It had already been two weeks since I started living at the zoo with Eric. During this ti, I learned a lot about Eric, and we were building our friendship, but Eric's health was clearly deteriorating. Even though he visited the hospital every morning for treatnt, the pain consuming his body was gradually worsening.
Eventually, 15 days after his arrival at the zoo, Eric was hospitalized. I helped with his hospital admission and then visited his room, looking at him with concern.
"Eric, will you be okay?"
Eric, looking weak, sat on the bed and gazed out of the window.
"I'll be fine, I've been through worse."
I remained silent, lips sealed like a clam. This was because a few nights ago, after drinking beer, Eric shared the story of his life. He talked about his third band, Derek and the Dominos, how a band mber, Duane Allman, died in a motorcycle accident, and the drumr, Jim Gordon, after showing symptoms of schizophrenia and murdering his mother, ended up in prison for many years. Then, living through years of drug addiction before finally getting his life back on track, only for his 4-year-old son to fall to his death from a 55-story building. It was a turbulent life story indeed.
At the ti, listening to Eric's drunken tales, I realized how much misfortune one person could endure. Despite being called one of the greatest guitarists in the world and enjoying all the fa, it seed like God had taken everything else away from him except for the gift of music.
Eric muttered, looking at the clouds drifting outside the window.
"I miss my dead son today."
Not knowing what to say, I just quietly sat there, looking at him. Then, quietly, Eric began to sing.
"Would you know my na if I saw you in heaven?"
Despite the beautiful lody, the song 'Tears in Heaven' had such sad lyrics. Eric looked at with a slight smile.
"Ah, sorry. I just missed my son all of a sudden."
I nodded slightly and asked.
"That song. You made it thinking of your son, right?"
Eric leaned back, supporting himself with his arms.
"Yeah, I wrote it for my son. Being sick makes sentintal. I've always tried to keep a positive outlook."
As Eric continued looking out the window, I waited for him to speak. After a mont, he leaned forward.
"Now that I'm hospitalized, I can't help you with your practice."
I quickly replied.
"No, I can practice on my own. You should focus on getting better. Health cos first."
Eric sat up and rummaged through the drawer next to his bed, pulling out a business card and handing it to .
"This is the card of the general manager of B.B King’s Club. I called ahead; I asked them to fit you in during the band's practice tis. The club used to be empty before brunch, but now they don’t have free slots, so they rent practice spaces elsewhere."
I took the card from Eric and saw the na written in fancy gold ink.
"'Sambo Cuffe'"
Eric continued as I looked at the card.
"Sambo has been working there since he was eleven, working his way up to general manager. We've been close since we perford live together during B.B. King's lifeti. He's a good guy, he'll take care of you. I've already contacted him, so just ask about joining the practice."
I looked at him with a guilty expression.
"Eric, you're not well, and yet you're worrying about this? I’m grateful but also sorry."
Eric waved his hand dismissively.
"It’s not just any favor. I’ve been watching you at the zoo for the past two weeks. You might beco an even greater musician than . You're accomplishing things I couldn't at your age. I'm investing in your genius. Soday, when I'm gone, people will still be able to hear good music, thanks to you."
I shook my head in disbelief.
"A successor? You shouldn’t be thinking about that yet, Eric."
"Ha, don’t worry. I’ll focus on my treatnt and get better. But I was also raised by my seniors. It's ti to give back."
"Are you talking about B.B. King?"
"Yes, he taught a lot."
"Who do you consider your ntor?"
"Well, B.B. King, Albert King, Freddie King, they're all my ntors. But the person who first made pick up the guitar and inspired to beco a guitarist was Robert Johnson."
"Robert Johnson? I listened to his music recently."
"Yeah, it might sound a bit outdated now. It’s from the 30s, so the recording quality is the worst. But after I overca my drug addiction, I was so inspired by him that I nad a facility for addicts after his song ‘Crossroads’."
"Ah, I’ve heard that song
."
"Yeah, I’ve spent my life following in the footsteps of those seniors. I don’t know if I’ll leave a mark as a guitarist, but I can’t say I've played the role of a pioneer like them. Keon, try to be like those seniors."
"Can I... do it?"
"With your ability to lull animals to sleep with your singing, what can’t you do?"
"Ah.. that was just singing quiet songs..."
"It's fine. It seems you're not yet aware of yourself. One day, you will realize what kind of being you are. That day will also be the day you awaken your abilities and soar. Anyway, head straight to the club. Sambo will be waiting for you. I need to rest."
Lying down and crawling into the blanket, Eric watched as Geon spoke.
"Then, I'll visit often, Eric. Thank you."
As Eric waved his hand weakly and turned to lie down, Geon left the hospital room and headed for B.B. King's Blues Club. Arriving at the club by taxi, Geon noticed its entrance at the corner. The facade was adorned with flamboyant neon signs, prominently featuring the red letters "B.B. King," and a scrolling sign below continuously displayed snapshots of currently performing musicians.
Upon entering the club, a black female staff mber approached and asked,
"How many in your party?"
Geon took out a business card from his pocket and showed it to her.
"I have an appointnt with Mr. Sambo Cuff."
The staff mber, suspicious of Geon wearing a hat and mask, watched him until he hurriedly removed them to show his face. She then smiled warmly.
"Oh! Are you Geon? I'm a fan, haha. Please, this way."
The mont Geon removed his hat and mask, murmurs from the seated custors grew louder.
"It's Geon!"
"Really? Where, where?"
"Right there, in front of the counter."
"Wow, the restaurant of a famous musician is different. Even stars like him co here. Should we get an autograph?"
"Let's try later if we get a chance."
As the attention focused on him, Geon waved and greeted them. Applause and whistles erupted from various directions. After a brief mont of fan service, Geon followed the waiting staff mber to the office located behind the club. The staff stopped in front of a large black door and knocked.
"Knock knock"
"Co in."
As a deep male voice beckoned from inside, the staff mber turned to Geon and said,
"Go ahead. I've been told you have an appointnt, so I won't accompany you. I'm swamped with work, haha. Promise to give an autograph later?"
Geon smiled warmly at the staff mber's cute gesture of showing her pinky and entered the office. Inside, a huge black man in a gray suit and sunglasses sat. He was not a muscle-bound giant nor overweight, but had a unique build with a lot of muscle mass and a protruding belly. Upon seeing Geon, he stood up and approached,
"Geon. You've arrived. Eric called ahead of ti. Please, have a seat."
Feeling intimidated by the man's presence, Geon cautiously sat down on the offered sofa. The man then fetched a drink from a mini-fridge and sat opposite Geon, who worried the sofa might collapse under the man's weight. Smiling, showing his teeth, he introduced himself while touching his short, curly hair.
"I'm Sambo Cuff. Nice to et you."
"Ah, I'm Geon. I've heard a lot about you."
Sambo leaned back on the sofa and crossed his legs,
"I heard you want to participate in the bands' rehearsals at our club, is that correct?"
Geon nodded and replied,
"Yes, Mr. Cuff. I'm still a student learning about blues. I think it would be a great learning opportunity for ."
"Haha, everyone knows you're a student at Juilliard. So, which band's rehearsal would you like to join? We have many musicians performing on different days."
"I don't have a preference for any band. I'd be happy to participate in any band's practice."
Sambo glanced at the performance schedule on the wall, pondering. Geon followed his gaze, waiting for Sambo to speak. After a mont, Sambo suggested,
"For rehearsal, it's best to have a band with many instruntalists. And the band should have a welcoming atmosphere and be willing to accommodate you... Do you prefer a white band?"
Geon chuckled,
"I'm Asian, Mr. Cuff. I don't choose based on race."
"Hmm, good thinking. If you want to learn the true essence of blues, it might be best to join a band with black soul. How about 'a decade of soul', the band responsible for Saturday evening performances?"
Geon shrugged,
"Any band is fine with ."
Sambo smiled, raising one finger,
"But I have one condition, Geon."
Geon looked at him curiously as Sambo continued,
"I'm a businessman. I don't do things that don't make money. In exchange for helping with your practice, you'll need to perform with them at B.B. King's Blues Club during your practice period."
>
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