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]