Tishomingo Blues Read Online Free PDF Page B

Dennis said. "You want to tell me what you do?"
    It brought Robert's smile back, Robert taking his time before saying, "You think I'm the man, huh? Not some local deputy dog, you think I might be a fed, like some narc sniffing around. Hey, come on, I'm not looking into your business. I saw you dive, man, I respect you." He said, "Listen, I bet I've been in your shoes a few times. You know what I'm saying? I think we both had our nerves rubbed a little. You ask me am I looking for work and I jump on it, 'cause I don't seek employment. Any given time I got my own agenda. Like I ask if you know this man Kirkbride."
    Dennis said, "You're talking, man, I'm through."
    "You want to get a drink?"
    "I'm going home," Dennis said, felt the pocket of his jeans and said, "Shit."
    "What's wrong?"
    "I'm suppose to take Charlie's car. He forgot to give me the keys."
    "You going home, I'll drive you."
    "My truck's over there," Dennis said, looking across this section of the lot where the help parked, rows of cars and pickup trucks shining under the lights, "but I can't leave it where I'm staying, Vernice has a fit."
    "I don't blame her," Robert said, "that's a big ugly truck. Come on, I said I'd drive you."
    Dennis hesitated. He needed to get away from here but didn't want to walk around to the front and run into Charlie, and maybe sheriff's people arriving. He said, "I'd appreciate it. But could you get the car and meet me by my truck? I have to get something out of it."
    No problem.
    He couldn't tell the year of Robert's car, new or almost, a black Jaguar sedan, spotless, shining in the lights, rolling up to Dennis still wondering what the guy did.
    They kept to themselves driving away from the hotel, leaving behind the neon Dennis didn't think was as tiring as amusement park neon; this was quiet neon. He began to relax in the dark comfort of leather and the expensive glow of the instrument panel. He closed his eyes. Then opened them as Robert said, "Old 61. Yes." And turned right onto the highway to head south.
    He said, "Down there's the famous crossroads." He said, "You like blues?"
    "Some," Dennis said, starting to think of names. "What's that mean? Some."
    "I like JohnLeeHooker. I like B. B. King. Lemme think, I like StevieRayVaughan . . . "
    "You know what B. B. King said the first time he heard T -Bone Walker? He said he thought Jesus himself had returned to earth playing electric guitar. They cool, JohnLee and B. B., and StevieRay's fine. But you know where they came from? What they were influenced by? The Delta. The blues, man, born right here. CharleyPatton from Lula, lived on a cotton plantation. Son House, lived in Clarksdale, down this road." Robert's hand reached to the instrument panel and pushed a button. "You don't get off on this you don't know blues."
    The sound came on scratchy, a guitar setting the beat.
    Dennis said, "Jesus, how old is it?"
    "Recorded seventy years ago. Check it out, that's CharleyPatton, the first blues superstar. Listen to him. Rough and tough, man. Hits you with it. He's doing `High Water Everywhere,' about the flood of 1927, changed the geography of the Delta around here. Listen to him. `Would go to the hilly country but they got me barred.' Turned away by the law, the high country for whites only. They made songs out of what was going on, their life, how they were getting fucked by the law or by women, women leaving 'em. All about man and woman, about living on plantations, on work farms, chain gangs ... This man, CharleyPatton, his style begat Son House and Son House begat the greatest bluesman ever lived, RobertJohnson. Robert Johnson begat Howlin' Wolf and all the Chicago boys and they put their mark on everybody since, including the Stones, Led Zeppelin, Eric Clapton ... Eric Clapton use to say, you don't know Robert Johnson he won't even talk to you."
    Dennis had to think, trying to recall if he'd heard of the man RobertJohnson.
    RobertTaylor still talking, telling him, "Thirty seven miles