Big Man the Book

Clarence

My mother told me this story, and I love it with all my heart.  –C.C.

The man was drinking Coca-Cola; the woman was drinking ginger ale.  All the other people in the club were drinking alcohol in one form or another.  Not that it was all that crowded.  The small room was about one-third full.  All eyes were on the stage and the man playing the horn.  His name was Sill Austin and he was great.  He played with a soft intensity that was mesmerizing.  The man and woman had walked two miles from their home through the cold December evening to see him.  They rarely went out these days.  Babysitters were a luxury they couldn’t afford.  But when the man had seen the ad in the paper saying Sill Austin was booked at Frankie’s Lounge, he knew they had to find a way to go.  They’d listened to the recordings over and over.
“You’re going to wear a hole right through this thing,” she’d say to him every time he put on one of them on the record player.
“Then I’ll go buy a new one,” he always said in return.
And now here they were in the same room with him, watching him play and create that magic.
Watching Sill Austin play pretty for the people.  He reached out and took her hand.  She squeezed his hand in response.

After the show they sat at the table for a while and finished their sodas.  It felt like the old days when they’d first started going out.  Before the war to end all wars.
“If World War Two was the war to end all wars,” he said once, “how come they gave it a number?”
“I think that was World War One,” she’d said, smiling.
“Even worse,” he had replied.
“Did you like the show?” she asked him, even though she knew the answer.
“Yeah,” he said.  He was never a big talker.
She though he looked handsome in his Sunday suit.  The shirt was as white as his teeth.
“Why do you think you like him so much?” she asked.  “There are plenty of other horn players out there.”
“He plays the music that I hear in my head,” he said.

It was very cold when they stepped outside.  The wind had picked up.  The weather forecast was calling for snow tomorrow.  Christmas lights glowed in a lot of the shop windows.  They both pulled up their collars and started to walk.  She put her arm through his and they stepped in rhythm, shoulder to shoulder. 
“I think that’s him,” he said
“Wanna say hello?” she asked
“No,” he replied.
“Why not?”
“Cause right now it’s perfect,” he said
After the first mile she said, “Clarence wants a train set.”
He didn’t say anything.
“From Santa,” she said.  “Electric trains.”
“Yeah,” he said.  “Then when he grows up he can become a Pullman porter.”
“I don’t think that’s necessarily true,” she said, smiling.  The cold made it hard to feel her face.
“The boys’ going to be nine years old,” he said.  “Time he grew up.”
“Meaning what?” she said.
“I’m not getting him trains,” he said.
“He’ll be disappointed,” she said
“He’ll get over it.” he said.
“So what do you want to get him?” she asked.
He lifted his head and looked at her.  He smiled.
“A saxophone,” he said.