Days of Uncle Ernest - Chesapeake City and the World – Billy, Chapter 2

Days of Uncle Ernest -

Chesapeake City and the World – Billy, Chapter 2

Uncle Ernest was still a little dizzy from his big night on the town, but as time passed I could see that he was coming around pretty well and would soon be ready to continue telling me about his weird adventure with Lizzie. As he took the first, long, grateful pull on his glass that evening, I was as fidgety as usual, and anxious to hear more of his story with Lizzie in that strange country.

“What happened next, Unk? Did you go see her friend up-river?”

“We sure did, Moose,” Uncle Ernest said, reaching over to ruffle my hair as usual. “We got an early start up that small river—the Avalon I think she called it—and after about three hours we glided into the prettiest and calmest little cove you’ve ever seen in your life. It was really something! There were black and white swans, blue herons, and large bass jumping up high out of the water every now and then.

“As we approached the dock a funny-looking guy waved to us and Lizzie waved back. He was a plump, middle-aged guy with long hair, and he had a large, unruly stack of papers in his hands. He had his knickers pulled high up his thighs so he could dangle his feet and lower legs into the water.

“ ‘Greetings, Billy,’ Liz called out as we tied the boat up to the dock.

“ ‘Heartfelt salutations to you both,’  Billy replied in that bizarre accent that I was now getting used to because of talking to Lizzie so much. When we walked up to him he stood up, and his substantial pot belly was the first thing I noticed. Patting and rubbing his belly he laughed and said, ‘You can see what ales me, my friend, but I have to keep my weight out here where I can watch it.’

“I could sure tell that he was in love with words and not only that but he was smitten with Lizzie something awful. His eyes lit up when he looked at her and when he held her at arms length he looked into her eyes and said, ‘Shall I compare thee to a summer’s day?/Thou art more lovely and more temperate.’

“ ‘Cease and desist, Billy, for goodness sake,’ Lizzie protested jokingly. ‘What will Ann think?’

“ ‘Ahhh,’ he cried, dropping his hands to his sides and hanging his head in mock dejection, ‘This thought is as a death, which cannot choose/But weep to have that which it fears to lose.’ Now, Moose, you know how I like to use pretty words with the ladies, but believe me this funny-looking dufus really put me to shame. Compared to him I’m a rank amateur, a midget with words compared to giant.”

When Uncle Ernest started in for a refill I hopped on my bike again, pedaled past the chicken coop (almost hitting our feisty gray rooster who followed me sideways with his feathers ruffled up in his best fighting attitude), past the slatted corn crib and charred stable, down the garden path through the strawberries, under the osage tree (it’s still there, Nina; I’ll take you under it when you’re at the farm the next time), and finally down into the woods to the edge of the dump. The dump was pretty impressive, with its various discarded items protruding helter-skelter where they had been tossed since long before I was born till the present.

Looking out into the poplars and pines, as I sat there on my bike seat just soaking up the sounds and odors of the woods, I saw a squirrel scamper out from behind one of the large poplars. He was a beauty—a large male. I just wished that I had had my shotgun with me. Squirrel stew was a great treat in those ancient days of youth. Surprisingly, he hadn’t seen me yet, so he flicked his tail and darted his head back and forth with quick, twitching movements.

Then he descended head first and jumped effortlessly ahead thirty feet into the brush. He leaped up onto a sapling and started spinning around sideways, a gray blur of fur. He stopped and scratched his side ritualistically with his hind foot, and crouched absolutely motionless for a while, with his tail curled up like a question mark and his mid-section bent double.

When I moved my handlebars, snapping a twig, he jumped to another tree and skittered up into the leaves like a bullet. He leapt from high branch to high branch in his retreat and every time the branch would sag with his weight and spring back as he bounded off. The result was a frenzy of tremulous leaves, as he withdrew deeper and deeper into the woods until he disappeared from view.

Wrenching hard those handlebars and spinning ahead, I zipped on back to the swing, avoiding deftly the sentry rooster (who attacked me belligerently as usual at the chicken coop) and, slinging my bike down upon the gnarled roots of our maple, plopped heavily into the moving swing seat as a surprised Uncle Ernest clutched his freshened drink with the protective vigilance of a mother holding her week-old baby.  [To be continued Friday, 8/24/2012]