While it was perfectly possible, for instance, for Keith to hammer out the nuclear-attack percussion of “I Can
See For Miles,” John had trouble singing the lyrics. Although John and Brian were more than happy to perform “Ruby Tuesday”—the only song which their two former groups had ever had in common—Keith would almost fall asleep at the drums and Sid would make I’m-bored faces at the audience. John would all but give up on keeping up with Sid on “Anarchy in the U.K.”; Brian made weird faces at the bassist’s maniacal pogoing and guitar-thrashing, and Sid barely tolerated Brian’s woodwinds during “You Can’t Always Get What You Want.” The only song on which all four musicians meshed together was “Helter Skelter,” even though it was clear from the audience reaction that that particular number was still associated with Charles Manson; even while the band kicked out the jams, too many faces out there looked as if four giant cockroaches had suddenly crawled onto the stage. Manson and his killers had ruined that song for all eternity, literally.
It was only when the other three band members left the stage to allow John to sing “Imagine” as the finale that the crowd seemed to awaken from their glassy-eyed stupor, even singing along with the final refrain. This was not unusual, though; that particular song struck a chord among the Valleydwellers, who had found themselves, after all, reborn in a world without borders, countries, or Sags. At the song’s conclusion, John stood up from the makeshift piano amid rousing applause; he bowed once, then gratefully strode off the stage.
A party was already in full swing in the green room: Keith was arm wrestling with Duane; Brian had joined a conversation with Janis, Berry, and Dennis; and Sid lurked silently in the corner, glaring at everyone with
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once-fashionable punk disdain. John walked past them, completely unnoticed; he stopped by his dressing room to lay his guitar on the bed, then stood for a few moments, gazing indecisively at a fish-skin packet of joints that rested on a table. “What the hell,” he murmured to himself, then picked a joint out of the packet before he left the room and headed back down the corridor toward the rear door.
Billy was minding his post, sitting on an enormous oak stool next to the open door. The titan stood up as John approached. “He’th thtill waiting for you,” he rumbled. “I atnked if he wanted to come back to your room, but he didn’t want to.”
“It’th… oops, sorry… it’sokay, Billy.”TheTitanthropic lisp was rather infectious. “I’ll talk to him outside.” Billy nodded sagely and stood aside; John patted his hairy forearm as he stepped outside.
The wooded area behind the backstage shed was dark, illuminated only by a couple of flickering, half-spent torches that marked the way to the outhouses. He could hear the rhythmic hand-clapping of the audience as they urged the second band to come on stage. John’s eyes, unaccustomed to the gloom after the bright lights of the stage, sought the shadows.
“Jim?” he called softly. “Hullo? Jim?”
The robed figure he had seen earlier detached itself from the shadows beneath an oak tree. “Here,” a quiet voice said from within the raised hood.
John took a step forward, then stopped, uncertain. “If it’s truly you,” he replied, “then let me see your face.”
There was a moment of hesitation, then the figure’s hands moved from within the dark folds of the robe and
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lowered the cowl. After another moment, he stepped farther into the light, revealing himself to John.
It was Jim, all right, but not the Jim he remembered. His dark hair no longer reached down to his shoulders; instead, it was cut very short, almost monkishly. The face was still starkly handsome, but the familiar mannish-boy glower had completely vanished, leaving behind only a neutral, almost beatific expression. Jim, by all accounts, had died overweight and bloated, his innate sensuality stolen by liquor and drugs. Now he was rejuvenated, but as a cloaked figure standing in the half-light, as if materialized from one of the William Blake poems that had so influenced him as a UCLA art student.