Page 27 - The Gluckman Occasional Number Four

yet soulful sounds. They went crazy, yelling and clapping every time
he raised his trunk and began blowing. Arturo was thrilled. He soon
attracted a small but loyal following, club-goers who loved his music
and knew nothing of his former life.
But he could not keep
his secret forever. One
night a music critic for the
Times happened to stop by
the club on his way home.
He instantly saw through
the elephant’s disguise.
Very pleased with his
discovery, he hurried back
to the newspaper office
and rewrote his article for the next day’s paper.
Arturo was exposed.
That night the manager
of the club proudly
showed him the
newspaper story. As soon
as Arturo saw the tables
occupied by members of
the press and people
from uptown in tuxedos,
he fled from the
bandstand. His heart was filled with shame and anger. Where could
he go now? He wandered through the dark streets of lower
Manhattan all night, taking refuge in alleys and poking through
garbage cans for leftovers.
At dawn a truck passed by and
dropped a bundle of newspapers on
the sidewalk near Arturo. He could
read the headline: ELEPHANT
MAESTRO FLEES JAZZ SCENE;
DRUGS FOUND IN BASS DRUM.
His despair deepened; he spent the
rest of the day moaning softly in an
abandoned warehouse near the
waterfront. It was a cold, damp, dirty place--matching his mood
perfectly. By nightfall his mind had driven him to thoughts of