Sonant

by A. Sparrow

  “What’s wrong?”

  “Nothing … I’m just … tired. Let me have my dinner. I haven’t had a bite since the bowl of soup Nana made me for lunch.”

  John sensed it was a bad time to broach his plans for Thursday, but if not now, when?

  “Hey … um … tomorrow night. I was thinking of meeting up with some of the guys I used to work with … have dinner … and whatever … maybe go to a bar … hear some music.”

  Cindy perked up, her eyes meeting John’s full on. It was like he had flipped a switch. “Why, that’s a great idea. It’s good for you to get out and network. You’ve been all cooped up in the house with the boys. How long has it been since you—?”

  “It’s been a while,” said John.

  “So … it’s Dale?”

  “Huh?”

  “Is it Dale you’re meeting up with?”

  “Um … yeah. And some of his friends … probably.” He realized that now he would actually have to call Dale and try to set something up for real. This wasn’t necessarily a bad thing. Have dinner with Dale early, then go on and do his own thing.

  But what if Dale wasn’t reachable or available? What then? He had the sense of sinking into an ever deeper hole. He should have kept things vaguer.

  Cindy picked a piece of corn silk off his shirt. A vague smile crept over her lips. “I think that’s a great idea. We should take advantage of the kids being up at Nana’s … while we can. You need to get cracking on the job hunting. The economy’s not going north anytime soon. Don’t worry about the house. Donnie and his gang seem to have things under control here. It’s quiet, John. Two nights in a row! Isn’t that wonderful?”

  “Yeah. It’s great.”

  “Excuse me,” said Cindy. “I’m going to be sociable.” She hustled off into the living room and exchanged pleasantries with Donnie.

  John stared down at his half-eaten burger. There was no way he could bring himself to eat any more of it. He wondered where his appetite had gone, why that thin film of perspiration slickened his palms. What was he afraid of?

  Chapter 20: The Arts Coop

  Under the glow of a faux gaslight, the bell jar glistened like a dinosaur egg in the bed of the van, ensconced in its nest of instruments. The sight sent spasms rocking Aerie’s stomach. She backed onto the flagstone walk, bumping into Ron. “What up?” said Ron. “Did the birdie sang?”

  “Holy shit,” said Eleni. “You guys brought the freaking birdie?”

  Mal slipped his fingers beneath the green vinyl cover and lifted.

  “Careful,” said Aerie.

  Mal raised the sheath slowly, exposing the lower half of the jar, which remained cloudy and opaque, as if misted with condensation.

  Mal touched his fingers to the glass. “It’s … hot,” he said, with surprise. He removed the cover entirely and pressed his ear against the dome. He drew back suddenly, making Aerie flinch.

  “Something scratching. Faint, like leaves rustling.”

  “For once … will someone please tell me,” said Aerie. “What exactly is this thing?”

  “Beats the hell out of me.” said Ron. “I just work here.”

  “Some kind of machine,” said Mal. “A music box. Piezoelectric induction, maybe. Turns friction … vibrations … into electricity.”

  “Nu-uh,” said Eleni. “I think there’s a wee little faerie who lives inside.”

  Ron sprayed a mouthful of beer against the side of the van.

  “Can’t be anything living in there,” said Mal. “How would it breathe?”

  “Maybe we should punch it some air holes,” said Ron, his voice dripping with snark. “Hang on, let me get a screwdriver.”

  Eleni scrunched her face and punched him in the side. “I didn’t mean literally,” said Eleni. “Not an actual pixie-type faerie.”

  People gathered to gawk. Flashes went off, as some captured photos with their cell phones. Mal pulled the cover back over the jar. “Harry Partch built some strange instruments in his day,” he said. “But this one’s gotta be the strangest.”

  Sari came onto the porch, her face in a pout. “Whatever is going on out here? You are making everyone leave my party.” She commenced to shoo and cajole onlookers back into the house.

  “Sari thinks this thing something to do with spheres,” said Eleni.

  “Spheres?” said Sari. “Oh my, you brought the jar! Oh, yes. Very much so I believe this contains the music of the spheres. A piece of it, anyhow, that Aaron has somehow captured. He is obviously a wizard of some sort. Now come back in, all of you. They are just now bringing out the desserts.”

  Mal gave the door of the van a heave and slammed it shut.

  The talons of a headache began to grip Aerie. “I think I need to go home,” she said. “Can someone please give me a ride?”

  ***

  A full night of sleep did wonders for Aerie’s disposition. It helped that she remembered to take her pills at breakfast. Not the pink ones this time. Those went straight into the trash.

  At Moosewood, Reggie surprised her by having her work exclusively with Lucrezia all morning—none of the usual dicing of carrots and parsnips, chopping onions, peeling garlic. Instead, she mixed and kneaded dough for the rolls, rendered fillings for the pastries and rolled out pie crusts. She was covered in flour and happily in thrall by the end of her shift.

  She walked home, finding the white van where Ron, last night and without her knowing, had parked it in the grass to get it off the street. That bell jar with that thing in it had spent the entire night outside her bedroom window. She wondered how well she should have slept had she known it was there.

  A bright orange parking citation flapped under a wiper blade. She had hoped that Ron would have come for it while she was at work.

  She trotted onto the porch and unlocked the door, peeling off her dough-encrusted jeans as she passed through the living room, straight into the bathroom for a quick shower. As she shampooed, she even found lumps of bread dough in her hair. No one could accuse her of not getting into her work.

  After her shower, she pulled on some black leggings and a loose black shift that fell just above her knees. She went heavier than usual on the makeup, shadowing her eyes just short of Goth. After all, this wasn’t old man’s jazz dive they were playing, she had some avant-garde mystique to live up to.

  She felt all tingly and amped up—a little too excited, maybe. She took her evening dose of pills, washing it down with some soy milk.

  The garbage was starting to stink. There was nothing worse than decayed broccoli. She couldn’t bear the thought of coming home to a house smelling like this so she gathered up the drawstring back and hauled out the trash, wishing she had thought of doing it before she got showered and dressed.

  A pile of collapsed moving boxes on the porch began to heave. A figure rose from the corner. Aerie shrieked and leapt back.

  “It’s me, damn it,” said Ron, emerging grumpy and disheveled. “Simmer down.”

  “Why are you ambushing me?”

  “Can’t a guy take a fucking nap? I can’t go near my shack without getting hassled. And I told Julius, I’d have some of his money tonight.”

  “What this about money?”

  Ron smirked. “Everything’s cool. I think maybe the word from Julius just hadn’t filtered down to his guys.”

  “Does this have anything to do with drugs?”

  Ron seemed startled. “Hell no. Not at all.”

  “Then … what?”

  Ron stuck his hands deep into pockets of his baggy thrift store dress pants and twisted. “Betting. Fantasy sports. Baseball. Football.”

  “People actually bet on that stuff?” said Aerie. “How much can you possibly owe?”

  He shrugged. “Couple thou.”

  “Jeez Ron, really? How did you ever manage that?”

  “What can I say? Small bets add up. Particularly when you hit a losing streak.”

  Ron looked ever more pathetic and smaller. Aerie felt sorry f
or him. “You want to come inside, wash up?”

  “Nah, we’d better go,” he said. “I told Mal we’d be at the Coop by five.”

  “Let me dump this. And then I’ll go get my bass.” She picked up the sack of reeking trash and hauled it around the side of the house.

  Ron brushed the dust from his jacket. “Did you know … corrugated cardboard can keep you just as warm as a quilt?”

  “That’s nice, Ron,” said Aerie, as the metal lid of the trash can slipped from her grip and crashed like a cymbal against the cobbles.

  ***

  Aerie rode downtown with Ron in a front seat littered with coffee cups and Burger King sacks. The excitement she had felt about playing out was starting to evaporate, leaving behind a residue of trepidation over the prospect of making fools of themselves in front of an audience with overhyped expectations, not to mention, the freakiness of making music again with that thing in the bell jar. She almost wished that she hadn’t tossed away all of her little pink pills from Japan.

  Half a block from the head of the Commons, Ron pulled in next to a hydrant where Mal stood nursing a Starbucks grande. The thud of drums and electric bass rattled the sidewalks.

  “Is that Vida playing?” said Aerie.

  “None other,” said Mal. “So what do you think of ’em?”

  “Hard to tell,” she said. “They’re certainly loud.” She strained to distinguish the parts. There was a synthesizer buried in the mud, but no trace of vocals. She squinted towards Mal as a guitar solo unwound. “I don’t hear Sari. Is this supposed to be an instrumental?”

  “They’re finishing the sound check without her,” said Mal. “She had to go pick up Eleni.”

  The Arts Coop was on the second floor of a brick building. A dozen posters taped onto the sidewalk in the shape of a V, pointed towards an open door leading to a stairwell.

  Ron slid open the side of the van, and Aerie retrieved her Juzek and swung it around, bearing its weight on the point of her hip as she headed up the stairs. The second floor opened into a dance studio with gleaming maple floors, padded columns and mirrors against the wall.

  A short guy with a shaved head and thick-framed glasses made a slash throat sign and Vida aborted their tune mid-chorus. The guitarist continued to noodle with flurries of gnat notes. The drummer came around his kit to adjust the pillow he had stuffed into his bass drum.

  Aerie stood in the corner, embracing her Juzek, as Mal and Ron wrestled the kithara up the stairs.

  The sound man came around his board and came up to Aerie. “Just the people I wanted to see. Hi, I’m Edison.”

  “Aerie.” She shook his hand, limply.

  “Regarding mics. How many do you need and where do you need them?”

  “Um … none. We’re all acoustic.”

  “Yeah, but you probably want a little reinforcement, no? At least for the bass and vocals. It’s a big room. Crappy acoustics. You get a crowd of people in here, all talking, it’s gonna swallow up your sound. Your bass have a transducer? We can run it through an amp.”

  “We’ll be fine, trust me,” said Aerie, peeling the tattered black nylon case off her Juzek.

  Mal and Ron came inching by with the kithara and plunked it down in the corner opposite where Vida had set up.

  “We’re unplugged, man,” said Ron. “Totally. One hundred percent.”

  “We plug into the universe,” said Mal. “As Sari would say.”

  “Oh … I get it,” said the sound man. “It’s like chamber music. Quiet. Intimate. A little background music before Vida comes and rocks out big time. I like it. Contrast is good.”

  Mal started to say something, before Ron elbowed him. “Let him think what he wants,” Ron whispered. “Shock and awe is good.” He peeled off his leather jacket and tossed it over the kithara.

  The sound man shrugged and went back to his board. Aerie noticed the Vida crew milling about in their corner like opposing boxers, tossing furtive glances.

  Mal looked at Ron. “Ready for the marimba?”

  Ron nodded, and they headed back towards the stairs.

  “Need help carrying?” said Aerie, as she cleaned the rosin off her strings with a cloth dampened in alcohol.

  “We got it,” said Mal.

  The phone in Ron’s jacket went off—bells ringing—his old school analogue ring tone. Ron’s gait stuttered and froze.

  “You mind getting that, Aerie? If it’s Julius, tell him I’m on for 11 o’clock, right after the gig. State Street Diner, like we said. If it’s anyone else, tell ‘em I’ll call ‘em back.”

  Aerie pulled Ron’s jacket off the kithara, unleashing a musky odor as ripe as a male goat’s. The pockets were empty, but the fake silk lining was torn and objects floated along the bottom hem—small change, a Buck knife, a strip of condoms. Finally her fingers located and extracted Ron’s buzzing beetle of a phone.

  She flipped it open. “Hello?”

  “Aerie? Is that you?”

  Ron lingered at the top of the stairs, urging Aerie through pantomime to give him a hint who was calling.

  Aerie mouthed: “Aaron.” Ron looked relieved. He trotted down the stairs to catch up with Mal.

  “Hello? Anyone there?”

  “Aaron! It’s good to hear from you. How’s your daughter?”

  “She’s gonna be fine, thanks,” he said. “She’s a very lucky girl. Went through a windshield and came away with only cuts and bruises. They were worried about her hip, but turns out it’s not broken – just a pointer. She was released from the hospital this morning.”

  “That’s great news,” said Aerie.

  “Hey listen, I won’t ask what you’re doing over Ron’s but, hey, I can kill two birds with one stone. You know that Production we were going to do before I had to go?”

  “Um, yeah.”

  “Well it’s on. Tonight.”

  “You’re … back?”

  “On my way,” he said. “I’m just outside the Berkshires. I should be home in three or four hours, depending on whether I decide to stop for dinner.”

  “It’s awful short notice.”

  “Not according to the contract you signed,” said Aaron. “I realize it’ll be late, but … we really need to get this done. If you can help gather everyone up … I’ll promise triple pay for everyone.”

  A void hovered over the line.

  “Aerie? You still there?”

  Chapter 21: Boys’ Night Out

  John waited for Dale for a full half hour in front of Madeline’s. He paced the nearly empty patio. It had been balmy all day, but now few diners braved the cool, stiff breeze that had kicked up out of the northwest.

  He noticed people staring at him so he moved out closer to Aurora Street and leaned up against a concrete support post. He watched the shadows deepen, revealing every crack and wrinkle in the pavement.

  Even though he had Dale’s cell number, he opted not to call. Honestly, he didn’t care whether he showed up or not. Their meeting was just a cover for Cindy and to kill time before the event at the Arts Coop.

  It wasn’t as if Dale was some close buddy of his. Mere circumstance connected them. They had been coworkers in the same department at NYSEG, both cut loose in the same layoff. The difference was, Dale had found a job right away with a prominent consulting firm, while John had honed his home-making skills.

  When the half hour was up, he took a table inside. It was six thirty, one hour before the show. He ordered the scallops with a caramel soy reduction, mango chutney, green papaya salad and pandan rice. When it came, sizzling on oven-heated stoneware, he savored every bite. He rarely got to enjoy seafood much since he and Cindy got married. The only fish she could tolerate were red and Swedish.

  He had just ordered the tiramisu for dessert when he was startled to see Dale rushing through the restaurant to reach his table. He stopped, breathless, across from John and extended his hand for a shake.

  “Hey man … good to see you. I’m so sorry I stood you up. I was gonna
call, but I couldn’t find your dang number. Things were real crazy today at the firm.”

  “Have a seat,” said John. “Want a bite?”

  Dale frowned and shook his head. “I’m gonna have to take a rain check. I’m double-parked outside. I just couldn’t stand the idea of going home without finding you, letting you know what happened.”

  “Sure you don’t want some coffee? Dessert, maybe? The tiramisu’s great.”

  “Can’t. Got work I’m bringing home. Might be a contract riding on it. But we’ll have to do this again soon. It’s really good to see you, man. You’re looking good. You’ve put on some weight. Good weight, though. How’s Cindy … and the babies?”

  “Um, they’re doing great.” John struggled to remember the name of Dale’s significant other. Frizzy-haired gal, with a piercing laugh. He came up empty. “They’re not babies anymore. They’re regular old boys now.”

  “Happens,” said Dale. “Paula’s expecting, so we’ll be finding out that stuff soon enough.” He glanced towards the door. “Hey listen, you asked about positions. We get this next contract … there just might be something for an electrical engineer. Particularly if you’re willing to relocate.”

  “Relocate? Like … where?”

  “Well … Adak for one.”

  “Adak?”

  “Alaska. It’s an island in the Aleutians. They’re closing up an old Navy base up there. It’s a temporary job, just to help with the transition. But it could lead to other opportunities, particularly if you’re willing to travel. Places like Kabul. Baghdad. Now I know what you’re thinking but we send consultants there all the time and it’s not nearly as bad as they say.”

  “Wow,” said John. “You know, me and Cindy, we like Ithaca. I was hoping for something local.”

  “Ain’t gonna happen,” said Dale. “There’s just nothing going on in the Southern Tier these days. Even Adak is iffy. We survived the first round of bidding, but we’ve still got competition.” He looked towards the door again. “Hey listen, I really need to go. But I’ll keep you posted. You got a card?”

  “Um, not really,” said John. He scribbled his phone number on a napkin. “Thanks for stopping by. Let me know about that Adak thing. Not quite what I was looking for, but who knows, life is funny. I bet the salmon’s great up there.”