Publish and Perish, part 34: Bless the Rains? Bless the Rains!

[Context: read the previous part or start at the beginning. TW: bad amateur fiction!]

“So, you want my thoughts on my legacy?” said Cissy. “OK, sure.”

“Once a person dies,” she said, “I believe that they effectively live on in the memories of other people.” She shrugged. “I think a lot of other people believe that too, because, you know, it’s simple and intuitive and largely true.”

“I think I agree,” said Gerald. “But — here’s the ‘but’ –most people’s memories are too weak and impermanent to keep the departed person around for very long in any recognizable form.” Gerald smiled incongruously in an effort to avoid further crying. “I find that almost endlessly depressing!”

“Well,” said Cissy, “I completely agree that memories are very fallible. And,” she added carefully, “I’m not here to tell you that you shouldn’t be depressed right now; you should mourn the loss of your colleague in whatever way is right for you.” She hesitated. “But I suspect that I am not as troubled as you are by the fallibility of human memories.”

Gerald smiled for real this time. “Consider me intrigued,” he said. Please elaborate!”

Cissy looked him in the eye as if sizing him up.

“OK,” she said. “Uh, bear with me for a minute here. It’s sometimes said that there’s nothing as ephemeral as pop music, right? A hit song is everywhere for a couple of months, and then it fades into nothingness as it’s replaced with the next batch of hits. Right?”

“Right,” said Gerald dubiously.

“OK. So what are your all-time favorite songs?” Cissy asked.

“Well,” he said guardedly, “my tastes are pretty superficial. You know, stuff like, say, ‘MMMBop’.”

“Whoa!” she countered in mock anger. “There is NOTHING superficial about ‘MMMBop’! That part about planting a seed, or a flower, or a rose, and seeing which one grows? And how that’s a secret no one knows? That, sir, is a profound synthesis of psychology, and economics, and, uh, botany.”

Gerald smiled helplessly.

“Perhaps,” he said. “But my list also includes songs like…to be honest…’Africa’ by Toto.”

Cissy considered that for a moment. “OK — noted.” She smirked. “What do you like about ‘Africa’?”

“Rest assured,” said Gerald, “I don’t necessarily love the idea that these guys from Los Angeles, with no theology training whatsoever, decide that it’s up to them to bestow blessings upon a distant continent that they’ve never even visited….Nevertheless, Toto’s execution is just amazing. It’s transcendent. The vocals on that last chorus just kill me every time I hear them. Every single time!” His voice was approaching “Marshall Nirenberg cracked the genetic code!” levels of intensity.

“The final chorus?” Cissy asked. “When they’re blessing the rains over and over?”

“Yes,” Gerald said. “Irrespective of the wisdom or folly of them blessing the rains, Bobby Kimball, the lead vocalist, makes me a believer!”

“He makes you a believer?” repeated Cissy, a bit incredulously. “That’s pretty strong language…”

“I mean, Bobby belts out those high notes beautifully,” Gerald continued, “but he’s doing more than that. He’s leading the choir on a mission.” Gerald paused for a second, then charged ahead with his idea. “He does the old Pete Seeger trick of prompting the other singers with the next line just before they have to sing it.” He tried to demonstrate: “I bless the rains down in Africa, I BLESS THE RAINS! I bless the rains down in Africa, I BLESS THE RAINS! I bless the rains down in Africa, GONNA TAKE SOME TIME! Gonna take some time to…”

Gerald caught his breath. “In that moment,” he resumed seriously, “deep in his heart, Bobby Kimball knows something astonishing. He knows that, despite all evidence to the contrary, these rains for this far-away land MUST be blessed, and they must be blessed RIGHT NOW by THIS CHOIR. They cannot afford to fail; the stakes are too high. And so, with unhesitating conviction, and with every bit of will that he can possibly summon, he drives them onward — onward over the mountains, onward through the desert, onward toward the promised land….”

Gerald’s words unraveled into a tangle of laughing and crying.

Again Cissy patted him on the shoulder.

“Gerry, that was…that was beautiful,” she said, sounding dazed. “Completely unhinged, but, nevertheless, beautiful.”

“Yes,” said Gerald, agreeing fully.

[Update: the story continues with part 35.]