by A. Sparrow
“GB, huh?” Hollis shuddered in horror.
“It was soul-numbing. I missed what we had so much. It was special, Hollis.”
Tears spilled down Aerie’s cheeks despite her attempt to be stoic.
Aaron clapped his hands. “Guys, it’s nice to give you a chance to rehash old times, but we really should get playing.”
Hollis held up his hand. “One sec. I gotta explain. Amsterdam was something I just had to do. I always wanted to play Europe. So many of the big guns went there. Coltrane. Bird. I thought you guys would be okay without me. I really did. You could have replaced Frank with someone better. I mean are some great Japanese cats on keys. You know that. Sounds like you just got stuck with a dud. That’s no reason to … no reason to … kill yourself. I mean … really Aerie? It’s just music. It’s only music.”
Aerie’s chest heaved. The tears stopped flowing and her eyes set firm.
“Wrong Hollis. It’s not just music. It’s something more.”
“Okay guys, we gotta get cracking,” said Aaron, clapping his hands again. “Hollis, Paolo? Need a drink?”
“Water is good,” said Paolo.
“Whiskey, neat,” said Hollis. “Coffee too, if you got it. I been going two days straight. My eyes feel like they got red hot pokers poking into them. I could really use a nap.”
“When we’re done, you can crash, no problem,” said Aaron. “But right now we’ve got some music to attend to.
***
Aerie played cycles of triads, pulling as hard as she could on the strings, grateful that the crack hadn’t induced any buzzes or rattles. If anything, the bass sounded a tad louder than before. Probably the impact had loosened up some patches and allowed the top to vibrate more freely.
“Holy cow,” said Hollis. “This place is a sound man’s nightmare. Too damned boomy.”
“Yeah, well. It’s not meant for recording,” said Aaron. He tucked the fiddle under his chin. “Everybody ready?” He initiated the index drone.
Hollis grimaced. “Your intonation is off there, bud.”
“No, it’s fine,” said Aaron. “This is what I want you to tune to.”
“You can’t be serious. What key is that?”
“It’s one of Partch’s 43, from his eleven limit Genesis scale.”
“Huh?”
“Just use your ear and your gut. I’ve heard you play free. I know you’re capable. That’s why you’re here.”
“Well, you gotta give me a clue man. Tell me what key that is.”
Mal walked over and handed Hollis his battered bamboo sax.
“If you insist. I’m playing something between a C# and a D.”
Hollis regarded Mal’s horn with distaste. “What the fuck is this?”
“It’s a saxophone,” said Mal. “Give it a try.”
Hollis put the reed to his lips. A harsh squawk emanated from the instrument, not unlike a grass whistle with a tattered blade.
“Back off a bit,” said Mal. “You’re overblowing.”
Hollis’ eyes bugged as he shoved the horn back at Mal.
“What crap kind of toy is this?” He grabbed his own tenor out of its case.
Mal wiped the horn on his sleeve. He shrugged. “The birdie seems to like it.”
“Birdie,” said Hollis, shaking his head. “This is gonna be interesting.”
“Hollis, what I’m playing right now is the foundation,” said Aaron. “It’s like the seed of a crystal. You build off of it. Don’t stray too far at first. Keep it simple.”
“Whatever you say, boss.” He gave a random honk, adjusted his mouthpiece and leaned back in his chair.
Eleni plucked a double stop on the kithara that clashed against the fiddle in a way that seemed to ripple through the air. Aerie found a single note to work a pedal point with a skittering rhythm. Paolo leaped in with a talking drum, messing around Aerie’s beat, lagging behind, jumping ahead. After a time, Sari began singing soft and low, as she always did at the start of a Production, saving her voice for the end stages.
Only Ron kept silent. He paced fitfully, his head down, gazing at his shoes.
“Hey! Guitar boy. What’s wrong?” said Aerie.
“Nothing. I’m just … I’m having trouble finding my head today.”
“Tell me about it,” said Hollis. He honked a few more times on his tenor, adjusting the mouthpiece until he found a tone that sort of matched the key the others played. He blew again, this time finding a pure, warm tone. He kept at it, repeating the note, playing with the articulation, varying the attack and the decay. And then he reached for another note like a rock climber reaching for a finger hold.
“There you go,” said Aaron. “You got it.” He turned to Ron. “Any time Ronald. We’re waiting on you.”
Ron exploded in a flurry of tics and grimaces. “Give me space, man. I gotta find it in my head. It’s not like flicking a switch for me.”
Aaron looked at Aerie. “Just keep it going. Simple and steady.”
Aerie found it felt natural to her now, these atonal tones, these arrhythmic rhythms. Her fingers did all the work. Her mind could venture anywhere it wanted. She wondered how this all sounded down at John’s. She wondered if he could hear her play, and how it made him feel. Was he in tune with music of sonants, or did he find it demonic like the exorcists?
“This being your first time Hollis, the thing to do is keep it evolving. Don’t get stuck in a rut. Pretend you’re on a hike and the landscape keeps mutating. Keep striving for that new vista over the next horizon.”
“Nope.”
“Good thing.”
Aerie found a slow, oscillating groove like reggae stuck in molasses, a wandering beat with gobs of space between clusters of notes. Something about it seemed to soothe here like some twisted lullaby.
It felt so strange playing with Hollis again. She tracked him out of the corner of her eye. His eyes were looking so heavy and dark-pitted these days. He may be off the harder drugs, but age and alcohol had done him no favors.
Hollis let out a flurry of notes that would have been great as a solo break in Oleo but had no place in the music of the sonants.
“Whoa, Hollis,” she said. “Lay off those blues riffs. Use your ear and listen to us.”
Hollis trailed off, and gave Aerie and odd look. For once she held the upper hand in a musical situation. In jazz, she had always been the one to be a step or three behind. The tables were turned. Mentor had become mentee.
Once he got going, he fit right in, for the most part. He would lose his way, but always clawed his way back. He had always had a great ear, a natural feel for other people’s styles and an ability to mesh.
Aaron put down his fiddle. “You all keep it going. I’m just going to check on … Junior.”
“Keep it going?” said Hollis. “We been going at it nearly half an hour. How long does this tune go on?”
“As long as it takes,” said Ron, who had finally found his way into the jam, alternating furious bursts of strumming with little noodlings and embellishments. “It’s all up to the birdie.”
“Birdie.” Hollis put down his sax to take a swig of his Irish coffee.
“How’s he doing?” said Mal.
“Same,” said Aaron. “Hmm. Maybe a bit more heft. At least it hasn’t faded.”
He returned to his fiddle, moving beyond the drone now, jittering and scratching and wailing. Paolo was a natural. He drummed a beat that was like acorns dropping from oak trees. Sari let loose on a warbling howl that startled Hollis and made him quack his horn.
Aerie had to take a breath. Sari’s voice, when it got going, was not of this earth. She had the power to wriggle behind molecules into other dimensions.
Outside, a murmur grew. It took Aerie a few moments to realize that they were voices. Something glowed beyond the windows.
“What in bloody hell is going on out there?” said Aaron. He put down his fiddle. “No matter what happens. You all keep playing. Don’t stop.”
&nbs
p; ***
John stuck his tiki torch in a geranium on the porch and ran into the kitchen to turn off the oven and take out the remaining chicken and fixings. They would be cold and soggy by the time they got back from the deliverance. What a waste.
“John! Get out here. We’re leaving.” Cindy called from the front porch.
“Just a sec, hon!” He fumbled with a roll of aluminum foil to cover the pans.
When he ducked back out, swarms of people were already heading down the driveway. Cindy waited by the mailbox till she saw him coming, and then turned to catch up with Donnie and Mac. John took a breath and retrieved his torch, a rattan and bamboo thing better suited for beach parties than demon slaying. Some had to be wrapped in duct tape to cover the graven images of Polynesian gods.
Donnie led the congregation down to the corner and up the main road. They occupied both lanes, the inner circle wielding torches in the vanguard and several dozen supporters bearing candles behind them. Cindy walked with Donnie and Mac. The security team kept well to the flanks and rear of the party. They acted more concerned with the woods than the hell house. Perhaps, the sight of Jerry’s demon catchers made them think twice.
John walked alone on the trailing fringe of the so-called inner circle. He was embarrassed to be among these people. He wished he had a knit cap or sunglasses or something to pull down over his face. He could only hope that Aerie didn’t see him like this.
At least this time Donnie didn’t make them wear those silly white robes. It was bad enough they had to carry torches like peasants off to wreak vengeance on Frankenstein’s monster. What was wrong with using flashlights?
The breeze, though gentle, kept blowing out people’s candles despite all their foil shrouds and wind shields. Folks ran up to John to relight them off his torch. It gave him a useful excuse for hanging back from the inner circle.
The music continued apace in Aaron’s house. They were still a good hundred yards away but John could hear the fear building in people’s murmurs and whispers, the trepidation blanching their faces. Some of the more timid souls began to balk, spooked by all that churning, chugging and wailing in pitches that assailed ears conditioned to pentatonic major scales.
Donnie had to pause to rally them, standing on the center line of the road, raising his torch high, gathering everyone around him.
“Do not be afraid. The Lord is with you. Jesus walks among us. You have the Holy Fire and the Prayers of Protection to defend you. Keep moving. We’ll surround the house with a cordon when we get there.”
Jerry paused on the shoulder, nudging aside some hemlock branches to peer up towards the mossy terrace where they had spotted the tracks. He took his shotgun off his shoulder and cradled it in the crook of his elbow.
John paused beside him. “Something wrong Jer? You see something?”
“Not sure.” His eyes traced the slope, his face calm yet wary. “Thought so. Nothing there now.”
Candle-wielders passed them, flowing like a stream around boulders.
“You two! Stop dawdling,” called Donnie. “Come up and join the circle.”
Jerry sighed and tucked the shotgun back up on his shoulder. They rejoined the other torches at the head of Aaron’s driveway. Donnie stood before a baby blue minivan. John’s eyes kept drifting to its Rainbow Party bumper sticker as Donnie addressed his congregation, shouting to be heard above the music.
“Okay, people, this is it. I have to warn you, these here prayers I’m about to say, they’re quite potent. No telling how our adversaries will respond. So hang on to your torches. Keep those candles lit. And if I falter, make sure you get this book to Pastor Mac, and if he falters, someone else had got to be ready to carry on. This prayer needs to be told in its entirety. Understand?”
“You got it, Rev,” someone shouted.
“We got your back!”
“Hallelujah!”
Donnie paused and surveyed the crowd arrayed behind him. He glanced up into the darkening forest, looked over his shoulder at the house and took and took a deep breath and clenched his eyes tight. John caught a glance of Cindy squeezing Mac’s hand, ever so discreetly, and letting go.
“Praise Jesus!”
“Praise the Lord Jesus Christ!” the crowd responded in a ragged unison.
He took a deep breath, reared back and roared. “Father! In Jesus’ name, I break us free from all witchcraft and curses and evil and demons sent to this abode. I am your war club. I shatter to bits all walls of protection these satanists and witches erect and I return the evil and demons back to their place. In Jesus’ name I send the judgment of God to these satanists and witches. I heap coals from the altar of God upon their foreheads. I cover us with the Blood of Jesus and ask for warring angels to be placed around us for protection. I shatter and free us from the psychic powers attempting to bind us, from words spoken in hurt, anger, sorrow or bitterness. I break and unleash us from the power of incense and candles being burned against us.”
“Amen!”
People spread into the yard, forming pincers around both side of Aaron’s house. The noise tested their will and their faith, the strain evident on many faces. Some folks stuffed bits of Kleenex in their ears to cope. One of Mac’s elders vomited on his torch.
It was too much to bear for one older couple. They retreated back to the house, candles extinguished, chins drooping. Those that remained kept their jaws set, their brows furrowed. Tears flowed freely as they prayed along with Donnie.
John prayed too, but he prayed for the music to stop, for Aerie and her friends inside to exercise prudence and quit playing. This was a mob scene now, and folks were getting agitated and more wound up in the Holy Spirit with every passing minute. A little silence right about now would have done wonders to break the mood.
But the music played on, rising and falling, wavering as instruments shifted in and out, but continuing without interruption as it evolved towards something even more terrible.
Donnie advanced down the driveway, his face contorted into a masque of theatrical rage. He expelled his prayers at the front door like a spitting cobra. He paused for breath and shuffled through the papers clenched in his fist before continuing on with his deliverance.
“We wield the Power and Authority of God over Satan and his army! We send angels with boxes to separately seal each demon in, chain and gag the demons, read scripture to the demons day and night, and fill the boxes with the Glory of God. We loosen the angels to spin the demons minds round and round, to chase and harass, to bruise, crush and flatten the heads of the serpentine spirits, and to snip off the tails of the scorpion spirits.”
John made his way discreetly around the flank of the crowd, along the outside wall of the music room. There were some windows on that side. Maybe he could get their attention, let them know what was going on outside their walls and they would see the wisdom of putting away their instruments until things cooled down.
“We order the princes and rulers to be bound with chains and thrown down before the other spirits, and their foreheads to be written in red letters that Jesus Christ is my Lord. We command the lesser spirits to attack the traitors in the camp and throw them out. We unchain the spirit who attacked the Midianites in Gideon’s day.”
John edged closer to the walls, trying to peek inside one of the odd, triangular windows, but the glass was dusty and the interior was dim. The sun was setting and no one had yet turned on any lights. The music chugged on, the players undeterred and perhaps unaware of the scene outside the house.
“We command the demon's answers to stand up in the Judgment. We send the warrior angels with swords to chain the rulers and throw the fire of God on them. We ask that the demons be cut into pieces and scattered over the deserts.”
Donnie, steps away now from the front door, amped up his rant, speeding through the words like an auctioneer.
“We command the ruling spirits to cast out their underlings! We command the demons to go to Tartarus with the fallen angels, or wherever
Jesus sends them. We ask the angels to assist in the work of this deliverance as directed by God. We break evil curses, vexes, hexes, jinxes, psychic powers, bewitchments, potions, charms, incantations, spells, witchcraft and sorcery. We break all cords, snares, controls and bondages.”
“We come against unholy spirits, imps, fallen angels, demons, devils, empires of evil, and the entire Kingdom of Satan in humans and animals. We come against all manner of wicked councils, principalities, kingdoms, dominions and powers. We come against—”
The door of the hell house flew open, and Aaron stepped out, his figure aglow in the fading rays of the setting sun. The crowd gasped. Some dropped their candles, flames blinking out before they even struck the ground.
***
Aerie dragged the bass to a spot where she could peek down the hall as Aaron swung the door open. A ruddy-faced man in a rumpled suit stood on his walk, holding up a silver cross and chanting like human machine gun. Behind the man stood a gaggle a people bearing torches and candles, their faces tilted up to the sky, when they weren’t sneaking glances at Aaron. John’s wife, Cindy stood front and center, glaring like a tigress. She was relieved yet disappointed to see no sign of John out there.
“A little early for Christmas Carols, don’t you think?” said Aaron.
“We command that you confess that Jesus Christ is your Lord.”
“Please. Can you get your people off my lawn? If you want to protest, fine. Just do it from the road.”
“I proclaim this house to be the house of Jesus!” said the man.
“Oh yeah? I pay the taxes here, not Jesus. Listen, I want you out of my driveway, now.”
The Lord Jesus rebukes you! I beseech all unclean spirits to leave this abode.”
“What’s going on out there?” said Eleni, peering around the kithara.
“I think they’re talking about Mal,” said Aerie, snidely.
“Me? What?”
“Never mind. Just a lame joke.”
Hollis put down his sax and came alongside Aerie.
“Hoo boy! Now what’s all this about?”
“Fans,” said Aerie.
The look in the bible thumper’s eyes startled Aerie. This was no brain-dead preacher. He lacked the vacant stare of true conviction. Though his voice remained strident, this expression betrayed uncertainty. He gave the impression of an amateur actor overplaying a role. What was that all about?
