Continued: Chapter 4: Tales of Uncle Ernest

Chapter 4: Tales of Uncle Ernest

When Uncle Ernest disappeared again into the Hole-in-the-Wall, with his words still meandering in my brain, I gazed once again into the moving water. The sun was setting behind me, lengthening the shadows of the buildings before me on the water. To my right—this side of the Corps of Engineers’ peninsula and the Basin where Granny (your great-great-grandmother, Nina) used to skate as a girl so many, many years ago—loomed the long-deserted, dilapidated granary where, a few years later, I would creep under to change into my bathing suit before diving into the canal for a swim.

The clinking of the cubes in Uncle Ernest’s glass broke my trance, and after a prolonged pull on his drink, Uncle Ernest continued his story. “The island was quite small, Moose, because we explored it carefully. It was a haven for many different species of animals and plants, but there was no trace of any humans. We named the island Atlanticus.

“What a terrific time that was; I felt like Robinson Crusoe, only instead of Friday I had Em, one pretty girl. We had all the essentials: food, clothing, and shelter, and we had what it takes to be happy: companionship, variety, and a magnificent, unspoiled, tropical island all to ourselves.

 “Despite the beauty and charm, you might imagine how hard we worked to get a comfortable lifestyle on that deserted island. There was a good supply of food and water—nuts, fruit, vegetables, fish, dove, and a clear, cold spring—all of which we learned to utilize. On the south side of the island I found an arbor of large purple grapes the size of golf balls. Delicious though they were in their own right, I was able to ferment them into a smooth, hearty wine. Most evenings Em and I relaxed on the shore, sipped our wine, and watched our golden globe settle peacefully into our glistening Atlantic.

“By this time we were boyfriend and girlfriend, Em and I, and things couldn’t have been better. But you know, Moose, we don’t fully appreciate what we have until we lose it.”

“I was waiting for this, Unk, because I know that having things turn out well has not been your life at all. What happened?”

“Well, for one thing, after we had been there about six months we noticed that our island was getting smaller and smaller all the time. It was sinking into the ocean, because one third of it disappeared in those few months. We knew that somehow we had to get off, but naturally we wanted to enjoy our paradise as long as we possibly could.

“One morning, about two months before we had to leave, I had some tropical fruit juice and an omelet of grouse eggs, gave Em a long kiss, and pushed our dugout canoe into the water to fish on the western side of the island. I anchored out about two hundred yards where I knew the fish were plentiful, and in about ten minutes, after the tide changed, started catching flukes the size of wash tubs.

“Distracted by the frenzy, I didn’t see the storm coming up until it was too late. It swept me many miles out to sea, and when the fury subsided I rigged the sail, one of Em’s old trench coats, and tried to return to Atlanticus. But it was no good. I was hopelessly lost in the immense ocean.”

“Man, what a shame,” I blurted out. “Unk, you have the worst luck of anyone alive. Where did you end up?”

“First of all, Moose, that wasn’t bad luck. When one of my ponies doesn’t place or show, that’s bad luck. What happened to me on that island was my own stupidity, and I agonize over it till this day.” Righting himself on the grass, a sad Uncle Ernest ruffled my hair and said, “And as far as where I ended up, be patient; I’ll be back in a minute.”

He must have been telling Birdie a story because he took a while to return this time, so I got up and skipped some flat stones across the water. When I got to be a little older, Nina, I used to dive into the canal and swim all around for hours. Sometimes I would swim across to Ticktown; I’d take my time and let the current carry me; I’d float a while on my side or on my back; I’d try the breaststroke, then switch to the doggie paddle, but usually end with the powerful side stroke, which worked best for me. I would always end up far from where I had been on the other side, either east or west depending on the direction of the current.

Swimming was such a great joy for a country boy with nothing to do on those long, lazy summer days. But as you know, Nina, school got to be such a bore for me. I remember how frightened I was, though, when I first entered school. When I sat next to my buddy, Junior, on the first day of first grade, he could tell I was upset and said, “Don’t worry, Bobby; it’ll be all right. This is my second year in here; I’ll tell you what to do.” Well, Nina, I knew then that I could make it there but I wasn’t so sure about the second grade. As things turned out, though, I did make it. I even made it to the eighth grade, where I spent the best three years of my life.

In those ancient days of glory, Nina, I would hook school and spend the day fishing on a barge in the Basin. And I think that when I die and go to heaven, when everyone else is praying in a celestial church service, I’ll be lying in the sun on an old rusty barge, reclined easily on my wings, trying to hook a nice catfish or yellow Ned.

[To be continued Tuesday, 12/27/11]