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you ought to polish the barrel real good, huh?"
"Right. My pleasure, darlin'. Say something hot and mushy to me."
"Oh, shit, Slim."
They did laugh, long and hard.
When they'd gotten out of bed, well and truly satisfied, they packed a change of clothes and
headed into town, to Charlie's. When they'd talked to Progress on the phone to check in the day before,
he'd told them that most of the folks involved were spending the last day and night before the festival
out at the river, just to be safe. Slim thought that sounded like a good idea.
The guitar and amplifier were clean and shiny when they picked them up. Orville had fitted
Slim's strat to a slightly used but solid Anvil case. Slim appreciated that. He'd come to Tejas with
nothing but his guitar and the clothes on his back, and that was no way to treat a guitar. Orville, to
Slim's surprise, was also going to be at the river, his pickup loaded with strings and tubes, mikes and
spare parts and tools.
"Yep," he said. "Any kind of festival or gig like this, I works 'em. The roadies are good, but the
folks likes to have me around in case of emergencies. I can take care of everything from broken
strings to broken necks to blown amps and electrical failure."
"You make any money at it?" Slim asked.
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"Naw. I suppose I could, but I don't charge nobody nothin' but parts. I enjoys the music, so it
don't seem fair for me to take money for doin' it. It works out pretty even all the same. All those folks
brings me their guitars and amps to work on, and they buys their necessaries at Charlie's, so we end up
makin' the money."
Slim laughed when they pulled in at the river. It looked as if a very small town had grown up
behind and to the left of the stage. A huge, multicolored circus tent stood in the middle,
predominating, surrounded by tents, RVs, trailers, semis and a parking lot of cars, vans and pickups. A
huge, shining aluminum tipi, two stories, it looked like, stood out from the rest. Heap of Bears, Slim
assumed. People were on the move from tent to tent, trailer to RV. Many of them were dressed in the
white of the Torriero.
Slim parked the van and, as he and Nadine walked hand in hand to the tent city, they were drawn
into the bustling life of the temporary community. The first was the sound of voices intermingling, and
the frenetic sounds of people rehearsing on stage. They smelled smoke and the mingled fragrances of
foods and cooking. The strongest smell was that of chili, and they discovered why when they walked
past a large catering truck with MITCHELL'S A BLUES TRADITION painted on it, with a woman
inside dishing out chili and corn bread to all comers. And there were smells of sweat and beer and the
burnt leather smell of sex fully enjoyed and participated in. The sound and smell of the river
surrounded and permeated everything.
Vendors were hammering stalls together, preparing to sell everything from I SURVIVED THE
CANADIAN RIVER BLUES FEST T-shirts to Indian crafts. One booth they stopped and browsed at,
a Mother Phillips booth, according to Nadine, sold sexually oriented products and toys. Slim was
constantly amazed at the sexual openness, the enjoyment of good clean lust here in Tejas. It was a
good thing, he thought, wishing he had the money to buy a few of the toys that were on display,
wondering what others even were.
They walked on through the tents and trailers and booths. Everyone they passed had a smile and a
wave and a howdy for them, but nobody stopped. They passed Heap of Bears and two other men,
walking slowly, pacing and drumming and chanting, serious, solemn looks on their faces. Slim's
impression of the place was of movement, its intense business. The sense of community, of people
cooperating and working together, was overwhelming.
"This is wild," he said, looking around rubbernecked.
Nadine bumped him with her shoulders. "Hey," she said. "When we have a big gig, we do it
right. This isn't just for us, you know, not just for the Gutbucket and all. This is for all the people who
are coming to hear the blues. They're looking for a show, and a show is more than just what's on stage.
They want to be able to get good food and T-shirts and records and anything else they can think of.
They want to fuck in the grass and swim in the river. They want to see how they think we live, see us [ Pobierz całość w formacie PDF ]