The

Man With The Horn

Short story by Francesco Ragni – all rights reserved -2019

---

It was damn hot in the club. The light was wrong. The audience wasn’t really
engaging, some of them absorbed by their mobile phone. But the sound, oh the
sound, was sublime. Paul’s trumpet had never sounded so beautiful, strong,
smooth and crisp at the same time. The set was over, thanks God for it he
thought, but he wasn’t ready to let that sound go to sleep.

He ended with a high note the bop tune that was supposed to close the set. But
before the clapping had even started, he went for “Skylark”, his favourite ballad.
No intro, straight into the song with a couple of long notes. Within two or three
seconds the rest of the band joined in without even have to think about it. That’s
what jazz musicians do. Ross played on the piano a couple of open chords that
lifted the tune like a soft breeze in a full moon summer night. Mike hit deep on
his bass, making it crystal clear that we were in E flat territory. Fletcher used his
brushes to lovingly touch the cymbals. The lights, all of sudden, seemed just
right. The bar stopped serving drinks. There was magic in the air. The man with
the horn, finally, smiled.