the clock struck 10 on a cold winter's night. a man limped down a dimly lit road, his struggled gait belying any urgent purpose. the gray left in his beard, peeping out over his chin-high scarf, was the only remaining indication of his younger years. his jaw had slackened as the result of a minor stroke and the muscles in his eyelids had lost their hold, making his eyes look half closed.
inside, he was seething. it kept him distracted enough that he didn't feel the cold as much, and could continue plodding along. they had laughed at him, even called him a silly old man to his face, all for trying to play some tunes on his old tuba and sounding very badly.
the thing was, he had never been very good at the tuba! he hadn't the ear nor the persistence to learn such a formidable instrument. yet, he still liked to give it a few puffs every now and then to make the brass roar, and in times long ago everyone had laughed and cringed, but applauded and insisted that he play more. now it seemed, no one wanted to listen to his music.
the man limped on. if they wouldn't let him play his tuba in peace, what did he have left? irrelevancy was more painful than death. he could barely walk, his eyesight and hearing were fading, even eating didn't produce the gratification it once did. but he could still blow the air out that entered his body with decent force. it wasn't much more difficult than breathing. they may have not respected him tonight, but come tomorrow, he would have them on their knees. they would learn.
in the distance, the faint light from a gas porch light shone, and the man's awareness of his surroundings returned. this was his destination. noting that the cold had frozen his limp jaw in place, he shuffled a little faster to reach the door and get inside. this was the house of his old friend, wallace.
when he arrived, the man banged on the door with all his might. "wallace, open up! god damn you, let me in!"
after carrying on like this for several minutes, a light went on, the shades were momentarily pushed aside, and the creaking of the wood floors could be heard. wallace opened the door slowly, but in a spurt of energy the man had pounced and pushed himself through, tumbling to the ground as he entered. wallace jumped back, clutching his heart through his faded blue bedrobe.
"bernard! is that you? what the devil are you doing!"
bernard felt around his body to make sure he wasn't hurt, and then started giggling. "by god wallace, i'm here, i've made it! it's time to make something of myself!"
wallace looked at him through his tired eyes, perplexed. "well you sure haven't been in any hurry to do that! look at you, bursting in through people's houses at night like a degenerate, if i'd had had my wits about me i would have shot you dead through that gaping mouth of yours!"
bernard giggled again, amused with wallace's hostility. "help me up, good man, let us go to your den together."
wallace sighed, and bent down as far as his knees would allow to offer his arm as bernard struggled to rise. it is in bad taste to describe the grotesque picture of a rickety old man trying to pick himself up after a tumble, but one can imagine it.
when bernard had stabilized himself, he clapped old wallace on the arm, and they hobbled over to the den to have a seat, bernard jabbering the whole way. wallace turned on a floor lamp and eased into his leather chair. he didn't bother starting up the fireplace.
"okay bernard, tell me what you want."
"i need you to teach me a tune on the tuba, rightaway!" bernard shouted. he was possessed by his excitement and was trembling madly.
wallace studied his old friend. "by god, you old quack, you've really licked the right toad this time haven't you?"
bernard waved his hands in front of his face. "wallace, we all know that no one blows the ol' tuba better than you can. i just...." bernard trailed off. "i just want to be able to play a tune, okay? just one. i've been blowing nonsense through that thing for years. it's time i made myself worth something!"
wallace considered his deranged friend's request. "well, you know i'm always happy to show a man the tuba, but does it have to be right now? how about you come back tomorrow? i'll be better rested then, and we can go over as many songs as you'd like."
bernard's face drained of color. "no! no no no. tomorrow's simply too late! let's do it tonight, please old friend, while we're both here, and the desire for learning is strong!"
"okay, okay," wallace said, not seeing an easy way out of the situation. "let me get us set up."
wallace and bernard spent the rest of the evening, and past sunrise practicing in the den. it was hard for bernard to move his fingers to press the valves as quickly as the tune required and though his breath was still strong it was no match for the tuba. yet, bernard persisted, and the two old men had many good laughs that evening. after the sun had been up for some time, and the deep bodied clamor had started to wear on him, wallace sat back in exhaustion.
"well, i don't think you're going to be winning any awards for this one, but the melody is discernible and your sincerity can't be denied. consider this lesson mastered."
bernard beamed through his slackjaw and droopy eyelids. "i've really done it. what a grand accomplishment, to take this oddly shaped piece of metal and puff it until it makes a song! any animal can beat on a drum, but it takes a truly refined man to tap out a rhythm, to fill the air with a tune! this will show them who's worth what!"
that bit concerned wallace, but he kept his thoughts to himself. "yes, bravo friend! now let me catch up on my sleep, see you another day."
bernard hobbled off, determined to hold an audience the minute he got home, although, he suddenly realized how early it must be, and decided they would surely still be sleeping. here he was, bernard, moribund, depressed, and he had stayed up the entire night enriching himself while the world slept. what vigor, what spirit!
"lazy is as lazy does!" bernard screeched to the dim morning sky.
when bernard arrived home he created such a commotion pulling out his tuba from the closet that soon everyone in the house had left his or her bedroom and was standing around him in a circle with their canes and walkers. a nurse ran out of a back room and spoke urgently through a radio. there isn't much time, bernard thought.
bernard licked his lips and pressed them gently to the tuba. he closed his eyes and took a few deep breaths, recalling everything wallace had taught him. this was it. keeping his eyes shut, bernard began to blow. his lips vibrated against the brass and a deep, sonorous sound flowed out. it was sweeter than anything he had ever heard. his fingers, suddenly awakened, moved at lightning speed through the scales and surprised even himself. his command of the tune, in such a few short hours, was simply astounding. bernard arched his back and played to the heavens.
bernard sensed a flash of light, and realized that someone must be taking his picture. he wondered if he would end up in the city paper, with an article written up about him, and a headline like, "amazing man bedazzles crowd with his tuba tune." bernard beamed, and his slackjaw fell open wider. he heard applause, but it sounded far away.
