He received word just like the last time.  In the middle of the night.  Just like when he was born was how he heard about his death.  And he drove across the Sabine…  You see he was obscure then—nobody knew him—and I guess he kinda liked it that way.  After seein’ how it was.  Because he’d played all kinds of venues by then.  Up in East St. Louis where he was from.  And in New Orleans and Austin.  All kinds of places sprinkled through the South—the backwaters.  That’s how he met me where I’m from when he came to Sunset in the winter of 1966 his ex-wife staying with a cousin while Dulcinea waited on a child.  Yeah I first laid eyes on after after the crawfish season.  He came to our black folks church and when Mardi Gras came time he played at our fish fry—I played with him—it was late February that year but we still had it outside our little picnic after the floats paraded through town the decorated trucks and trailers with hay bales stacked up the families in the streets not asking for beads but moon pies to go with their RC Cola—a family affair you know and the church had some land out back so when he came to the fish fry carrying a guitar case it was sorta improvised from there…  But he was a nobody then—obscure—you know.  And he didn’t put on any airs.  He just saw my harmonica and found himself a chair and sat down and began playing.  He kept himself in the shade though.  I remember we was under an old live oak the Spanish moss hanging down and it was a colorful day you know the sun shining good weather and folks dressed up…  No I didn’t realize til later who he was or why he was in Sunset, Louisiana at the time but we played together a few more times after that and I got to know him a little bit as we talked between sets.  He always had his whiskey and a cigarette dangling from his fingers…  So I knew he’d cut a few albums.  Startin’ in New Orleans.  That’s where he said he met his wife, or ex-wife, and he said he recorded a second album in Austin, but I know him or how I remember him now leastways is songs from that third album.  He said he wrote most of it after his father died.  Said he went home back to East St. Louis to live with his mother—lost a brother about that time too—it was those songs he played for me that I played with him and not his fourth album he said made no sales this some six years after he made it and I didn’t know and maybe he didn’t either that he was making ready for his last album the last songs he recorded a year later in ’67…  It’s been four years now and it’s funny that nobody had heard about him then I and nobody else knew who graced our presence at that fish fry during Mardi Gras.  And it was only about a month later that we got the full story why he was in Sunset and why when he received word he crossed the Sabine again just like he did when his son was born—what he told me he was doing then in New Orleans some eighteen years ago—selling his copyright to a place called Piety so songs from his first album could still be heard.  It was in the middle of the night too.  The day after Fool’s Day.  That’s when he received word his son was dead.  The rest sort of legend maybe.  What happened when he went back to Hemphill, Texas and confronted the white woman who’d been sleeping with them both—she’d been sleeping with both David and his son…  Yeah I guess it’s funny now.  How you get bested in some things and in some things you best others.  Because you can say you’re better than no one and no one is better than you but that’s denying the fact that there are always winners and losers and you can love your neighbor sure even love them as much as yourself and love can overcome any evil but even in this there’s no greater love.  So when he came back when I saw him there were all kinds of stories as to why his ear was all bandaged up, but it was over a whiskey and a cigarette, after a few songs when he laid his guitar down and I laid my harmonica to rest that he told me what happened how he told me the woman was dead and Dulcinea was expecting in June…  He was kind of a preacher you know.  And his songs were laments.  Like it was all vanity to him.  A striving after the wind.  Because the laws show us our death our sins you know and David didn’t want to put up no stumbling blocks.  He knew it was adultery.  He told me about it.  What happened to his ex-wife’s first husband.  And maybe in a way he knew why nobody knew him though now lot’s of folks know about that third album the songs he wrote back in 1955 after his father’s death when he lived with his mother.  They know him now, but they didn’t know him then.  It’s almost like you have to be disobedient to know mercy.  And I think it’s mercy what he was singing about.  Not for now, but for later because he knew and I knew and everbody else knew why he was in Sunset then.  The strange nature of his relationship with his ex-wife and rumors as to their daughter’s Dulcinea’s child.  But nobody knows the mind of God.  Why you get away with some things and some things you don’t and how there are always debts that come to collect maybe not from you but from your children or your children’s children.  It gave an inaudible sound to the songs—a weird time signature.  That’s one of things I noticed when I first played with him and didn’t know who he was.  At first it seemed like the timing was off.  But once you got to know it once you joined in I gotta say it’s the best damned Blues I ever played…

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