Sabato, 13 Marzo, 2004 | Posted by Lionel Gerkin at 12:17

I sat listening to Chet Baker on the gramaphone. It was one of my favourite Chet Baker songs: Little Man You've Had a Busy Day.

It's just a beautiful laid back piece that's pure Chet. But that's Chet. He looked at me and said: "Jazz is like a banana, it has to be consumed on the spot."

"You idiot", I said, "that's a Jean Paul Satre saying. And anyway what are you doing in RhumabLand?"

"Jazz is like a banana ..."

"Shut up, Chet! Just shut up."

He kept playing. Behind him the walls fell away and a lushly covered meadow appeared. The sun shone down gently. Birds chirpped and the wind gently tip-toed across the fields trying not to ruffle anything or anyone.

And then there was Silvia. The sun had picked her out for special attention. She seemed to glow under its gaze. Her eyes smiled. She held out her hand to me.

I walked over Chet (I think I heard him squelch) and took her hand. Chet, bless his heart, kept playing. I placed my arm around her waist and drew her close. I could smell the minty air of her breath against my face. I could see my future in her eyes. I could feel my existence have meaning.

Silvia placed her cheek against mine. Her smooth, cool skin against mine. I could feel the very molecules that make up her being against mine. She reached up to my ear and gently bit it between her teeth. She spoke about the growing sadness in her heart. She spoke about her need for someone to bring joy and life into her world.

I said I could do that. I wanted to do that. I was ready to do just that and make it my life's devotion.

She kissed my earlobe again as we danced closer and closer. I could feel her groin groan against mine. She looked at me, my heart was racing. The pounding in my chest was quite noticeable. I could hear the beating over Chet's playing.

Our eyes met, her lips parted as they came closer to mine. I closed my eyes and heard her say: "Jazz is like a banana, it has to be consumed on the spot."

"What! What!!" I shook my head. I opened my eyes in fright. There was Chet. "Where's Silvia? What have you done with her?"

"Who's Silvia, man? Like I was saying, 'Jazz is like a ...'"

"Shut up! Just shut up, Chet. You're suppose to be dead. You died in 1988. That saying belongs to Jean Paul Satre. You were a great trumpet player. You and Gerry Mulligan were great together. But your big mistake was singing. You were a shit singer. I could have done a better job. In fact I do a better job singing than you ever did while you were alive.

"This is RhumbaLand, idiot. You should have kept that goddam trumpet in your mouth and never taken it out. You shine with the trumpet, you suck with your voice. So, just shut up, okay."

Well, that's what I told the surgeon I had said to Chet as he was about to surgically remove the flugelhorn wrapped around my head. Chet was also very competent with a flugelhorn. Did I forget to mention that?