excerpt
Reaching for the three dollars, Ben Donan glanced up and saw
him. Poodie smiled at the surprise on Donan’s face. Donan looked
around, then back at Poodie, and looked around again for assurance
that it was all right to let a deaf man into a dance. Poodie
stood grinning. Finally, Donan shook his head, took Poodie’s hand
and stamped it with the fluorescent legend, PAID. Inside, people
were standing around the floor talking, turning now and then to
look at the bandstand at the end of the rink. A ball of mirrors hung
from the ceiling, scattering glitter through the dimness of the
enormous room. Poodie saw a woman who left a bundle of newspapers
for him on her porch every Friday and sometimes brought
him a glass of water. She surveyed the room while the man she was
standing with talked. When she saw Poodie, he watched her say
something to the man. They looked at him. Poodie raised his hand
and waggled his fingers. The woman glanced in both directions,
then lifted her hand a little. The man took her elbow and turned
her around.
Poodie made his way among the waiting couples toward the
bandstand. A skinny man darted among music stands distributing
thick folders, moving drums into place, positioning chairs, raising
the top of the piano. The musicians began wandering onto the
stand, taking seats, riffling through their sheet music, blowing into
their horns, talking, looking at the people. A few couples on the
floor moved toward the edge of the stage. Poodie stood at the front
of the crowd.
A man with a big smile walked out holding a clarinet. The
musicians sat up and brought their horns to their mouths. The
man raised his hand and brought it down. The force of the sound
hit Poodie and traveled through his chest as a tingle. Behind the
knot of listeners, people began dancing. He walked to the side of
the bandstand where the drummer was. He moved closer, next to
the bass drum. It was not the steady pulse of the big drum at the
school dances. The drummer’s foot moved the pedal in irregular…
Libros Libertad 