Sound of redemption, p.1
Sound of Redemption, page 1
Sound of Redemption
Band in the Wind, book 2
Copyright © 2019 by William John Rostron
All rights reserved. Except for use in any review, the reproduction or utilization of this work in whole or in part in any form by any electronic, mechanical or other means, now known or hereinafter invented, including xerography, photocopying and recording, or in any information storage or retrieval system, is forbidden without the written permission of the publisher.
This is a work of fiction.
Printed in the USA.
Cover Design and Interior Format
For my parents
William John Rostron Sr. (Bill)
And
Josephine Paradiso Rostron (Peppy)
“I may be wrong, but I won’t be wrong always.”
~ Ten Years After
Prologue
“Strangers When We Meet” - Reprise
- The Smithereens
June 8, 1990
Maria Romano was going home. She was not travelling to her comfortable suburban house in Floral Park, but rather to the home of her soul, the place where she grew up – Cambria Heights. Her family had been one of the first to move from there in the great “white flight” of the 1960s. Her racist parents had insisted that once the neighborhood became integrated it would become “hell on Earth” for white people.
However, what Maria saw before her were rows of old, but nicely kept houses. The neighborhood had survived, indeed thrived. If this was hell, then make me a sinner. Still she felt trepidation. Was it the latent fear of others that her father had worked very hard to instill in her or something else? Though she now lived less than ten miles away, this was her first trip back in decades. She realized that it was the memories of her time in the Heights that she could not face. This was the place of her childhood and the happiest moments of her life. This is where she had met and shared her secrets with her best friend Diane. This was where she played in the streets with a cadre of fun-loving neighbors. And this was where she had fallen in love with Johnny Cipp.
As tears swelled up in her eyes, reality intruded on her memories. Diane was dead, as were all of Johnny’s friends and bandmates. They had all been caught up in the madness of Mad Guy Provenzano’s murder spree during what Johnny had called “a season in hell.” Yes, Johnny himself had written that in the journal that she held in her hand. It had come to her house that very morning and she had read it through tear-stained eyes. After more than twenty years, Maria finally had answers. She now knew that Johnny had not died in 1967. This incredible revelation, after all her years of waiting and wondering, could have been an emotionally crippling event. But she had no time for self-serving feelings. The note that came in the same package as the book had instructions. She had a job to do.
As Maria knocked on Riet’s door, she knew that life would never be the same for either of them. Riet had no reason to know Maria and she had no reason to believe what she was about to be told. But Maria had to make her believe. Riet had to understand that it was a matter of life or death.
Part
1
“Wake Me, Shake Me”
- The Blues Project
1
The Other Side of Life:
“Stairway to Heaven”
- Led Zeppelin
Four Months Before
February 14, 1990
I rise from the sand and take a few steps into the chilly waters of the Zachary Taylor Beach. I can almost see their faces in the moonlit clouds. I can hear their voices in the wind. They are waiting for me. I hear them calling my name. “Johnny! Johnny!”
The coolness of the saltwater tickles my toes.
I can hear Gio and Jimmy Mac singing in harmony. My drummer is still wearing that eternal grin that so enthralled the ladies. Gio gives me thumbs up and starts laughing.
The water now surrounds my calves and splashes on my knees.
I won’t throw the book out into the waves. Instead, I will send it back to the waiting sand. Perhaps someone will find it?
My thighs feel the tingle of the salt water as I start to approach the crashing waves.
And Tinman is wailing on the organ. He looks up and takes time to wink at me. He is playing our music and loving it. He puts his head down to concentrate on a solo part. Next to him is Bracko and he too is smiling. No! He is laughing with wild abandon as I have never seen him before. There are no bruises on him. He nods at me and returns to bending the strings of his Strat. I can hear their distant voices calling me, “Johnny! Johnny!”
The water now straddles my waist and starts to caress my shoulders.
They beckon me. The band needs a bass player to give them a backbeat . . . and a friend to share their joy. I will join them, and again we will be complete. We will make music . . . and we will laugh . . . and the band will again be together . . . in the wind . . . forever.
2
The Other Side of Life:
“And the Tide Rushes In”
- The Moody Blues
“No, Johnny, no,” yelled Padre into the violent surf as he read the final entry. He scanned the crashing waves in hopes of seeing his friend. Despite the fact that the cover was titled “Journal of Johnny Cipp,” Padre knew it had been written by the person he knew as Jack Paradise.
He had found Jack lying on this very beach last spring. Key-wasted was a term that the locals used to describe those that had hit rock bottom in the downward spiral of drug and alcohol abuse that was so common in America’s southernmost outpost. Padre had worked with Jack and helped him on his way to sobriety. He had encouraged him to start work on this journal.
Johnny had fled his Cambria Heights’ home in Queens, New York to save his life. The other four members of his band, Those Born Free, had been murdered by the local crime lord, Mad Guy Provenzano. Yet, “Jack” had not just fled his home, he had run away from all those he loved and who loved him in return.
Padre knew that Jack blamed himself for the deadly rampage of Mad Guy. A strange confluence of events had led the then seventeen-year-old to represent the entire band as old enough to perform at a local club. When this fact led to a police raid on that club, all of his bandmates had been arrested. Provenzano, as the club’s owner, had been disgraced in front of the capos of his mob. His retribution had taken the lives of the rest of the band one at a time.
Johnny had also left behind the love of his life, Maria Romano. When his efforts to convince himself that his flight had been for her own good failed to assuage his guilty conscience, he spiraled into a decades-long descent into hell. Though humble by nature, Padre understood that it was only his intervention and Johnny’s hard work that had led to the salvation of his friend. But had it? Once sober, “Jack” had tried to fulfill Step 9 of his AA program - make amends to those you have harmed.
While attempting that task, Johnny had come to discover that both of his parents had passed away, brokenhearted that they never knew what had happened to their son. To compound his misery, Johnny had also recently found out that while he was wallowing in his despair, Maria had moved on without him. She was now happily married and had two children and a successful career.
If these heartbreaks were not enough, there was the question of Riet. His best friend, Gio, had saved Johnny from certain death at the hands of Mad Guy Provenzano. And how had Johnny repaid him? As Gio took his last breaths, he made just one request of his best friend—go to Riet and tell her that he (Gio) had loved her to the very last moments of his life. Johnny had never spoken to Riet. Johnny had never told Maria he was leaving. Johnny had never said goodbye to his parents. All this weighed on him, and Padre still remembered his final conversation with Johnny. He had come to the priest earlier that day.
“You OK, Jack?”
“No, Padre. I haven’t been OK for a very long time.”
“But, Jack, you worked so hard with your recovery.”
“Padre, I know that hiding from the world and myself for all these years was not a good thing, but . . . “
“But what, Johnny?”
“With sobriety comes reality. With reality comes understanding. With understanding comes responsibility. And with responsibility comes guilt. Padre, nothing is masking my guilt now. I’m feeling every shitty bit of it. Bracko, Tinman, Jimmy Mac . . . and Gio. Oh, God, how I let Gio down. . . and Maria. . . and my parents . . . and Riet.”
“C’mon. Jack, you’ve come so far,” responded Padre.
“Have I, Padre?”
For one of the few times in his life, Padre just could not come up with the right words to bring Jack back from the brink.
“Padre, I have to go play at Reilly’s now.”
“Good, good. Music has always been your ‘doctor,’ and you’ll feel better after a few tunes.”
“Ah, yes, my Music Doctor,” he spoke softly. Padre understood what he meant. His imaginary creation, the Music Doctor, always inspired Johnny to sing relevant songs to the situations that he found himself living. As he left the church, Johnny knew he could not tell the Padre what the Music Doctor had been whispering in his ear all that afternoon. There would be one song in his set tonight that had not been there in a while. If Padre had listened closely, he would have heard the feint strains of Johnny humming “Fear the Reaper.”
As Padre peered out across the moonlit waters, he knew he had failed. He h ad not really saved “Jack.” The return to sobriety had been too much, perhaps too soon, for the real person who had written this damp journal he held in his hands. Was Padre too late to stop Johnny’s date with the Grim Reaper?
If Jack had decided to end his life, it could not have been too long ago—and it could not have been too far away. The proof lay in his hands. Johnny must have written his final epitaph in the journal while still near enough the shore to fling the composition book to the waiting sand.
All these thoughts went through Padre’s brain as he scanned the waters off Zachary Taylor Beach. He realized exactly who he was searching for when his voice unconsciously screamed for “Johnny” rather than “Jack.”
“Johnny. Johnny!”
3
The Other Side of Life:
“Knockin’ On Heaven’s Door”
- Bob Dylan
“Johnny, Johnny,” screamed Padre out into the crashing surf. His eyes peered out from the shore for any sign of his friend. He knew that somewhere out in the darkness was the man who had written his final words in the book that he held. It was then that he spotted a fleeting glimpse of a half-submerged Johnny and ran into the crashing surf.
They beckon me. The band needs a bass player to give them a backbeat . . . and a friend to share their joy. I will join them, and again we will be complete. We will make music . . . and we will laugh . . . and the band will again be together . . . in the wind . . . forever.
“Hold on, Johnny, I’m coming,” yelled Padre as he challenged the increasingly violent waves. Johnny either could not hear him or was ignoring him. Still, he slowly plowed through the resistant surf toward his now floundering friend. Johnny could not answer as a powerful wave knocked him underwater and propelled his body to the sandy bottom.
Johnny heard no more instruments playing. He saw no more band playing in the wind. Yet, he did hear a voice calling to him as he slipped into unconsciousness.
***
“Hey asshole, what do you think you are doing?”
Johnny opened his eyes to see Gio in front of him.
“I said, what do you think you’re doing?”
“You can’t be here, Gio. You’re . . .”
“Dead? Good fuckin’ guess, numbnuts.”
“Gio, that means that I’m . . .”
“Yeah, . . . well, almost, Johnny, almost. How does it feel being the mayor of Crazytown?”
Johnny took a closer look and saw the rope burn etched on Gio’s throat, each moment of torture of his schoolyard lynching ingrained in his skin. He pushed out his hand to touch it and Gio pulled away.
“You got that saving me,” whispered Johnny.
“Well, yeah. Now don’t you feel like a fuckin’ prick, Johnny?”
“I have for almost twenty-three years.”
“No, no, no! Shit-for-brains, you don’t get it. They were going to kill me anyway. That isn’t what pisses me off. It’s what you did afterward.”
“What did I do?”
“Nothing, Johnny, god-dammit, nothing. You didn’t live happily ever after with Maria. You didn’t tell my parents I died. And you never told Riet that I loved her to the end. You did fucking nothing with the time we bought for you. And now . . .”
“Now what, Gio?”
“You know, Johnny, in your journal you hinted that a few of us weren’t the sharpest tacks. Now, look at you.”
“What do you mean? What do you know about my journal?”
“Johnny, Johnny, Johnny,” said Gio looking at his wrist at a make-believe watch. “By my calculations, you only have a few seconds more. And Johnny, news alert! I’m dead; I can’t really be talking to you. So why the hell should it amaze you that I know what’s in your journal? Shithead! Do you understand what exactly is happening here?”
“Gio, I miss you. I miss all the guys. I miss Maria. I’ll . . . I’ll be with you guys soon.”
“No, Johnny, you won’t. We don’t want you. Not this way.”
“But after what I did . . . I let you all down.”
“Yeah, blah, blah, blah. I know you’re so guilty. Blah, blah, blah. How many fuckin’ times did you write that in your journal?”
“But I am, Gio.”
“Blah, blah, blah,” said Gio putting his hands over his ears until Johnny stopped talking. He then pointed to the imaginary watch again and added, “Tick, tick, tick.”
“Gio, it’s too late. It’s too late for Maria and me . . . it’s too late for everything.”
“OK, so Maria moved on. I might add she did that after waiting ten years for you. But doesn’t she deserve to at least know that you are alive? Don’t you owe her that?” Gio then looked down at Johnny’s pinkie. Johnny followed his gaze down to the silver ring on his finger.
“Send it to her, Johnny, send it to her.”
“And what the hell will that do?”
“Answer her questions. Give her some closure — an ending to your story.”
“But even if I did that, I can never make it right with you guys,”
“Johnny, what were the last words I said to you? You know, the last words that you ever heard my living, breathing, real self say to your face?”
“I . . . I can’t say them, Gio.”
“OK, I will. I said, ‘Do something good with your life.’”
“It’s too late now, Gio,” Johnny said, now pointing to Gio’s imaginary watch.
“No, Johnny, it’s not!” said Gio, pointing upward.
***
Padre’s arm reached through dark murky water and found Johnny’s hand. He pulled with all his strength and soon the unconscious body broke through to the air. Johnny was breathing, barely. Padre needed to get his dying friend to solid ground where he could give him proper CPR.
“Do something good with your life, Johnny, something good,” said the fading voice of Gio as oxygen started to circulate through his arteries.
“I will,” answered Johnny though his real voice uttered no words.
“And Johnny . . . “
“Yeah, Gio?”
“You better take care of my goddamn guitar.”
“OK, Gio,” whispered Johnny.
“What did you say?” said a confused Padre, but Johnny still remained oblivious to the real world.
***
On the shore, Johnny opened his eyes and looked up.
“I’ve got to get you to a hospital,” said Padre upon seeing Johnny’s blank stare.
“No, no. I’m good.”
“The hell you are,” said Padre.
“Hey, watch the language. Are you allowed to say ‘hell?’ You know blasphemy and all that?” Johnny actually smiled.
“Are you sure you went to twelve years of Catholic school? Blasphemy is irreverence toward God. Last time I looked, hell wasn’t in his zip code.”
“But I was almost there . . . wasn’t I?”
“Where?”
“You know . . . hell?”
“Johnny, that’s between you and Him. You want some orange juice?”
“Damn orange juice again. You’re so predictable, Padre.”
“What? You want me to carry around a virgin pina colada?”
“Now you’re talking, Padre.” Johnny struggled to rise to his own two feet and Padre joined him.
“You OK, Johnny?”
“Yeah, I’m breathing good and everything seems to be working.”
“Johnny, that’s not what I mean. You know . . . up there?” and Padre pointed to Johnny’s head.
“Like I told you this afternoon, Padre, I haven’t been OK up there in a very long time. But I’m going to try and change that.”
“What are you going to do now, Johnny?”
“I don’t know exactly,” said Johnny with a questioning expression on his face. He looked out over the water. The wind had started to dissipate the clouds that had once held his vision of his lost band. He squinted to see better and thought that he might just have caught a glimpse of Gio as his smiling image faded into nothingness. “But it’s going to be something good . . .” He winked at the moonlit sky and repeated, “something damn good.”
