by Stewart Brinton

So much to say and the clock is ticking; it likes you succinct, precise. So does your audience at Our Town Café, 245 East Broadway on the second Wednesday every month for Word Whips and Story Slam. Contact Johnny Frem at 604-254-0355 or visit www.boltsoffiction.org Here’s the winner of the June Story Slam.

A few years ago in June, half-starved and light-headed, with my saxophone in its case strung across my shoulder, I found myself descending a dimly lit staircase and I slipped on something oily and toppled. Trying to keep my saxophone from dropping, I twisted and pulled a groin muscle. After a sleepless night I went to my doctor, who told me I would have to avoid lifting heavy objects for three months. My tenor saxophone weighs 10 pounds (25 pounds in its case). Suddenly I was forbidden to touch it.
I am a musician: I must play music, so I rekindled my love affair with the harmonica. I hadn’t seriously played the harmonica for seven years. Previously I’d played blues harp for 20 years, but after playing in too many dingy clubs where the bartender made more on tips than the entire band and dealing with band members who were talented drunks and drug addicts, I sold my equipment and quit the blues scene. To quote New Orleans pianist Doctor John: “Music of itself is sacred. Music’s of the spirit, business is of the meat world. There ain’t no connection between the two.”
The harmonica became my summer long meditation. One day I found myself in the alcove in front of Art Beatus Gallery. With its window panes and pebbled concrete flooring it provided a resonant chamber that amplified the harmonica. I stared through the window at a painting by Chinese artist Shyh-Charng Lo. It was a pastoral setting with lush foliage in the foreground and distant mountains framed by sky and water. The oil painting shimmered with the heat and humidity of summer. It reminded me of my childhood when I would head down to the lake with fins and goggles and inner tube, ready for a day of water sports. The painting inspired me and an upbeat melody emerged. I called it The Summer Song.
Hour after hour I played The Summer Song, fashioning and refashioning the melody, frequently returning to Art Beatus Gallery to stare at the painting in the window. I went inside and perused the exhibit of Shyh-Charng Lo’s paintings. All his paintings were pastoral and atmospheric, reflecting painstaking effort. The prices were low. Only a few had a red dot indicating they were sold. I sensed that Shyh-Charng Lo was an artist who was barely making a living.
The Summer Song became a magical melody; when I played it beautiful women appeared out of nowhere and smiled fetchingly. Children loved to dance to it. The Summer Song had a compelling charisma and in the fall of the year, October first, on my birthday, I recorded it and burned a CD. I also wrote a letter to Shyh-Charng Lo telling him about The Summer Song and thanking him for his inspiration. On October 7, I took the CD and the letter down to Art Beatus Gallery to be delivered to the artist as a gift of appreciation.
That evening I had a dinner engagement in staid Point Grey. Being a hardscrabble East Vancouverite I rarely get over to Point Grey. The day was warm and overcast. I spent the afternoon prowling the neighbourhood, playing my harmonicas. At one point I sat on a memorial bench at the Point Grey United Church. I was facing the sidewalk playing a bluesy tune. An Asian man stopped, listened and smiled. It was Shyh-Charng Lo. I knew this because I remembered his photo in the gallery catalogue. I called out to him: “Are you Shyh-Charng Lo?”
He was flabbergasted. “How do you know my name?” he gasped.
“Well,” I replied, “I created a harmonica tune because of one of your paintings at the Art Beatus exhibit last summer. I would like to play it for you.”
He walked over to me and his eyes brimmed with pleasure as I played The Summer Song. When I finished he said, “Do you know what day this is? It’s my birthday!”
The Summer Song was now The Birthday Song. I marveled at the serendipity. Two artists had connected: both middle-aged, their birthdays a week apart (I am a year older) both immigrants (I am from the US and he is from Taiwan) and both struggling determinedly with their art. We clasped hands and said good-bye. I am sure he has never forgotten that moment and every October 7 on his birthday I imagine Shyh-Charng Lo playing his CD of The Summer Song and smiling.

Stewart Brinton is a writer of poetry and prose and also a skilled musician, the centerpiece of his life being the saxophone, which is his daily meditation. He will send you a free audio-copy of The Summer Song if you email stewbaba@shaw.ca. Story Slam is held on the second Wednesday of every month at Our Town Café, 245 East Broadway at Kingsway. Please spread the word about this audience-judged competition for performed five-minute stories to comics, actors, writers, storytellers, incorrigible liars and raconteurs. The winning story is published here each month. Contact Johnny: 604-254-0355 or boltsoffiction@hotmail.com. www.boltsoffiction.org