His casual confidence caused people to move out of his way even before they noticed his size or the bag slung over his back. He wasn’t aggressive, or threatening, but somehow it seemed inconceivable that anyone should hinder his progress.
DeCappo saw the crowd part and silence fell like a blanket spreading over the town square. He quickly signalled with a chop of his hand and his guards formed into a protective rank around him.
It had been almost ten years since the last leadership challenge and even longer since DeCappo accepted any challenge personally.
The man gracefully strode across the sun dappled cobbles removed his hat and dropped it to the floor at DeCappo’s feet.
DeCappo studied the man. His head was closely shaven. His nose had been broken more than once. His ears had soft edges as if they had been chewed. A scar creased his lip and dribbled down under his chin. He wore a tight white t-shirt that struggled to contain a reinforced chest and stretched to its limits around the bulging biceps.
With one swish of DeCappo’s finger he could have the man removed, but his position on the island would be over. No one would respect a leader who couldn’t face a challenge. He reached up and ceremonially removed his own hat, which he dropped on top of the strangers.
The man slowly unzipped his bag. DeCappo waited to see what weapon the man had chosen. He anticipated it would be something simple that relied on brute force rather than skill. He looked back at his three champions, each one ready to step forward on his behalf. The challenger’s choice of weapon would determine which of them DeCappo chose.
As the man lifted out his chosen object there was laughter. This mountain of muscle had pulled out a dainty battered guitar.
The man looked at DeCappo and smiled. DeCappo smiled back and quickly whispered to his three champions. They all stepped backwards leaving DeCappo and the man alone.
The man checked the guitar’s tuning and then waited. Two chairs were brought from a nearby café along with wine and olives. DeCappo and the man sat and drank together.
It took almost half an hour for DeCappo’s men to return with his own guitar. By that time the square was full and crowds squashed onto on every overlooking balcony.
DeCappo rasied the guitar above his head and there was a huge cheer. The guitar was famous. It was a genuine Ignaci Fleta specially commissioned with understated decoration except for the gold inlay on the fret board.
DeCappo sensing the man’s interest passed the instrument to him. He turned it reverently inspecting the craftsmanship and respecting DeCappo enough that he didn’t play a single note before returning it.
DeCappo strummed the guitar. It was still in tune even though it had travelled down from his hill-top retreat.
There had never been a guitar battle but everyone instinctively knew what would happen.
DeCappo immediately launched into the first phrase a 17th century folk song composed by one of the islander’s greatest musicians. It was a complex duet that switched from player to player every few bars. If the challenger failed to respond the contest would be won within seconds.
The man’s large fingers moved with delicate dexterity and bounced the melody back. It was a short, intense piece of music that ended with both instruments playing together an entwining melody and counterpoint.
The sudden silence after the final notes was broken by a solitary child clapping. He was quickly grabbed by his mother but not before the contagious clap had spread throughout the crowd and even overtaken DeCappo’s guards.
Cold water and cool towels were brought out and once the two men were refreshed DeCappo signalled for quiet.
The man reached out to the head of his guitar and made quick turns on the tuning pegs. He then plucked each string in turn.
DeCappo was surprised. He imagined the man must know that he could play every single piece of the island’s limited musical repertoire. This unique way of tuning the guitar must be his attempt to confuse DeCappo. It took several moments to retune his own guitar but he only needed to play a few well known reels before he sensed how the system worked.
He practiced for a while longer and became convinced he could play any song even with the obscure tuning. He looked up, expecting to see in the man’s eyes the knowledge that his ploy had failed, but the man still looked confident.
The whole town waited anxiously. If the man outplayed DeCappo their lives would change.
It only took eight bars before everyone knew the battle was over. The tune was familiar. It was played throughout the island on a scratchy old recording passed from father to son, mother to daughter. The university music college declared the recoding fake. They said the music was impossible for one person to play. Several guitar tropes had managed to recreate it but only by combining three soloists each playing different parts.
DeCappo didn’t even try to compete. He sat entranced as the man’s fingers moved too quickly to follow.
The music known as the Impossible Chord lasted less than three minutes. The stunned silence seemed to last longer, even the children could sense that this moment deserved more than applause.
DeCappo stood and stepped up to the man. He bowed and placed his guitar onto the man’s lap. The man handed DeCappo his battered guitar and stood.
Everyone watched. Once the man lifted DeCappo’s hat and placed it on his own head they would have a new leader.
Hands slid towards guns but a signal from DeCappo restrained them.
The man bent and picked up his own hat, placed it back on his own head, and walked through the parting crowds carrying his new guitar.
The old battered guitar was locked in a vault and only re-emerged a year later on the anniversary of the famous leadership battle. DeCappo sat on a chair in the town square and waited for the gathered crowd to settle before he started to play.
It only took eight bars for everyone to know that no one would be able to beat DeCappo in a guitar battle ever again.
DeCappo never revealed the tuning system that made the impossible possible. On his death his family retrieved the guitar but they were too late. Its strings had been cut and the secret was gone forever.