After that, for several months the instructor came and we rehearsed with him two, sometimes three times a week. After work, it goes without saying, because they only let us off overtime. And so we wouldn’t lose out, they added two extra hours each day for the rehearsal. To tell the truth, after a couple of rehearsals we didn’t really need the instructor, each of us knew more than he did. There was a cement mason, a welder, a tile layer, a crane operator, an office worker, and another electrician, and aside from me they’d all played before in various bands. One had been in a military band, another one had played at a spa resort, one had been a street musician during the war, or before the war. One of them had studied for a time at a conservatory, one was an organist, and one of them had a father who played fiddle at the opera, and his father had taught him to play even better than him, he said.
They chose me because I was the only one who’d come forward as a saxophonist. You know, in those days the sax wasn’t a regular instrument. You didn’t often see one in a band. Elsewhere in the world sure, but not here, not in company bands, especially from a building site. Though it was precisely the saxophone that made us so successful. Those guys have a saxophone — it gave us an advantage over other bands. Pretty soon we started getting invited to play here and there, on other sites, factories, army units. And not just for dances, but other things too, we were asked to perform at celebrations, anniversaries, holiday events.
Let me tell you, our band often did more for the site than management. So you don’t think I’m just saying that, one time we did a special event at a cement works. Maybe you know how things were with cement in those days. With everything else too, it’s true. But on a building site, without cement you couldn’t do a thing. You’d sometimes have to beg for every ton of it, organize parties for the cement works management or their workers’ board, remember the name days of this or that person, which people were important and who made the decisions, bring gifts. Or send telegrams, call. And when nothing helped, who to call higher up, though that was always the least help of all. The site would grind to a halt and stay that way.
They asked me to perform solo on the saxophone especially for the wife of the director of the works, because it happened to be her name day or maybe birthday that day. And they announced that I’d play solo for her, the rest of the band was only going to do backup. I didn’t want to do it, I told them I’d never appeared solo before. But then I thought to myself, when it comes down to it it’s a challenge. She was sitting in the front row, next to the director, she was a decent-looking woman, a brunette I remember. I started playing, I saw she was beaming, so I went all the way. I finished my solo, and the place was dead, there wasn’t even the faintest applause. It was only when she jumped to her feet in the front row and started clapping without looking around that the whole room burst into applause, some of them clapping even louder than her. After that there weren’t any more problems with cement. At most the delivery would be a day or two late. And the whole band got bonuses.
That was later, after he and I had gone our separate ways. You know, the warehouse keeper. It happened because there was a performance at our site, it was some holiday or other, a few people got medals, a bunch of certificates were handed out. The next day I went by the warehouse for some item, and as he was writing out the chit he said in a kind of hurt voice:
“You were all over the map. You’ll never be a real band. You don’t play well together, you’re not that good.”
It got to me, because who was he to say things like that. Some warehouse keeper. The room had rung with applause, it was even louder than after the director’s speech, everyone congratulated us, people kept shaking my hand, and here was this warehouse guy. I thought, I’ll just get the part I need and I’ll say something to him as I’m leaving. But all of a sudden he softened up.
“You, you have something. But with the saxophone, don’t go getting any ideas. You’ll be wasted in a band like that. They’ll clap for you, sure they will, because who ever heard a saxophone out here in the countryside.”
I did a double take. Where had he heard a saxophone? It was then he let on that he’d been a saxophonist, he’d played for many years before the war, and in lots of different bands. I was dumbfounded, because on the surface you wouldn’t have given ten cents for the guy, as the saying goes. I forgot that I’d come for the part, and honestly, to this day I can’t remember what it was. I just wondered, should I believe him or not?
Words didn’t come easily to him, you could see he had to force them out. Two or three of them, then a break, with big gaps in between, as if he had trouble joining them together. Or maybe that was just my own impression, because I couldn’t get over the idea that the chit was being signed not by some warehouse keeper but by a saxophonist. From what he said, he’d played every kind of sax, though most often an alto. Then when he started listing the places he’d performed, I have to say I thought I was dreaming. Vienna, Berlin, Prague, Budapest, and those were just the capitals, he’d worked in all kinds of other cities. He’d traveled in any number of countries. He started naming the venues he’d played, and I thought he must be making them up. The Paradise, the Eldorado, the Scheherezade, the Arcadia, the Eden, the Hades, the Imperial. I wanted to ask him what all the names meant, but I was too shy. Because he might think, And you want to be a sax player? Oh yes, he also performed on a passenger ship sailing to America. I stopped wondering whether he was telling me the truth or not, because the very fact that the saxophone can take you all over the world like that was making me think differently about it.
Once again I got the idea of maybe beginning to put money aside from my wages on the first of the month, or at least a part of what I spent on vodka. I couldn’t play a company saxophone for the rest of my life, after all. And what if I moved to another site and there was no band there? One day I was back in the warehouse to pick up something or other, and as he leaned over the chit he asked:
“Do you have your own sax?”
“No, just the company one. I saved for one once, but then the currency change happened. I was thinking about starting to save up again.”
“Don’t bother,” he said. He finished writing the chit, and didn’t utter another word.
I thought, probably he reckons there’s no point, because there might be another change of currency. And a currency change is like death, you always end up not having enough time. He must know life.
A couple of weeks went by, then one day I was passing the warehouse when he shuffles out and calls me:
“Come over here!”
“I don’t have time now. I’ll swing by later.” I really was in a hurry.
“No, now. Later’s usually too late.”
“Is it something urgent?” I could see there was a case lying on his desk.
“Look inside,” he said.
I opened the case, my heart pounding, and I couldn’t believe my eyes.
“A saxophone,” I said, though it was like I still didn’t quite believe it.
“A saxophone,” he said. “I went home Sunday and brought it back. Why should it go to waste?”
“It’s golden,” I said. I felt I was trembling.