Tales of Uncle Ernest – (Continued) "The Boat" Chapter 6

Tales of Uncle Ernest – (Continued)

Section 2, “The Boat” – Chapter 6

And do you know, Nina, that it was at that same Burnt House that Pop also taught me how to fish? After rigging my bamboo pole with string, float, hook, and sinker, he helped me get the squirming, alarmed worm on the hook. Then he stood behind me to help me cast the rig into the water.

“Watch the float, Boy,” he said; “watch the float and when it bobs under you have a bite and can pull in the fish.” Well, Nina, I’ll remember this till the day I pass on to my Heavenly Rewards. When the float bobbed, I snatched the pole as hard as I could and knocked Pop—who, as you recall, was standing directly behind me—square on the forehead.

Geez! That must have hurt something fierce, and it made me feel terrible. My, but he was mad at me. He cussed a blue streak and held his head. But, you know, the thing I remember most, besides feeling awful for what I had done, was that Pop tried not to act as mad as he was. Despite the obvious pain, he held back his anger to save my feelings and to save, for me, the rest of the fishing day. Why, Nina, do you suppose that this event, an incident from so many, many years ago, is still so vivid in my mind that it could have happened yesterday?

Then, interrupting my bitter-sweet thoughts, Uncle Ernest returned, sat down with a sigh, and continued the tale of his journey. “Yeah, Moose, Rocco and I caught that cattle boat just in time. Rocco had known in advance that it was bound for Rio de Janeiro, the festive city of Brazil. We steamed down the Atlantic, passing Miami and then Key West. When we were off the coast of Cuba, Rocco and I couldn’t sleep, so we were out on deck enjoying the moonlight as it sparkled and danced on the churning wake.”

“It was about four in the morning so no one else was around. Then, all of a sudden we heard someone crying out in Spanish. Looking over the side towards the bow, we saw a man in the water hugging a whiskey barrel with one hand and flailing around with the other, trying to move closer to our boat. Rocco threw him a rope with a life ring attached and we hauled him in.

“I mean to tell you, he was an awful looking sight. He had long, scraggly hair, a full mustache and beard, and he was wearing army fatigues and leather boots. We took him back to our quarters next to the cattle stalls and dried him off. ‘Why you no picka me up sooner? You dumbino loco ignoramisos,’ he screamed, and when I said something to him in English he yelled with annoyance, ‘No specka da Englais, mucho stupido amigo.’

“To be sure, Moose, I could tell when I had been insulted, so I let Rocco, who knew Spanish, translate what the ungrateful fellow was bellowing. The guy then left for a while and returned with a box of big cigars that he must have stolen from one of the sailors or something. He fired one up, not bothering to offer us one for sure, and began to talk in an agitated, arrogant way, blowing thick smoke in our faces all the while.

“Unlike Winnie, who smoked his cigars with class and dignity, this character, who never told us his name, smoked in a vulgar, slovenly manner. He puffed greedily, flicking ashes everywhere as he sneered at us obnoxiously. Rocco wanted to go for him and toss him back overboard, but I reasoned, ‘Naaa, let it go, Rocco; if anybody were to see us we’d be in deep trouble.’

“The guy said that he hated the leader of Cuba, and that he was going to meet his brother in Columbia, go back to the hills of Cuba, train an army, and take over the country. At this point he started saying some pretty nasty things about the U.S., so I couldn’t take it any longer. Rocco and I kicked his butt out of our quarters and told him to stay out or we’d throw him back overboard where he belonged.

“The next day we were out on deck, where we saw the bearded boob get into a fight with a Cuban fellow from Miami. They were going at it pretty hard until the Miami guy started to get the better of our “friend,” who then pulled out a jackknife and sliced up the Miami guy something pitiful. One of the deck hands finally broke it up, and later that day they put the bearded fool off at the next stop.

“The last we saw of him he was being dragged off the boat, beard flowing in the breeze, and yelling in Spanish, “Death to the imperialist swine.” Do you know, Moose, I sure hope that somebody shot that goon, because if he were ever able to take over a country—which, obviously, would be unlikely—it would be a real shame. Can you imagine the damage a lout like that could do if he were ever in charge of a town, let alone a country?”

“Good riddance to that clown,” I said. “I’m just glad he didn’t try to knife you or Rocco. What happened next, Unk? Did you get to Brazil in one piece?”

“Sure did, Moose, but you’ll have to take a rain check on the rest of the story,” he said, knuckling my head before he went inside to prepare for a night of partying in the bars of Wilmington.

“Nuts!” I thought. “Who knows how long I’ll have to wait before I could find out what happened in Brazil?”

[To be continued Tuesday, 1/31/2012]