Unzip and Other Compact Stories

by Tommy Dakar

  Joel could be seen through the glass door, his form slowly rising from the stairs like an introductory note. He was confident and very calm, at least in appearance. He said nothing, just a smile for Carl, an acknowledging nod for Aisha. He walked over to a mixing desk and leant against it nonchalantly, trading comfort for pose. There was a rhythm too, probably very simple in its basic form, but with accents and backbeats that were difficult to catch for the uninitiated.

  Aisha insisted; she ought to go now. Carl ignored her silent pleas and turned all his attention to Joel.

  Neither man spoke, as if it were a contest and the first one to start a conversation would lose. Joel toyed with the knobs on the control desk; Carl, still sitting, waited expectantly for his visitor to begin. The false friendliness that had reigned downstairs was blaringly absent in the studio. At last Joel said

  ‘We had some great times together, eh? Some great times.’

  He waited, but Carl did not reply.

  ‘But that was a long time ago, Carl, a long, long time ago, and things change, things are changing.’

  He broke into a nasal tone and sang the Bob Dylan truism ‘oh the times they are a-changing’. Carl threw a look at Aisha who was swaying nervously from one foot to another, sensing the tension and begging to be left out of it. But she was as much a part of it as everyone.

  ‘What do you want here, Joel? Have you come back to remember when we were friends?’

  Straight to the heart. Joel winced theatrically, but also possibly too he was reeling a little, he hadn’t expected such bluntness, such open animosity. He stood up straight, pulling himself up to his full height, which was considerable, as if by so doing he could assert himself better.

  ‘OK, Carl.‘

  He sniffed, pulled at his sleeves, and began to recite the purpose of his mission. He looked hurt, as if he would have preferred a different manner, but as they had insisted, they would now receive the full, unabridged official version. He gave the impression as he spoke that, due to their cold reception, he was now obliged to withdraw any help he may have been able to offer. So be it.

  ‘The Committee has decided you have two days to clear out. They will take the building for other cultural uses. Any instrument discovered after that date will be publicly destroyed along with all technical material. No exceptions, no prorogues. Two days, no more.’

  ‘Thank you for the warning.’

  Joel remained erect, unshaken by Carl’s attempted sarcasm. There was another silence.

  ‘Do you remember Aisha? She is Paolo’s daughter, you know, Paolo, the keyboard player?’

  Joel once more acknowledged her presence by a slight inclination of the head.

  ‘She had hearing problems, was born almost totally deaf. But with a little help we managed to organize a number of concerts and pay for an implant. Pure technology. Look.’

  Joel knew Carl too well to be pulled in; he knew the ground was being prepared for a speech, for a lesson. Well he too had lessons to teach.

  ‘The Committee has decreed that music can only be employed under their cultural guidance. Any other music, of any kind, is to be considered the trumpet of the devil.’

  A provocation. But Carl would not be thrown off track.

  ‘Paolo’s daughter.’

  She was being used as evidence.

  ‘It is the collective that counts, not the individual.’

  Said like that it sounded like an insult. Aisha had not undergone delicate surgery to hear this.

  ‘I must be off now. If you don’t mind?’

  She left them to it.

  ‘The collective versus the individual. Are we still dragging up that false dichotomy? How can you believe such nonsense, Joel? You’re a musician!’

  ‘I am no longer.’

  ‘You are a musician, like it or not. You can’t just walk away from half of your life. The collective, the collective. What is a collective but a group of individuals? In a band the singer cares for his or her part, playing with the rhythms, the silences, trying to communicate…

  ‘Look, I haven’t come here to listen to all this…’

  ‘but she needs the band, needs the drummer, the bass player, the…’

  ‘There is no point in going through all this again, Carl, I did not…’

  ‘Because what you are doing is exclusion. You are cutting out those who do not agree with you, you want a monotonous world with one voice, but you know…’

  ‘Look, Carl, we have been together for a long time, I just want to warn you, that’s all…’

  ‘Music opens its arms to new instruments, new sounds. It is fusion, not confusion. That’s why it is the only universal language.. .’

  ‘The devil’s trumpet!’

  ‘Then don’t listen, don’t play, don’t go to concerts, cover your children’s ears! But do not silence the rest of us, damn you!’

  At some stage Carl had stood up and confronted Joel. Now they stared at each other with passion and mistrust in the long pause before the final note.

  ‘Two days.’