THAT Saturday night, the club was packed to capacity: Standing room only. Archie watched the revellers as they danced, cursed, and drank their way through the evening. Some were already drunk. This worried him. Intoxicated minds cannot appreciate good music. Somebody started to ‘boo’ the woman singing on stage. A few others joined in, and it became a chant. The woman continued to sing, hitting some very high notes with ear-shattering effect. Her hair was a wild mess. It looked as if it had just been energized by a massive electrical shock. The steaks of blond, red and silver gave the illusion of a rainbow in disarray. And her performance was not much better either.
Splat!
A plastic cup of liquid hit her in the chest. She froze in fear. Unfortunately for all, this happened when she was hitting another high note. This time, her voice shot up even higher, and now sounded like she was really in distress. And so were the ears of the patrons. Plastic bottles, corks and liquor rained down on the poor croaker.
The promoter, realizing that the show was about to end in disaster, ran onto the stage and snatched the microphone from the grip of the petrified singer. He pushed her towards the back and gestured urgently to Archie.
“Let’s go, man! You’re on now.”
Archie and his band winded their way through the crowd, and onto the small stage. They started setting up their equipment as the patrons waited impatiently. There was Ralph on an old keyboard; Dave on drums; Simeon on base guitar; Archie on lead; and Bobby and Francine on vocals.
People in the audience began to grumble in dissatisfaction at the long delay. Glancing apprehensively at each other, the small band launched into their signature tune: ‘The Girl in his Mind’ by Jerry Butler. Someone murmured, “The Ice Man.”
Both singers had a lot of experience performing, and they soon had the crowd singing along and dancing. Archie relaxed and smiled at his crew. It wasn’t as bad as they had feared, after all.
Their performance lasted two hours, and patrons were still begging for more. Band members loaded their equipment into the minibus owned by Bobby and they all got in… Except Archie.
“I’ll stay a while longer,” he told them.
The others took off. They were accustomed to this. Archie was a born socializer; he loved to be among people, especially when drinks were involved. He returned to the club and sat at a table in the corner, drinking rum and tonic. People came up to him and offered their congratulations on the night’s performance. Some offered him drinks, which he never refuses. He smiled and drank. It was a good night.
He remembered how he had started into music. He was 13, and wild as ‘buck-bead’. One night, he and his crew were watching a musician perform on TV. The man’s name was Eddie Grant, and he was performing in front of an enormous crowd in England. Not only did he sing, but he was superb on the guitar. At that moment, Archie decided he was going to be a musician.
When he asked his uncle for a guitar, the only response he got was, “We’ll see.” Two months later, he received his first instrument: A used guitar. Archie learnt most of his early music from an old friend in his village. Each day after school, he would visit Mr. Stanford and practise. Pretty soon, he was playing music. His skill and love for music continued to grow through the years. He sighed. Downing his last drink in one gulp, he got to his feet and left the club.
The walk home was long, but one he had become accustomed to making. It was Full Moon, and the moonlight made the buildings and trees come alive in shifting shadows. Drunk to the world, Archie shuffled home. A pack of dogs rushed past him. There were about nine of them; eight bulls and one bitch in heat. Soon, there was a vicious dogfight in the middle of the road, as four of them went after a black ‘rice-eater’. Teeth flashing, they bit and mauled their victim. Howls and yelps of pain were drowned out by angry growls and snarls. The fight ended as quickly as it had begun, and the pack ran off, all focus on the slut.
Suddenly, it began to rain. Archie cursed silently. He looked around for somewhere nearby to shelter. He spied an old abandoned building in the distance, and ran unsteadily towards it. Half an hour later, the rain slowed to a drizzle, so he continued on his way. Coming to a corner shop, he stopped and bought a half El Dorado. He sipped it as he walked along. Flashes of the night’s performance came to him, and he smiled with pride and pleasure. His small band, ‘The Crusaders’, had won the hearts of the people at ‘Club Bacchanal’ that night.
The sound of music floated through the air, and tantalized his drunken ears. He looked around to find the source, and soon located it. Sitting below an old Silk Cotton tree on an old half-drum, and strumming his guitar for all he was worth was an old gentleman. The tune he was playing and singing to was Jerry Butler’s ‘Girl in his Mind’. Archie could not resist this, and headed towards the dark shadow of the tree.
“Hi, there! What’s up!” he said.
The man glanced at him and continued playing.
“You live around here?” Archie asked the old fellow.
“Yep!” came the terse reply.
The man continued playing and singing. Archie stood and listened. The old guy was very good; maybe even as good as he.
“I play in a band,” Archie ventured, trying to strike up an amiable conversation with the shadowy figure seated under the tree.
“Really!”
“Yes! I even played a gig tonight at the ‘Bacchanal Club’ at Bath.”
“I remember my days at ‘The Bacchanal,” the old man reminisced. “Let me hear you play.”
The stranger held his guitar out to Archie, and, taking it from him, he began to strum. The music was heavenly; this guitar was even better tuned than his own. Archie made a mental note to have his instrument properly tuned. Strumming and singing, Archie entertained his new friend. He stopped momentarily and handed the half-finished rum to the man. The ancient took the proffered bottle, and in two large gulps, the liquor was gone.
Archie played on as if hypnotized by the fine instrument he was holding. As he played, he came to realize that the old fellow was much better than he. This man was a maestro!
“I really love music,” Archie said.
“Me too; it’s all I have,” the old guy responded. “I’ve been playing music for over fifty years.”
“Well, I’ve only been playing for 16,” Archie admitted.
“You are good; but you’ve got to keep on practicing,” the stranger advised.
Archie nodded in agreement.
“Even if I play for ten more years, I don’t think I could play as good as you,” he declared.
Just then, a large beam of moonlight pierced the thick foliage and illuminated the dark, shadowy area where Archie’s friend was sitting. What Archie saw made his eyes pop, as he’d found himself looking into a face with no eyes, mouth or nose. In fact, it was just a round hole.
“You think I play well now? When I was alive, I could play much better than this,” the apparition said.
By the time the ‘jumbie’ had completed his last sentence, Archie was sprinting up the road, bawling for help. The speed with which he entered his yard so startled his dogs that they ran and hid, whimpering in fear. Or, was it something that they saw? But that’s another story.
Lucille heard the howling and looked through the door. She knew it was past 3am, but ever since marrying Archie, she could not sleep when he was out late drinking. She was aware of his music, but knew that drinks were always involved.
Looking up the road, she saw her husband rushing towards her, his face covered in sweat. He dashed inside and slammed the door shut behind him. He was soaked through and through, petrified and gasping for breath.
“What happen to you, Archie?”
He struggled to speak, but no words came.
“Take off these wet clothes before you catch pneumonia, and put down that guitar,” Lucille said.
As she said that, Archie’s face turned a ghastly white; his eyes opened much wider. In horror and total disbelief, he stared at the guitar still clutched in his hands. It was the sweet instrument belonging to the ‘jumbie’. Archie took a deep breath, sighed heavily, and promptly fainted.
Splat!
A plastic cup of liquid hit her in the chest. She froze in fear. Unfortunately for all, this happened when she was hitting another high note. This time, her voice shot up even higher, and now sounded like she was really in distress. And so were the ears of the patrons. Plastic bottles, corks and liquor rained down on the poor croaker.
The promoter, realizing that the show was about to end in disaster, ran onto the stage and snatched the microphone from the grip of the petrified singer. He pushed her towards the back and gestured urgently to Archie.
“Let’s go, man! You’re on now.”
Archie and his band winded their way through the crowd, and onto the small stage. They started setting up their equipment as the patrons waited impatiently. There was Ralph on an old keyboard; Dave on drums; Simeon on base guitar; Archie on lead; and Bobby and Francine on vocals.
People in the audience began to grumble in dissatisfaction at the long delay. Glancing apprehensively at each other, the small band launched into their signature tune: ‘The Girl in his Mind’ by Jerry Butler. Someone murmured, “The Ice Man.”
Both singers had a lot of experience performing, and they soon had the crowd singing along and dancing. Archie relaxed and smiled at his crew. It wasn’t as bad as they had feared, after all.
Their performance lasted two hours, and patrons were still begging for more. Band members loaded their equipment into the minibus owned by Bobby and they all got in… Except Archie.
“I’ll stay a while longer,” he told them.
The others took off. They were accustomed to this. Archie was a born socializer; he loved to be among people, especially when drinks were involved. He returned to the club and sat at a table in the corner, drinking rum and tonic. People came up to him and offered their congratulations on the night’s performance. Some offered him drinks, which he never refuses. He smiled and drank. It was a good night.
He remembered how he had started into music. He was 13, and wild as ‘buck-bead’. One night, he and his crew were watching a musician perform on TV. The man’s name was Eddie Grant, and he was performing in front of an enormous crowd in England. Not only did he sing, but he was superb on the guitar. At that moment, Archie decided he was going to be a musician.
When he asked his uncle for a guitar, the only response he got was, “We’ll see.” Two months later, he received his first instrument: A used guitar. Archie learnt most of his early music from an old friend in his village. Each day after school, he would visit Mr. Stanford and practise. Pretty soon, he was playing music. His skill and love for music continued to grow through the years. He sighed. Downing his last drink in one gulp, he got to his feet and left the club.
The walk home was long, but one he had become accustomed to making. It was Full Moon, and the moonlight made the buildings and trees come alive in shifting shadows. Drunk to the world, Archie shuffled home. A pack of dogs rushed past him. There were about nine of them; eight bulls and one bitch in heat. Soon, there was a vicious dogfight in the middle of the road, as four of them went after a black ‘rice-eater’. Teeth flashing, they bit and mauled their victim. Howls and yelps of pain were drowned out by angry growls and snarls. The fight ended as quickly as it had begun, and the pack ran off, all focus on the slut.
Suddenly, it began to rain. Archie cursed silently. He looked around for somewhere nearby to shelter. He spied an old abandoned building in the distance, and ran unsteadily towards it. Half an hour later, the rain slowed to a drizzle, so he continued on his way. Coming to a corner shop, he stopped and bought a half El Dorado. He sipped it as he walked along. Flashes of the night’s performance came to him, and he smiled with pride and pleasure. His small band, ‘The Crusaders’, had won the hearts of the people at ‘Club Bacchanal’ that night.
The sound of music floated through the air, and tantalized his drunken ears. He looked around to find the source, and soon located it. Sitting below an old Silk Cotton tree on an old half-drum, and strumming his guitar for all he was worth was an old gentleman. The tune he was playing and singing to was Jerry Butler’s ‘Girl in his Mind’. Archie could not resist this, and headed towards the dark shadow of the tree.
“Hi, there! What’s up!” he said.
The man glanced at him and continued playing.
“You live around here?” Archie asked the old fellow.
“Yep!” came the terse reply.
The man continued playing and singing. Archie stood and listened. The old guy was very good; maybe even as good as he.
“I play in a band,” Archie ventured, trying to strike up an amiable conversation with the shadowy figure seated under the tree.
“Really!”
“Yes! I even played a gig tonight at the ‘Bacchanal Club’ at Bath.”
“I remember my days at ‘The Bacchanal,” the old man reminisced. “Let me hear you play.”
The stranger held his guitar out to Archie, and, taking it from him, he began to strum. The music was heavenly; this guitar was even better tuned than his own. Archie made a mental note to have his instrument properly tuned. Strumming and singing, Archie entertained his new friend. He stopped momentarily and handed the half-finished rum to the man. The ancient took the proffered bottle, and in two large gulps, the liquor was gone.
Archie played on as if hypnotized by the fine instrument he was holding. As he played, he came to realize that the old fellow was much better than he. This man was a maestro!
“I really love music,” Archie said.
“Me too; it’s all I have,” the old guy responded. “I’ve been playing music for over fifty years.”
“Well, I’ve only been playing for 16,” Archie admitted.
“You are good; but you’ve got to keep on practicing,” the stranger advised.
Archie nodded in agreement.
“Even if I play for ten more years, I don’t think I could play as good as you,” he declared.
Just then, a large beam of moonlight pierced the thick foliage and illuminated the dark, shadowy area where Archie’s friend was sitting. What Archie saw made his eyes pop, as he’d found himself looking into a face with no eyes, mouth or nose. In fact, it was just a round hole.
“You think I play well now? When I was alive, I could play much better than this,” the apparition said.
By the time the ‘jumbie’ had completed his last sentence, Archie was sprinting up the road, bawling for help. The speed with which he entered his yard so startled his dogs that they ran and hid, whimpering in fear. Or, was it something that they saw? But that’s another story.
Lucille heard the howling and looked through the door. She knew it was past 3am, but ever since marrying Archie, she could not sleep when he was out late drinking. She was aware of his music, but knew that drinks were always involved.
Looking up the road, she saw her husband rushing towards her, his face covered in sweat. He dashed inside and slammed the door shut behind him. He was soaked through and through, petrified and gasping for breath.
“What happen to you, Archie?”
He struggled to speak, but no words came.
“Take off these wet clothes before you catch pneumonia, and put down that guitar,” Lucille said.
As she said that, Archie’s face turned a ghastly white; his eyes opened much wider. In horror and total disbelief, he stared at the guitar still clutched in his hands. It was the sweet instrument belonging to the ‘jumbie’. Archie took a deep breath, sighed heavily, and promptly fainted.
