Tales of Uncle Ernest – (Continued) "The Pig" Chapter 5

Tales of Uncle Ernest – (Continued)

Section 3, “The Pig” – Chapter 5

With that, Uncle Ernest went in for another drink and I jumped up and began to wrestle with Wiggsey, my big Chesapeake Bay Retriever. At supper time, Wiggsey would always be under our table, thumping our legs and the chair legs with his long, wagging tail. Wiggsey was always on the alert for table scraps that we’d toss under to him, catching them with a snap of his jaws before they hit the floor. He’d sometimes lick my plate so clean, that it would make less work for Granny, for she could place it right back on the shelf, clean as a whistle. He was also a fine, ever-present, portable napkin. For whenever I ate fried chicken or ribs, I could reach down and wipe my hands on his thick coat.

And Wiggsey could certainly hold his own in a fight. I once watched him kill a huge groundhog after a long, fierce battle. I was amazed that the groundhog could fight so viciously. And do you know what? I skinned and gutted that hog and got Granny to bake it for dinner. To tell the truth, Nina, I don’t recommend groundhog meat; if it’s ever offered to you, pass it by. It has the strongest taste of any wild game I have ever eaten.

Then Uncle Ernest ambled out, played with Wiggsey for a while, and continued his tale. “One evening, Moose, a couple of days after Rocco and I enjoyed the partying life in Rio, I went into Dolph’s hovel just to see if he was as miserable as Ricco had said he was. When I walked in, before I could even say ‘Hi,’ he bellowed, ‘Ock toong, lowlife,’ so I stood up a little straighter from the shock. ‘Are you ready to serve me,’ he sneered in a heavy German accent. ‘Sure thing,’ I answered, humoring him. ‘Sitsen zee alf,’ he commanded. ‘Ick vant eina challenge.’

“And, bragging that he was a great genius of tactics and strategy, he pulled out a chess board and had me help him set up the pieces. He looked at me with small, black, darting eyes, eyes that suited his arrogant voice, eyes of fear and guilt, eyes that peered from within that ridiculous hair-covered face. I could tell that I was dealing with a lunatic. He said that we would play the best out of seven games to decide the battle, as he called it. Well, Moose, he won the first two games. After each victory he raised his hands in the air and cried, ‘Superior! I am superior, the best of the master race.’ "

In the background, Nina, as Uncle Ernest's voice rumbled on, I could hear, as night descended on the farm, the gradually-increasing drone of untold crickets, katydids, frogs, and other living things.

“Then I won the third and he won the fourth," Uncle Ernest went on, "and with that win, he jumped up, snapped his heels together, thrust his arm straight out in some kind of weird salute, and began goose stepping all around the room. Moose, I thought he was going nuts. But then he sat down, sneered at me and said, ‘Let’s go, dumbkopf; Ich vill annihilate you now sehr snell!’ And I must admit that I thought I would lose the match, because I had to win the next three games in a row. But guess what? I did just that. He tried to over-extend his men, tried to advance his pieces in too many directions, and I was able to figure him out and checkmate him three games in a row.

“Well, Dolph was furious. He started shouting obscenities in German, said that I had cheated, and that he would rule the world, and then he screamed that his kind would rule the world for a thousand years, whatever that meant, and as I tried to get out of that shack, away from that madman, he grabbed a German rifle equipped with a glistening bayonet and came after me.”

       Uncle Ernest hesitated for a few seconds for effect. The vocal night creatures were louder now, not having to compete with his voice as he related his story, as I sat there entranced with apprehension. Then he continued. “Dolph lunged at my body and, stepping aside, using his own force against him, I flipped him through the air. When he came down he landed on the bayonet and it went through his neck and severed his carotid artery. He died almost immediately, and they buried him next to the manure pile. I felt a bit responsible, yet he really brought about his own end. But could you imagine, Moose, what would happen if that maniac had become a leader of some country that had military power?”

“That would have been a disaster all right,” I said, “because a lot of people would have probably gotten killed for sure.”

“I came on home after that and, do you know, Brazil was fun, but I was glad to be back in the good old U.S. of A.” It was almost fully dark now, and the din of the creatures—as we swung gently, gently, silently—seemed to take control of my brain. And when I looked at Uncle Ernest’s face I could just make out the biggest smile I had ever seen him make. [To be continued Tuesday, 2/21/2012]