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

Days of Uncle Ernest -

Chesapeake City and the World – José, Chapter 8

“Then,” Uncle Ernest explained, “poor José hobbled on down the road away from the city, while I jogged on back to Maggie’s, where I slept like a baby until ten the next morning. For the time being I didn’t tell anybody about what had happened, so they all thought that José had gone on to his heavenly rewards. The authorities would probably wonder where Jud disappeared to, but they wouldn’t bother trying to find him; nobody likes a rat.”

“You bet, Unk,” I agreed, as Uncle Ernest made his usual trip to refill his glass. I walked over to the north edge of the porch, pulled off a Seckel pear from the small tree Pop had planted there, and sank my teeth into it. I peered towards town and saw that our steel drawbridge was raised to its full height to let a ship pass through. I thought about how often we had to sit in our old 1941 Ford, waiting impatiently for the bridge span to lower so we could head to Elkton or Wilmington.

As we approached the bridge in that worn-out Ford, Pop would always say, “Look, are the weights at the top? If they are it means the bridge is down and we don’t have to wait.” Many times the weights were down, however, and we’d sit and watch the ship coast through. When it passed we’d hear the steel-on-steel grinding that the cables made as they raised the weights to the top and lowered the bridge surface so we could labor across.

On our left, between the bridge tender’s shack and the Rio movie theater, sat the small white barber shop, where I got my first haircut and watched the screwy antics of Jumpin’ Jim, the barber. The white building was square, with just enough room for Jim’s barber chair, his counter lined with barber implements, a washbasin, and chairs lined up along the wall facing the canal. Jim always had the radio on, usually tuned in to comedy shows such as Amos and Andy, Fibber McGee & Molly, or The Great Gildersleeve.

I remember Jumpin’ Jim and his customers laughing at the jokes as he pranced around his victim in the barber's chair, snipping rhythmically with his scissors or waving his straight razor with a shaky hand and talking, always chattering small talk as he bounded around the chair, lunged to the washbasin or to the counter, and skipped back again to the chair.

Every so often he would swoop to a back closet, reach in and lift up a bottle in a brown paper bag, and take a quick swig. I never found out what the heck was in that bottle, and I don’t know anybody else who ever did either. Then he’d prance on back to the barber's chair. Whoever named him ‘Jumpin’ Jim’ got it right. He took a long time cutting a head of hair, and when he finished with the combs and scissors, he’d always mix up hot lather with his brush and bowl, and brush lavish amounts onto the back of your neck and around your ears.

He would then spend half a minute sharpening his razor, with rapid, snapping strokes, on a leather strop that was attached at one end of the barber's chair. Then he’d say to his helpless captive, “Now don’t you move; sit still now. I’ve never cut anybody yet.” And with a shaky hand he’d brandish his straight razor, come in and shave a small area, bounce back out and wave the razor in the air, come in and shave another small area, and in this manner finally get the job done. And all the while he’d be gabbing away or laughing at the radio jokes.

Then he’d put a hot, damp towel on your neck, scrub off all of the extra lather, rub sweet-smelling lotion in your hair (kneading it into your scalp vigorously), part it and comb it, and set you free by flinging off the big apron with a deft flourish that comes only with much experience. After some more small talk, Pop would pay him the fifty cents and we would head on back to the farm and return in a couple of weeks to go through it all again.

“Hey, Moose,” Uncle Ernest yelled from the swing. So I ran on over and slid in beside him, still gnawing on the pear.

“Something bothers me. You know, Unk, I can’t figure out why all the priests wanted to save you instead of José?”

“Yeah, well, I didn’t know at first either, but I figured it out lying in bed the next morning at Maggie’s. They yelled to save me because I had won so much money from them in all the poker games we had played since I had been there. If they kept me alive they at least had a chance to win their money back. I really had to lie low for a while though, so Maggie and I cooled our heels in our little love nest for about three days, and just as we were going stir crazy with each other in that confined area, who should sneak in, disguised as a homeless guy, but our José.

“He said he was feeling fine under the circumstances, but we checked out his wounds just the same and found that they were healing pretty well. He said that he had to see all the club members one more time, and asked me to organize a brief club meeting so he could conduct a decent farewell. So, I got the gang together for that afternoon, and when they came in and saw José they just about crapped themselves. I never did tell them about how I had saved him; I just let them draw their own conclusion. But do you know something? If I hadn’t had the sense to give him that penicillin, he would have been off to his heavenly rewards after three days instead of meeting with us.

“When José showed them his scars they were shocked and didn’t know what to say. Then José shook hands with each of us and said, ‘Take care of yourselves, brothers.’ He asked us to say hello to all of the good townspeople for him. Then he made us all join hands for a song. He started the singing and then made us join in. We sang it about five times, and it was quite touching, Moose, even for me, so much so that I remembered it.” And, Nina, incredible as it seems, Uncle Ernest sang it to me. This is what he sang: “♫A farewell to you Brother, and to my friends and to our long friendship/As it was in the beginning, is now and always will be, friends till the end, great friends, great friends.♫”

“Whoa! That’s enough of that, Unk,” I begged. “What happened next?”

“Too bad you don't appreciate good music, Moose; that's all I can say. Anyhow, before José left for good he pleaded for us to keep the club going. ‘Expand Josanity; make it a success for me, guys,’ he declared seriously, and then he limped on out and ambled down that dusty road as we all sat around feeling pretty low.”  [To be continued Tuesday, 11/06/2012]