Days of Uncle Ernest - Chesapeake City and the World – Billy, Chapter 5

Days of Uncle Ernest - Chesapeake City and the World – Billy, Chapter 5

When Uncle Ernest slid off the swing with a grunt, I thought about the strange things I had found a couple of days earlier in the deep woods behind our farm. When I was a young kid, Nina, I had a great time playing in the small streams that meandered through those woods. The streams were terrific; most were narrow enough to jump over, although some areas were damned up into small ponds, which made fine living areas for frogs, turtles, skimmer spiders, and crayfish.

If you dug deeply enough into the perfectly round holes in the mud, you’d be sure to find a nice fat crayfish. Sometimes I would play war on the banks and along the streams with my friend, Junior. We would make bows out of small tree limbs and arrows out of stiff reeds from the swamp. We’d make quite a ruckus in those woods as we shouted, shot at each other, and claimed victory with loud cries of war.

Most of the time though, Nina, I would play alone in those streams under the vast canopy of ancient oaks, poplars, hickories, and beeches—whose leaves covered the banks with a thick, spongy carpet. Playing about, I’d be sure to run my face directly into a nasty spider web and have to back away and pull the threads out of my eyes, nose, and mouth. The spiders, mosquitoes, and other bugs were minor concerns though, because I loved the solitude and variety of those woods.

Better than anything else, Nina, I loved to catch frogs down there. I’d walk up to the stream and hear a sudden plop, and knew that I’d scared one from the bank or shore line. I’d watch the circle widen where he had landed and know that he’d come up somewhere on the other side. And, sure enough, after a while when he ran out of air, if I looked closely, I’d see those frog eyes and that frog nose emerge just where the water met the shore.

Then, if I was quiet enough and quick enough, I could catch him, play with him for a while, and then let him leap off my palm back into the stream. Once in a while I’d catch several large enough so that we could have frogs’ legs for supper. Have you ever seen them cooked, Nina? Well, if you ever do, be ready, because sometimes they’ll jump right at you out of the frying pan.

So, Nina, I know you're wondering what the strange things were that I found in those woods. Let me take you back to that long, lost day so many, many years ago. As I walked farther along into the deep woods, following the stream, I came upon a dammed area that had formed a fairly deep pond of about twenty feet in diameter. At one side of the pond I saw a strange sight. Several big brown barrels were lined up next to a series of circling, convoluted copper tubing. Under a vat of bubbling, foul-smelling liquid was a fire with smoke curling up through the beeches.

Soon, for some reason, I got the eerie feeling that someone was nearby. Then it happened, Nina. I heard a metallic “click” coming from behind the spreading, gray trunk of a beech. At the same time I saw the black barrel of a shotgun sticking out at a forty-five degree angle from behind the beech. Then I heard his gruff voice: “You’d best high-tail it out of here, boy. Git!” Instantly, when the voice stopped, the gun went off: “Ba-looom!”

Believe me, Nina, I got out of there in a hurry. As I ran, frantically, the shotgun pellets fell from the sky, hitting the leaves all around me like hail. Later, when I told Pop about it, he said, “Awww, you just stay away from there, Bobby; it’s just old Dave Herman’s boy, Herbert. He’s that hermit who lives in the woods across from McNatt’s farm; that’s his still you ran into.”

[To be continued Tuesday, 9/4/2012]

Days of Uncle Ernest - Chesapeake City and the World – Billy, Chapter 4

Days of Uncle Ernest -

Chesapeake City and the World – Billy, Chapter 4

“Lizzie was shootin' the breeze in the kitchen with Ann, and Billy was scribbling some finishing touches to his new prince play. As I started to doze off, leaning back on the bench as contented as a hog snoozing in the mud, Judy ran over and jumped up on my lap, jolting me back to my senses. ‘Like, howdy, Mr. Ernie,’ she said, clicking her gum vigorously as she put her arm around my neck. ‘Did you like our act?’

“ ‘Boy, I sure did, sweetie,’ I said, kissing her on the cheek and hugging her close.

“ ‘Mr. Ernie, like, will you call me Baby Sauce from now on? That’s what the girls in my singing group call me because I’m, like, the youngest.’

“ ‘Absolutely, Baby Sauce,’ I laughed, not surprised that they had nicknames for each other. ‘What do you girls call your group?’

“ ‘Oh, we don’t have a name yet, Mr. Ernie; we’re, like, trying to think of one.’

“ ‘Now then, sweetheart, you really should have a catchy name if you want to make it in the entertainment business, and since you’re young, energetic, vivacious gals and sing spicy music, why don’t you call yourselves the Sauce Girls?’

“ ‘Cool! I’ll, like, run it by the others tomorrow. I like it; maybe they will too!’ Then she ran off to take a swim in the Avalon before getting ready for bed. When bedtime rolled around she and Hansen asked me if I would lie down with them, so I lay between them and told them about how I cut my finger in school with a saw. Then I took my finger off to show them and, Moose, you should have seen their eyes bug out. I next took a large coin that Hansen had on his night stand and made it disappear into thin air. They both jumped up and down on their beds and yelled, ‘How did you do that, Mr. Ernie?’

“I then had to settle them down by telling them about The Three Little Pigs and Jack and the Beanstalk. After they dosed off I kissed them on the forehead, wiped their hair from their eyes, pulled the covers up to their chins, tip-toed out, and sat down to talk with Billy—who had a fine, fat cigar and a full bottle of the finest red wine you’ve ever seen in your life waiting for me.

“Billy was writing on a big sheet of paper when I sat down beside him, and after about every four words he would dip his goose-feather pen into a big bottle of black ink. I don’t know why he didn’t just use a ballpoint pen like everybody else, Moose, but I just let it slide and asked him what he was writing about.

“ ‘Why, Ernie, my friend, I’m setting down a play about a Denmark prince who has a lot of trouble making up his mind, and right now he’s thinking about committing suicide and I’m going to have him think about it out loud. I’m at the beginning and … saaay, Ernie, let me know how this sounds: ‘Oh my! I don’t know if I should kill myself and leave this awful world, or just stay alive and face my troubles like a man.’

“ ‘Now, Billy, I’ll tell you what; it sounds a bit wordy to me. Why don’t you have him say: “To exist or not to exist; that’s what I'm asking?” ’

“ ‘Yeah, yeah, Ernie,’ Billy agreed. ‘That is much better, but I think I might shorten it even more. You know, you sure have a good ear for language. Say now, I have an idea. I’m acting in a play I wrote about two young lovers who get into trouble, and I’m in a bind because the actor playing Robert, the boy, has run off with a madrigal group. Ernie, will you play the part as a favor to me?’

“ ‘Geez, I guess so. Sure, I’ll give it a go,’ I told him, imitating his manner of speaking. ‘Let me have the script and I’ll memorize the part.’ So, Moose, I read the part and memorized it, but I didn’t like some of it so I asked him to change a few lines and he agreed. ‘First of all Billy, instead of the names Robert and Edna, why don’t you make the names more romantic-sounding? Give them Italian names such as Tony and Sophia or something similar.’

“ ‘Splendid idea, Ernie; I’ll work on it.’

“ ‘And another thing, instead of the two lovers just standing in the garden, why don’t you put the girl on her balcony and have the boy crouch under it in the bushes. And, also, Billy, when he first sees her, your script reads: “Look at that beautiful girl in the light. She’s as pretty as the sun.” Now that’s pretty lame. Why don’t you have him say: ‘What light from that high window breaks? It is the East and Sophia is the moon.’

“ ‘Why Ernie, you know, you’re right on both counts. I’ll certainly revise those parts for tomorrow’s performance.’

“So the next afternoon, while Liz, Ann, and the kids picnicked on the bank of the Avalon, Billy and I headed for town in his horse and buggy and, Moose, when I get back I’ll tell you about one of the craziest days of my life in that odd little theater overlooking the Thames.” [To be continued Friday, 8/31/2012]

Days of Uncle Ernest -

Chesapeake City and the World – Billy, Chapter 3

After a long pull on his freshened drink, Uncle Ernest responded to my exuberance: “Hold your horses, Moose. What’s the rush?”

“If I had had my shotgun with me we’d have a big squirrel for dinner.”

“Forget the squirrel; let’s just relax a while,” he said, closing his eyes.

“Well, what happened next, Unk? What kind of guy was Billy, the goofball with the beer belly?”

“Believe me, he was quite a character,” Uncle Ernest continued, recalling the events with a smile. “He had just had a new house built, set back about a hundred yards from the river. We had a nice dinner of venison and stuffed swan, and I got to talk to his wife, Ann, and his two kids, Hansen and Judy.

“The kids were kind of sickly though, I thought, especially Hansen, who had long blond hair dangling in his eyes. He hummed tunes a lot and even got out his lute and, with Judy pounding on a drum, played and sang me some songs. The songs had a frantic, thumping beat to them and gave me a headache right away. All the while Ann would grimace and shake her head while Billy tapped his foot to the beat and beamed with pride.

“And then, when they finished and my head started to feel better, Judy came up to us with a huge smile and said, ‘Hey, you’re, like, a good audience, but, like, you haven’t heard anything yet. Ahh, sit tight cause I’m, like, gonna call my friends in so you can, like, groove to our act.’ ”

“Why did she talk like that, Unk?”

“Beats me. I can’t figure it out, but if you listen you’ll notice that some young people use ‘like’ constantly even now in modern times—1943. Well, anyway, as we sat there drinking some tea, Judy called in her friends. Along with Hansen, she set up a couple more lute players and another drummer.

“Then she went out for a few minutes and came back in with four other girls about her age. They were all made up with different hair colors and styles and they wore funny-looking short skirts of flashy colors with sequins. Then they all lined up in front of us and Judy said, ‘We’re, like, ready, dudes … hit it girls.’

“The music began and they started dancing and singing—kicking up their feet, spinning around, and gyrating to the bouncy music. The music was really loud, and although the tune was catchy, my headache returned. Ann, again, showed her displeasure, but Billy loved it. Bobbing with the music, he danced around the table with a big smile on his face. The whole thing was pretty cool and I enjoyed it a lot, especially since during both shows I indulged in several tumblers of Billy’s fine red wine, and I must have smoked three or four of his exquisite, eight-inch long cigars.

“Later in the evening, when Hansen challenged me to a game of chess, I got a chance to talk to him. ‘What did you think of my music, Mr. Ernie?’ he asked, mechanically brushing the long, blond hair out of his eyes.

“ ‘Well, Hansen my man,’ I replied, tilting my head way back and blowing thick smoke rings up into the rough-hewn rafters, ‘except for the volume it was pretty nice. But I think that, if you want to get more people interested in your music and make some money, here’s what you should do. Hire two boys who can sing and play really well. Get one two year’s older than you and the other four year’s older and say that the three of you are brothers. Make sure they have long, blond hair and blue eyes and smiles that will make girls swoon. Once the three of you get together you can rehearse seven or eight pieces and then go on the road to fame and fortune.

“ ‘Wow, Mr. Ernie!’ Hansen blurted, flashing me that bright smile and flipping his head back to clear the hair out of his eyes once more. ‘I’ll do it; I’ll do it for sure.’

“ ‘Checkmate!’ I yelled, as I took his queen with mine and cornered his king. Hansen was so excited about starting his own band that he didn’t see the threat. After he ran off to see his friends, yelling ‘See ya later Mr. Ernie, and thanks a lot for the ideas,’ I poured another glass of wine, fired up another stogie, and walked out to enjoy the moonlight performing its magic on the shimmering Avalon.”  [To be continued Tuesday, 8/28/2012]

Days of Uncle Ernest - Chesapeake City and the World – Billy, Chapter 2

Days of Uncle Ernest -

Chesapeake City and the World – Billy, Chapter 2

Uncle Ernest was still a little dizzy from his big night on the town, but as time passed I could see that he was coming around pretty well and would soon be ready to continue telling me about his weird adventure with Lizzie. As he took the first, long, grateful pull on his glass that evening, I was as fidgety as usual, and anxious to hear more of his story with Lizzie in that strange country.

“What happened next, Unk? Did you go see her friend up-river?”

“We sure did, Moose,” Uncle Ernest said, reaching over to ruffle my hair as usual. “We got an early start up that small river—the Avalon I think she called it—and after about three hours we glided into the prettiest and calmest little cove you’ve ever seen in your life. It was really something! There were black and white swans, blue herons, and large bass jumping up high out of the water every now and then.

“As we approached the dock a funny-looking guy waved to us and Lizzie waved back. He was a plump, middle-aged guy with long hair, and he had a large, unruly stack of papers in his hands. He had his knickers pulled high up his thighs so he could dangle his feet and lower legs into the water.

“ ‘Greetings, Billy,’ Liz called out as we tied the boat up to the dock.

“ ‘Heartfelt salutations to you both,’  Billy replied in that bizarre accent that I was now getting used to because of talking to Lizzie so much. When we walked up to him he stood up, and his substantial pot belly was the first thing I noticed. Patting and rubbing his belly he laughed and said, ‘You can see what ales me, my friend, but I have to keep my weight out here where I can watch it.’

“I could sure tell that he was in love with words and not only that but he was smitten with Lizzie something awful. His eyes lit up when he looked at her and when he held her at arms length he looked into her eyes and said, ‘Shall I compare thee to a summer’s day?/Thou art more lovely and more temperate.’

“ ‘Cease and desist, Billy, for goodness sake,’ Lizzie protested jokingly. ‘What will Ann think?’

“ ‘Ahhh,’ he cried, dropping his hands to his sides and hanging his head in mock dejection, ‘This thought is as a death, which cannot choose/But weep to have that which it fears to lose.’ Now, Moose, you know how I like to use pretty words with the ladies, but believe me this funny-looking dufus really put me to shame. Compared to him I’m a rank amateur, a midget with words compared to giant.”

When Uncle Ernest started in for a refill I hopped on my bike again, pedaled past the chicken coop (almost hitting our feisty gray rooster who followed me sideways with his feathers ruffled up in his best fighting attitude), past the slatted corn crib and charred stable, down the garden path through the strawberries, under the osage tree (it’s still there, Nina; I’ll take you under it when you’re at the farm the next time), and finally down into the woods to the edge of the dump. The dump was pretty impressive, with its various discarded items protruding helter-skelter where they had been tossed since long before I was born till the present.

Looking out into the poplars and pines, as I sat there on my bike seat just soaking up the sounds and odors of the woods, I saw a squirrel scamper out from behind one of the large poplars. He was a beauty—a large male. I just wished that I had had my shotgun with me. Squirrel stew was a great treat in those ancient days of youth. Surprisingly, he hadn’t seen me yet, so he flicked his tail and darted his head back and forth with quick, twitching movements.

Then he descended head first and jumped effortlessly ahead thirty feet into the brush. He leaped up onto a sapling and started spinning around sideways, a gray blur of fur. He stopped and scratched his side ritualistically with his hind foot, and crouched absolutely motionless for a while, with his tail curled up like a question mark and his mid-section bent double.

When I moved my handlebars, snapping a twig, he jumped to another tree and skittered up into the leaves like a bullet. He leapt from high branch to high branch in his retreat and every time the branch would sag with his weight and spring back as he bounded off. The result was a frenzy of tremulous leaves, as he withdrew deeper and deeper into the woods until he disappeared from view.

Wrenching hard those handlebars and spinning ahead, I zipped on back to the swing, avoiding deftly the sentry rooster (who attacked me belligerently as usual at the chicken coop) and, slinging my bike down upon the gnarled roots of our maple, plopped heavily into the moving swing seat as a surprised Uncle Ernest clutched his freshened drink with the protective vigilance of a mother holding her week-old baby.  [To be continued Friday, 8/24/2012]

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

Days of Uncle Ernest -

Chesapeake City and the World – Billy, Chapter 1

The very next afternoon, Nina, after supper, I was bouncing around in our hammock and, bored out of my mind waiting for Uncle Ernest to come out and continue his weird story about sailing up that river with Lizzie, I hopped on my bike and spun on down under the towering, awkward osage tree in the middle of our garden. As I stood, straddling my bike, I looked up into its twisted branches and then down at the area around it. And, do you know, the same eerie feeling came over me that still does whenever I linger there.

I told Granny once about the strangeness there, and she said, “Oh, that; that ugly, worn-out thorn apple tree—a young'n shouldn’t have to bear that. Don’t bother me with that foolishness.”

“Tell me about it, Granny. Please!” I begged. “Tell me, will you?”

“Nonsense. I’m fagged out now, but if you’ll leave me be I’ll say what I know. It happened there ages ago, before the Civil War, before even I was born. Why, this farmhouse was build back in the 1850,” she went on, gesturing towards the inner room, as she sat there in our ancestral kitchen, remodeled with modern pasting—crass makeup on a noble woman.

She sat hunched over on a straight-back, wooden chair, looking out the window, and as she talked (grudgingly it seemed to me) her swollen, arthritic fingers stroked the radiator grates under the window. “This farm,” she continued, not looking at me but out at our unpainted garage, “was once a few hundred acres or so; it took in all the land in this area, from the edge of town to way beyond where that simple McNatt is now. Why, this kitchen was part of the original farmhouse, owned by the Hudsons, who built it and farmed all the land. Now then, old Al Hazel married one of the Hudson girls, Jane—your great grandmother, don’t you know—and that’s how come you’re living here today.”

“Geez, Granny, I didn’t know our place was that old and so big back then.”

“Yes, well, there’s a lot you don’t know, Bub,” she said, moving back in her chair and folding her brown, large-knuckled hands in her apron. “Why, it was lazy old Al who told me about them, living back there in a shack like livestock,” she said, shaking her snow-white head in disgust. “Well, don’t you know, it was his father-in-law, Bill Hudson, who told him about that day. Lordy be, I still shudder just thinking about it.”

“Wait a minute, Granny. Who lived back where? What day?”

“Oh mercy, leave me alone boy. I’m tired of your foolishness. Leave me be; goodness, I’m not worth anything anymore. I just wish I could get my hands on that shotgun out there; that’s all I wish.”

“Granny,” I asked quietly, so shocked that my stomach felt queasy all of a sudden, and laying my hand on her shoulder (cloth covered bones), “were there friends of yours hurt out there?”

“Hush!” she hissed. “Don’t be talking nonsense, fool; they were colored—slaves, and that’s all I know; I’m worthless any more and I’m goin’ up to my room to lay down.”

“But Granny, what happened out there that day by the tree?” She didn’t reply, but stood up and walked—bent body shuffling along—to the stairs, grabbed the black banister railing, and started laboring up. “Please, Granny, what happened that day; won’t you tell me some more?” Then she turned, sighed, sat down and, clutching the small, white banister post, looked down at me with a scowl before lowering her head.

So odd, Nina, that I see her still, bent over there above me on the steps: the brown, gnarled left hand grasping the post, her bowed head—pure white hair swirled in a knot—supported by her right hand, and her long, clean-white skirt draped over her legs and covering all but her cotton stockings, which drooped in crumpled folds about her ankles, concealing partially the tops of her work shoes.

“Gracious, why bother an old, worn-out woman? You should be out doing something useful—lazy lout! Why, you’ll never amount to a hill of beans … lazy. If you must know, there was a slave shack out by that tree you fancy. There was a stable out there too, with cows and horses. The tornado came out of nowhere that day, and it destroyed the stable, killed horses, and killed a darky who was in there taking care of them. It knocked a limb off of your tree as well, and if you look up there you’ll see where it was ripped off. Now leave me be; I’m gonna lay down; I’m fagged out from your nonsense.”

And that was all I was able to get out of her, Nina, and snapping out of my trance, I scanned the area once more, looked up into those tortured branches, ran my bike up the slight incline towards home and, seeing Uncle Ernest settle into our double-facing swing, spun on down at top speed.  [To be continued Tuesday, 8/21/2012

Days of Uncle Ernest - Chesapeake City and the World – Lizzie, Chapter 8

Days of Uncle Ernest -

Chesapeake City and the World – Lizzie, Chapter 8

“And so, once again I had to comfort Lizzie for quite a while.”

“Wow, Unk. That’s awfully sad,” I muttered quietly.

“I know, and afterwards I held her for a long time and gave her some nice long kisses, and she held me tighter and said, ‘My goodness, Ernie, I’ve never had a beau like you before.’ And, Moose, I swear, I can still smell the musky moistness of her warm, tear-soaked face against mine, as I held her close to me on that evening so many years ago.”

“Knock it off, Unk!” I yelled, kicking the dust up at our feet.

“But it was wonderful, unbelievably wonderful: that effluvium of heated breath softly panting against my cheek.”

“Give me a break.”

“Then I whispered in her ear a line of poetry that a teacher made me learn in the eighth grade:

Ah, Lizzie, thy beauty is to me

Like those Nicaean barks of yore,

That sailed swiftly out to sea

For lovers from a distant shore.

Just so, your splendor brings me home

To the glory that was Greece

And the grandeur that was Rome.

"100% Junk!" I yelled, jumping up and down on the chair.

"No, Moose, no, that did the trick. I thought Lizzie would squeeze me half to death, right there on the spot. ‘You know, Ernie,’ she whispered, ‘all of my knights wrote me poetry but nothing as nice as yours. They were all trying to gain my favor. Isn’t this neat what Andy wrote to me last week?’ And, unfolding a piece of paper that she pulled from her pocket, here is what she read to me:

 A hundred years should go to praise

Thine eyes, and on thy forehead gaze:

Two hundred to adore each breast,

But thirty thousand for the rest.

An age at least to every part,

And the last age should show your heart.

For Lady, you deserve this state,

Nor would I love at lower rate.

“ ‘That’s pretty cool, Liz,’ I told her, ignoring her weird statement about her knights.

“Then I remembered some lines from another great American poet, and I recited it softly to her as I held her gently in my arms. ‘For you Lizzie,’ I whispered:

                       

Unearthed in an ancient land

The lantern fell to me

Who cleared the dust

To see its spell

        Shimmering free above the lamp,

        As softly flow the Persian silks,

        Her eyes with flickering brilliance ply

        The magic, bright for all to see.

        What need for wishes?

        What need for mystic feats

        Or swirling carpet rides?

        An awed master, mastered by a Lizzie

        Fleshed with spirited delight—

        Her presence deed enough.

        For now this charmed globe I’ll lay aside—

        Apt companion for the darkened ride.

        When void of light I’ll find and gently move,

        And frenzied hands of joy will rub it smooth.

“Well, Moose, with this her meltdown was complete. That night we were boyfriend and girlfriend, and overlooking that beautiful, enchanted river, we drifted into a serene sleep …

“ ‘Wake up, Ernie. Wake up, dear,’ Lizzie whispered the next morning. The gentle words and soft stroking of my hair finally roused me from my deep, peaceful sleep. ‘After breakfast we’re taking a trip up river to visit a good friend of mine. He writes plays for our little theater in town. I think you’ll like him, Sweetheart.’

“ ‘Terrific,’ I groaned, stretching widely to full wakefulness. Yeah, and that’s exactly what we did, but I’ll have to tell you about it some other time.” And then, Nina, as Uncle Ernest trudged to the house to prepare for a big night of partying on the town, I swatted a mosquito that was feasting on my neck, listened for a few minutes to the whippoorwills—who had just begun their beguiling love songs—and, skipping up the steps and through the old screen door, heard it slam for the last time that evening.  [To be continued Friday, 8/17/2012]

Days of Uncle Ernest - Chesapeake City and the World – Lizzie, Chapter 7

Days of Uncle Ernest -

Chesapeake City and the World – Lizzie, Chapter 7

“Those bloody heads are terrible, Unk,” I yelled, as he headed towards the screen door once again, and when I heard it bang I ran out to the pump trough, stuck my bare feet in, and pumped some cool water all over them.

When Uncle Ernest returned he brought me an ice-cold Coke from the ice box. “Here’s to a fine afternoon,” he said, as he clinked his glass against my bottle. Then he raised his glass high and pronounced:

Through the lips,

Past the gums,

Watch out stomach.

Here it comes.

Nina, I wish you could have heard how pompously he recited those lines. As the cold, sweet, carbonated soda watered my eyes and hurt my teeth on the way down, I thought about how lucky I was to have such a clever uncle. “Yeah, Moose, Lizzie was pretty subdued for a while as we sailed on up the Thumes. After a while we tacked east into the mouth of a small, beautiful river.

“ ‘What on earth happened to those poor swans? What turned them black?’ I asked as we glided into a peaceful little cove.

“ ‘Why nothing, Ernie,’ she frowned, ‘these black swans are all along this river, and as far as I know this is the only place in the world where they exist.’

“ ‘Well,’ I said, ‘it’s news to me; they sure are an unusual sight, but pretty though.’

“ ‘I have a friend who lives farther up the river in a little town called Stratfield; we’ll visit him tomorrow and see his swans if you like,’ she explained, as we took down the sails, moored the skiff, and waded to shore towards a small thatched-roof cottage about 200 feet away.

“After a fine meal of roast swan, baked trout, barbecued pork (the whole pig was in the middle of the table, with an apple in its mouth), blood pudding, Irish potatoes, and three-foot long loaves of French bread, we walked hand-in-hand along the shore of that serene, enchanted river.”

“Wait a minute, Unk,” I said, shaking his arm. “What was that you said about some kind of pudding? Did you say what I thought you said … ‘blood?’ ”

“That's right, blood pudding,” he answered, as I made a face and blurted, “Yuck!”

“Awww no, Moose, it was delicious,” he said, grinning his head off. “The cook was from France, Lizzie told me, and was considered the best chef in the whole world. After she showed me the rest of the area, which she called her sanctuary from the world, we sat on a cypress log and watched the setting sun cast its colors on the river as it descended.

        “ ‘It's beautiful!’ I said, but when I looked at her I saw an anguished face with tears flooding her eyes. One was migrating slowly down her cheek, and as I wiped it away the sobbing started in rhythmic pulses until I enveloped her in my arms, smothering the sobs until they gradually subsided into erratic, muffled sniffles. I’ll tell you, Moose, it never fails to tear me up when a woman or child cries like that. Earth-hardened jackal that I am, it still saddens me so.”

“Right, Unk,” I said, unimpressed. “But what in the world was she bellerin' about anyhow?”

“Here’s what I got out of her after a half hour of comforting: ‘Ernie, I’m sorry, but I can’t stop thinking about the woman whose head we saw stuck on that stake on the bridge we passed under. She was so nice and so affectionate. Oh my! It’s political, Ernie, political and it’s awful.’ ”

“ ‘Well, Liz, was she a friend of yours?’ I asked softly.”

“ ‘Yes, and she was wonderful. She used to call me Little Queenie.’ ”

“ ‘What was her name?’ ”

“ ‘Oh my, Ernie. Oh my! Her name was Annie,’ she said, as the sobbing resumed.”

“ ‘I’m awfully sorry, Lizzie,’ I said, soothing her once again. She must have been a special friend for sure.’ ”

“ ‘Ernie! Oh Ernie!’ she sobbed, as her eyes welled up again, ‘she’s … she's … she’s my mother.’ ” [To be continued Tuesday, 8/14/2012]

Days of Uncle Ernest - Chesapeake City and the World – Lizzie, Chapter 6

Days of Uncle Ernest - Chesapeake City and the World – Lizzie, Chapter 6

Lying back there under the tree, I must have daydreamed a while, but when Uncle Ernest lifted my feet so he could sit, I was alert and ready to hear some more of his strange adventure. “Yeah, Moose,” Uncle Ernest said as he took a slow, pleasurable swig from his freshened drink, “when we boarded the sailing skiff, the Miss Ann, Lizzie rigged the sails like an expert, and before long we were underway—cruising gracefully up a river she called the ‘Tums.’ She was a great gal, Moose, but it's a shame she had so much trouble with the English language. Later on, I noticed the name of that river on a sign. Printed clearly on it was ‘The Thumes.’ Now, I would pronounce that ‘Thumbs.’ Wouldn't you?

"Huh? Sure. I guess so. So what, Unk?"

"Hey, I didn't let her funny talk bother me any. I don't look down on people with poor speech. Besides, she was pretty enough to talk any way she wanted to. But that river was really busy with commerce—sailing and rowing vessels—and they all gave us a wide berth. Some of the captains of the large vessels started with surprise and bowed deeply to Lizzie and she would always curtsy back. ‘What’s that all about, Lizzie?’ I asked.

“ ‘Oh,’ she replied nonchalantly, ‘they’re just my subjects, Ernie.’ Now, Moose, when she talked like that I sure was sorry I had ever got mixed up with such a lunatic, especially when she was in the middle of an unfamiliar river, manning a sailboat that I knew nothing about. But, except for those occasional irrational statements, she was terrific and I had a great time with her on that river.

“What happened next I don’t like to talk about because it’s so gruesome. As we sailed smoothly along we saw a long, stone bridge looming in the distance. As we got closer I could see lots of buildings—different sized shacks really—sitting right on the bridge.”

“Wow! No kidding, Unk?”

“Right you are, and I could even make out a chapel and some military towers with cannons shooting out the sides. Then it happened; I saw them ... and they were disgusting. Just before we sailed under I looked up and saw five or six human heads stuck on stakes all along the bridge. They were in varying degrees of decay—some with eyes bulging or missing, and they all had jagged, chopped-up necks dangling from the stakes, uneven where the ax had chopped through.”

“Gross!” I cried. “That’s disgusting; I’ve never heard of anything like that ever happening, not even in Cecil County. Tell me some more, Unk.”

“Aw, Moose,” Uncle Ernest said softly, “I guess I should have left that part out. But, anyway, when we came out from under the bridge there were more heads stuck up on the other side, believe it or not, and one was different from the rest because it was the head of a woman.

“It was fairly fresh because of the blood crusted on her chin. Her long, black hair was whirling in the breeze. When Lizzie saw the head she gasped and when she looked over at me I saw tears rolling down her cheeks. She buried her face in my chest and held me hard for a few seconds. Then, when she grabbed the tiller again, I asked, ‘What’s that all about, Liz?’

“ ‘Oh nothing.’ she said, catching her breath in short sobs. ‘It’s political and I don’t want to talk about it.’ She looked straight ahead as the sobs subsided. I glanced back at the bridge once more and saw gulls, crows, and other carrion birds circling and swooping in for snacks.”  [To be continued Friday, 8/10/2012]

Days of Uncle Ernest - Chesapeake City and the World – Lizzie, Chapter 5

Days of Uncle Ernest -

Chesapeake City and the World – Lizzie, Chapter 5

Looking over towards the lawn chair, I saw Uncle Ernest leaning back with his hands behind his head, so I ran on back to hear more about that strange girl on the island.

“Yeah, Moose, Lizzie really was something. We had exchanged names after a bit of small talk and cuddling, and after a while she said, ‘Splendid, Ernie, and now it’s time for our tea.’ And before I could react she rang a gong and in about five seconds some guy, dressed in funny-looking knickers and a fluffed-up accordion collar about the width of a peach basket, strode up, bowed, and set down a big tray with tea cups, some kind of biscuits, and some jelly that Lizzie called marmalade.

“I’ll tell you, Moose, that goofy-looking guy waited on us as if we were a king and queen or something. Believe me, I was very hungry after that balloon ride. The guy had to make three or four trips with more biscuits and jelly. Lizzie was such a dainty eater—with her little finger stuck out like some kind of royalty or something. She watched me gobble away and said, ‘My, Ernie, but you have a stout appetite.’ As I gorged she told me that she had had a very important father—one who changed the nature of religion in her country—and that she, too, was very important.

“Now, you know what I think of people who talk like that, so I just nodded to humor her. But then she explained that the island was her outlet and that we could not talk about anything serious today but just have fun. Then she said, ‘Come on, Ernie; let’s take a ride,’ and she led me into a little cove where a sailboat was moored and, Moose, before I tell you the weird thing that happened next, I need to take a walk.”

“All right, Unk; hurry back” I said, and as Uncle Ernest pulled himself up from the chair again, I spread out full-length on it and gazed up into our ancient maple. In one of the dead branches about half-way up I watched a woodpecker with black and white ladder stripes across his back break the silence with his sharp “rat-a-tat-tat.” He kept at it for a while and then I must have scared him because he launched himself and flew in a fast, straight line off in the direction of Bill Herman’s house.

You remember Bill don’t you, Nina? He was the old, one-eyed man who used to take me for rides on his farm wagon. Well, years later, when I grew up and had kids of my own, Bill’s brother died, and Bill became so disoriented that he’d walk the roads all day and night with an unearthly stare in his eyes. He had lost his senses, Nina, and one day Sam Caldwell and I took him down and admitted him to the state hospital in Cambridge. We knew that he was in pain and would die soon if we didn’t.

A couple of weeks later I went down to see how he was making out. I’ll tell you, I almost didn’t recognize him. He was outside under a tree, sitting on the edge of his bench and leaning with his hands on the crook of his cane, which was between his spread knees. He had the air of authority and I’m sure that he told the doctors and nurses the right way to do things. “How they treating you, Bill?” I asked.

“Well, booooyeeee,” he drawled in that singular gruff voice, “pretty fair … but, you know, they’ll scrub the hide off you down here, and ever morning I have the dickens of a time because they keep pokin’ all around my mouth with a stick. The messin’ with me is a botheration, but I reckon I can stand it a might longer.” I didn’t know what the “stick” was, Nina, until I was driving home … and then it hit me. They were brushing his teeth.  [To be continued Tuesday, 8/07/2012]