Days
of Uncle Ernest -
Chesapeake City and the World – Billy, Chapter 6
The slamming screen door told me that Uncle Ernest
was on his way, and soon he was next to me, knuckling my head and laughing to
beat the band.
“What’s so funny, Unk?”
“Yeah, Moose,” he blurted, stifling his laughter,
“you should have seen me that afternoon on the stage of that funny open-sky
theater. The place was really different from any playhouse you’ve ever seen.
The stage jutted right out into the audience and guys of all sizes and shapes
were standing there, some waving beer mugs, some eating apples, and some
gnawing drumsticks as they laughed, danced around, and jostled one another.
‘We’d better do a good job, Ernie, or we might be wearing that beer or dodging
apples,’ Billy warned. But, surprisingly, everything went really well, because
the rowdy birds whistled and yelled their approval after each scene.
“A strange thing happened to me, Moose, and I just
have to tell you even though it embarrassed me something awful. Billy took my
advice and set the play in Italy
“I thought the actress playing Sophia, the girl that
my character, Tony, was madly in love with, was really beautiful. I swear,
Moose, I fell in love with her. I’d flirt with her every chance I got—you know,
wink and smile and so forth—just to let her know that I liked her a lot.”
“You’re nuts, Unk. That’s so stupid.”
“Yeah, I know, but when I looked up into her eyes
near the end of the balcony scene, and when she talked about a bird I said, ‘I
would I were thy bird,’ and when she
said, ‘Sweet, so would I: yet I should kill thee with much cherishing. Good
night, good night! Parting is such sweet sorrow, that I shall say good night
till it be morrow,’ I just couldn’t help falling in love with her on the spot.
“But, Moose, you don’t know the half of it. It
wasn’t just stupid to like her so much; it was idiotic. Let me tell you what
happened. After the play I went to the men’s room and was standing there using
a sort of trough that, by the way, emptied directly into the Thames, when
somebody walked in and stood right next to me. I looked over casually and about
had heart failure right on the spot.
“Believe it or not, but it was Sophia standing next
to me with her (his) skirt pulled up. I cursed loudly as Sophia laughed and
slapped his knees. Stomping on out of there, I grabbed Billy and yelled, ‘Why
didn’t you tell me that Sophia was a boy?’ ‘Well, Geez, Ernie,’ Billy said,
surprised, ‘I thought everybody knew
that women aren’t allowed to act in our plays.’ ”
I’ll tell you, Nina, I laughed so hard at that dumb
Uncle Ernest that I fell off the swing and rolled around in the grass.
“If you don’t stop I won’t tell you any more
stories,” Uncle Ernest yelled; “now knock it off, Moose.”
So I jumped back on the swing and said, “Sorry, Unk,
but that’s the funniest thing I’ve ever heard.” Uncle Ernest was quiet for a
while as he took a few extra swigs from his drink.
“Yeah, Moose, acting in that play was something
special,” he continued finally, “and by the time our horse trotted on back to
Stratfield it was late evening and the sun was setting on the beautiful Avalon.
After dinner, I spent four or five hours helping Billy polish his plays and
poetry and, I think that even though he would never make it big, he may have
been able to make a little spare money to help support that fine family. We
stayed the night with them and in the morning sailed on back to Lizzie’s garden
island on the Thames.
“We all kissed and hugged before we left and I
noticed that Hansen had tears in his eyes and, my goodness, I have to admit
that when I saw that and also Baby Sauce with her head lowered in dejection, my
eyes started to moisten for just a moment. Poor Lizzie, torn with the emotion
of having to leave, started sobbing, so I had to console her as I had done
before.” [To be continued Friday, 9/7/2012]
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