by Dean Mayes
There was a faint laughter from the audience, but after a few moments there were still no takers. Andy shrugged and prepared to launch into something.
“I’ll play with you,” came a familiar voice from the audience.
Andy squinted in the spotlight to see where that voice had come from. A woman stepped into view and approached him.
It was Sorrel Veldtman.
Dressed in a battered black leather coat and her trademark loud head scarf, she stepped up onto the stage and nodded at Andy, smiling as he stared at her dumbfounded.
“I’ve enjoyed listening,” she said breezily as she took up her place on the spare stool.
Unsure of what to say in return, a shocked Andy handed her the spare guitar and she began tuning it.
“Uhh ... thank you,” he said, watching her awkwardly.
Veldtman caught his stare.
“Are you OK?” she asked teasingly. “You did ask for anybody, after all.”
Andy shook his head, embarrassed, and smiled.
“Sorry,” he stammered. “I just didn’t... I wouldn’t have picked you for a ... pub-goer.”
“Ahh,” Veldtman nodded. “There are a lot of things that you don’t know about me.”
Andy picked up his glass of beer, swallowed a mouthful too quickly and very nearly spluttered.
Veldtman dragged her fingers across the strings, assessing its sound. It was clear she wasn’t overly impressed with the battered instrument, but her expression was one of “It’ll do.”
“What shall we play, Andrew? You seem to have brought a little culture into this place recently. Why don’t we give them something best suited to a duet?”
Andy nodded, genuinely impressed.
“OK ... how about Deciso?”
Veldtman grinned broadly, and together teacher and student launched into a quick-fire rendition of the first movement from Astor Piazzolla’s famed Tango Suite. The general chatter in the bar died away and the audience turned towards the stage.
The worldly experience of Veldtman’s playing contrasted beautifully with Andy’s technical brilliance which, it was clear, was something very special for somebody so young. Together they conjured intense imagery from the music of Deciso, a piece that bristled with a controlled erotic energy of the legendary Argentine dance.
Andy felt a satisfying rush as he played through the piece, every now and then watching Veldtman for cues to step forward and deliver the solo parts of it. He was just as absorbed by Veldtman’s exquisite skill as the audience. Her fingerings were flawless. She led him perfectly, the two guitars capturing a harmonic synergy. Samantha and Beck smiled as they watched their transformed friend.
Andy and Veldtman reached the end of the piece and the audience responded with terrific applause. Andy was buzzed, laughing joyously and he turned towards Veldtman as she slapped her hand into his, nodding approvingly.
“Very nice,” she said. “There is certainly more to you than meets the eye, isn’t there?”
Andy didn’t know what to say.
“Why don’t we play some more?” she said.
“Oh. Most certainly.”
Together they played, showcasing a group of compositions suited to a duet. Then they changed tack, launching through some very eclectic pieces. They included the classic Jose Feliciano interpretation of The Doors’ “Light My Fire,” which Veldtman sang with surprising effectiveness. They played some blues standards that had the audience clapping along enthusiastically, then Veldtman finished off with some passionate ballads from her homeland.
By the time they finished, Andy felt elated. It was the most satisfying musical experience he could recall having had. He was struck not only by Veldtman’s technical mastery but also by the emotional investment she delivered into her playing. It was that same emotional investment that he so aspired to - the key to a performance that transcended the music and attained perfection.
“That was amazing,” Andy gushed as he gestured to Samantha, at the main bar, to get them a couple of drinks. “Thank you - thank you very much.”
“Oh, it was a pleasure,” Veldtman replied as they stepped down from the stage and went across to the bar. “You certainly haven’t been wasting your time. You have brought wonderful music to this place.”
“Well, I don’t know if it’s always appreciated. But they seem to have embraced it,” Andy said.
“Embraced it?” Veldtman replied as Samantha set two beers down in front of them. “Andy, they have accepted you unreservedly here. You only need to see the appreciation on their faces. I am sure you wouldn’t derive that sort of reward from others in your life.”
Andy nodded, considering Veldtman’s words as she studied him keenly.
“Those others aren’t going to be a fixture in my life anymore,” he said. “I’ve made some decisions about that recently.”
Veldtman smiled.
“That’s good to hear,” she said. “Hopefully, it will have given you some clarity to reconsider some other opportunities.”
Andy shook his head slowly.
“The Concert Series?” he exhaled wearily. “Look, you and I both know that the Conservatory will laugh any application I make.”
“What makes you so sure of that?” Veldtman challenged him.
“Well, I dunno,” Andy said. “The fact that the council want nothing more than to drum me out of the school? I know they have it in for me, that they don’t want me there.”
Veldtman nodded as she sipped her beer.
“Seems you have it all figured out.”
“Well, it’s true, isn’t it?” he said.
Veldtman merely offered him a wistful smile.
“I think you should seriously reconsider your suitability. I think it would be a tragedy if you didn’t at least submit an application.”
Veldtman paused and finished her drink. “Don’t let it slip away, Andy. You have a chance to achieve real greatness.”
Across the room, Bruce DeVries stepped discreetly through the crowd, watching Andy and the woman talking. He slipped through the door and disappeared outside.
Veldtman stood and touched Andy’s shoulder. She reached into her jacket with the other hand, took out a folded piece of paper and set it down in front of him.
“Reconsider, Andrew. I think you’ll be surprised. You’re more suitable than you realize.”
Andy looked at the piece of paper and unfolded it. It was an application form for the concert series. His eyes widened, noting that Veldtman had already filled in parts of the application, including her endorsement, which was a requirement for selection. She was challenging him - he knew that. Veldtman had championed him, even when he was at his worst depths.
Veldtman regarded him a moment longer, her eyes filled with encouragement. Then she turned and left the bar. Once Veldtman was gone, Samantha sidled up to Andy.
“That woman was incredible,” she remarked. “Who was she?”
Andy smiled distantly.
“A good woman ... a really good woman.”
“She seems to have made a good impression on you,” Samantha said.
Andy left his beer unfinished on the counter as he stood and picked up his guitar. He seemed a million miles away.
“Yeah.” He nudged Beck on the shoulder. “I’ll see you at home, man.” He left the bar.
“What was that all about?” Samantha muttered to Beck.
***
Andy walked home, his surprise pairing with Veldtman still buzzing in his mind. It left him energized, eager for another experience like that. Her last words to him stuck in his head as he passed underneath a street lamp.
‘You have a chance to achieve real greatness.’
He shook his head as another thought crossed his mind about the Festival and about its location. That faraway continent - so far from here.
“Australia,” he said to himself. “Is that where these dreams are coming from?”
He fished the application out of his jacket and examined it in t
he light from a street lamp.
Melbourne, Australia.
What was it about that city that felt so familiar?
He turned into an alleyway he often took as a shortcut home and drew up the collar of his jacket higher around his neck. He adjusted the weight of his guitar bag on his shoulder.
From behind him came the sound of a car’s engine revving hard as twin beams cut into the darkened alley. Andy turned around to see a white sports car coming towards him and he moved to one side to let it pass.
Only it didn’t pass him.
Instead, the car screeched to a halt a few feet away and its doors opened, expelling several figures.
It was Vasq’s crew. Andy felt a sudden knot of dread in his stomach.
He stood fast as Vasq stepped out last and held his arms out in that arrogant, theatrical greeting of his. Though he was silhouetted in the darkness, as Vasq moved to stand in front of the car’s headlights Andy could make out his sinister grin.
“Yo dawg!” he greeted sarcastically.
Vasq and the trio accompanying him were brandishing steel bars and knives. Andy looked beyond them to the car, and spied Cassie and the girl from the warehouse, Alyson. Even in the poor light from the street Andy could see that Cassie was affected. She was looking at him through bleary eyes.
“I’m very disappointed that you haven’t returned my calls, Dev,” Vasq said, walking towards Andy. The others surrounded him. Andy stood fast.
“I wasn’t aware I needed to return your calls, Emilio. I told you already, I’m done. I’m not working for you anymore.”
Vasq clicked his tongue against his teeth.
“Dev, Dev, Dev. You don’t realize that you can’t just make that decision on your own. You have to consider how it will affect others - namely, me.”
“It’s not my problem, Emilio,” Andy said flatly, steeling himself as the crew spread themselves out.
“Hmmm.” Vasq moved towards him until he was standing toe to toe with Andy. “No. No, it’s not. It’s very much my problem, dawg. My competition is taking advantage of this. Your ... recalcitrance is only ... exacerbating my problem.”
“Wow, Emilio,” Andy commented. “You learned two whole new words this week. I’ll bet that took some effort.”
Blindingly fast, Vasq smashed the steel bar in his hand across Andy’s right cheek, splitting his skin down to the bone. Andy reeled backwards, but Vasq’s colleague was there, brandishing his own steel bar. Holding it like a baseball bat, he swung hard, hitting the guitar on Andy’s shoulder. The sickening crack spun Andy like a top. The guitar inside the bag splintered and broke in half. Andy fell to his knees before Vasq. He felt sick to his stomach, his head throbbed. Blood poured from the gash in his cheek.
“You can’t just walk away, you fuck!” Vasq screamed, tearing the shattered guitar from Andy’s arm and tossing it aside. “I won’t let you!”
He grabbed at Andy’s collar, pulling him close, then spat in his face.
“Fuck ... you!” Andy croaked, vomiting unexpectedly all down Vasq’s front.
Vasq’s features contorted with rage and he exploded, slamming Andy in the side of the head with his flattened hand, then kicking him to the ground.
In the car, Cassie, gasped. Tears filled her eyes and she turned away, unable to watch.
Vasq set upon Andy, beating him and kicking him so violently that he vomited again, this time all over one of the gangsters’ shoes. It enraged the thug so much that he kicked Andy in the stomach. He then tore open the guitar bag and pulled out the shattered instrument, using it like a club to beat Andy’s flank. Andy could only curl himself up in a ball to protect himself from the worst of the blows.
Soon he lay unconscious on the pavement. Vasq signaled for them to stop. They fell back to the car as a gate opened nearby. An elderly Chinese man, armed with a handgun, emerged with his wife beside him.
“Let’s go!” Vasq called. The crew fled to the car. Vasq looked down at Andy’s lifeless form and spat on him.
“I own you!”
The car’s tires screeched and smoked as it took off, crushing the shattered remains of Andy’s guitar and disappearing down the alley.
The elderly couple ran over to Andy’s crumpled body, the wife already dialing 911 on her cell phone. Her husband dropped to his knees beside Andy checking him for any signs of life, horrified at what he saw. Andy’s face was already beginning to swell up and he was bleeding heavily. The man’s wife pleaded into the phone for someone to come.
Quickly.
CHAPTER 11
The Doctor enters the office with a folder in his hand. He circles around the desk, slides out his chair with deliberate care and sits down, placing the folder in front of him. He doesn’t immediately look up at the couple sitting opposite. Rather he turns over the cover of the manila case file, runs his hand down the inside seam. It is not a very thick folder at all. It is crisp and new.
Finally, he looks up at the patient before him and takes a sheet of paper in his hand. He passes it over. Denny studies it momentarily, closes his eyes, squeezes Sonya’s hand entwined in his.
“I’m so sorry, Denny,” the Doctor says in a subdued voice.
Denny simply nods. He is too stunned to speak.
He had been given his answer.
***
Each week Denny visits the clinic. An intravenous cannula is inserted into his arm and through it he receives the chemotherapy drugs. He knows they won’t save him, that they will only stave off the inevitable. But deep down, he holds onto some spark of hope. He often jokes with the nurses that he could pass for a drug addict now, so marked has his arm become. They make a lot of jokes together at the clinic. Usually dirty ones, because they are the ones that crack them up the best. Sometimes he’ll bring his guitar with him and play for the staff and the patients. His music brings a beautiful atmosphere to the clinic, making the days for the patients attending treatment here and the staff caring for them much more special. Rumor has it that the other patients have been trying to swap their treatment days to be there at the same time as Denny, just to hear him play.
Sonya is always with him. She sits with him, reads a magazine, listens to her iPod, holds his hand. Sometimes they share the iPod - each of them wearing an earphone so they can listen along to a favorite internet podcast of theirs - Keith & The Girl. When Denny is overcome by waves of nausea, the awful metallic taste he gets in his mouth after vomiting, the anger and frustration that sometimes overcomes him, she is never impatient, never frustrated. Sonya is Denny’s rock. Sometimes she’ll bake fruit muffins to take into the clinic for the nursing staff. The nurses adore her.
Week by week, Denny changes. His hair begins to fall out. He loses weight dramatically. The dirty jokes don’t come as easily and though he still brings the guitar, he no longer has the strength to play it. The nurses never fail him, though. They retain their outwardly happy, supportive and professional selves. He knows it’s a facade. One day he caught one of them struggling to hold back her tears at the desk after she had put in his I.V.
When he makes the decision to end the chemotherapy, Sonya supports him unfailingly, even though he knows her heart is breaking, watching him die.
The day comes when he no longer attends the clinic at all.
He lies in bed, looking through the window at the garden. He likes to close his eyes sometimes and listen to the birdsong. It distracts him from the pain. He listens to his own heart beating, trying to reason why he should have to die. His heartbeat feels so strong.
***
The first thing Andy became aware of was the sound of his own heartbeat - strong in his ears. He heard birdsong nearby, and in his mind he smiled. His mind slowly, sluggishly swirled back into consciousness. He became aware of an awful metallic taste in his mouth and an intense throbbing in his cheek.
Have I had chemo today already?
He grimaced, and with a great effort he opened one eye. He was confronted by darkness. He tried to focus, blinkin
g furiously. He became anxious. His mind wallowed on a lumpy sea, and he felt as though he might fall overboard, until he realized that he was in a darkened room, that it was night time. He sank back into the pillows and tried to slow his breathing, collecting himself once again.
Blinking into the darkness, he discovered his right eye was puffy and swollen completely shut. A large bandage encircled his head, partially covering his affected eye. He felt cuts and bruises on his scalp. Andy tried to work out where he was. The room smelled of crisp sheets and disinfectant. It was a hospital room.
Am I alive?
The sound of a radio talk show punctured his disorientation from somewhere nearby. It was the kind of late, late night, lonely hearts variety that catered to terminal insomniacs.
“And to those of you who are just joining us, I’m talking tonight with paranormal psychologist and lecturer Dr. Michael David,” the syrupy voice of the male talk show host announced. “And we’re discussing the phenomena of past lives, the concept of reincarnation - of spirits co-existing simultaneously within us.”
Reincarnation? Andy thought sluggishly.
“Dr. David - you discuss in your new book a concept based upon conventional physics suggesting that energy - in this case our spiritual energy - doesn’t just dissipate after we die. Rather, it transfers?”
“That’s correct, Drew. We have theorized that our spiritual self, just like our physical self, has an atomic structure as tangible and as real as, say, our skin or our hair. But unlike those physical attributes, our spiritual self has an electrical potential that - if harnessed in the right way - can be sustained beyond our own mortality.”
“So what you’re saying is that this potential can allow for the reincarnation of an individual in a living person provided certain conditions are right ... a sort of spiritual symbiosis of sorts?”
“Indeed, Drew. We have interviewed a number of subjects who report this sort of phenomenon most acutely after near-death experience. That through the process of being revived they have unwittingly become a lightning rod for these disparate energies to attach themselves to, after which the subjects begin to recall experiences and memories that are not their own. Rather, they have absorbed the life imprint of these spiritual entities...”
