SONNY'S
BLUES
355
ing to me, at the top of his lungs, the most terrible things about
Sonny, his teeth gleaming like a lighthouse and his laugh coming
up out of him like the beginning of an earthquake. And it turned
out that everyone at the bar knew Sonny, or almost everyone; some
were musicians, working there, or nearby, or not working, some were
simply hangers-on, and some were there to hear Sonny play. I was
introduced to all of them and they were all very polite to me. Yet,
it was clear that, for them, I was only Sonny's brother. Here, I was
in Sonny's world. Or, rather: his kingdom. Here, it was not even a
question that his veins bore royal blood.
They were going to play soon and Creole installed me, by myself,
at a table in a dark corner. Then I watched them, Creole, and the
little black man, and Sonny, and the others, while they horsed
around, standing just below the bandstand. The light from the
bandstand spilled just a little short of them and, watching them
laughing and gesturing and moving about, I had the feeling that
they, nevertheless, were being most careful not to step into that
circle of light too suddenly: that if they moved into the light too
suddenly, without thinking, they would perish in flame. Then, while
I watched, one of them, the small, black man, moved into the light
and crossed the bandstand and started fooling around with his drums.
Then-being funny and being, also, extremely ceremonious-Creole
took Sonny by the arm and led him to the piano. A woman's voice
called Sonny's name and a few hands started clapping. And Sonny,
also being funny and being ceremonious, and so touched, I think,
that he could have cried, but neither hiding it nor showing it, riding
it like a man, grinned, and put both hands to his heart and bowed
from the waist.
Creole then went to the bass fiddle and a lean, very bright–
skinned brown man jumped up on the bandstand and picked up
his horn. So there they were, and the atmosphere on the bandstand
and in the room began to change and tighten. Someone stepped
up to the microphone and announced them. Then there were all
kinds of murmurs. Some people at the bar shushed others. The
waitress ran around, frantically getting in the last orders, guys and
chicks got closer to each other, and the lights on the bandstand, on
the quartet, turned to a kind of indigo. Then they all looked
different there. Creole looked about him for the last time, as though
