Read Online Gutbucket Quest by Piers Anthony - Free Book Online Page B
Authors: Piers Anthony
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asked.
“Elijigbo and his bunch. Belizaire, Mother Phillips, Sonny Early, folks like that.”
Nadine whistled. Slim thought it was a beautiful noise.
“The big guns,” she said. “You aren’t fooling around, are you?”
“Cain’t afford no foolin’. We needs the power, need people he cain’t touch with the Gutbucket.”
“Are all these people old timers?” Slim asked.
“Nope,” Progress said. “Some are, but, see, there’s some folks got their own way of power. Had it all their lives, before they came to the blues. So the Gutbucket don’t touch ‘em much one way or the other. That’s what we need.”
“Any rock and roll people?”
Progress and Nadine looked at him in puzzlement, saying, nearly in unison, “Rock and roll?”
“Yeah,” Slim said. “Come on. Elvis Presley, Chuck Berry, Little Richard? You know.”
“No, I don’t know, son. Never heard of ‘em, or of, what is it—rock and roll? I seem to remember a skinny kid named Chuck Berry or somesuch, ‘bout twenty years ago. But he couldn’t play worth a nickel and he wrote weird songs about cars, so he didn’t last long at all. What’s rock and roll?”
“I’ll tell you about it sometime,” Slim said. Damn! Every time he started to get comfortable in this world, something got knocked loose or turned up missing, different. He enjoyed rock and roll, sort of,sometimes. How did the blues keep from evolving into rock and roll in this world? Was it the racial equality? Had it prevented ghettos and doo-wop singers? He didn’t know enough to even think about the causes. On the other hand, if it wasn’t here, maybe he could “invent” it right. That would be something, for sure.
Progress stood up. “You finished eatin’ Slim’s food, Nadine? About time to head home, I’d say.”
Nadine blushed and threw a couple of uneaten fries back on the plate. Then she stood. So did Slim, following after her as she followed Progress out the door to the pickup.
“You sit in the middle,” she said to Slim. He did, and she got in after him and hung her arm out the open window.
As they drove the dark road to the house, Slim didn’t know if he was in paradise or being tortured. If so, it was a sweet torture. On one side of him sat a man who was becoming a hero, a teacher, a father figure he’d never had, with his smells of honest sweat, beer and blues. On his other side sat the woman he was now sure he was irretrievably in love with. Her leg was pressed tightly against his, and he could smell a slight perfume, the odor of her hair, a sweat and woman smell that reached right into him. When she reached into the center glove-box, her breast brushed his bare arm. He could feel the summer night sweat and the large, erect nipple like a shock. Forty-year-old men were not supposed to get instant erections, but Slim had never been quite normal and he realized he had. It made sitting unadjusted rather uncomfortable, but Nadine didn’t seem to notice.
She lit up a joint and passed it to him as they rode in silence. It was passed back and forth until it was done. Nadine then leaned her head back against the seat and let her left hand rest on Slim’s thigh. He didn’t know whether to scream or cry, but he did know he wasn’t going to move and risk her taking it away. He knew that it didn’t mean anything, that Nadine simply expressed an unconscious comfortableness, but it had been a long, long time since anyone had touched himwith anything nearing affection, and he wanted to enjoy it for the small pleasure it was.
It wasn’t that Slim was a bad man, he was just a lousy husband. Any one of the women from his past would freely admit that he was a hell of a nice guy, a great lover. Just about anything but a decent moneymaker. He was a dreamer and he had a weakness for women in pain and need, women who had problems, who hadn’t found themselves yet. Sad women. He fell in love with them, and in return, he tried to wake them up, teach them to be
“Elijigbo and his bunch. Belizaire, Mother Phillips, Sonny Early, folks like that.”
Nadine whistled. Slim thought it was a beautiful noise.
“The big guns,” she said. “You aren’t fooling around, are you?”
“Cain’t afford no foolin’. We needs the power, need people he cain’t touch with the Gutbucket.”
“Are all these people old timers?” Slim asked.
“Nope,” Progress said. “Some are, but, see, there’s some folks got their own way of power. Had it all their lives, before they came to the blues. So the Gutbucket don’t touch ‘em much one way or the other. That’s what we need.”
“Any rock and roll people?”
Progress and Nadine looked at him in puzzlement, saying, nearly in unison, “Rock and roll?”
“Yeah,” Slim said. “Come on. Elvis Presley, Chuck Berry, Little Richard? You know.”
“No, I don’t know, son. Never heard of ‘em, or of, what is it—rock and roll? I seem to remember a skinny kid named Chuck Berry or somesuch, ‘bout twenty years ago. But he couldn’t play worth a nickel and he wrote weird songs about cars, so he didn’t last long at all. What’s rock and roll?”
“I’ll tell you about it sometime,” Slim said. Damn! Every time he started to get comfortable in this world, something got knocked loose or turned up missing, different. He enjoyed rock and roll, sort of,sometimes. How did the blues keep from evolving into rock and roll in this world? Was it the racial equality? Had it prevented ghettos and doo-wop singers? He didn’t know enough to even think about the causes. On the other hand, if it wasn’t here, maybe he could “invent” it right. That would be something, for sure.
Progress stood up. “You finished eatin’ Slim’s food, Nadine? About time to head home, I’d say.”
Nadine blushed and threw a couple of uneaten fries back on the plate. Then she stood. So did Slim, following after her as she followed Progress out the door to the pickup.
“You sit in the middle,” she said to Slim. He did, and she got in after him and hung her arm out the open window.
As they drove the dark road to the house, Slim didn’t know if he was in paradise or being tortured. If so, it was a sweet torture. On one side of him sat a man who was becoming a hero, a teacher, a father figure he’d never had, with his smells of honest sweat, beer and blues. On his other side sat the woman he was now sure he was irretrievably in love with. Her leg was pressed tightly against his, and he could smell a slight perfume, the odor of her hair, a sweat and woman smell that reached right into him. When she reached into the center glove-box, her breast brushed his bare arm. He could feel the summer night sweat and the large, erect nipple like a shock. Forty-year-old men were not supposed to get instant erections, but Slim had never been quite normal and he realized he had. It made sitting unadjusted rather uncomfortable, but Nadine didn’t seem to notice.
She lit up a joint and passed it to him as they rode in silence. It was passed back and forth until it was done. Nadine then leaned her head back against the seat and let her left hand rest on Slim’s thigh. He didn’t know whether to scream or cry, but he did know he wasn’t going to move and risk her taking it away. He knew that it didn’t mean anything, that Nadine simply expressed an unconscious comfortableness, but it had been a long, long time since anyone had touched himwith anything nearing affection, and he wanted to enjoy it for the small pleasure it was.
It wasn’t that Slim was a bad man, he was just a lousy husband. Any one of the women from his past would freely admit that he was a hell of a nice guy, a great lover. Just about anything but a decent moneymaker. He was a dreamer and he had a weakness for women in pain and need, women who had problems, who hadn’t found themselves yet. Sad women. He fell in love with them, and in return, he tried to wake them up, teach them to be
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