Walli hoped that he might be the magic ingredient that pulled in the crowds.

Rebecca bought two beers. Walli plugged in his amplifier and switched the microphone on. He felt excited. This was what he loved, and what he was good at. He looked at Dieter and his wife, wondering when they wanted him to begin, but neither showed any interest in him, so he strummed a chord and started singing “If I Had a Hammer.”

The few customers glanced at him with curiosity for a moment, then went back to their conversations. Rebecca clapped along with the beat enthusiastically, but no one else did. Nevertheless Walli gave it everything, strumming rhythmically and singing loudly. It might take two or three numbers, but he could win this crowd around, he told himself.

Halfway through the song, the microphone went dead. So did Walli’s amplifier. The power to the stage had obviously failed. Walli finished the song without amplification, figuring that was slightly less embarrassing than stopping in the middle.

He put down his guitar and went to the bar. “The power’s gone dead onstage,” he said to Dieter.

“I know,” said Dieter. “I switched it off.”

Walli was baffled. “Why?”

“I don’t want to listen to that rubbish.”

Walli felt as if he had been slapped. Every time he had ever performed in public, people had liked what he did. He had never been told that his music was rubbish. His stomach went cold with shock. He hardly knew what to do or say.

Dieter added: “I asked for American music.”

That made no sense. Walli said indignantly: “That song was a number one hit in America!”

“This place is named after ‘El Paso’ by Marty Robbins—the greatest song ever written. I thought you would play that sort of thing. ‘Tennessee Waltz,’ or ‘On Top of Old Smoky,’ songs by Johnny Cash, Hank Williams, Jim Reeves.”

Jim Reeves was the most boring musician the world had ever known. “You’re talking about country-and-western music,” Walli said.

Dieter did not feel he needed to be enlightened. “I’m talking about American music,” he said with the confidence of ignorance.

There was no point in arguing with such a fool. Even if Walli had realized what was wanted, he would not have played it. He was not going into the music business to play “On Top of Old Smoky.”

He returned to the stage and put his guitar in its case.

Rebecca looked bewildered. “What happened?” she said.

“The landlord didn’t like my repertoire.”

“But he didn’t even listen to one song all through!”

“He feels he knows a lot about music.”

“Poor Walli!”

Walli could deal with Dieter’s boneheaded scorn, but Rebecca’s sympathy made him want to cry. “It doesn’t matter,” he said. “I wouldn’t want to work for such an asshole.”

“I’m going to give him a piece of my mind,” said Rebecca.

“No, please don’t,” Walli said. “It won’t help to have my big sister tell him off.”

“I suppose not,” she said.