A Chilling Tale

 

 

 

 

The boys were playing cowboys and Indians down by the creek, shooting each other with rifles they’d whittled out of old fence rails.  They worked their way along a creek that didn’t have a name to where it ran into Sizemore Creek, which was substantial enough to be named after the area’s founding father.  Its waters collected in some sizable pools along the way, so they stopped to skip some rocks across and jumped in to beat the growing heat. 

About then their Aunt Grace, who lived across the field from where they were swimming, decided to make some ice cream with the hand cranked ice cream maker she’d bought out of the Sears and Roebuck Catalog.  She set up in the front yard under the elderberry tree and sent her husband, the boys’ Uncle Warren, into town to fetch a block of ice.  While she was waiting, she mixed up the ice cream makings and sliced a couple of peaches into it.  Uncle Warren got back and took to the block with an ice pick while Aunt Grace poured the mixture into the can inside ice cream maker.  Uncle Warren put ice around the can and Aunt Grace covered it with a gunnysack and started cranking.   With all that work staring him in the face, Uncle Warren said he had to go off across the field to do one thing or another, but she knew he’d be back in time to eat it.

The boys saw what she was doing from across the field, and the idea occurred to them that they’d like some of that ice cream.  They walked over to get some, but she heard them coming.  There was no way those boys could do anything without raising a ruckus. 

     While Aunt Grace was a kind, gentle person, she had one failing.  She was stingy, especially when it came to something she was partial to like peach ice cream.  Her first inclination was to hide the ice cream maker, but being out in the open like she was limited her options, so she sat on it, hiding it under the folds of her dress.  The boys saw what she was doing, which didn’t surprise them any.  They figured she’d try to find some way to hide it, but when she sat on that bucket of ice, new possibilities came to mind.

“Afternoon Aunt Grace,” they said as they came into the yard.

“Howdy boys.”  Her bottom was already cold, and the burlap didn’t help any.

“Whacha doin’ sittin’ out here?” they asked.

“Thought I’d take in some air ‘fore it got too hot.”

“Mama often does that.”

“Your mama’s a wise woman.”

“You think it’s gonna get hotter’n it was yesterday?”

“It just might.”

“Where’s Uncle Warren?”

“Yonder acrost the field.”

Sitting on the ice was getting painful.  She wanted the boys to leave so she could stand up, but she couldn’t think of how to get rid of them without giving the game away, so she sat there squirming.

The boys weren’t going anywhere.  They were having too much fun.

“How’s Uncle Warren’s health?”

 “Tolerable.”

 The burlap was beginning to itch.  She squirmed some more and lifted her bottom up off the ice by pushing down on the sides of the ice cream maker, trying to act casual about it.

“I got to go the outhouse,” Ellis said.  He got up and started around back.

“You go right on, then.”  Aunt Grace was miserable.  The burlap was freezing to her bottom.

“Ellis thinks he’s got the grippe.”

“Mmmm.”

“Don’t tell mama.  He’d rather be sick than take the cure.” 

It was all they could do to keep from laughing.  She was about ready to stand up, then they could have their ice cream, though watching her squirm might have been better.  They were on the edge of victory when Uncle Warren walked around the corner and saw what was going on.

“What you boys up to?”

“We was playin’ nearby and decided to pay a visit.”

“You just keep on goin’ then,” he said.   “We’re too busy to stop and talk to the likes of you.”

“Aw Uncle Warren.”

“Go on now.  Get.”

They walked off unhappy they didn’t get any ice cream but were pleased just the same at the fun they’d had watching Aunt Grace squirm on that bucket of ice.

When they’d gone, she stood and rubbed her bottom, then walked over and pulled a towel off the clothesline.  “Turn ‘round now,” she said to Uncle Warren, and when he did she lifted her dress and dried herself off. 

“You okay?”

“I am.  Thought those boys’d never leave.  I suspect you deserve some ice cream for rescuin’ me.”

“I guess I do.”

They sat in the shade of the elderberry tree eating ice cream and were pleased with each other for the rest of the afternoon.

 

 

 

 

The Gangster

 

Mary Nell’s labor lasted all day.  When her contractions were five minutes apart, she told me to get a move on and I took her to the hospital.  They put her on a gurney and wheeled her away, and there wasn’t anything for me to do but wait, so that’s what I did.  An hour or so later a nurse told me nothing was going to happen for a while and suggested I get something to eat.

I took her advice and drove down Atlantic Boulevard into Long Beach.  I stopped at the first place I came to, which was a bar and grill.  I nursed a beer at the bar while my burger was cooking and had another with my meal.  As I began to relax for the first time that day, another customer came in and sat next to me.  He ordered a Manhattan, glanced at me, and nodded.  I nodded back.  He pulled out a pack of Chesterfields and offered me one.

“Thanks,” I said.  “I need it.”

“Why’s that?” he asked as he shook another out for himself.

“My wife’s having a baby.  She’s in labor right now over at Bixby Knolls Hospital.  They told me to get something to eat and come back in a couple of hours.”

I couldn’t take my eyes off him.  He looked familiar, but I couldn’t place him.  He was thin, pale, and had sleepy blue eyes.  His dark, thinning hair was slicked back, and above his narrow mouth his nose looked like he had gone a few rounds in the ring.  That would have been some years back because he looked to be in his fifties.  I took another drag on my cigarette.  He smiled and offered his congratulations.

“Don’t worry,” he said, “it’s nerve wracking, but its nothing compared to what she’s going through.  I’ve been in your shoes four times now.  The first one’s the hardest, you’ll see.  Everything’s going to be fine.”

We laughed and talked, and he bought me another beer.  Then he sent me back to the hospital.  I thanked him for his kindness and was almost out the door when my curiosity got the best of me.   

“Excuse me,” I said, “but have we met?  You look familiar.”

“We haven’t met,” he said, “but you’ve probably seen me.  I’m an actor.”

“Yeah.”  The light bulb went on.  “You play a gangster.”

“That’s right, I’m the bad guy.  I usually get killed half way through the movie.”

“Well, next time I hope you make it to the end.”

He lifted his glass in salute and said, “Me too.”

Our first son was born just after midnight.  He weighed nine pounds, six ounces and was twenty-one inches long.  I was so excited I couldn’t sleep and was at Woody’s Sporting Goods when it opened the next morning.  I bought my new son a baseball glove.  Mary Nell thought it was a silly thing to buy for a baby, but I believe it’s never too early to get them ready for the big leagues.

I wanted to name him Monte, Monte Mustain.  No middle name.  It reminded me of my days in the CCC, but Mary Nell wouldn’t hear of it.  “I don’t like it,” she said.  “It sounds like a cowboy’s name, and I won’t let a son of mine have a name like that.”

I told her about the CCC again, but she didn’t care. She didn’t have any sense of  history.

“I think we should name him Michael. Michael Joseph Mustain.”

I knew I was beaten, so I agreed, gave her a hug, and changed the subject.

“Last night after I brought you to the hospital, I went out for supper at a place over on Atlantic.  It turned out that the man I sat next to was an actor.  He bought me a drink.”

“What’s his name?”

I wanted to say Monte, but thought better of it.  “I don’t know.”

“You mean you had a drink with a movie star and don’t know his name?”

“If he was a movie star, I wouldn’t have to ask his name.  I’d already know it.  He was just an actor.  I doubt if anyone knows his name.”

We quickly realized his name wasn’t important and lost interest in the subject.  Instead we shared our excitement about our new baby and cried with joy until visiting hours were over.  Then I went to the nursery to watch my son sleep. 

Mike is a grown man now with a child of his own.  The world has changed considerably since then, but some things have remained the same.  I still love Mary Nell and have been true to her all these years, and my heart still fills with joy when my boys are happy.  That goes double for my granddaughter.  And sometimes, late at night when I can’t sleep, I might watch an old movie on television.  From time to time I see a familiar face take a bullet in the gut, and as I watch him die, I wish I’d have asked him his name all those years ago.