Devil’s Music

September 10, 1970. International District, Seattle, Washington, USA.

Despite being a big city, Seattle, with its relatively low-rise buildings of no more than 10 floors arranged in a square block, exuded an orderly yet laid-back atmosphere, thanks to its mild climate and free-spirited vibe. Since the mid-1960s, it had been at the heart of the resurgence of rock music in the United States.

Geon became aware that this was a dream as the evening sunset cast its colors across the distant horizon of the sea. Although he had arrived around noon, engrossed in exploring downtown Seattle, he couldn't discern whether it was a dream or reality until the sunset, when he realized it was a dream.

"It's a dream. It's been ages since a dream this real came back. Maybe I'll meet Elvis again?"

Strolling along the coastline that connected the city center to the sea, Geon admired the sunset over the sea. Despite the rapid development of the 1970s in America, the outskirts of Seattle remained serene and peaceful, untouched by factories. As he walked for about ten minutes along the coastline, he heard a resonating guitar sound.

Geon, captivated, moved towards the source of the guitar sound.

He first spotted him from a distance on the sidewalk blocks.

An African American with a round afro resembling Bob Dylan's, wearing a pink feather scarf and loose-fitting white blouse paired with brownish bell-bottoms, sat on the sidewalk, strumming an acoustic guitar. Eyes closed, he plucked the guitar strings skillfully, lost in the music. Geon, unintentionally, found himself sitting on the adjacent sidewalk, staring mesmerized at the man's guitar and hands.

The slow tune gradually escalated into a fast-paced melody, reaching a tempo so swift it could be called a frenzy. As the climax of the song approached, one of the strings snapped. The rapid pace and strong strumming led to the eventual snap of the first string. The musician, readjusting, held the broken string and glanced at Geon sitting beside him.

Geon, feeling intrusive, hurriedly spoke.

"Oh, I'm sorry. I was just here, lost in your music. It was really amazing."

The musician, flashing his white teeth, complimented his own performance.

"Thanks, man. It's been a while since someone sitting this close praised my playing. Haven't played for free in ages. Alright, Asian friend. Since you've enjoyed the free show, how about I buy us some grub? Sound good?"

The musician stood up with his guitar and extended his hand towards Geon, who grabbed it, smiling.

"That works out well. I was getting a bit hungry anyway. Haha."

The two headed from the beach towards a pub located on one corner.

A slightly weathered sign depicted a black silhouette resembling a firefighter holding a beer glass, with the words "Mack and Jill" carved below. Adjusting his pink feather scarf momentarily, the musician glanced at Geon and spoke.

"Welcome, Asian buddy. I'm inviting you to the best fish and chips spot in Seattle."

Geon chuckled and replied, "Call me Geon, not Asian friend."

Raising his eyebrows playfully, the musician replied, "Geon? That's quite a stern name. Haha, alright. Since you don't know me anyway, let me introduce myself. I'm James Marshall Hendrix. Folks call me Jimmy Hendrix. Just call me Jim, Geon."

Geon exclaimed in surprise, "What? Jimi Hendrix? The legendary guitarist Jimi Hendrix?"

Jimi waved his hand casually, laughing.

"Legend? Nah, just a somewhat known name. But it's cool you've heard of me, right? Haha. Alright, let's head in. I'm famished enough to eat the table."

Patting Geon's amazed shoulder, Jimi walked into the pub. Geon shook off his surprise and followed Jimi inside. The interior resembled a German market. The pub had a central kitchen, and customers were seated around a long table encircling it.

Jimi took a familiar seat near the kitchen and waved at Geon to sit next to him.

"Hey, Scott, I'm here."

Responding to Jimi's call, a chubby middle-aged Caucasian man, who seemed to be grilling sausages in the kitchen, approached.

"Oh, Jimi. What brings you here, sober and all? Usually, you're always tipsy."

Resting his chin on his palm, Jimi replied.

"It's time to get tipsy now, haha. This buddy here is Geon. Met him at the beachside bar. Scott, my usual, Red Hook."

Scott nodded and replied, slightly hesitantly.

"Alright then. Gonna get you a drink without getting too sloshed. Wait a sec; I'll bring it over."

Geon hastily interjected, "I-I'm sorry. I'm still underage, so I shouldn't drink."

Jimi chuckled at Geon's comment.

"Geon, age for drinking isn't set by anyone but yourself. It's your call. A guy should know how to handle a drink. Scott, you're not thinking of not serving my guest just because he's young, are you?"

Scott threw his towel off his neck onto the counter.

"If I don't, will you fetch drinks from outside? Just wait."

As Scott headed back to the kitchen, Jimi grinned at Geon and asked, "Geon, judging by your attitude while listening to my music, it seems like you play an instrument too. What do you play?"

Geon straightened up and lowered his head.

"I don't play any instrument yet. I've wanted to learn, but I never had the chance."

Jimi reflected for a moment and said, "Really? For a guy, it's gotta be the guitar! How about I lend you my Lucille? At least learn the basics?"

Geon, taken aback, accepted the guitar Jimi offered.

"Lucille? Is that the name of this guitar?"

Jimi handed him the guitar with a sly grin.

"Yeah, Lucille. It's my mother's name. I named this guitar after her when I got it after she passed away."

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