The Jazz Palace Read Online Free PDF

curled against a fence to fend off the wind—until the spring. It was difficult for Leo to look at his son and not think of that day and the days that followed. “Benny,” his father said, louder than he intended.
    Benny leaped up. Though a book lay open on his bed, he hadn’tbeen reading. He had been somewhere else altogether—a place where he’d left behind the events of that morning. He had been trying to figure out a tune he’d heard in an alleyway on the South Side the week before. It was a lilting melody with too many notes, and whoever was playing seemed to take up the whole keyboard. His head was full of musical notes, and he wished he could write them down. Though he’d never cared before, it bothered him now. He’d been tapping out a tune on his sheets when his father opened the door. Benny clasped his hand to his heart. “I didn’t hear you.” Already he’d lost the refrain.
    “I’m sorry I yelled at you today,” his father said. “I didn’t know what happened.” Leo took a step closer into the room. Benny looked up at his father with the same glazed look he’d worn that morning that made Leo pause.
    His body stiffened at the sound of his father’s voice.
    Leo clung to the doorjamb. “It’s a terrible thing, and I am sorry you had to see it.”
    Benny nodded. “I’m all right.”
    “Well, good. That’s good then.” His father struck the wall as he turned to go. “Dinner’s ready.”
    His brothers were already at the table. They too had heard about the
Eastland
and wanted to know what Benny had seen. “Tell us,” Ira, who was closest to Benny in age, said. He had a reddish complexion, and his skin looked especially red that evening. “Tell us what you saw.”
    Benny’s mind was a blank. He remembered that festive moment. A ragtime tune was playing, and he smelled chicken and fresh-baked breads. He’d chatted with a woman and her two little girls. Then the woman’s mouth opened into a scream. “I saw a feathered hat,” Benny said.
    Ira bent closer to his brother. “I don’t understand.”
    “Leave him alone.” Hannah slapped Ira with a serving spoon. “Pass this.”
    Hannah rubbed her head with her hands. “Be quiet,” Leo told the boys. “Your mother has a headache.” Ira, whose face was now very red, passed the casserole dish to his father. Leo Lehrman sathunched over his food. When Arthur, who was younger than Benny by five years, reached across for a piece of bread, Leo said, “And break your bread before you butter it.”
    Arthur broke his bread into four pieces, buttering each one separately, cowering before his father, but his gaze was fixed on his older brother, who seemed more like a hero, back from the wars, than a boy with a propensity for disaster and a musical ear.
    —
    T he Regency Theater was four blocks away, and after dinner Benny wandered over. He’d been going to the Regency since he was small. The dank theater consisted of eight rows with six folding chairs in each, a small balcony with a dozen more chairs, a tattered sheet that served as the screen, and a projector. The piano player wore her hair piled on her head and held up with two chopsticks. She never took her eyes off the screen, and the light from the picture illumined her face. Benny kept his eyes on her. He never cared much for the stories that were on the screen. He came for the music.
    As the tension mounted, the piano player worked up from the bass with a rising crescendo. With each rescue she struck a heart-wrenching set of right-handed trills. She hit the keys in ways that imitated slaps, claps, knocks, and falls. She played romantic melodies to introduce the love interest, bold chords for the hero, and minor chords in the bass brought on the villain. She played ragtime between reels or to announce the happy ending. And it was always happy.
    In the dark theater with the notes rising, all the stories blended into one. Women tied to a chair, tied to a railroad track and freed, women