“You see, Young Buddy, the way I see it, there are thinkers in this world, and there are feelers. Sometimes there’s a little bit of both in one but those fellas don’t do much.” Ryder sipped his coffee and looked at Leo. “You understand?”

“Yep.”

“I was afraid of that.”

“What?”

“That you’d get that concept right out of the chute. Thinkers are like that. Feelers take longer, but then they come up with a painting or a poem or a blues riff to show you what they see and hear.”

Leo shrugged. “But you play the blues like no tomorrow and you just thought that all up.”

Ryder sipped his coffee. He looked at Leo over the cup. “All right then, shitcan my theory. But look, you have to start from scratch. When you play you gotta feel something, not think it. That’s all rm saying. Now go get your harp before Larsmouth and the others show up with their piggy banks.”

In the parlor Ryder cinched the harness in around his waist and pulled an A harp from its sheath. “First thing you want to start doing, Young Buddy, is to listen very closely to everything you hear. Concentrate on this song; it’s gonna be your cherry-breaker.” He put a foot up on the windowsill and began to suck and blow the first few notes of a tune Leo had heard many times before. After Ryder played the intro, he sang the first verse,

“My baby says she’s leavin’ me, and I ain’t done nothin’ wrong,

My eyes on you baby, you can’t do me no harm,

I got my eyes on you, I got my eyes on you,

I got my eyes on you woman, there ain’t nothin’ in this world you can do–”

Ryder cupped the harp back to his mouth and played a popwailing riff that was so pure and heartfelt Leo’s eyes got wet and he had to look down at the floorboards. Ryder’s playing was a lot better than his singing, and when he finished the song, Leo said, “Teach me a number I don’t have to sing in.”

“What have you got against croonin’?”

“Nothing. Jim does it good. But I want to play, not croon. Show me some tricks.”

Ryder shook his head. His red chin stubble caught the dusklight and looked gold. Leo couldn’t tell if he was smiling or not.

“Go look up trick in the dictionary and I’ll bet you’ll find the word deception in there somewhere. Hear me, Leo: when you enter the world of music, real music, like from Beethoven on up to Big Bill Broonzy, you’re stepping into Truth City. That’s what it’s all about, so no tricks, all right? Technique, yes. Tricks, no.”

“You said tricks last week. You said you’ll come over and show me some tricks.”