skonen_blades

He played the banjo. She played the accordion.

The banjo is in a black carrying case at the back of a Texan pawn shop on the dusty instrument shelf. Children with no music in them sold it for whatever they could get. It's missing its strings. Their father’s banjo playing was an embarrassment to them.

The accordion has been gutted and is nailed to the wall of a bar that is trying to appear rustic. It was found in the trash by a drug addict in Little Odessa. He sold it to an antique shop for five dollars. She threw it out when she got a postcard that he had died.

He played the banjo. She played the accordion.

The banjo is from Africa. It’s gone through several variations and still exists in many forms. The most common way to play it is to pluck the strings in rapid arpeggios with a drone string to give the whole melody something to hang on to. It’s a happy instrument, according to the comic Steve Martin, but it was first brought here during the slave trade. The banjo’s roots are mired deep in unimaginable sadness.

The happiness of the banjo is defiant. The happiness of the banjo is ablaze and a little crazy. The happiness of the banjo forces you to dance. The banjo cannot be as sad as the violin but it is just as powerful as the fiddle. The banjo soars above the chords of the other instruments to entwine its fingers through the very air and suddenly pull to make it squeal with delight. It steals depression into itself to make room for more joy.

The accordion was first patented in 1829 in Vienna. Interestingly enough, on the actual patent, the word ‘eoline’ is crossed out and the word ‘accordion’ has been written in different handwriting. Thank god for that. Eastern Europe and Russia have many variations on it. It was used first in American for Vaudeville. The accordion found its niche with Polka. Weird Al Yankovic explored its use for popular music.

The accordion sucks and wheezes. The accordion shrinks and grows. It makes people dance as well but not with the wild abandon of the banjo. It keeps a measured time with one side while going wild with the other. It’s the two-face of instruments. The divide between the chords and keys grows and shrinks but never separates. It fights with itself to create the music.

He played the banjo. She played the accordion.

Danjuma met Valeriya when his band was playing in a bar in her town. He was out back having a cigarette at intermission when he heard Valeriya playing her accordion. He searched the alley until he found the source and looked up at the second floor apartment. The window was open because of the heat.

There she was, framed by the light, waiting for the laundry to dry, and wearing her slip. Her eyes were closed and she caressed that accordion like a lover. She had a cigarette hanging from her lip. Her eyes were closed. She had a glass of vodka on the stool beside her.

Danjuma walked closer to listen. She noticed him. Her parents were out of town. After chatting for a while, he climbed up and inside. He brought his banjo.

She was young and white. He was a very black musician. They never married.

He did his best to make sure to play a gig in her town every two weeks just so he could see her. This happened for two years.

He ended up marrying someone down south. She moved to New York after that. They stayed in touch.

Both of them would get far away looks in their eyes from time to time for the rest of their lives that their spouses learned to ignore.

They were thinking of the duets that they played together every two weeks for those two years before making passionate love to each other.

He played the banjo. She played the accordion.


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