"John Kessel - Buffalo" - читать интересную книгу автора (Kessel John)

Ellington band so far has been to complain about how a bunch
of jigs can make a living playing jungle music while white
men sleep in barracks and eat grits three times a day.
Kessel's got nothing against the colored, and he likes the
music though it's not exactly the kind of jazz he's used to.
It doesn't sound much like dixieland. It's darker, bigger,
more dangerous. Ellington, resplendent in tie and tails,
looks like he's enjoying himself up there at his piano,
knocking out minimal solos while the orchestra plays cool
and low.

Turning from them to look across the tables, Kessel sees
a little man sitting alone beside the dance floor, watching
the young couples sway to the music. To his astonishment he
recognizes Wells. He's been given another chance.
Hesitating only a moment, Kessel abandons his friends, goes
over to the table and introduces himself.

"Excuse me, Mr. Wells. You might not remember me, but I
was one of the men you saw yesterday in Virginia working
along the road. The CCC?"

Wells looks up at a gangling young man wearing a khaki
uniform, his olive tie neatly knotted and tucked between the
second and third buttons of his shirt. His hair is slicked
down, parted in the middle. Wells doesn't remember anything
of him. "Yes?"

"I--I been reading your stories and books a lot of years.
I admire your work."

Something in the man's earnestness affects Wells. "Please
sit down," he says.

Kessel takes a seat. "Thank you." He pronounces "th" as
"t" so that "thank" comes out "tank." He sits tentatively,
as if the chair is mortgaged, and seems at a loss for words.

"What's your name?"

"John Kessel. My friends call me Jack."

The orchestra finishes a song and the dancers stop in
their places, applauding. Up on the bandstand, Ellington
leans into the microphone. "Mood Indigo," he says, and
instantly they swing into it: the clarinet moans in low
register, in unison with the muted trumpet and trombone
paced by the steady rhythm guitar, the brushed drums. The
song's melancholy suits Wells's mood.