.. that’s the word for it!.. by twenty little devils in his fingers!.. Never out of sorts or tired! for hours and hours I’ve seen him like that capering from thirds to fourths and dotted rests… a run.. gingerbread.. never just musing, or sighing.. never a single word. "That’s enough! ”… always brisk.. gay hypnotic nodding with his big dome, five, three fingers, crash!. back to the keynote!. A big chord! sharp! He made it!.. The charm follows through! It’s the old refrain dignified and tricky. Never coming. never ending!. all hearts!. and so much for that!.. and no nonsense!.. and let’s drop the music! and good night for the pedal!.. and it’s just sob-stuff!.. just a plugging!.. sleight of hand!.. crossing fingers!.. beat it, cheapjack!.. and go on, go on!
break down the F!. the A!. the B!. the C! C! skid… at it again!.. beat it to the end of the sharps!. There it goes again!. never dies out!. What a break!. Rum-ti-ti-tum!. Everyone’s puffing! swooning. giving up!. kidding the ivories!. low-down style. rough and winning!. brutal and stinging! with ping! pang!.. loosens the notes!.. wizard with his hands! conquers and strikes!.. dum-ti-ti- turn!.. sweeps all before him!. everyone’s sailing!. everything’s spellbound, dissolved, blinking! blinking at the waves! ding! ding! dong!.. Don’t buckle!.. Hold on to the B! sharp! sharp! sharp!. turn!..
The thing’s been all the rage since, done a thousand times, chewed up, puked out by all the tin pans in the world, by all the jazz bands of the continents!.. by jukeboxes, practically everywhere.. botched-up tinsel.. But at the time I’m talking about, it was still new… a hash no one had ever heard.. the tough sentimental kind of thing, the kidding throb, message of the low-down times that were on their way! roguish tinkling at the corners of squares… at the doors of pubs, the tart nervous music… soft-pedal and oop-la staccato!.. the poker-faced screw, by far the best!.. the cream and pepper!.. no one wanted anything else! cynical, basic and hurried!.. notes stripped!. heart stripped!. turn!.. tarn!. turn!. frolicking, four, five, three-fingered crack! on with the whirligig and with arpeggios and you know what!. hold pedal!. and it’s up in the air!. and not tired on the left. the accompaniment full of little dreams. naughty as possible!. I can’t tear myself away from it!.. No use talking… it sounds delicious!.. It’s spellbinding, it’s free and easy! It’s a treat rolled off by a pianist who knows zum! pim! wham! the heart of things!. who knows how to get at it, merciless! to take command, cruelly, right from the start. to pack the theme in!.. to carry way. and yoop! and zoom!. zim! Keep moving, trills! and chords!.. Shake it, scales sharps galore! Waves all screwball!. It’s tough!. It’s masterful!. puffy!. the spell of technique!..
Titus understood it. You wouldn’t have thought so at first from his face, by looking at him, a potbellied sneaky-looking hippo, stuck away in his filth and semidarkness, and yet he was sensitive, influenced, in seventh heaven as soon as it got going.. hypnotized, frozen, swooning, especially when it went on and on and on.. He’d sit there all washed out, prostrated, aching with the charm. He didn’t dare move at all.. It was just too much.. he’d close his eyes.. he’d shrivel up in his pillows, deep in his easy chair, he’d let the customers float by, he’d stop answering questions.. He’d even put them out.. impolite. with their pledges, their saucers, their secondhand junk. he wanted to be let the hell alone!..
He became indifferent to everything as long as the music kept coming. still kept falling from upstairs!. the waves of harmony!.. the pretty tunes, the playthings, the little rip-plings, the string of variations!.. reeled off this way, that way.. everything that came from that big hulk’s fingers.. sorcery.
Ah! but he mustn’t stop! Ah! by God!. mustn’t slacken a single minute!.. not a second!.. He’d suddenly get awful! he’d yell, swear something fierce!. He’d grab anything.. He’d lose all control!.. Banging on the ceiling, enough to scatter everything!. to bring the house down!. in a fury!
fit to be tied!. Keep playing!. Get started, by God! Death!..
Boro upstairs knew all about it… he knew the act!.. the charm or death! shit!. shit!. shit!. He’d cLaw out the little torture.. He’d announce, yell out his price. his tax!..
"Hand me the money!. One bob, Mister! One bob!.. right away or I won’t ever play again!” One shilling! One shilling! or nothing! The categorical condition. take it.. leave it!..
The musician stuck to his guns!. his shilling right away!
"Have it you dirty dog! Have it you rascal! ”
The old guy thrashed about. insults!. but he had to fork over!
"Here, take it! you pig! you bandit!”
He’d get them. force his hand!. about two or three shillings an hour. two or three pauses!. Boro had character when it came to that!.. He wouldn’t have played again! never!. The old guy had to bring up the two shillings himself!. with difficulty. he’d struggle up the stairs. Boro wouldn’t budge from the piano.. he’d never have gone down.. and then he’d make him wait a little while.. work him up.. susceptible as all that!.. after all, he was fed up!.. let the old boy rave downstairs… let him get jumpy, let him beg again. Then he'd start, very low, muting it all, with a sly turn on the pedal, with a plaintive refrain.. dreamy.. doing the whole bass in arpeggios… the melody, B-minor beaded, and always ragging the tonic! Ah! watch it! Bringing back everything to the quick tremolo rigadoon rhythm. That’s the trick!.. the magic!.. the lost plaintive sweetness!.. Aim! and ding! bim! dead little things dancing to the tune.. three fingers.. five fingers.. and then the rest of it.. and then the chord and everything rushes off!.. goblins!.. and it’s won spruce and shrill!.. all the little live ones dash in! dawdling from a scale played in thirds, weaving motifs, and spattering! all the fingers spattering!.. the brisk rondo!.. the refrain! and everything topples!. and it all zips up again!. giddily!. Zim! Zang! Ping!..
And so on until dinner, sometimes three or four hours at a stretch!.. wilting, galloping! octaves in D!..ding! dim! bim! twitteringly!.. hearts and flowers! five! three! four! Zim!.. a shower of sharps! from sad to gay! and rigadoon!..