The powdered tuba or the strange illness of Stanley Cooper¹

Stanley had started playing the tuba at the age of sixteen when he became interested in joining his school’s wind band. He very soon acquired exceptional skill with this instrument. He liked blowing into it, he liked holding it in his arms and he liked to smell that special smell of brass mixed with saliva. At the age of twenty he got the coveted tuba job in the state’s philharmonic orchestra. A brilliant career. His passion for the tuba only grew all the more.

The first person to notice something abnormal in his behaviour was Laurence, an unmarried French viola player, who indulged her fantasies by secretly watching this rather overweight person blowing with such passion into this enormous metal tuba. She thought Stanley was strangely insistent in the way he licked his mouthpiece. When he was not playing, furthermore, he touched the tubes in a way that she thought looked rather like a caress.

A few weeks later she watched with curiosity as her colleague took a file from his pocket and rubbed it furiously on the edge of the bell, holding his left hand just underneath to catch the filings. The young woman’s curiosity turned to amazement when she saw him feverishly bring his hand to his mouth and greedily lick up the metal powder.

Walking past him at the end of the rehearsal she could see that the edge of the bell had already been cut into considerably. She thought it her duty to tell David, the orchestral manager, who wondered if she was pulling his leg.

A week later, for conscience’ sake, David went and sat behind Stanley. Sure enough, his tuba was strangely holed in many places and was missing a full two inches at the bell. Hardly had he sat down, haggard looking, than Stanley got out his file and got up to his tricks again. No doubt about it, poor Stanley had flipped his lid.