Tales of Uncle Ernest – (Continued)

Section 4, “The Fish” – Chapter 7

“ ‘My splendid fellow,’ Ed continued, ‘I’ll now partake of that fine decanter of spirits that you previously offered.’

“ ‘Certainly,’ I said, relieved that I still had two cans left. As we sat there, Moose, in that eerie candlelight, sipping our beers, he told me about himself. He said that he was writing stuff and trying to sell it without success. Have you ever heard of anything so silly?”

“Nope,” I answered, shaking my head and letting the concrete scrape my bare soles as we swung. “How did he get money to survive?”

“Ahh, well, he let it slip that his uncle gave him money once in a while. He told me, also, that he was mourning the recent death of his thirteen-year-old cousin. Oh, it was all mysterious and scary, and do you know, as he sipped on his beer, he became more and more agitated and started to say bizarre things. I’ve forgotten most of his tirade, but I remember ranting words such as ‘murder,’ ‘death,’ ‘evil eyes,’ ‘buried people,’ and all kinds of unsavory stuff. I tried to settle him down but he only got worse, and I wished that I had not given him that beer. It became obvious that the slightest amount of alcohol made him crazy and uncontrollable.

“But do you know, Moose, he was an excellent storyteller, for after a short nap to recover, he told me to lean back in my chair, relax, and let his tale captivate me. Then he told me a story that lasted about an hour. I was completely under his spell. I don’t remember much of it now, but it had to do with a poor woman who was buried alive and had to escape from the grave to get her revenge.”

“Yuck! That’s awful.”

“Awful, sure, but the way he told it was fascinating—spellbinding. And do you know that the telling of that story drained all the energy out of Ed. His head slumped down on the table; he became dead to the world. I, too, was tired. I’d had a long day, Moose, so I fell asleep on an old blanket that I found lying in a heap on the floor. I was awakened twice during the night, once when Ed yelled out in his sleep, ‘Annabell! … Annabell!’ and again when he screamed, ‘Madman! … madman!’

“When I awoke at dawn, Ed was in the same position and snoring loudly. I shook him but he didn’t budge, so I wrote him a note saying, ‘Thanks for the hospitality, Ed. Take care of yourself. Your friend, Ernie.’ Then I descended those cramped stairs with difficulty and stretched widely in the early morning sun of Baltimore. As I ventured down the narrow street that bright morning, I stuck my fingers in my pockets to protect them from the morning chill. In my right pocket was a piece of paper. ‘What in the world is this,’ I wondered. Guess what it was, Moose?”

 “Beats me.”

“It was a note from Ed. During the night he must have awakened, written the note, and slipped it into my pocket.”

“What did it say, Unk? Did he want you to come back to visit him or what?”

“Now, now … hold your horses; you can read it yourself while I take a walk.” Uncle Ernest then gave me the paper, which he had folded up in his wallet. It was dirty and crumpled but easily readable in bold, erect handwriting. So I wouldn’t forget it, I copied it down and will let you read it now. This is what Ed wrote to Uncle Ernest, Nina.

To my fair fellow, Ernie:

I extend to you my most sincere appreciation

for the splendid evening we have spent together.

Your companionship and conviviality brightened

what would have been just another of the dreary

midnights of insufferable solitude.

Here is a poem for you that has never been

published and never will be. You are the only

human who has ever set eyes upon it. I hope

You like it, Ernie, my friend.

A most heartfelt farewell,

Ed

The Hound

(for my friend, Ernie)

Long into the night I lie and listen

To the hollow howl of the black dog.

His moans smother my music

And his wail

Rumbles, rumbles over my song.

Each night his baying loudens

And soon I will see him slink into view.

Eyes glinting in the moonlight,

And hackles raised in recognition,

He will skulk towards me

On sunken haunches.

His heavy head will froth its juices,

 And closing in, his breath

Will implant the stench.

One night he will pounce

And bury fangs into my throat,

Spattering the life,

Gnawing the bone.

Isn’t this a strange, somber gift, Nina? Maybe someday, when you are a lot older and in college, you can explain it to old Pop Pop. For now, though, let’s return to those olden days of Uncle Ernest. In a trance from reading this amazing note, I didn’t hear Uncle Ernest return. The creaking swing brought me back to reality, though, and after a hearty pull on his glass, he continued his story.

[To be continued Tuesday, 3/20/2012]

Tales of Uncle Ernest – (Continued) Section 4, “The Fish” – Chapter 6

Tales of Uncle Ernest – (Continued)

Section 4, “The Fish” – Chapter 6

This time, when Uncle Ernest stumbled through the door for a new supply, I jumped off the swing, grabbed a stone and heaved it at a blackbird perched on the electric wire overhead. I just nicked its tail feathers, so I flung myself, spread-eagle and face-up on the grass. Off in the sky towards town, over the field of saplings, I watched five or six buzzards circling, circling overhead. Some dead animal lies exposed in that field, I thought, but those buzzards would soon clean it up.

Those birds are all feathers, Nina, so don’t even try to shoot one, and if you ever see one sick or wounded, don’t try to help him, because he’ll vomit all over you. Then Mom and Dad will have to burn your clothes because the smell would never come out. When I was eleven or twelve or so, my buddy and I went out shooting with our .22 rifles. Oh, we shot a starling or two, shot at a squirrel, and probably shot at a couple dozen buzzards during the course of the afternoon.

And do you know, Nina, that when a bullet hit one of those old birds—and I hit a lot of them—it would zip right through the feathers, not hurting the buzzard at all because his body is so small compared to all his feathers. Despite all the times I hit them in my life, I never even hurt one of them; they would just flap their wings a little faster and sail off in another direction.

I had yet to learn those things, lying there in the grass so many years ago, and looking over I saw Uncle Ernest settling into the swing, so I bolted over to join him, anxious to hear some more of his story. “You know, Moose, it’s sad to think about how many good athletes never get a chance to prove themselves; George is a good example of that for sure.”

“What did you and Ed do next?”

“Well, it was starting to get dark so Ed invited me to stay the night with him in his garret, as he called it. When we arrived at his street I noticed how the houses were built right up against one another, so close that a guy could spit out his window and it would land in his neighbor’s living room. ‘Repair with me, my noble companion, to my humble abode, and we will confront the evening with superb camaraderie,’ Ed said to me with a flourish of his top hat. As you can see, Moose, Ed still talked like a goof, but I let it pass; I couldn’t help liking him despite his problem.

“Ed lived on the third floor, so we started climbing the stairs. You wouldn’t believe how narrow, steep, and crooked they were. Ed was quite small so he climbed them like a monkey. I’m average-sized but I had a tough time ascending them. A large man wouldn’t make them at all. When we entered Ed’s room I was alarmed to see how small it was. There were gaps between the wooden floor boards and jagged cracks in the plastered walls and ceiling.

“Stacked about the room were large volumes of books, and on a platform in the corner was a large, pure-white stature of a person's head and shoulders. It looked like a curly-headed woman to me. After Ed lighted a candle I took a look at the head more closely and saw what looked like dried bird droppings encrusted on the forehead, nose, and lips.”

“Gross, Unk!”

“Yeah, right,” Uncle Ernest agreed, “and I was afraid to ask Ed how they got there. Ed then set the candle on a small card table that he was using for a desk. He had several stacks of writing paper, some written on and some not. He unloaded a chair that had books piled four feet high and offered me a seat. He sat in a straight, hard-backed chair, looked at me with those intense eyes, and said, ‘Make yourself at home, my good man.’ ” [To be continued Tuesday, 3/16/2012]

Tales of Uncle Ernest – (Continued) Section 4, “The Fish” – Chapter 5

Tales of Uncle Ernest – (Continued)

Section 4, “The Fish” – Chapter 5

After Uncle Ernest slid from the seat to amble once again into the house, I just sat there enjoying the view of the countryside. Our swing faced west, and beyond our fairly large corn field, to the right of Dave Herman’s mammoth oak tree (which still stands, Nina, remind me to show it to you), our immense orange ball settled patiently and inexorably into the line of trees on the horizon.

The evening was coming to an end; it was enchanting, and as Uncle Ernest eased into the swing with the exaggerated softness of the infirm, I was anxious for him to continue his tale.

“Hey Unk, what did you and Ed do next?”

“Well, Moose,” he replied, setting his drink down temporarily between his legs on the empty seat, “what happened next is pretty incredible. Next to the bar where we heard that bouncy piano music was a large field. I mean it was huge, probably several acres or so. As we strolled past the field we heard somebody, yelling so we looked over and saw a guy standing by a wire backstop with a baseball in his right hand and a baseball bat in his left hand. He was yelling, ‘Hey, youse guys! Come the crap over here, will ya?’

“When we walked over we saw that he was a big guy wearing a funny-looking cap and knickers. He was young, about fourteen or fifteen, had a broad, flat nose, and thick lips. As we walked up to him I could see a determined look in his eyes. Bouncing the ball off his biceps playfully, he said, ‘Do ya wanna have some fun?’ When Ed and I nodded, the kid asked me if I was right handed.

“When I said I was he said, ‘All right, then, you pitch to me, and you, Shorty,’ patting Ed on the shoulder, ‘run out into right field and shag the flies.’ Well, Moose, Ed scampered out about 300 feet and I climbed the mound with the bucket of balls that the kid had. Luckily, I had a good arm at the time, sometimes firing that apple over ninety miles an hour.

“The kid was left handed and stood up to the plate looking goofy in that cap and knickers. Now, I had pitched some good hard ball in my younger days, and thought that this kid was a real turkey. ‘Why, he won’t touch a ball I throw,’ I thought. I’ll tell you what, Moose; he really fooled me. There must have been twenty five balls in that bucket, and that kid hit the first one far, far over Ed’s head. Ed had to go back another 200 feet or so to catch the booming shots he hit.

“I couldn’t believe it, because I was throwing really hard. I threw curves, drops, screwballs, and some change-ups. It was always the same; he clobbered them all! We collected the balls and repeated this three or four times, until my arm wore out. Poor Ed was badly out of shape so he was really huffing and puffing.

“When we finished, I shook the kid’s hand and told him that with a bat like that he should try to get on an organized team somewhere. The kid grinned and said that some scout from Boston was supposed to come down to talk to his dad about signing him to a contract. He said that his dad owned the bar next door. By golly, Moose, I’ve seen some good hitters in my time, but I’ve never seen anyone ever hit a ball that far, so I’ll bet he was able to get on a team somewhere and make a few bucks.

“After we said so-long and were walking away, he waved and I called back, ‘By the way, kid, what’s your name anyhow?’ Still leaning on his bat he yelled back, ‘George, George Roof.’ So that tells us, Moose, that he never amounted to anything, because I’ve never heard of any ballplayer by that name. Have you?”

“Nope,” I answered. “He probably stayed on and took over his father’s liquor business.”  [To be continued Tuesday, 3/13/2012]

Tales of Uncle Ernest – (Continued)

Section 4, “The Fish” – Chapter 4

When Uncle Ernest returned I asked him about the man he had sat next to on the curb. “Well, he was all hunched over with his head down, writing in a notebook. As I sat next to him, saying, ‘Good afternoon, sir,’ he raised his head slowly and said, ‘Pleasure to make your acquaintance, my good man.’ He was wearing a discolored white shirt, a black, soiled jacket (even though it was summer), and a black top hat.

“He had a jet-black mustache that accentuated his exceedingly white face, a face, it seemed, that had never been exposed to sunlight. And something else, something really bizarre … his eyes were small and pure black, and when he looked at me I felt as if those eyes were penetrating into the essence of my being.”

“Geez, Unk, that’s scary, it makes me feel kind of weird.”

“Oh, he was all right though, Moose,” Uncle Ernest said, calming me down with a pat on the back. “He said his name was Ed, and that he lived in the city and would be ‘delighted’ to show me around. That’s how he expressed it, Moose; he said, ‘Why I’d be delighted to enlighten you with the singular beauty of our fine metropolis, with its exquisite buildings and manifestations of melancholy elegance, which will engender in your countenance a brilliance of awareness unheard of in recent times.’

“As you may imagine, I was quite disturbed by this weird talk, and I know what you’re thinking, and you’re right, I don’t take that kind of language from most people and I would’ve decked him on the spot, but he said it so naturally and with such conviction that I let it pass. He seemed like a nice enough sort and I thought that maybe I could teach him to speak right if I hung around with him for a while. He declined my offer to share one of my beers so I knew from that that he wasn’t a wino, but he did say that he might ‘succumb’ to one later for the sake of ‘conviviality.’

“We began walking around Baltimore and the first thing we passed was the big library where Ed said he spent a lot of his time. Then we pushed open and peered into a crowded barroom where loud honky-tonk piano music was playing. Ed pointed to the side where a black man was playing energetically. Ed said that the type of music he played was called ‘towels,’ and that the players name was Scotty, I think he said.

“We stood there listening for a while and I really enjoyed it. Most of the towels he played were lively and bouncy, but a few were slow, soft, and dreamy. Ed explained that Scotty wrote all the pieces himself, but said that he would never become well-known except for this limited area of Baltimore. What a shame, Moose; I could have jived to those towels all night long and sure wish I could hear them again some time.” [To be continued Friday, 3/9/2012]

Tales of Uncle Ernest – (Continued) Section 4, “The Fish” – Chapter 3

Tales of Uncle Ernest – (Continued)

Section 4, “The Fish” – Chapter 3

Uncle Ernest plodded through the door to reload his glass, leaving me alone on my airplane swing. I’ll tell you, Nina, I rode that swing so high and hard that I scared even myself. Soaring high, I felt the swing slow down gradually despite my hard pulling. Then I looked over my shoulder and it was just Uncle Ernest slowing it down with his hand on the chain so he could sit down.

“Yep, Moose,” he began, after a strong pull on his drink, “the first thing I did was to find one of those Salvation Army places where they give you soup and clean clothes. After a bath in a tin tub with cold water and a big bar of yellow soap, fresh clothes and shoes (that didn’t quite fit), and a full belly of potato soup, I strolled down the streets of Baltimore just for the fun of it. Lucky for me I didn’t lose the money I had in my old shorts, so I bought a six pack of beer at the first bar I came across.

“Swinging my National Bo with every step, I took in the peculiar sights of that old city; I was on top of the world, Moose. Then a strange thing happened. As I started to cross the street I looked over and saw a man sitting on the curb, next to a fire hydrant. I wanted company in this unfamiliar city so I sat down next to him.”

When Uncle Ernest went in to freshen his drink again, I saw a chicken hawk glide effortlessly over our corn field. It flew north, displaying its tail feathers and white breast with majestic grace—the ruler of the sky. And do you know, Nina, I didn’t say a word, but just enjoyed the sight. I knew that if Pop knew the hawk was out there he would do what he had done the day before. I had been in the living room, roughing up my little brother, when I heard a loud “Thump, thump, thump” that shook the house. And then I realized where the racket came from. Pop, in his bathrobe and slippers, was descending the long staircase two steps at a time.

He didn’t say a thing but had his twelve gauge shotgun in the present-arms position. I heard the screen door slam and then the thunderous report of the blast. Seconds later he walked through the living room with the gun lowered in one hand, shaking his head dejectedly. “The dang thing got away,” he drawled, as he trod heavily back up the stairs. Pop thought the hawks swooped down to carry away his chickens; his hatred was deep.  [To be continued Tuesday, 3/6/2012]

Tales of Uncle Ernest – (Continued) Section 4, “The Fish” – Chapter 2

Tales of Uncle Ernest – (Continued)

Section 4, “The Fish” – Chapter 2

Returning with his drink, Uncle Ernest looked full of vigor. “Yeah, Moose, when I woke up I knew just what to do. In case of an emergency I always kept five or six big cigars and a couple of lighters wrapped in a plastic bag in the pockets of my shorts. Flicking on the lighter, I saw some sardines sloshing around at my feet. I hesitate to tell you this, but I ate a couple, I was so hungry. They were tasty but too salty for my palate, for they made me so thirsty that I pulled out my flask of Ole Granddad from my big pocket and took a few swigs to calm my nerves. And do you know, Moose, I felt better right away. Then I began my plan. Do you know what I had in mind?”

“I sure do!” I blurted. “You’re going to use those cigars to make him sneeze you out.”

“Absolutely true. I smoked all six of those stogies down to a half-inch butt, and after each one I crawled up and ground out the burning butt on his tonsils. On the sixth cigar, that old channel cat started to wheeze; then he sneezed me out … whoosh! I was propelled to the surface in a hurry, where I took a big breath of fresh air.

“Treading water and looking all around, I noticed a ship that looked familiar for some reason and swam towards it. The water was filthy on the surface, covered with garbage and burnt oil. When I reached the ship I realized that it was docked in a harbor. I swam to a piling next to it and shinnied up. Ahhh, I was finally on dry land. Moose, do you know why that ship looked familiar to me?”

“No idea.”

“That ship happened to be the U.S.S. Constellation, and when I looked off in the distance I saw the Shot Tower so I knew where I was. That old catfish had taken me to Baltimore. I was in the famous Baltimore Harbor.”

“Unbelievable Unk! That catty took you fifty or sixty miles underwater. I certainly wouldn’t want to travel that way. How did you feel when you got on dry land? Were you sick?”

“Aww no, Moose, but I sure was wet and smelly,” Uncle Ernest said, holding his nose. “Believe it or not, I was very hungry, and when I get back I’ll tell you what I did.”   [To be continued Friday, 3/2/2012]

Tales of Uncle Ernest – (Continued) Section 4, “The Fish” – Chapter 1

Tales of Uncle Ernest – (Continued)

Section 4, “The Fish” – Chapter 1

Uncle Ernest’s favorite hangout was the Hole-in-the-Wall, on the South Side of the canal in the great town of Chesapeake City. Well one morning, Nina, after he had been drinking all night, and was enjoying a six pack for breakfast, he told Birdie the Bartender that he had decided to jump off the canal's lift bridge. When Birdie asked him why in the world he would want to kill himself, Uncle Ernest answered that he had no intentions of suicide, but wanted to jump just for the fun of it, the challenge of it.

Uncle Ernest said that he was sure he could survive the plunge, and that he was going to make the leap as soon as he finished breakfast. Sure enough, Nina, five minutes after Uncle Ernest left the Hole-in-the-Wall bar, Birdie saw him at the top of the span, ready to jump. Some customers came in and by the time Birdie was able to look back Uncle Ernest had disappeared, so Birdie just shook his head at the silliness of Uncle Ernest’s boasting. 

But one summer afternoon, as Uncle Ernest and I sat on our front porch swing—the swing I always abused by riding it lengthwise like an airplane and crashing it into the house and the porch post—I asked him about the jumping incident. And, Nina, here's the story I got from him.

       “That’s right, Moose,” he said, knuckling my head as always; “I had always wanted to jump off that bridge … so I did it. I had to gauge the wind direction, which was blowing towards Ticktown, so I had to walk about forty feet towards Chesapeake City in order to land in the middle of the canal. I’d hate to hit old Joe Schaefer's wharf and bust all those new planks.”

“Weren’t you scared up there, Unk?” I asked him, as the swing slowed to a gentle sway.

“Yeah, I was a little, but it was something I had inside of me; I had to do the deed. I took off my shoes and all my clothes except for my fatigue shorts, walked carefully to the edge, took a deep breath, put my left hand high in the air, held my nose with my right, and jumped. It was a good balanced jump, too; my body hit straight up and I felt the water envelop me. As I descended I knew everything was all right and opened my eyes.”

“Wow! What did you see? Were there any sharks down there?”

“No indeed, Moose; there was something worse.”

As I stared at him in awe, he slid his feet on the concrete floor to stop the swing and got off to go into the house to freshen his drink. With the swing to myself, I turned and grabbed the chain that held it on one side and rode it like an airplane. Pulling hard, I propelled the swing high and fast. It then swayed from side to side, crashed the porch post on the left and slammed the house front on the right. Slowing the swing down, I heard Pop yell from the living room: “Cut that out, you fool! Are you trying to knock the house down?”

Grabbing and stopping the swing, Uncle Ernest slid heavily in next to me and continued his tale. “As I swam with the current towards the surface—now Moose, this is hard for you to imagine but—I saw a hideous creature about two feet from my head. I have never seen anything that ugly in my entire life, not even in Cecil County. It was the wide-open mouth of a Mississippi catfish, an immense channel cat. My guess is that it was about twelve feet long. I just picked up the sight of its whiskers and the large dorsal fin before it swallowed me whole.

“What a feeling! I was inside the fish’s belly. It was utterly dark and I could hear the deep gurgling sounds of his digestive system. Surprisingly, I was able to breathe because of the supply of air in the cavity. Everything was all slimy but was more comfortable than you might think, Moose. The catty then began swimming extremely fast, because I could feel the tail undulating forcefully. Since there was nothing I could do, I just rested my head on a piece of driftwood and took a nap.”

“What! You took a nap? How could you have possibly done that, Unk? You were swallowed by a fish for craps sake!”

“Well, Moose my boy, it was the stress working on me, for whenever I’m stressed out I have to sleep, and then everything seems to work out. And, do you know what? My mind worked out a plan during that nap. I’ll tell you all about it after I fire up this empty glass.” When Uncle Ernest slipped off, I stretched out lengthwise on the swing, mouth open with amazement.  [To be continued Tuesday, 2/28/2012]