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]