband；　which　plemented　her　own　laughter；　and　then　my　fingers　moved　away　from　them；　up　the　staff　to　pick　out　the　solid　swishing　whispering　smack　of　a　lawn　sprinkler　and　a　man's　tuneless　humming　a　block　away。　And　there　came　a　boy　in　knickers　down　the　sidewalk；　walking　and　then　running；　dancing　with　awkward　feet　to　avoid　stepping　on　a　crack；　which　would　surely　break　his　mother's　back！　He　bent　down　and　picked　up　a　stick　and　scampered　past　a　white　picket　fence；　the　stick　bumping；　rattling；　drowning　out　a　man's　lecture　to　a　teen…aged　girl　on　the　porch　of　that　old　white　house　two　doors　down　from　the　corner；　the　house　with　the　four　white　columns。
　　And　I　played　these　things；　and
　　then　the　sounds　of　supper　and　the　noises；　the　fine　good　clatter　in　the　kitchen　when　Grandma　was　still　alive；　and　Randall　and　I　sent　to　wash　up　before　dinner　in　the　dark　downstairs　bathroom　where　the　sound　of　water　in　the　pipes　made　the　whiney；　sharp；　unbearable　spine…tingling　noise　and　kept　it　up　until　the　other　tap　was　turned　on　and　modulated　it；　turning　the　groaning　into　the　surreptitious　scraping　of　a　boy's　finger　on　a　blackboard；　and　sure　enough；　we　had　the　schoolteacher　for　dinner　that　night　and　she　was　talking　with　Mother；　monotonously；　like　always；　and　I　hated　her；　and　the　dry；　flat　registers　of　her　authoritative　voice　would　put　you　to　sleep　in　the　middle　of　a　lesson　if　you　didn't　keep　pinching　yourself；　and　Daddy　pulled　out　his　watch　with　the　loud　ticks　and　it　was　suppertime；　the　solid　ring　of　the　good　sterling　silver；　the　tingle…tinkle　of　the　fine　crystal　that　pinged　with　a　fingernail　and　listen　to　the　echo！　and　the　rich　dark　laughter　of　Aimee；　our　Negro　cook　in　the　kitchen；　and　after　supper　I　was　allowed　to　go　to　the　movie　but　Randall　wasn't　because　he　was　three　years　younger　and　had　to　go　to　bed
　　so　I　played　these　things　and
　　what　a　wonderful　movie　it　was！　Young　Dick　Powell；　handsome；　in　his　West　Point　uniform；　and　the　solid　ranks　of　straight　tall　men　marching　in　the　parade　and　only　vaguely　did　the　old　songs　filter　through　the　story；　Flirtation　Walk；　and　the　lovely　girl　under　the　Kissing　Rock；　and　then　the　movie　was　over　but　I　stayed　to　see　it　again；　and　repeated　it　very　quickly　because　nothing　is　ever　any　good　the　second　time　and　I　was　late；　it　was　dark；　and　I　was　running　down　the　black　narrow　streets；　the　crickets　silenced　ahead　of　my　slapping　feet；　and　the　grim　and　heavy　shadows　of　the　great　old　pecan　trees　on　our　black；　forbidding　block。　As　I　reached　our　yard；　safe　at　last　from　whatever　it　was　that　chased　me；　Mother　was　on　the　front　porch　waiting　with　a　switch　in　her　hand；　and　she　intended　to　use　it；　I　know；　but　I　began　to　cry　and　a　moment　later　she　pulled　me　in　close　to　her　warm；　wonderful；　never　changing　smell　of　powder；　spicy　lilac　and　cedar　and　sweet；　sweet　lips　kissing　me　and　chiding　and　kissing　and　scolding　and
　　damned　if　the　〃G〃　string　didn't　break。
　　The　pick　fell　from　my　fingers　and　I　looked　numbly　at　the　guitar。　The　room　was　as　silent　as　death。　A　moment　later；　like　an　exploding　dam；　the　room　rocked　with　the　sound　of　slapping　hands　and　stomping　feet。　I　fled　into　the　dressing　room　with　the　guitar　still　clutched　by　the　neck　in　my　left　hand。　The　James　Boys；　who　had　been　listening　by　the　arched；　curtained　doorway　to　the　hall；　followed　me　into　the　small　room；　and　Dick　handed　me　the　bottle。
　　〃I'll　be　a　sonofabitch；　Frank；〃　he　said　warmly。　〃I　never　heard　finer　guitar　in　my　life。　You　can　be　a　James　Boy　anytime　you　want。　Go　ahead；　take　another　snort！〃
　　I　sat　down；　lit　a　cigarette　and　studied　my　trembling　fingers。　My　throat　was　dry　and　tight　and　for　the　first　time　in　my　life　I　felt　lonely；　really　lonely；　and　I　didn't　know　why。　I　had　buried　all　those　memories　for　so　many　years；　it　was　frightening　to　know　that　they　were　still　in　my　head。