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“You’re fucking up the show!”
The shout from Russell made the room froze. Jarvis was soundless. Since he was still wearing heels, everyone could only see shadow casting on him. Unlike those slipping movements he performs on stage, rather in creaky way, he moved rapidly. It was easy for him to pining Russ to the wall. Easier than he imagined. Fight might be expanded wildly. Russell is, well, Russell··· and Jarvis was himself too. You can’t tell which one was more stubborn.
Even now, no one was stepping back. Russell raised his head straight up as if he saying ‘punch me if you can’, Jarvis looked him down standing closely. Anyone else hadn’t moved. Though the tension had to be broken hard-to-interfer atmosphere was in the air. And, before somebody had courage, sound of a hit dinned. Russell was covering his temple with his hand. Punch continued. Then Jarv stopped still like he just came down to reality when Russ countered just once. Strange scene it was. Obviously messed one was glaring like though he was trying to catch his breath, and the one who will end up with only tumefied cheek looked completely broken. He seemed like he forgot to breath.
Russell stormed out. Candida reached to Jarvis to check him out, but before she made it he left the room too. Considering it was tiny room, you can guess how suprising this whole thing was to other members of the band. The figure of him disappearing, stumbling, in the loo to got caught to people since the door didn’t shut.
Banging sound continued. Something was happening. Nick headed back to the stage for an apologize to crowd. Steve was saying sorry to the promoter. Candida was packing her back, and Mark hadn't moved a bit. There were tired nuance on everyone's face. It wasn't common situation, but nor unusual. Russell came back with his instrument in his hand.
Crushed instrument, hardly hanging on a string, seemed even pitiful. The second-hand violin was a prey of Nick's joke to be broken someday, since it refused his order at times, but it never meant this way. There were few things of them like this. The amp which caused today's problem was already over 15 years after Jarvis got it. It was too much pulp-ish thing to do, to make a scene for having old stuff.
Russell was standing alone in front of the window. He can recognize crowd moving out from theater within marching people. Mark reached to him with first aid kit, which the promoter gave after conversation, but he waved his hand as refusal. He looked like someone who got lost in abandoned building. And Jarvis hadn't even come back yet. Have a gig a day after too··· have to leave at dawn··· The wounded who weighted down his thigh with his palm, opened his mouth slowly. Voice was slow, and not sharp enough to sound like him.
"We still have a gig tomorrow."
"Yeah." It was Candida.
"In Lille."
"That's right." Promoter's voice interrupted.
"Alright···." He looked at half-closed door. Now he looked desperate, but himself wasn't sure what he wanted. Only Candida knew what it meant. Only because he told her that he has been considering leaving few weeks ago. She watched him. He took his move slowly in nervous gazes, in five pairs of eyes.
"Mark, hand me that kit." The hand of darkened-blue nail passed the kit silently. Russell left the room with it. The ones who left behind sighed. Now the problem was out of their hand, and only remaining one, the problem of closure was on the hand of the casualty.
They came back after 20 minutes.
-
Jarvis heard the sound, door opening, shoes stepping tiles, door closing, tap opening, closing, opening and closing. It was hurtful for his eye to stay without glasses.
Sound of pulling out a sheet of tissue. After that, Russell's stuffy-nose voice. "'ey."
He didn't answer. Not that he didn't like to, but he stuck in feeling he couldn't say anything. As if he forgot how to do. He can't guess his feelings, while not watching the other's face. On the other hand, he was thinking how much time the stain he left would take til disappear. Maybe it wasn't a big deal than he imagined, or maybe it was bigger than he thought. There was long sign.
"Step out. I can't break that door. You know there's another gig tomorrow." He didn't answer.
"Jarv, come outside." And he opened the door.
Russell's face in blurred eyesight was not pale than he thought. But surely he bled some since his hand was holding a sheet of white fabric. Oh he might puke. He knew that Russell is a person who still can play on stage, after all this. But he got hit by him, in other way he hit Russell just now. The silhouette is trenchant under the tiny incandescent bulb. He had lack of punching, though he'd been punched before. This toilet, smells like fish. He thought Russ is prickly-annoying sometimes, but never wanted to hit him. He sensed the same smell, until he got sick of it, when he worked at fishmonger. It felt like some kind of rebellion. Raw sense of feeling. Although 'standing against something' was what usually Russell did. This situation was awkward at a whole. He knows he screwed the stage. He want Russell to say anything. Now it's pure improv without structure. And he realise that he's afraid not knowing the next step. Blue eyes stare him. And closed deeply.
"i told you it would be broke soon, sooner of later. You said you know."
"I did."
"Then why did you get mad? We were even in the middle of performance." He took his hands off from his eyelids.
"You shouldn't let down people who walked down just to see us during strike. Do you understand?" Scolding voice. Now he's looking at Jarvis leaning against a washstand. Disappointment in his parlance sounds like arguing he was one of them who came the long way. Slow motion. He throws white tissue at him.
"Wipe your face."
He did so. A remaining hint of alcohol cools him down. Not very hard to guess he passed what he used, since leftover cosmetics shines timidly. Now it has his mascara too. He can feel vomiting feeling sink down.
"Do something with the amp, throwing away can do." Silence asks for his answer.
"I don't want to." Russell turns his head. Like he's tired. He still can't say whether it's good or bad. He can't, but they know it begins again.
"Then get a proper repairment. But first we should find a new violin for tomorrow. Shit! Out if you finished. People are waiting for you." So at least it is not a failure.
He turns back the tissue, wipes his hands at waistband, and walk outside. There is a line of sneaking light from the door at the end of the hallway. There are people waiting for him. He enters, and Russell being followed. They have stage to go on.