of thanks for grace and music, and turned the evening over to Corrie, who led off with a number I remembered hearing him sing with my father long long ago.
The blues tell of hard times and down times, of lonesome times, of sin and sorrow, of prisons with and without bars; but they also speak of endurance, of outlasting adversity, of good times with good women and good liquor.
Corrie sang mourning songs of ropes, chain gangs, and cotton fields, but mixed them with soft songs of rocking chairs on Southern summer porches, of bedrooms and barrooms that were warm and friendly, at least for a time. Sometimes we clapped hands as he sang, sometimes we sat and just listened to that voice of his, which he never raised, but that carried to the farthest corners of the hall. It delivered despair and hope without sentimentality or self-pity, and when Corrie put aside his guitar for the last time, the audience was left with emotions of both joy and sorrow, right where the blues usually leave you. As Corrie shook hands with the Crandels and others who surrounded him, the rest of us slowly exited into the night, feeling sad and good and somehow wiser than we had just a couple of hours earlier.
As we went out the door, we looked back and I saw Corrie embrace Cousin Henry Bayles and kiss Henryâs wife.
âWell,â said Zee, holding my hand as we walked to the truck. âThat was mighty fine. I thought I heard some Brownie McGhee and maybe some Gary Davis in there, along with the other stuff.â
âCould be. Reverend Gary worked with a lot of guys. I wouldnât be surprised if Corrie was one of them.â
âI see that Corrie and Cousin Henry are close.â
âMaybe Corrie spent some time in Philly when Cousin Henry was down there. As I understand it, Cousin Henry owned some clubs or at least took some money out of them before he left town for good. Maybe Corrie worked in some of them. Heâs mixed with some tough birds in some tough places, from what he says.â
âIâm glad to learn that Cousin Henry likes the blues. It makes him seem more human.â
My mouth said, âHeâs as human as most of us, I think.â
But in my mind I wasnât so sure. The copâs jungle telegraph, to which I had been hooked while on the Boston PD, had it that Cousin Henry had done some very, very bad things to people while in Philadelphia. Admittedly, the victims were pretty bad themselves, for the most part, and would have done to Henry what he had done to them, had they gotten the chance. Still, if the rumors were even somewhat true, at least part of Cousin Henry was arguably more beast than human.
But then there are monsters inside of most of us, just waiting to get out.
We drove home and relieved the twin of her baby-sitting duties.
âHow was the concert? Were Mom and Daddy there?â
âGreat and yes. A good time was had by all.â
âHow long is Mr. Appleyard going to be on the island? I hear that thereâs going to be a big party at a house tomorrow night, and that everybodyâs going to take something for the kids who got burned out, and that they wanted Mr. Appleyard to sing a couple of songs for the cause, but heâs leaving the island before the party, so he canât do it.â
âHow did you hear about all that?â
Only the faintest of blushes touched the twinâs cheeks. âI used your phone a little. I hope you donât mind.â
We didnât mind, so the twin accepted her money, assured us that our offspring had been angels, got into her motherâs car, and left.
âIt would be encouraging to think that these summer kids would actually want to hear the blues,â said Zee. âMaybe Iâve misjudged them. Too bad Corrie canât be there.â
âIâd like to think some of them have good taste in music,â I said, âbut I donât have any reason to.â
âWeâre becoming old