The Cellist's Cove

There was a young fellow that had claimed a very nice spot on the corner of the boulevard. Right near the intersection and crosswalk. Much foot traffic. When the weather turned inclement, as it grew so today, he would retreat to a freight door of a business that had been boarded up for months during delayed renovations. The freight door included a portico…a place of shelter from the elements when need be, but also, he found, an excellent funnel of acoustical sound. So from time to time, many times, he'd duck inside and play, invisible from the street yet his music took to the air and, like a phonic horn projecting melody....swept by the wind ...capable of being heard twenty stories above. 

At first she presumed it was Muzak, or a radio in someone’s cube, she was tempted to ask them to turn it down. It persisted. Her concentration was shifting, drifting, waning  as the melodic replaced her realistic, and muddled some highly calculated impressions formulating in her brain. She was momentarily lost…

She could not allow that. Her job was Focus. Hard, cold....FOCUS. Goddamn it.

Annette?

Yes?

Is it me or someone playing music a tad loud out there?

Music?......noo...I hear nothing.

Nothing from the bullpen? The cubes?.

Like street music? Somebody got their bass too big?

What?

I'm thinking it might be one of those cars...you know the big loud speakers? Maybe down on the streets...?

Not unless they know Mozart

Anything is possible

But not the right decibels...sounds real...not amplified. She stood up from her desk and approached the plate glass wall that overlooked Hempstead. It's true, there was traffic down there and there were canyons between sheer buildings, through which any wind could stir sound....her own windows would whirr with enough of a gust...unsettling in itself. But this sound, was both on the wind but of the ground, she sensed it. She sensed it...him...or her, playing it ....the strum, the stroke. She could hear it now, clear above all other noise, she had found her focus and it was the source. Where was the source? Who was the source?

Shouldn't you take a coat?

I'll only be minutes. That noise has driven me to distraction!

Why don't I send one of the interns...?

Send a child out into the street?

Send a senior vp?

This is up to me. It's personal. I want to know.

Oh. In that case....you're in a meeting.

Yes I am.

“It's blustery out there Ma’m…” the doorman cautioned

She said “I understand, and if I'm not back soon send help.”

“How long ma’m”

“Let's say 10....”

“Very well. Where is it you go?”

“I don't know. Do you hear that sound?”

“Sound all around. That's all I hear. Can't wait for the quiet at the end of my day...."

"This is musical....lyrical..."

He laughed and said all he heard was noise. “In my sleep I hear this street. Music? Never! Ha!”

“It's out there somewhere”, she replied.

A block over she saw a boy. He was seated on his heals with the neck of a cello cradled on his lap. As she approached a half block away he suddenly disappeared from view.

Then within seconds she heard it anew with a new resonance that grew as she passed the entrance of a long dark alley way....and  knew this was the source.

She entered cautiously, on guard, wishing she had brought her pepper spray, as her father’s caution "…looking for trouble" popped into mind.... But she followed the sound...approached the maw of a dark doorway. She backed away and stood against the opposing wall, shivering in the wind-chill blowing up the narrow tunnel....that tight Steel canyon.

The playing stopped. He stepped into the light and faced her. She saw now, he was slight of build, but he was older, with some gray in the temples, perhaps prematurely so. 'Boyish', but no 'boy' was he. 

You alright?

Oh. Yes. I wanted to see where the music was   coming from.

Is that a complaint or a compliment?

Started out as one, but grew to the other.

Thank you and sorry. 

Vice Versa...and you're welcome.

Do you play in a quartet?

Actually a quint...we call it Our Chamber Pot.

That's unfortunate....Why?

Chamber music, boring parties, stuck in a corner or on some wet lawn, there to bring a little class to the old estate....set dressing. A pisser, if you'll allow me to say.

You just did. Yet, it pays.

We are two people standing in a somewhat public space...I am highly skilled, well trained and playing great music for pennies and insults. You are equally highly skilled, I am positive. I won't guess your pay, not my business anyway. I would also imagine, you have a different image of the world, from where you sit...and I mean you no personal offense…

I see. So, I am corporate. And, you?...do you solo?

I prefer to solo.

Hmm...Much more lucrative not splitting the pot with the Pot ?

Got it. But also the freedom to improvise. Who’s to know?...and I like the tone. Can’t beat this sound in a digital studio. All these clever fellows up here....

And Women....

Oh. I have no reason to doubt that! None whatsoever...so what brings the princess down from her granite tower?

Do not fuck with me, street person.

Stop. Please move on. Take the express VIP elevator UP to the penthouse and leap from the balcony. And I will serenade you as you fall, so the last fucking sound you hear is my High C!

Fuck. That was good. I'm freezing my ass off.

Come on, step in here. I don't have cooties.

Cooties?

...ah..you know... Germs? Bacterial infection?… social diseases, TB...

Okay, I get it.

She ventured in.

Ohh. This is different isn't it? It's sheltered. 

Cave like...

Yes! A cove…warm!

A Cove...Good. I like that.

It's odd isn't it? Right there. Just a few feet away is a busy blvd and we sit here invisible and toasty...

I see it as shelter with a window on the passing parade. But don't get me wrong for one second…less this sounds somehow 'twisted and idyllic'… it is hell dealing down here at street level.

Up there, my BP runs close to 200.

Down here, my BP runs below 102.

Yet you play for money? Is there not stress  involved in your day-to-day survival? ...I mean, my god...the danger...

You assume because I play down here...amidst the trash cans and poverty in the alley, that somehow I am needy and vulnerable? That's quite an assumption. There are people down here that appreciate and willingly accept the Masters. Consider it My gift to them…they need it, and frankly, so do I.

You're saying, on days like this, that you're willing to freeze your ass off for your art and some free concert for the down-trodden? ...excuse me, but that sounds like total BS to me.

See that vent? Can you See that vent?! Can you imagine how much heat a building this size expels into the air? Wasted....when people freeze on the street huddled on the sidewalks outside? Invisible to a thousand windows overhead. Besides, I get some slack from the cops during the day, and a deal with the guy-at-night. Actually this is the second guy-at-night, because the first was stabbed for his stash...and this prime real estate. Can you image the desperation in that? Killing to stay warm?

Maybe just a mean street rat with a need for blood...

Or that...

So you’re not homeless?

I am mysterious. And chose to remain that way.

I see. Okay, Drama Boy, I have business to attend to, You have cost me too much time...!

Yes...and Trouble.

Can you keep it down?

Pardon?

Your instrument!

Pardon?

The Cello?!

Oh. That....

She walked briskly back out to the sidewalk and was immediately swept from view by a major gust, sending her sliding, slipping down the slightly sloping sidewalk back toward the Lobby entrance. She was not so much ‘walking’ as she was ‘sailing away’.

The doorman saw her coming and alertly grabbed her arm as she slid by, then steadied her.

Are you Okay Miss?

She heard only the cello that accompanied her on her dizzy dance and still swirled with the wind as she came out of her trance.

Ma'm?

Yes. Sorry. Please ring my office and tell them I'm okay, but that I've been delayed. Nothing to worry about. No reason to be afraid…

He reached into his kiosk and offered her a lap blanket, which she readily accepted, as he draped it over her shoulders.

She then thanked the man, and returned to the cave and took a seat on a bottle-crate beneath the vent.

"Don't stop. Please play."