Tales of Uncle Ernest – (Continued) Section 4, “The Fish” – Chapter 8

Tales of Uncle Ernest – (Continued)

Section 4, “The Fish” – Chapter 8

“After checking out a few more sights of Baltimore, I returned to the harbor and gazed into the murky water out of which I had emerged the day before. At that time the area was called ‘The Baltimore Harbor.’ As I looked over towards a small seafood restaurant, I noticed a group of people looking and pointing at something in the water. Moose, You’ll never believe what was out there, thirty feet from the wharf.”

“A killer whale?” I cried out.

“Guess again, Moose; it was that big catfish that had swallowed me. He was floating belly-up, dead as a doornail. All the heat and smoke from my big stogies did him in. I guess he was killed by second-hand smoke, an awful way to go. He looked extremely big floating out there, and the smell coming from him was terrible. The crabs must have got to him because everyone could see the glistening, shimmering innards erupting from his white belly.

“Later that day, the port authorities had to pull him far out to sea with a tugboat. I know this is a disgusting incident to relate to you, Moose, but I’m only doing it in the interest of linguistics, because that catfish caused such a stir and became so famous, that people started calling the area ‘The innards Harbor’ instead of the anemic ‘Baltimore Harbor.’

“People would say, ‘Oh, Yes, we visited the Innards Harbor and saw the Constellation.’ As time went by, however, it was shortened to ‘The Innard Harbor,’ and I’d be willing to bet that the area will be known by that name forever. Don’t you agree? What an amazing phenomenon, Moose. You're looking at the only person alive who knows how the harbor got its name. But now, you know, and can tell the world the truth.”

With this prophetic announcement, Uncle Ernest slid off the swing and was about to make his way to the door to prepare to go out on the town for the evening. Sometimes he returned at dawn and other times we would have to scout around town to find him and bring him home.

The light had faded by this time, for only a faint glow could be seen in the west, just to the right of old Dave Herman’s immense oak tree. I tugged at Uncle Ernest’s shirtsleeve and asked, “Unk, did you, maybe, stretch those stories about the baseball player and the sad guy in the garret?”

“Not at all, Moose; not at all. Why in the world would I do that?

But do you know what? As he stood in front of me, there in the semi-darkness, I caught a glimpse of his hands as he held the whisky glass. And, now, I’m not sure, and to this day I can’t be positive, but I think I saw his fingers crossed in the micro-second before he turned away. What do you think, Nina? Did he have them crossed or not?   [To be continued Friday, 3/23/2012]