As she let her ass reach for the chair nearest Sassafrass, she laughed one of those raspy drunk laughs, and patted Sassafrass’ shoulder, saying, “Chile, if this wasn’t one of your visions I’d be wearin’ the same secondhand white lady’s dress as you . . . and I wouldn’t hardly be havin’ no just-done hair, or these plenty bracelets . . . why I probably would be lookin’ to one of these men to keep me company.”

Sassafrass moved to hold Mamie’s hand, and the woman jumped like she got the spirit, and strutted in place.

“I’ll eat pork if I want to; I’ll paint both my lips red. I ain’t goin’ to heaven when I’m dead. And Garvey can’t save me ’cause I ain’t ready to go home . . . no I don’t want no sympathy from any of y’all. I gotta sing this low; I gotta share this burden; I gotta pay the Devil his due. Get outta my way! Can’t ya see? I’m sufferin’; I’m bringin’ ya tears your mama shed, that terrible loneliness in the middle of her bed. Her hands worn all tough, and her body whatall misery could lay on it . . . get outta my way. Gotta sing this sorrow’s tale, and I’m alright, and mad. And I’m alright, and sorry, how the river floods. Lawd, I’m bringin’ ya the fears of your kin in this ravaged land, and I gotta sing this low. I’m forsaken—ya know it—don’t bring me no kind words, bring me a full shot o’ gin, and let me roll a lil truth on ya. Honey, just look at yourself, all innocent and soft . . . I’m a hard mama and can’t nobody take it from me, less’n I want to give it up. I bet ya work a lot with your hands and make pretty things and don’t have no chirren, either . . . well, I had me a bunch o’ chirren and as many men, and I still went on singin’ in taverns or the street . . . honey, I didn’t care, not like folks expect a mama to care. I gotta whole world fulla chirren, and tell ’em what’s a blues about . . . then I let ’em be. Yeah then I let ’em be.”

Mamie sat down again, and effused that heavy scent of trouble in mind. Sassafrass huddled over her, fixing the tousled feathers and patting Mamie’s wide cheeks, until the Southern songstress dissolved amid the clatter and excitement of Mitch’s group, setting up . . .

“Ladies and Gentlemen.” The owner of the bar was speaking as proper as he knew how. “This night we gonna present a local group, with some Arkansas blood—hahaha—called Stick-Up, and ya favorite down-home duo, Washboard Sam and Ironin’ Board Slim, so y’all be sure an’ stick around ’cause we are gonna be hoppin’. Alright, alright . . . y’all take it.”