Days of Uncle Ernest - Chesapeake City and the World – Lizzie, Chapter 7

Days of Uncle Ernest -

Chesapeake City and the World – Lizzie, Chapter 7

“Those bloody heads are terrible, Unk,” I yelled, as he headed towards the screen door once again, and when I heard it bang I ran out to the pump trough, stuck my bare feet in, and pumped some cool water all over them.

When Uncle Ernest returned he brought me an ice-cold Coke from the ice box. “Here’s to a fine afternoon,” he said, as he clinked his glass against my bottle. Then he raised his glass high and pronounced:

Through the lips,

Past the gums,

Watch out stomach.

Here it comes.

Nina, I wish you could have heard how pompously he recited those lines. As the cold, sweet, carbonated soda watered my eyes and hurt my teeth on the way down, I thought about how lucky I was to have such a clever uncle. “Yeah, Moose, Lizzie was pretty subdued for a while as we sailed on up the Thumes. After a while we tacked east into the mouth of a small, beautiful river.

“ ‘What on earth happened to those poor swans? What turned them black?’ I asked as we glided into a peaceful little cove.

“ ‘Why nothing, Ernie,’ she frowned, ‘these black swans are all along this river, and as far as I know this is the only place in the world where they exist.’

“ ‘Well,’ I said, ‘it’s news to me; they sure are an unusual sight, but pretty though.’

“ ‘I have a friend who lives farther up the river in a little town called Stratfield; we’ll visit him tomorrow and see his swans if you like,’ she explained, as we took down the sails, moored the skiff, and waded to shore towards a small thatched-roof cottage about 200 feet away.

“After a fine meal of roast swan, baked trout, barbecued pork (the whole pig was in the middle of the table, with an apple in its mouth), blood pudding, Irish potatoes, and three-foot long loaves of French bread, we walked hand-in-hand along the shore of that serene, enchanted river.”

“Wait a minute, Unk,” I said, shaking his arm. “What was that you said about some kind of pudding? Did you say what I thought you said … ‘blood?’ ”

“That's right, blood pudding,” he answered, as I made a face and blurted, “Yuck!”

“Awww no, Moose, it was delicious,” he said, grinning his head off. “The cook was from France, Lizzie told me, and was considered the best chef in the whole world. After she showed me the rest of the area, which she called her sanctuary from the world, we sat on a cypress log and watched the setting sun cast its colors on the river as it descended.

        “ ‘It's beautiful!’ I said, but when I looked at her I saw an anguished face with tears flooding her eyes. One was migrating slowly down her cheek, and as I wiped it away the sobbing started in rhythmic pulses until I enveloped her in my arms, smothering the sobs until they gradually subsided into erratic, muffled sniffles. I’ll tell you, Moose, it never fails to tear me up when a woman or child cries like that. Earth-hardened jackal that I am, it still saddens me so.”

“Right, Unk,” I said, unimpressed. “But what in the world was she bellerin' about anyhow?”

“Here’s what I got out of her after a half hour of comforting: ‘Ernie, I’m sorry, but I can’t stop thinking about the woman whose head we saw stuck on that stake on the bridge we passed under. She was so nice and so affectionate. Oh my! It’s political, Ernie, political and it’s awful.’ ”

“ ‘Well, Liz, was she a friend of yours?’ I asked softly.”

“ ‘Yes, and she was wonderful. She used to call me Little Queenie.’ ”

“ ‘What was her name?’ ”

“ ‘Oh my, Ernie. Oh my! Her name was Annie,’ she said, as the sobbing resumed.”

“ ‘I’m awfully sorry, Lizzie,’ I said, soothing her once again. She must have been a special friend for sure.’ ”

“ ‘Ernie! Oh Ernie!’ she sobbed, as her eyes welled up again, ‘she’s … she's … she’s my mother.’ ” [To be continued Tuesday, 8/14/2012]