| Me and Big Joe page 6 by Michael Bloomfield |
| My head was throbbing and my stomach was still queasy, and when I looked up and saw this horribly fat and greasy pig nose an inch from my face, I lurched out of bed and threw up again.
Joe began to curse me. �Man, you done puked all the damn night and into the mornin� an� now you pukin� up again! Can�t you hold that stomach down?!� I slunk out of the house with George, who wasn�t feeling on top of the world himself, to try to find something to settle my stomach. Joe stood roaring at us as we left: �Where you think you is, you think you home in Chicago now? You AIN�T home in Chicago now, an� those niggers out there�ll kill ya!� But my head and stomach were already killing me, so I took my chances on the street. And it was the funkiest street I�d ever seen. I thought I�d seen funk when I�d gone out to Jazz Gillum�s in Chicago, with the sealed house and roaring fire�but this section of St. Louis we were in made Gillum�s shanty look like a penthouse on the Gold Coast. But we found a drugstore with no trouble and got some aspirin and bicarbonate and Coca-Cola, and they seemed to help a little, but they sure didn�t help a lot. When George and I got back to the house Joe was on the porch with his relatives and their friends, strumming his guitar. And he was crazy. Every woman who came by he clawed at, and every man who passed by he argued with. If there was a woman in the street he�d shout, �Say, sweet mama�c�mon over sweet mama, sit a while on daddy�s knee!� And she�d look around and see a seventy-year old, three hundred pound man yelling at her, and she�d get a funny look on her face and keep on walking, maybe a little faster than before. Finally I said, �Joe, I thought we came down here to do some scouting and find us some singers. Let�s go out and do it!� But Joe just said, �Now don�t you rush me�these are my people and I wants to spend a while with them!� But his people got vexed out by his rowdy behavior, and an older woman, a church woman, finally came down on him. �You can�t act this way around here,� she said. �Just where do you think you are? You nothing but a crazy animal what ought to be in a cage! Why don�t you up an� leave an� let us right folks be?!� We piled in the car and drove aimlessly about the city under that scorching July sun. A thermometer on a downtown bank building read 107 degrees, but I believe the inside of the car was twice that, and the fumes from Joe�s breath were so thick I thought George�s cigarette might blow us up. |
| My head was still pulsing and my stomach was pitching again and finally I said, �Joe, let�s stop somewhere-- the heat and this car are getting me.� So Joe guided us across the Mississippi River to a nightclub in East St. Louis
It was still daytime, and no one was performing, but the bar was pourinq and there were a few guys sitting at the tables playing cards. Joe drank beer and George and I watched these fellows play games with names like �Tonk.� �Coon Cat.� �Pitty Pat.� And balefully, malevolently, they watched us watch them. �Joe,� I said, �I think these guys might like to see us die� maybe we shoud go someplace else while we can.� So we got in the car again, and I suggested to Joe that we find a tourist area called Gaslight Square, where I�d heard a fine player named Old Mr. Gibson hung out But Joe started ranting again. �Don�t you be tellin� me where to go! Just who here carryin� who?� �Well,� I said, �it�s my car and George has been doing the driving �� �I don�t care who been driving! This is my city an� I�m doin� the carryin� an� we gonna be with my people in my part of town!� And he got madder and madder and reached into his pocket and brought out a little penknife with a blade no more than an inch long. I started to laugh --it looked like a toy. But he suddenly reached over and popped it right Into the palm of my hand. I leaped out of the car howiIng. �Now you did it, you fat old sonofabitch! You cut me�I�m bleeding! I�m going to the police arid have your ass in jail!� But I don�t believe Joe heard me-- he�d passed out. He just lay there in a mess, sweating and snoring. �George," I said, �let�s find the county hospital. I gotta get fixed up.� --Continued on page 7 |
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