Folly Beach - Dorothea Benton Frank [27]
Maybe it was the latter part of March, 1934? Well, it was the time we were waiting, almost pacing the floors really, to hear if and when Mr. Gershwin would grace us all with his royal presence. At my urging, DuBose had been writing to him all the time, enticing him with stories about the exotic and primitive practices of the Gullahs. He told him that he had a Negro church he desperately wanted him to come and visit. The members of this congregation danced something called the “double clap” when they were moved by the spirit. I had seen it and it was indeed powerful, in fact, I had seen people faint from the frenzy of it. DuBose was certain the dance and the music had survived intact from their African roots, because there was nothing like it in the whole canon of American liturgical music.
And there was another, more sensual kind of dance he discovered as well. He felt very strongly that it would be the perfect number for the scene of passion between Crown and Bess. Surely old George wouldn’t be able to resist it, especially when DuBose described the mood of the dance to him as “phallic.” The term made me slightly uncomfortable but DuBose seemed convinced that everything about the Gullahs was sexier and more exciting. The way they dressed, the way they walked . . . he really believed when they played their gospel music, the Holy Ghost came down to them for a visit. And when they played the blues, they hoochie-coochied, and the next thing you know, they were . . . well, I could never put it in writing, I mean I can’t say it!
Ah well, between us, sometimes I wished it was contagious. DuBose longed for a whopping dose of the virility he witnessed in the Negro men he knew from his time working on the docks as a young man. He deeply envied their masculinity. I guess you’ll think me wicked for saying all this but DuBose frequently said it himself. He blamed his ancestors for not having had that quality to pass on to him. Too much reticence and not enough electricity! They could sign the Declaration of Independence but did the whole lot of the Heywards ever have any fun? Did they ever just let it all go?
Fade to Darkness
Chapter Eight
Road Trip
There had been many phone calls back and forth to Aunt Daisy on Folly Beach. My dear sweet aunt immediately warmed to the idea of a visit, possibly an extended visit, and if I would just move back for good, she would have been tickled pink. No one loved a project like Daisy McInerny and apparently, in her mind, I had become her next one. “You come home to me!” she said. “I’ll make your bed myself! And I’ll plump your pillows! Oh, how I’ve missed my girl. That dirty rotten son of a bitch!”
I didn’t know whether to fall to my knees in gratitude for her generous affection or to laugh my head off at her naughtiness. Aunt Daisy would never let a trifling thing like demure behavior get in the way of speaking her mind.
“I thought maybe I might try to stay for a week or two just until I can get the bats out of my belfry and figure out what I’m going to do with myself,” I said.
“What? Honey baby, you just get yourself down to Folly as fast as you can and you don’t worry about another single thing, do you hear me?”
“Oh, Aunt Daisy! You are the greatest woman who ever lived on this earth.”
“That’s probably true, if you don’t count people like Mother Teresa.” I could hear her giggle and I thought, wow, this is what a generous heart is all about. I hoped it would rub off on me. “And, heavenly days, Cate. You’ve had nothing but one terrible shock after another. You need some peace! I’m going to tell Ella to bake you a pecan pie!”