Coming Through Slaughter - Michael Ondaatje [30]
Interviewer: Yes, that’s what I heard.
John Joseph: That’s right, he died out there.
Travelling again. Home to nightmare.
The earth brown. Rubbing my brain against the cold window of the bus. I was sent travelling my career on fire and so cruise home again now.
Come. We must go deeper with no justice and no jokes.
All my life I seemed to be a parcel on a bus. I am the famous fucker. I am the famous barber. I am the famous cornet player. Read the labels. The labels are coming home.
Charlie Dablayes Brass Band
The Diamond Stone Brass Band
The Old Columbis Brass Band
Frank Welch Brass Band
The Old Excelsior Brass Band
The Algiers and Pacific Brass Band
Kid Allen’s Fathers Brass Band
George McCullon’s Brass Band
And so many no name street bands … according to Bunk Johnson.
So in the public parade he went mad into silence.
This was April 1907, after his return, after staying with his wife and Cornish, saying sure he would play again, had met and spoken to Henry Allen and would play with his band in the weekend parade. Henry Allen snr’s Brass Band.
The music begins two blocks north of Marais Street at noon. All of Henry Allen’s Band including Bolden turn onto Iberville and move south. After about half a mile his music separates from the band, and though the whole procession is still together Bolden is now stained untouchable, powerful, an 8 ball in their midst. Till he is spinning round and round, crazy, at the Liberty-Iberville connect.
By eleven that morning people who had heard Bolden was going to play had already arrived, stretching from Villiere down to Franklin. Brought lunches and tin flasks and children. Some bands broke engagements, some returned from towns over sixty miles away. All they knew was that Bolden had come back looking good. He was in town four days before the parade.
On Tuesday night he had come in by bus from Webb’s place. A small bag held his cornet and a few clothes. He had no money so he walked the twenty-five blocks to 2527 First Street where he had last lived. He tapped on the door and Cornish opened it. Frozen. Only two months earlier Cornish had moved in with Bolden’s wife. Almost fainting. Buddy put his arm around Cornish’s waist and hugged him, then walked past him into the living room and fell back in a chair exhausted. He was very tired from the walk, the tension of possibly running into other people. The city too hot after living at the lake. Sitting he let the bag slide from his fingers.
Where’s Nora?
She’s gone out for food. She’ll be back soon.
Good.
Jesus, Buddy. Nearly two years, we all thought —
No that’s ok Willy, I don’t care.
He was sitting there not looking at Cornish but up at the ceiling, his hands outstretched his elbows resting on the arms of the chair. A long silence. Cornish thought this is the longest time I’ve ever been with him without talking. You never saw Bolden thinking, lots of people said that. He thought by being in motion. Always talk, snatches of song, as if his brain had been a fishbowl.
Let me go look for her.
Ok Willy.
He sat on the steps waiting for Nora. As she came up to him he asked her to sit with him.
I haven’t got time, Willy, let’s go in.
Dragging her down next to him and putting an arm around her so he was as close to her as possible.
Listen, he’s back. Buddy’s back.
Her whole body relaxing.
Where is he now?
Inside. In his chair.
Come on let’s go in.
Do you want to go alone?
No let’s go in, both of us Willy.
She had never been a shadow. Before they had married, while she worked at Lula White’s, she had been popular and public. She had played Bolden’s games, knew his extra sex. When they were alone together it was still a crowded room. She had been fascinated with him. She brought short cuts to his arguments and at times cleared away the chaos he embraced. She walked inside now with Willy holding her hand. She saw him sitting down, head back, but eyes glancing at the door as it opened. Bolden not moving at all and she, with groceries under her arm,