Days of Uncle Ernest - Chesapeake City and the World – Lizzie, Chapter 1

Days of Uncle Ernest -

Chesapeake City and the World – Lizzie, Chapter 1

Nina, have I ever told you that my Uncle Ernest stayed on the farm with us one summer in the early forties? Well, he sure was fun to be with. I remember seeing him sprawled out on our wooden lawn chair one afternoon, so I skipped over, jumped up next to him, and watched as he opened his eyes to gaze at me. “What are you up to, Moose the Goose?” he asked, taking a nice, slow swig of his drink.

“Did you ever have any fun, Unk, when you were a young guy back in Wilmington?”

“Naaah, mostly boring stuff … but I guess I could tell you about one crazy thing that happened to me."

“Great!” I said, settling back in the chair with pleasure.

“Now then,” he began, “here's what happened. One day, I was walking around back by the park and past the St. Anne’s Church, just taking in the sights and smelling the burning leaves in the park, and as I was heading back home past the steel fence that surrounds all the back yards of the houses on Fourth Street, and ...”

“Yeah! Yeah!” I blurted out. “That’s the same fence that kept me from getting in the house when those Italian bullies were chasing me. The gate was locked and they caught me and started beating up on me. Remember? I think I told you how I hit one of the thugs with my beanie with the steel buckle on top. I nailed him right on the cheek and he started crying and holding his face.”

“OK, Moose, OK, I do remember when that happened. So, anyway, as I was saying, when I looked across Fourth Street toward the warehouse, I saw something unusual in the gutter. A black guy, wearing a filthy felt hat and oversized shoes with the soles flapping when he moved them, lay sprawled out along the grate. Dirty water was dammed against his shoulder and a rivulet curled under his neck and trickled through the grate, making a hollow tinkling as it hit the bottom of the storm drain.

“The guy was in bad, bad shape. He had crusted blood on his nostrils and was breathing hard and moaning. From the wine odor I could tell that he was just an old drunk. But do you know something? I just had to help him, so I pulled him up and got him to my house and into the kitchen. ‘Thanks Bud. Thanks Bud,’ he kept saying, as I fixed him some soup and coffee. It was after the coffee that it happened. The strangest thing I’ve ever seen in my life. His whole appearance changed. He sat up straight and looked at me across the table with wise, sensitive eyes. When he took off his hat, I saw an enormous ball of black hair rolled up in a bun about eight inches high.

“Then, in an eerie Far-Eastern accent he spoke, slowly and majestically: ‘I am from the ancient world, Sahib, a world of marvelous enchantments beyond belief.’ My eyes must have bugged out of my head, because he held my gaze, reached across the table, and covered my hands with his. ‘For your kindness,’ he continued, ‘you can share the magic of the old world. It is in the park beneath a large pile of leaves under the largest oak tree. Use it well, Sahib; you deserve it.’

“Well, before I could reply the kettle started to boil over, and when I turned back to him after switching off the burner, he was gone.”

“That’s too weird, Unk, too weird,” I said, in a trembling voice.

        “Don’t worry, Moose,” he said, roughing up my hair. “If you think that guy was weird, wait until I tell you what I found under that pile of leaves.”  [To be continued Tuesday, 7/24/2012]