Eugene Wildman
THE ART OF THE FUGUE
Danny was sitting there brooding about Carlotta when he heard the cries from the street. He ran to the living room window to look out. Over by the entrance to the courtyard these four black dudes were punching and kicking this pleading, moaning white guy. The white guy was hardly offering any resistance.
Things were tense lately. The month before the Gangsta Kingpins had called for a whiteout after dark. No whites allowed out past seven; they were giving them time to get home after work. Gawain, Juliet's dog, had picked that afternoon to run off and Danny had gone looking for him. Juliet was his ex, and she had gotten the dog after they broke up. Danny was crazy about Gawain. He carried a fork in his pocket for protection, which someone had told him worked wonders in close. He was dubious but he figured give it a try. Luckily the streets were pretty empty. While he was out there he ran into a couple of black guys sitting in a truck passing a joint back and forth. He asked if they had seen a medium sized dog of such and such description. It was kind of vague, he felt slightly silly, but Gawain was a hard dog to describe. They looked embarrassed and said no, they hadn't seen anything, no dogs at all. It turned out while Danny was looking, Gawain had made it back by himself.
The white dude was on the ground and yelling for help. Danny watched through the blinds as they picked him up off the ground then hit him and knocked him down again. Suddenly he stood up and made a frantic dash for one of the courtyard entrances. Foolish move. It was a dead end. One of the black dudes grabbed him from behind, took his legs out and flipped him on his side. Danny knew he ought to go down, but then there would be two of them getting pummelled. Though at least he could yell, get their attention, only he didn't want them to see him. Not doing nothing like this.
It was pretty grisly to watch. It was a mild summer night, a slight breeze was blowing. He covered his eyes for a few seconds and then he brought the stereo over and lifted the speakers onto the sill. It was around midnight, but Danny didn't care. He had to do something. He wondered if they were GeeKays. He gave another glance outside then carefully put on a record: Bach, The Art of the Fugue. E. Power Biggs on the organ. He turned the volume as high as it would go and down below everything stopped. It was as if they were frozen, turned into statues. Even the white guy stopped thrashing about. People must have been hearing the organ a good two, three blocks away. Maybe as much as a minute passed, and then abruptly it all began again.
The white guy was curled up in a ball trying to protect his head and his ribs. There were other people in the building and Danny wondered if someone had called the cops. He thought about some martial arts moves he had learned, and then Carlotta popped back into his head. Just like that. He wished that he could forget about her. Better yet, he wished he could beat her goddam boyfriend like those guys were doing to that poor bastard downstairs. Too bad it couldn't be that asshole Drew. What did Carlotta even see in him? He went into the kitchen and put some water up for tea. Goddam her. In the other room the record kept playing, the Art of the Fugue floating three stories above the cries for help in the courtyard.