T'ursday January 16, 2020

The Rhode House: Part 1

"Yah, I seen a bus loaded vit' dem go by da town 'all 'ere, nut two 'ours ago," Sven continued."

“Did ya know da tin man’s 'omestead 'as been sold to a 'uge family of kids?" Sven said, cracking the last egg against the bottom of the skillet.
 
“Nooo," said Ula, his curiosity aroused. Coffee steamed from his mug aside his dish, as he pulled off his honkin' tall knee-high boots as he sat at Sven's table, and put them to dry on some newspapers spread on the floor.
 
“Yah, I seen a bus loaded vit 'em go by da town 'all ‘ere, nut two ‘ours ago,” Sven continued, watching his three eggs fry against a mountain of lean thick-cut smoked maple-flavored bacon. “I’d gone up to da mailbox ta put a letter in. Kids vere ‘angin’ out dem vindows. Dere vas a bunch of yellin’ goin’ on too. Caught me attention, it did.”
 
“Vere vill dey live dere? Dere ain’t been a livable space dere fer over t’irty years," said Ula, knowing the location four miles west of the townhall quite well. He had trapped many a gopher by those tin-covered buildings and sandpits there, and bought his Trapper Truck with the bounty money he earned. Wannaska Township paid five bucks apiece for pocket gophers and an amibitous guy could get rich if he knew what he was doing; as the official Wannaska Township Trapper, Ula did.
 
“Ve shud drive up dere after breakfast an’ velcome dem to da community, eh?” said Sven, padding his bacon into a pillow of paper towels to absorb the grease. “I’m vond’rin’ vat in da verld brot dem up ‘ere to dis part of da country? Da gopher bounty?”
 
“Hmmm, could be, could be, if dat family’s as big as you t’ink," Ula mused, stirring his coffee. Dey’ll need ta feed ‘em sum how.  Vunder vere dey came frum? I’ll take vun of dose eggs.”
 
“Know who cud tell us ‘bout dem pepple . . .,” said Sven, opening the refrigerator and getting the ketchup out for Ula’s one egg. “ . . . Festus Marvinson, dats who. As township constable, ‘e’s got a nose fer anyt’ing. Toast 's up!”
 
“Aye, dat’s vat got ‘em elected. Tuk,” Ula agreed, nodding to Sven as he took the ketchup bottle from his friend’s hand. “Dat, an’ ‘aving a cool lookin’ Ford Falcon stationvagon cop car vit’ lights’n everyt’ing. Even ’as got a fookin’ siren an’ uses it fer every simple t’ing, da damn fool.”

“Yah, despite ‘is vast annoyin’ qualities, ‘es da man to ask ‘bout most of anyt’ing ‘roun’ ‘ere,” Sven said, offering Ula more coffee, then pouring coffee into his own saucer. “But it’s ‘is yob. I sleep pretty secure every night, knowin’ ‘e’s on da beat.”
 
Ula stopped the fork of egg and ketchup just short of his mouth and looked at Sven, pointedly, “Yah, dat an’ ‘avin’ loaded guns all over yer ‘ouse, an’ by yer bed.”
 
Pulling a chair out at the table, Sven said, “Vell Bear ain’t much fer bein’ a guard dog anymore; but I cun ‘ear ‘is muscles tense up ven da house ‘is all quiet like, den I know sumt’in’s up. Nuttin’ gits by ‘im.”
 
“Yah, an’ dat loaded gun business is only after Charley Blackbird scolded ya fer nut keepin’ dem dat vay," said Ula, painstakingly wiping his mustache and beard of egg and toast. " 'e tol’ ya, “‘Dere’s no yuse fer a gun iff’n it ain’t loaded,’” an’ udder verds to dat effect likely. Charley ain’t vun to use hyperbole ven it cums to guns, ‘e gits right to da point.”
 
“I knew better too. I vud’ve ‘it dat coyote iff’n I ‘ad me gun loaded vit shells an’ nut yust standin’ in da corner gath’rin’ dust dere,” Sven said, before he lifted his saucer of coffee to his lips, careful like. “Dint t’ink I’d git mor’n two shots at ‘em, an’ ‘ere I ‘ad t’ree! ‘e vas scared more den ‘urt. Uffdah, I ain’t da marksman I yused to be.”
 
“Sose you t’ink Festus’ll know sum’tin ‘bout dem pepple?” queried Ula, taking his dishes to the sink. Sven finished his two eggs, toast, and most of the bacon, then tossed the last piece to Bear, who was sleeping under the table, and who awoke just before the bacon met his nose, and gulped it down.
 
Zipping up his sixty-inch laced knee-high boots, one then the other, Ula grunted, bent over as he was, “Ve goin’ over to Festus’s first? Mebbe ‘e’s sleepin’ after verkin’ all night, eh? You drivin’ or am I?”
 

Knorr Helmerson gave Sven his Guinness toque

Sven pulled on his red and black plaid mackinaw, slipped into his Sorels, snugged his Guinness toque down over his ears that he’d got from Knorr Helmerson, then turned to Ula and said, “I’ll be drivin’, sos ve git dere vit out incident, an’ not spinnin' in circles on a narrow road or slidin' sidevays on black ice ven ve pass sum buddy ven ve is approachin’ a bridge, goin’ ova an ova pass or unda a unda pass. No sirree, I’ll be doin’ da drivin’."

“Vait a minute!” Ula exclaimed, all indignant like. “Hoo, drove in da em’rald isle in two t’ousand t’ree? Along da lef’ side of da road high ova da ocean, da dooley van kissin’ da rocks like a playin’ cards agin’ a kid’s bike spokes, BRRRPPPP! Like dat? I drove gud!”
 
“Yah, dat’s seventeen years ago man!” Sven snorted. “Ya vere but a kid, I tells ya. I cudn’t drive because you drove all da time, t’inkin’ you cud an’ I cudn’t. I neva got da chance (yust as vell too, it scar’t me to deat’, all dat wrong-way drivin’) Ve kept yellin’ at ya to stay lef’! An’ dat vun (lovely) voman who sat in da back seat, yelled da loudest. I t’oght she vas goin’ to choke you vit’ ‘er scarf. Did ya ever git ‘er name?”
 
“No small vunder, said Ula. “I t’ink she’d got into da wrong van. An’ you t’ought you vas scared.”
 
“I’ll be drivin' all da same,” affirmed Ula. “Festus at least respects me. If’n ‘e sees your car pull in dere, ‘e ‘ll probably nut get outa bed, ya l’il tree-huggin' rabbit kisser."
 
“Now vere in da sam hell did dat remark cum frum?” chuckled Sven, tossin’ the Trapper Truck keys to Ula. “I ‘aven’t been called dat, fer since before I retired.”
 
“Nut to yer face,” Ula smiled.