clouds that
seemed to envelop the entire universe with their vibrance. They held a
depth and a volume and a richness that were astounding, that were like
no others I'd ever heard.

First they went _Boom-de-boom-de-boom-de-boom_, and then,
_boom-de-de-boom-de-de-boom-de-de-boom_, just like the tones of all
bass fiddles.

But there was something else, too. There were overtones, so that John
wasn't just playing a single note, but a whole chord with each beat.
And the fullness, the depth of those incredible chords actually set my
blood tingling. I could _feel_ the tingling just as one can feel the
vibration of a plucked guitar string.

I glanced at the cash customers. They looked like weary warriors
getting their first glimpse of Valhalla. Gap-jawed and wide-eyed, they
seemed in a kind of ecstatic hypnosis. Even the silent, bland-faced
Martians stopped sipping their wine-syrup and nodded their dark heads
in time with the rhythm.

I looked at The Eye. The transformation of his gaunt features was
miraculous. Shadows of gloom dissolved and were replaced by a
black-toothed, crescent-shaped smile of delight. His eyes shone like
those of a kid seeing Santa Claus.

We finished _On An Asteroid With You_, modulated into _Sweet Sally
from Saturn_ and finished with _Tighten Your Lips on Titan_.

We waited for the applause of the Earth people and the shrilling of
the Martians to die down. Then I turned to John and his fiddle.

"If I didn't hear it," I gasped, "I wouldn't believe it!"

"And the fiddle's so old, too!" added Hammer-Head who, although sober,
seemed quite drunk.

"Old?" said John Smith. "Of course it's old. It's over five thousand
years old. I was lucky to find it in a pawnshop. Only it's not a
fiddle but a _Zloomph_. This is the only one in existence." He patted
the thing tenderly. "I tried the hole in it but it isn't the right
one."

I wondered what the hell he was talking about. I studied the black,
mirror-like wood. The aperture in the vesonator was like that of any
bass fiddle.

"Isn't right for what?" I had to ask.

He turned his sad eyes to me. "For going home," he said.

Hummm, I thought.

* * * * *

We played. Tune after tune. John knew them all, from the latest pop
melodies to a swing version of the classic _Rhapsody of The Stars_. He
was a quiet guy during the next couple of hours, and getting more than
a few words from him seemed as hard as extracting a tooth.