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Dutchman Django Mathijsen has written over 300 articles for English and Dutch magazines, as well as a book about the Hammond-organ. Django has been published in the Dutch SF&F magazines Pure Fantasy, Wonderwaan and SF Terra and has won the Unleash Award, the Brugse Boekhandel Fantasy Award and the NCSF-prize. Mando Vidé en het Robotbevrijdingsfront, his first (Dutch SF) novel, was published by Books of Fantasy in March 2010. “Tears in the River” is his first English fiction publication. Visit Djanjo online at www.djangomathijsen.nl.

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Tears In The River
(continued)

Tone Wheel’s left foot played the first bass notes on his pedals. I played the dramatic opening chords. The bustle in the room was so loud I could barely hear my own guitar. Tone Wheel built up the tension by closing off the intro with the bass line moving down.

Lora took the microphone up to her mouth and hit that first high note. She held it long, soft and panting, almost embracing it with her velvet voice, and then ending it in a fragile vibrato. Suddenly it was as if the rest of the world was sucked away into a vortex. I don’t know if the murmur in the club had really died down or if it was just me. I could perceive nothing else but that voice anymore.

She sang the first line of the melody down and held the last note in the back of her throat as if she were sucking in her audience. I realized that I’d forgotten to play my accompaniment chords. I came in again, gently propelling her forward with sparse chord progressions and fills.

When the song went to the bridge, I built up the tension. The drama grew in her voice. In her long notes she almost whispered, as if she were broken. She hit every note right on the nose.

As we struck the final chorus, my eyes were filled with tears.

She repeated the last sentence three times, becoming softer until the final note ended in a panting whisper.

It was deadly quiet. Through the highlighted haze of smoke, I vaguely saw how all the faces in the club were staring at us. Applause erupted, louder than I had ever heard it in the 966 Muschi Bar.

Lora bowed. She turned, looked at me with a grin and handed the microphone back to Broom.

Broom swallowed and cleared his throat. “Welcome to our band, Voice Box.”

Chapter 4: Oil Runner Ollie

Voice Box was sitting on a stool on stage, singing the last line of “My Funny Valentine” with her eyes closed. Wisps of smoke drifted through the beam of the spotlight that was pointing at her. Her white babydoll and her long, blonde mane shone. An angel with the voice of an angel.

During the applause, the waiter walked over. He spoke in Voice Box’s ear and pointed to Oil Runner Ollie, a regular who had earned a fortune smuggling furnace oil. Apparently he had ordered a champagne buffet for her. We had already gotten used to our new singer being just as popular as the dancers.

“She’s going to earn the boss a fortune.” I turned toward Tone Wheel and cranked up the volume of my amp, which was standing beside his organ.

Tone Wheel sat bent over, hiding behind his organ. He slipped the black leather hip flask back into the inside pocket of his jacket and shook his head. “Wardrobe told me that she’s refused a contract for next month.”

It was as if someone rammed a knife into my heart. “Are we going to have to play here without her next month?”

“Yes, without her.” Tone Wheel sat up. “But not here. The boss has just hired the Steiermark Chicks.”

“That’ll make the dancing girls happy. Those Steiermark girls can’t even play a blues. Do we have a new gig?”

He drew a wry face and tapped a few drawbars of his organ with a swift movement. “Our agent sorted out three months in Bad Reichenhall for us.”

My heart sank into my shoes. “The old spa hotel?”

Tone Wheel nodded and shrugged. “Well, at least the pay is better than playing here.”

I pointed at Voice Box. “And where is she…” I couldn’t finish my sentence. Broom started a swinging shuffle.

Tone Wheel followed and urged the rhythm on, running his foot over the bass pedals. On the manual keyboards he started the intro of “Lullaby of Birdland”.

Shirley Vulva came out on stage, rocking her hips in her white Shirley Temple dress. She had a baby hat on her blonde ringlets and fake freckles on her cheeks. In her hand she carried a stick with a two foot high, fake lollipop. Her smile and the dimples in her cheeks were real.

---

Shirley had already taken off her dress when I took the lead from Tone Wheel and started to improvise. I kept my eye on her to complement her movements. In white lingerie, laden with ribbons, she writhed on the stage, sticking out her perfect curves at the audience. She stuck out her tongue and licked her fake lollipop.

She wrapped her fingers around the lollipop stick and slid up and down. I made glissandos on my guitar neck so that my guitar seemed to admonish her. She took a wide-legged stance, nodded at me with an exaggerated smile and put the lollipop stick between her legs. She descended onto the stick and slid up and down along it, flattening the bow on her panties.

That’s when I heard a loud bang, followed by creaking and the sound of breaking glass. Shirley flinched and peered into the room with a frightened stare.

A shrill whistle cut through the place. I could only see a smoky haze and blinding spotlight. I held my hand in front of the light. Suddenly the beam was pointed away from the stage and into the audience.

A sailor stood at the table where Voice Box had been sitting. He raised his beer glass with a jerk. The glass shattered in Oil Runner Ollie’s face.

I turned around, grabbed my Fender from the stand and ran with both my guitars offstage behind Shirley. I opened the broom closet and carefully put my guitars against the wall between the Lysol bottles and the mop.

When I ran back, Tone Wheel had already closed the lid of his organ. Together with Broom he sat crouching in front of the drum set, both holding the wooden plank of a music stand in front of their faces.

We never rehearsed any songs, but we constantly practiced how to protect our instruments in a bar fight.

I loosened the wing nut of my music stand, and gave it a tap so it rolled itself off the bolt. I caught it in my hand, pulled the plank off the stand and squatted next to Broom.

The sailor was on top of Ollie, punching him in the face again and again, his fists covered in blood. Still he kept raising them and ramming them into Ollie. Wardrobe suddenly flew at him, grabbed the sailor at the back of his belt and lifted him off the floor. Wardrobe rammed the sailor head first into the bar. He dropped him onto the floor, where he lay motionless. Oil Runner Ollie was lying with his face in a pool of blood which was growing ever larger.

A beer glass flew through the air. I ducked behind my plank. I felt the blow to the board and heard the glass shatter.

When I looked up, four sailors were jumping Wardrobe. He pushed them away. Wardrobe was struck with an uppercut to his chin. He staggered. One of the sailors lifted a chair over his head.

That’s when the bouncers of Cafe Kix and the Koket Club came running in with the bouncers of The Red Mile and The Hot Little Room in their wake. They flew at the sailors’ throats. The lifted chair fell to the ground.

The four bouncers overpowered the sailors in an instant. They dragged them to the door, where a handful of other bouncers threw them out. Bar fights never lasted long on the Reeperbahn. All bouncers came to each other’s aid when one of them blew his whistle.

I saw that Voice Box was leaning on the bar in a relaxed pose. She looked down at the two men who lay motionless on the ground. She blew out a puff of smoke and dropped her cigarette next to the face of the unconscious sailor. She stepped on it with the tip of her shoe.

---

While the injured sailor was already being rolled to the red curtain on a stretcher, two medics were still trying to resuscitate Oil Runner Ollie.

Hilda, the barmaid, sat on her haunches with a dustpan to sweep up the shards of broken glass on the stage. I squeezed past her to put my Fender and my Gibson back onto the guitar stands next to my amp.

With an ice pack pressed against his chin, Wardrobe stood by the curtain talking with one of the policemen. The officer wrote something in a notebook. Another policeman sat at the bar with Voice Box. She smiled and wiped a speck of dust from his shoulder.

“That girl is no good.” Hilda sat up and pointed her dustpan at Voice Box. She sighed and brushed back a lock of hair which had dislodged from her ponytail.

“Why?” I looked at her in surprise.

“She deliberately set Oil Runner Ollie and that sailor against each other.”

“Aren’t you exaggerating? Every week guys are punching it out over some girl.”

She looked at me from the corner of her eyes and nodded. “She enjoys teasing men and driving them insane.”

“Can’t you say that about all the girls here?”

“Poor Ollie.” Hilda walked away, shaking her head.

The medics drew a sheet over Oil Runner Ollie’s face.

Chapter 5: No blues, no bebop

“What are you going to do when our contract here expires?” Voice Box tightened the belt of her raincoat and walked out through the red curtain.

“We have been condemned by our agent…” Tone Wheel spoke slowly and staggered out of the 966 Muschi Bar, following Voice Box. “…to three months Spa Hotel.”

“Three months of oofta-oofta.” I yawned, walked through the curtain and blinked. My eyes were burning from the light of the sun which had just come up over the horizon.

“Oofta-oofta?” She laughed.

I heard Broom behind me jumping to attention. He marched out singing the German folk song “The Faithful Hussar”, throwing in an “oofta-oofta” on every two beats between lyrics.

Tone Wheel doubled up with laughter. He staggered sideways. I grabbed him by the shoulder.

“Didn’t Louis Armstrong once make a swing version of that?” Voice Box asked.

“We’ve done that, too.” I rubbed my eyes. They were getting used to the light.

Every morning when our work was done, the Reeperbahn always looked strange. Instead of colorful neon signs, I could only see grays and browns: watery sunrays which were reflected by pavement, bricks and tiles. There were almost no people or cars passing. A gust of wind blew a piece of paper through the gutter. On the other side of the road, a man in a frayed captain’s jacket was leaning against the wall, his head bowed, a liquor bottle in his hand.

“No!” Tone Wheel put his left arm around Voice Box’s shoulder and his right arm around mine. He pressed us so hard against his body that the air was forced out of my lungs. Alcohol was steaming out of his pores. “I don’t want to remember that.” Tone Wheel looked at me, his breath nauseating.

“Why not?” Voice Box asked.

“It’s a disgrace!” Tone Wheel giggled and leaned forward, his weight on our shoulders. “That’s what they cried out. We were almost lynched.”

I held my finger against my temple. “Three months of marches and polkas. No blues, no bebop…” I pretended to squeeze the trigger on a gun.

Tone Wheel pressed me against his body again. He looked at me with moist eyes. “You are so wonderful. Do you know how much I like playing with you? I love you, man. Do you know that?” He spouted his alcohol saliva in my face and planted a smacker on my cheek.

“I didn’t know you guys were sleeping together.” Voice Box looked at me sideways. “So that’s why you haven’t made a pass at me.”

“I love you, too.” Tone Wheel turned his head toward her.

She saw him coming and quickly lifted her head.

Tone Wheel planted his lips on her neck and sucked the skin inside his mouth.

Voice Box laughed and tried to struggle free.

“Hey, fool, you’re not Dracula.” I laughed and pulled at his chin.

With a sucking sound, he let go of the skin of her neck. “I’m going to miss you. Girl, I’m going to miss you so much. Where are you going? Come on, tell us! Do you have a new gig lined up somewhere? You have to keep singing, you know. With those pipes of yours. Promise me that you will keep singing.”

“I’m booked on the MS Aglaphon, on a world cruise to America. Helgoland, the Orkney Islands, Rio, Miami…I’m going to get off in New York. I’ll try to find something in a jazz club there.”

Tone Wheel’s jaw dropped. “My gosh, that’s…” He closed his eyes and sighed. “So great for you…just great.”

“I’m going to need a trio to accompany me.” She glanced toward me. “Do you guys feel like joining me?”

My heart sank into my shoes.

Broom began to smile from ear to ear. But his face clouded over when he looked at me. He bit the inside of his cheek and took a drag of his cigarette.

“With you to America?” Tone Wheel’s eyes widened. “Really?”

Voice Box nodded. “Really.”

Tone Wheel let go of us and staggered backwards. “With you?” He made a grand gesture. “…Until the end of the world!”

He staggered back, grabbed Voice Box around her neck and whispered. “Really.” That’s when he turned his head and looked at me with a frown.

Suddenly all three of them were staring at me.

I bit my lip and shook my head. “I think it’s great for you guys and I wish you all the luck and success in the world.”

“Goddamn, Livewire! We can’t do it without you.” Broom threw his cigarette onto the ground and trampled it with his black dress shoe. I had never heard him swear before.

“You’ll find a replacement. You can find guitarists on every street corner. What about…”

“No guitarist’s as good as you.” Broom shook his head. “You and Lora…you’re just like Barney Kessel and Julie London.”

I pointed at Tone Wheel. “With such a good organist, you don’t need a guitarist.”

Tone Wheel let go of Voice Box and stomped on the floor like a child that’s lost its toy. “No! You must come, too.”

I shrugged my shoulders and raised my hands. “I can’t. I’m not allowed to. You know that.”

“Why can’t you?” Voice Box asked.

“That’s…that’s…” Tone Wheel held his hands up like he wanted to catch a ball. “Nonsense!”

“Who didn’t allow him?” Voice Box asked.

Tone Wheel turned to her and raised his hands above his head as if he wanted to jump her. “The devil!”

A wave of anger shot through my body. That was my secret. Except for Tone Wheel and Broom, nobody knew about it. I made a defensive gesture, turned and walked away.

I felt a hand on my shoulder pulling me back.

I turned with a jerk and knocked away the arm. I looked straight into Tone Wheel’s haggard face. I pushed him away. He staggered backward and fell over.

I jumped forward to grab him. But Broom had already caught him.

Tone Wheel straightened up, his shirt hanging out of his pants. With a jerk he tried to straighten his jacket but it only became more skewed. He blinked and looked at me with moist eyes. “Why are you leaving us?”

Voice Box looked at me again, her eyes hidden under her eyebrows. “Is someone going to tell me what this is all about?”

“Livewire believes he received his talent from the devil,” Broom said.

Voice Box stepped closer and looked at me from head to toe. “You have interesting acquaintances.”

I stared at the ground. “On the night after my eighteenth birthday, he appeared.”

“Really? Does he still do that?” Voice Box asked.

“He believes it, you know,” Broom said.

“He’d seen how hard I’d been studying on my guitar,” I continued. “He said I could be the best. That’s what he offered me.”

Broom shook his head. “You’re selling yourself short.”

I looked into Broom’s eyes. “He made me into the best jazz guitarist in the world,” I cried out. I turned to Voice Box. “But there was one condition: if I ever try to leave Germany, I die. He would come for me and I’d have to play for him for all eternity.”

Voice Box grinned. “The best jazz guitarist in the world, trapped in the land of polkas and waltzes. What an irony.”

“We’ve been playing together for six years now.” Broom shook his head. “That’s how long I’ve had to listen to your superstition.”

“It’s no superstition,” I said.

“You owe it all to yourself, not to the devil,” Broom continued. “You have your talent to thank and all those hours you’ve studied.” He turned to Voice Box. “We’ve played for ten hours now. And what do you think he’s going to do when he gets to his hotel room? He’s going to sit on his bed, plucking those strings for another five hours.”

“How can I convince you guys?” I cried out.

“You dreamed it,” said Broom. “Or you made it up. I’ve been hearing those excuses for six years now. I’ve had enough. You’re just afraid to take the plunge. Here you are the best. But that’s easy in Germany. There, across that big pond, you would have to compete with the greats. You’re afraid that you’ll no longer be the best then.”

“It really happened.” I shook my head. “It really happened. He appeared to me in…”

Broom let go of Tone Wheel and pointed at Voice Box. “If you pass up an opportunity like this, then you’re not worth a snap of my fingers. In this country you can’t achieve anything as a jazz musician. We’re turning sour here. It’s time to take it to the edge, to make the most out of ourselves. No more strippers, polkas and bar fights. But concert halls, record studios and interviews with Down Beat.”

“I can’t,” I said.

“Do you really want to throw away all your chances as well as the six years we’ve been playing together?”

“If I could, I would go. How can I prove it to you? Do you want to see me die when I take a step outside Germany?”

“What have you got to lose? Surely, this isn’t living?”

I bowed my head. “I can’t go.”

“You, you…” Tone Wheel suddenly flew at me. He grabbed me by my collar and shook me. “You’re not letting us down.”

Broom grabbed him by the shoulders and pulled him away from me. Tone Wheel’s hands clawed at me. His right hand hit my chin. My teeth clapped together. A stabbing pain shot through my jaw.

I drew back and looked at Tone Wheel in surprise.

“Control yourself,” Broom said in his ear. “You can’t force Livewire.”

Tone Wheel put his left arm around Broom and leaned on him.

“If he believes that the devil will come to get him if he leaves Germany, then we’ll have to respect that.” Voice Box took Tone Wheel’s right arm and put it around her shoulder. “Come on, guys. He’s right. We don’t need him. We can do it, just the three of us.”

I stared after them as they walked away, my only friends. Working with monthly contracts, taking you somewhere else every month, barely gave you any time for family or other friends.

They formed a symmetrical unity. Tone Wheel, taller than Voice Box and Broom, staggered along between them. The seams of Voice Box’s black stockings were still perfectly straight. The clicking of her heels on the pavement tiles was drowned out in the din of a passing truck.

---

(continued on page 3)

Tears in the River by Django Mathijsen 1 2 3
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