Tales of Uncle Ernest – (Continued) "The Boat" - Chapter 4

Tales of Uncle Ernest – (Continued)

Section 2, “The Boat” – Chapter 4

When Uncle Ernest disappeared into the house I watched the traffic spar in the busy street. As I listened to the blaring horns, screeching brakes, and smelled the street stench, my thoughts took me back to my home on the farm. I thought about how much I missed jumping on my bike, cycling the narrow country road to town, and continuing through the broken cement streets of town to the dirt road that led to Back Creek. I would spin through the smelly dump, hold my nose through the smoky areas, negotiate the gigantic potholes, and arrive finally at a spot we called “The Burnt House.”

It’s funny, Nina, because I never saw any burnt house, but I would veer off the dirt road to the right, descend down the sandy, winding path to the  hedge of saplings, honeysuckle, and wild rose bushes, fling my bike down in the sand, and run through the narrow, wooded area until I reached the grassy bank overlooking the river. And there it was: the great Burnt House beach, where I first learned to swim and fish. And there, bent in the water, about fifteen feet from the shore, stood the red lighthouse that I jumped or dived from so many times. I thought back to how swiftly the current used to whirl past its base, and how much effort it took to swim back to after diving off.

Just then Uncle Ernest returned, sat next to me in the other wooden porch chair, and continued his story. “So, Moose, at dawn the next morning, after helping Rocco find a pair of shoes and a shirt, we headed towards the Hudson River to catch a cattle boat to Brazil. Then, as we walked past an alley fairly close to the Empire State Building, we saw a frightening scene. A gang of thugs with knives had a stout, older man up against the wall trying to get his wallet. Except for his cane, he was unarmed, but he was trying to put up a good fight. ‘Away you cowards; back off you blighters!’ he yelled, brandishing his cane.

“The hoods were laughing derisively and ready to slice him apart with their knives. I mean to tell you, you should have seen Rocco go into action. He dropped kicked them, butted their heads together, and sent them scampering down the street in pain.

Geez, Moose, I've never, ever seen a guy fight that hard, not even in the great Hole-in-the-Wall bar.

 The chubby guy was grateful indeed. ‘Thank you, chaps, thank you exceedingly; my name is Winnie; charmed to meet you,’ he boomed with a deep British accent. ‘I could have dealt with those scoundrels, lads, but grappling with that quartet of blackguards may have exceeded my pugilistic prowess, I fear,’ he pronounced with a voice that held your attention.

“He then insisted that we have a drink on him at the next bar we ran into. We explained that we didn’t have much time to spare, but that we could force a few before our boat sailed. As we sipped our glasses of eighteen-year-old Scotch, which Winnie insisted on buying, he told us his story. Nice as the fellow was, and though his speaking appeared intelligent, he was a real loony bird.

“This is what he told us, Moose, so judge for yourself: ‘Before those noxious hoodlums accosted me, my chauffeur was driving me through the New York streets to see the sights. We had just returned from Washington—after conferring with your secretary of war and your able president, Mr. Roosevelt—when our limousine broke down. And while Hopkins worked under the hood I ventured a stroll to see your fine city first hand.’

“As he sat across from me,” Uncle Ernest went on, “gesturing with his big, Cuban cigar—he must have smoked four or five of them during our conversation—I was charmed by his use of the English language. He had a full face, with hanging jowls, and his eyes sparkled as he told us about the war England was waging with its enemy. Here, Moose, you might as well hear, as Rocco and I heard, the extent of his anger:

       We shall defend our island, whatever the

       cost may be, we shall fight on the beaches,

       we shall fight on the landing grounds, we

       shall fight in the fields and in the streets,

       we shall fight in the hills; we shall never

       surrender.

“Moose—now, you'll think I'm silly, but—as I related those words to you just now, I had chills running up my body. What a shame that the world didn’t have a leader like that when it needed him, one whose very words could so inspire. Explaining further, Winnie went on: ‘With your country’s help, chaps, we can defeat the vile invaders.’ And, as if to illustrate his sense of humor, the last thing he said, as we left him waving his cigar and enjoying a last sherry, was quite unusual.

       “He said, with his deep, expressive, British accent, ‘My friends, as long as there’s a Fort Knox, there will always be an England.’ You know, Moose, I have met all kinds of people in this world, but who would ever think that some plump, British bozo, a limey bum it seems, and languishing homeless in New York, could act and talk like that? If his words and expressions could inspire me, a nobody who had never even been to England, just think how they could have motivated the people of that country in their hour of need. I swear, I wouldn’t have believed it if I hadn’t seen and heard it in person.” [To be continued Tuesday, 1/24/2012]