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

Days of Uncle Ernest -

Chesapeake City and the World – José, Chapter 6

“When we reached the top there was a huge crowd of people waiting for us,” Uncle Ernest went on. “Hundreds of priests and town’s people were yelling and jeering, causing a heck of a stir. At this point the soldiers took those big four by four crosses and sank them in the ground. Then I saw why, Moose, because the soldiers, using step ladders, took those two goobers (who were kicking, screaming, cursing, and moaning) and nailed them up on those crosses like scarecrows. All the while the crowd was partying like mad, as if they were at a carnival or something.

“The one in charge was Pompous duPilot, of course, who at this point lined me and José up and told the mob of priests that he would pardon either me or José. By golly, I knew they hated both of us, but the question was, which one did they hate the most? Well, I found out right away; they all started yelling, ‘Give us Ernie; give us Ernie.’ What a relief, Moose, but I sure felt sorry for poor José, because they nailed him right up there with the other two.

“José didn’t act up the way they did, though, and after a soldier drove in the last nail, he asked José if he had anything to say. Believe it or not, this is what José told him: ‘My fine fellow, I must say you have a lot to learn. You’d save yourself a lot of trouble if you used the proper-sized nails, twenty penny instead of thirty.’ ”

When Uncle Ernest left to freshen his drink, I jumped off the moving swing all the way to the ground, and as I saw it pound against the house, I hopped on my bike, rode it down the steep, little hill next to our lilac bush, crossed the lane, slung the bike into the weeds, and ran through the thistles and tall sage grass to our big brick well. It was hidden by the weeds but I sure knew how to find it when I wanted to. At one time, Pop piped water to hundreds of chickens that he raised in long shanties out back.

My great-grandfather, Old Al, had dug the well and bricked it up before I was born, covering the top with planks to keep animals or people from falling in. By now the planks were rotten and would break through if you walked on them. They were weathered and curled so that cracks could be seen across the entire length. Five feet from the well I stopped running and sneaked carefully up to it. Sure enough, a fair-sized frog was crouched in the shade of a rock next to a crack. He heard me, though, and dived through the crack, making a hollow ka-plunk as he landed.

I pulled a couple planks aside, exposing a mess of frantic ants and a few beetles, and peered down into the cool water. A boy in a plaid cowboy shirt, cool cowboy hat, and tousled brown hair looked back at me, and right away the surface rippled with distortion as the circles from the frog’s entry made their way from the center to the sides of the well. I watched patiently for the frog to surface, as they always did, and after a couple of minutes saw just his nose and then his fingertips emerge at the edge of the well across from me.

To the right of the frog was an elaborate spider web, and in the middle, there she hung, a spider the size of a child’s hand. She was black with a yellow belly and when I tossed a twig into the web she sidled delicately across her web, as only a spider could, to the far side of the well. Then I heard Uncle Ernest’s whistle, replaced the planks, and hustled on back to hear him continue his story. [To be continued Tuesday, 10/30/2012]