nothing at all like Sammy Davis.
The Queen of Shebas walking down
A road a thousand miles long
Thinking of the king she left behind.
The deserts lonesome and its bare,
Her heart a heavy solitaire
She walks alone, she doesnt care what shell find.
But the more hes missin her
The more hell be kissin her
When he goes down to Abyssinia
In his mind.
Roy Sr. could not continue. His voice was semi-quavering.
I dont get it, Roy Jr. said.
Its about It means that shes somewhere else now. But shes
thinking about me. And Im thinking about her. And the only place
we can be together is in my mind. But places in the imagination can
be real. Sometimes realer than reality.
Really? Roy said.
Sure, his father said, putting a hand on his shoulder. Like
when you listen to music. Like when Sammy sings. Or like when you
read a book. If its good you can feel like youre somewhere else. And
sometimes that place is better than here. Realer in a way.
Roy thought about it for a moment. He was beginning to
understand his fathers obsession with the photograph on the
What happened to Mr. Davis? Roy said, Is he dead too?
His father let out a surprised laugh. No. Hes just busy. Hes
famous now. But he calls every now and then. He did a lot for me, you
know. He gave me money to start my coffeehouse, and he kind of
saved my life. After your mother passed away I found it hard to go on
living, but he snapped me out of it.
Howd he do that? Roy asked, With his music?
No. He just let me see with his eyes.
The fake one?
No. No. He showed me what he saw.
What was that?
Roy Sr. took him by the shoulders. You, little Poppa, he said,