Bessie and Blue arrived in the music lounge. The huge trolley was stacked high with instruments. There was a didgeridoo, a trumpet, an accordion, some flutes, a saxophone, a French horn and both a B flat and Bulgarian bugle. There were cymbals and tambourines, big gongs and little gongs, cowbells and box drums. And, as requested, a wooden recorder and sitar. Blue was familiar with some of the instruments, but there were many more she’d never clapped eyes on before.
In the meantime, the Doctor had assembled a small band. He’d roused Boris, the guitarist from Uzbekistan, who was still snoozing in the comfy chair in the kitchen. Boris had insisted that, before he could play a note, he needed a bowl of porridge with brown sugar and some Lithuanian folk music to cure his jet lag.
‘Blue, this is Boris, Lenny and Neil. Three of the best,’ said Dr Boogaloo, by way of introduction.
Lenny was a trumpet player from Harlem, New York. He was only twelve years old. Lenny was a child prodigy and Dr Boogaloo’s first-ever apprentice. The Doctor felt sure Lenny had a future in musical medicine. His improvisations always pointed a cure in the right direction, sometimes before the Doctor even knew where he was going.
The last member of the band was Neil, a Canadian all-rounder who’d worked at the Boogaloo Family Clinic of Musical Cures ever since he was a small boy – almost sixty years. Neil was famous for the perfect bum note or loose string, which every cure required. When it came to musical cures, imperfection was an essential ingredient and Neil always knew exactly when to drop one in.
Boris, the guitarist from Uzbekistan, thrust his hand towards Blue. ‘Hello Blue, Doc tells me you lost your laughter. Vell, never you mind, ve’ll help you find it.’
Her palms sweaty with first-day nerves, Blue meekly shook Boris’s hand. Although her brain told her not to care if people knew she couldn’t laugh, the rest of her body did what it always did and burned with shame. Her eyes darkened a fraction of a shade. She flicked her ropy plaits and stared at the floor.
‘My word, we certainly will,’ said the Doctor. ‘We’ll have you laughing again before the leaves on Bessie’s big tupelo tree turn red. And I saw the first yellow one this morning, so we better get cracking, boys! Lenny, grab your trumpet; Neil, you’re on fife; and Boris, I actually need you on drums to begin with – talking drums or bongos, I don’t mind. And, Bessie, could you give us some of your magic on the piano? And sing, if you’re so taken? Now, this is a warm-up, Blue, so you just relax. Oh, and before we start, I have one little simple instruction. The most important thing to remember is I don’t need you to listen to the music, Blue. I need you to feel it.’
Blue looked puzzled. ‘How can I feel the music if I don’t listen to it?’
‘That’s a good question. You can’t feel the music without listening to it. But you can listen without feeling it. That’s a very important distinction. It’s why most people end up here,’ answered Dr Boogaloo.
‘How will I know if I’m doing it right?’ asked Blue.
‘Well, you don’t have to do anything, it’s more a case of what you don’t do. Don’t worry, you’ll get the hang of it. Right you are, boys, let’s get this show on the road!’
Blue sat down and waited for them to begin. The musicians grabbed their instruments. They looked towards Dr Boogaloo and waited for their cue to begin. The Doctor nodded and counted them in. The musicians began to play.
Blue had never seen a live band, let alone heard one. To start, the music was sparse with lots of space between the notes. Each instrument orbited loosely around Bessie, who tapped her finger on a single piano key. Slowly, the instruments came in closer, the music building and building till it bustled like a busy street. Bessie started to sing; her voice weaved between the beats and brass the way a pedestrian darts through traffic. A strange musical brew flowing along to the rhythm of life.
Dr Boogaloo didn’t have an instrument. He was surrounded by a sea of knobs and dials, which he twiddled and turned or tapped with his feet. Every now and then, he instructed the musicians to change instruments or swap tempos or tunings. His head wobbled and bobbed like one of those toy doggies you see on car dashboards. After a time, Dr Boogaloo stopped giving instructions. Stooped forward, hands clasped behind his back, he moved away from the knobs and dials. His feet took on a life of their own. As if in a trance, the Doctor began to hop and slide across the room.
Blue was fascinated. Best as she could tell, the musicians now took their cues from the Doctor’s crazy dancing feet. He was both snake charmer and snake. The Doctor danced, possessed, as the music built.
Blue could feel something fill the room. Like when you know a big wild animal is approaching, but you just can’t see it yet. Her heart quickened. The hairs on her arms stood up. She felt the music brush against her skin. It was alive and stalking them all about the room. It was the smallest bit frightening, although she didn’t know why. But fear wasn’t all she felt. Blue could feel something else, but she had no idea what.
Is this what Dr Boogaloo meant? wondered Blue.
