When the other musicians returned, the young woman--Al introduced her
as Mabel--sat at the table Jurgen had vacated. He took one chair and
joined the clarinetist under the spotlight.
"Do you know--uh..." Jurgen paused. "How about 'Nice Work if You Can
Get It'?"
"Mmm. George & Ira...," the clarinetist intoned reverently with a wide
grin. "Ever'body knows that one..."
They played a seething rendition that soon had Mabel on her feet,
improvising alongside Jurgen. She stood facing him, doubling over to
peer into his eyes, undulating while they ran on in imitative
counterpoint, two fish in a creek spilling down a mountainside. The
piano and clarinet stopped while they took the tune up on their own,
turning it over, peeking into all the hidden motives, each musically
entwined in the other. Mabel was breathless when they finished, and
let Plain Al take a solo before leading them all back into the
melody--Mabel broke into the last verse and belted it through the room.
There were pitifully few customers to applaud.
The place was closing up, and Al sat with Jurgen and the other
musicians around a table. They each coddled a tall Coca-Cola mixed
with bourbon, and talked and talked, shooting answers and questions at
each other like they were playing hot-potato. They were all
semi-professional--none of them were paid for playing at Calcutta.
Mabel and her brother ran the place, under the eye of a kindly landlord
who never bothered them; he came in once or twice a month, sat through
a few songs, and left. Mabel and her brother provided free food for
anyone who wanted to play for the evening. Times being what they were,
they could not afford to hire anyone to play--and had nothing else to
draw any clientele. The musicians all held regular jobs, off and
on--mostly off, they admitted--and Calcutta was like their own private
paradise, where they were real musicians, where people came to hear
them play. They were a comfortable bunch, wiling away their evenings
with music, going home with full stomachs.
Jurgen felt exhausted--he had been up since dawn--and when he had
finished his drink, begged to take his leave. He cradled his viola
case under one arm. "I'm wondering, Al," he said as he stood up. "How
this place came to be called 'Calcutta'?"
Al laughed. "That's Mabel's idea of jokin' I guess. Mabel, she reads
a lot--got some fine schoolin' too." Jurgen did not comprehend
immediately. Al flashed his silver teeth and leaned forward with wide,
laughing eyes. "Black Hole o' Calcutta?"