DAY--EXTERIOR ROAD--MOVING
Johnson is ambling down a dusty road in the black section of Robinsonville, carrying his old guitar and even-more-battered valise. He glances about him as he walks, nodding his head often as though pleased by familiar sights of home. Some children run out to watch him pass, and an old man peers at him as though possibly half-recognizing him. Johnson smiles and nods at any whose eye he catches, though their responses are guarded.
ANOTHER ANGLE
As Robert nears his goal, Betty Mae's house (from earlier scene). The house looks about the same, save for a newly painted front door. Robert mounts the steps and knocks. Sounds of a tapping cane and muffled words from within.
MAN'S VOICE: Jest a minute, jestaminute...
A wizened old man hobbling and leaning on his cane opens the door.
MAN: Yes, yes, whut you want?
ON THE TWO
Robert is temporarily dumbfounded.
MAN: Well?
JOHNSON: Yeah, I 'uz... lookin' for Betty Mae...? Betty Mae Hen-dricks?
MAN (shortly): Ain' nobody here name' that.
JOHNSON: But she live here, her an' her mama, Miz Jewella Hen'ricks.
MAN: No, she ain't--place's empty when I come here from Jackson. Yessuh, so look out de way...
Aa he steps back and slams the door shut.
ANOTHER ANGLE
Johnson is briefly angry, then appears puzzled as he descends the steps. He looks around for someone else to ask, but now the area seems deserted. He starts walking dejectedly back the way he came.
WOMAN'S VOICE: Hello, son!
He turns to see...
ANGLE ON YARD
A matronly woman scrubbing clothes in an old tin washtub. She comes towards him, wiping her hands on her skirt.
WOMAN: Don't I know you? (peering at him) 'Course. You Robert Johnson. Still lookin' th' image o' your Mama, Lord rest 'er.
Johnson mutters an embarrassed greeting, not recognizing this woman.
WOMAN: Elvie Brown, son. Don' you reco'leck me?
Now he does. He puts down the suitcase, removes his hat, and shakes her hand.
JOHNSON: 'Scuse me, Miz Brown. How you be doin'?
WOMAN: Well, jes' fine, Robert. Where you has been off to, all these years gone?
JOHNSON: Oh, you know. Ramblin'. Making' music. (shows his guitar)
WOMAN: Is that a fack. (touches the strings) Is you a travelin' preacher?
CLOSE ON JOHNSON
The question is so outrageous and unexpected that Johnson starts laughing.
JOHNSON (still chuckling): No ma'am, not pre-zackly. Reckon I plays jus' blues an' breakdowns.
ANGLE ON THE TWO
Now the conversation begins to run at cross purposes as each pursues his/her own subject.
WOMAN: Aww, no, Robert, don' tell me you done lose the church. Now how your mama feel, in hebem where she be?
JOHNSON (ignoring that): Where's Betty Mae gone, an' Miz Hen'ricks?
WOMAN (surprised): Lord have mercy, Miz Hendricks passed, two years now. She with your mama an' the chosen ones on th' other shore. But blues is the devil's music, son--they swoll y'up with sin.
Johnson waves his hand in frustration.
JOHNSON: Nev' mine me--where'd Mae get to?
WOMAN (getting into it now): You mus' be up-lift, Robert. You don' need that sinful music an' that shameful life--God's holy word is all you needs. Let the Holy Sperrit fill your voice--give the Lord your life! He the one you got t' go by.
Johnson looks battered now, by the sultry heat and by her words.
JOHNSON: You right, I 'spect. But where is Betty Mae?
WOMAN: Betty Mae Hendricks 'uz one chile knowed her duty to her folks an' her God. (sniffs at Johnson) Not like some could be name'. She stay by her mama to the very end an' see she be give a decent Baptist fun'ral...
Robert's patience is exhausted and his temper flaring. He slings the hat he's been holding off to one side and shout-pleads with her.
JOHNSON: God dam, Miz Brown--where is Betty Mae gone?
WOMAN (calm but indignant, drawing herself up): Don't you be cussin' at me, Robert Johnson--I ain' no street woman. Cussin' and cryin' won't he'p you none. Betty Mae done marry herse'f a nice, fine Christian gentaman name' Ralph Curtis, come by down Greenwood way.
ANOTHER ANGLE
Johnson looks shattered by this news; each of her ensuing words strikes him like a blow, backing him up and away from her.
WOMAN (triumphant): They done move back south after the weddin'. A real church weddin', Robert Johnson!
Backing away, clutching at his neckbag, he stumbles over the valise and almost falls. Dazed and hurting, his hat and valise forgotten, he turns and hurries away from this determined harpy; he is practically running, guitar flapping on his back. A stray hound barks and bounds after him.
ANOTHER ANGLE--MOVING
Looking back at the diminishing woman as she shouts a further warning:
WOMAN: You kin run, run to the rock! But the rock cry out, "No hidin' place!" Every-body got hisself a date!
DAY--EXTERIOR COTTONFIELD
Camera starts close on the "LUBBELL PLANTATION" sign, then gradually (as the scene proceeds) rises up and away to a high and wide angle, looking down on the vast field. The year's tending is over--the plants have been chopped, the rows are empty now. Staggering across these hilly rows comes Johnson, his hat and valise gone forever, the guitar bumping wildly back and forth. He is thoroughly drunk, with a half-empty bottle in his hand from which he drinks as he stumbles along, shout-singing loudly between gulps a few lines from his song called "Rambling on My Mind".
JOHNSON: I got ramblin', I got ramblin' all on my mind... I got mean things, I got mean things on my mind... Li'l girl, li'l girl, I will never forgive you no more...
All the while he is wandering across the field, coming towards the rising camera. Finally he trips and goes sprawling headlong in the dirt. The guitar clangs loudly and he rolls over, shoving it aside. On his back, not rising, lying in the middle of this vast and barren field, Johnson bellows out one last line from the song:
JOHNSON: I got the blues for Miss So-an'-So, an' the chile's got the blues about me...
((END OF SECTION 2))
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