Show The Aggie Review Page The Aggie Review The Page 7 harp cold and tasted And hitter I just might have to steal it you know if I'm goin' to be over the harp in his pocket his palm sweaty The others returned slowly and the music began again Christopher relaxed but felt a sinking in his stomach He took out the sandwich he had gotten at the- Blue Note and began to eat it slowly He was no longer aware of the strange bar the strange faces the strange music Now he saw only the Blue Note and Old Stinkey Old Stinkey who knew the street who knew the blues who sent him here to find the Blues Man - - 1 1 free Christopher turned and went into the bar again The lights and people and music stabbed at him but he ignored them and pushed his way through to the stand The bass man and the guitar man and the drummer took surprisingly little notice so he went to the singer's mike and cupped it in his hands with his harp The notes came softly at first long and drawn out Now came a slur now a aware of the strange bar the strange faces the strange music Now he saw only He was no longer the Blue Note and Old Stinkey Yes I've done run out of money Lord-it'- s all gone from me — The night waned the music changed The singer got off the stand and was moving toward the door As if in a dream Christopher rose on shakey legs and followed him dodging and squeezing through the crowding dancing people The singer went outside and leaned against a street lamp Christopher stood by him The music floated out only faintly through the door The night air was cool "I like your tunes man" said Christopher The singer looked at him but said nothing "Do you ever jam?" The singer lowered his head and muttered something unintelligable in reply then looked up and grinned "When will the Blues Man get here?" Christopher blurted this The singer laughed through yellow teeth "What boy what? Blues Man boy? What blues man? There is no blues man boy And he giggled The singer was drunk Christopher turned toward the door run now a bend The bass man caught his line and held it the guitar man toned down The harp grew louder and filled the room The people stopped and were silent The people watched The harp began to sing faintly at first then more slowly It sang the singer out on the street diseased and mutilated and drunk It sang the cobwebs on the ceiling and the cracks in the wall and the rats on the floor It sang the wallet that was empty and the bottle that was dry It sang a tattered old corduroy coat and a history of too much wear It sang a lousy little dive in another part of town called the Blue Note where drunk met drunk and where the air was putrid and smelled of urine and vomit And it sang a broken beaten down wretch of a man called Old Stinkey whose only reason tojive was a bottle d of beer and twelve bars of old blues music The other instruments were quiet now The people were quiet now The only sound was the final rasping of a blues harp as it choked out its last wavering sob much-requeste- The notes came softly at first long and drawn out Now came a slur a draw a bend There is no Blues Man His hand went to his pocket and he pulled out the harp he put it to his mouth-i- t tasted cold and bitter He He blew into it cleaning the reeds played the length then tried a few warm-u- p The "Stay there sort of daze Christopher got off the stand and worked his way through the crowd clutching the harp tightly in his sweating palm He opened the door and stepped outside into silence The singer had gone The street was empty He walked a few blocks until the bar seemed far behind him Then with all the strength he could muster Christopher flung the harp into the The blackness of blackness of y the street He slumped into a darkened doorway and buried his face in corduroy arms wrapped tightly around blue jean knees Then he began to cry Before he got up to go and look for the harp he began to cry In a runs singer turned on him suddenly out of there boy Stay out of boy" His face was hard and beneath the neon of a street "Get out of here boy Don't cruel lamp come back no more" Christopher stared at him The singer raised a tightened fist The skin on the hand was ragged and diseased— the knuckles uneven and blackened The hand trembled uncontrollably Saliva drooled through the yellow teeth and down the scarred unshaven chin "Stay out of there boy" the-cit- I'm goin' down to the river gonna wash my sins away— I'm goin' down to the river gonna wash my sins away— And when get down to the river I God Lord It's gonna be the judgement day jSpbs |