Night Spooks

     Me and Uncle Emil have been hashing this story out for a few days. First it goes one way, then it up and reverses course. Can't seem to make up its mind. What we've been talking about is a pretty touchy subject for both of us. Kinda personal. Not something you can lay your hands on and its been around us for a couple of decades. When you let something like that out of the closet, you don't know where its gonna go and who it'll mess with on the way. And who'll decide to come back on you, thinking you're whining, being downright offensive or are totally Looney Tunes, when all you're doing is making an out of the ordinary observation. So please take the following as a case of merely stating the facts. At least so far as those facts are seen by a couple of Minnesotans sitting in a canoe on Hovde Lake up by the inland sea called Leech (with a couple of pauses now and then for the finest dead fisherman in the northwoods to play and land a small bass).
     One second. Before I wade into this story I've got to warn you that Uncle Emil has his serious side. And he's not exactly who you think he might be. Once in a while his ramblings might even have a point of thought hidden in the absurdity. Sometimes those points are down there so far below the surface that I miss them completely. But that's my fault for not playing close attention. Balancing that out is his tendency to lighten up the load once in a while. He knows my brain has its soft spots and can't take too much wisdom in one sitting. So he'll shovel in a little at a time kinda like throwing food scraps on a compost heap. Over time and a few turnings, even garbage becomes gold. The man knows what he's doing so I give him his due.
     Like I said a few entries ago, I'm not sure who made up who. Emil's name is a case in point. When I was wandering around Pequot Lakes gnawing on that turkey leg, it was more like I was trying to remember his name than make one up. When the name Emil popped up, there was no doubt. A 'that's it' moment. The name Emil had been hanging around the shadows of my life for as long as I could remember, just waiting to be recalled and given a face. I instinctively like its Old World, man of the soil, sound. Can't say going to grade school in the '50s would have been a good time to have such a name. But for an uncle of age, on the money. Emil knew who he was, where he was coming from and why he was there. It was me who had to be clued in. I be a little slow on the uptake.
     When I was young, dumb and not willing to listen to anyone without a figurative club in his hand, Emil was there. Biding his time, waiting for me to ripen a bit. Since I wouldn't listen, once in a while, at just the right moment, he'd give me a push in the right direction. What might seem to be the dumbest thing I could do under a set of circumstances would sometimes work out to be the best move I could have made. Three days AWOL on the way to Vietnam prevented me from joining up with my training Company. They went to the 101st Airborne Division and a little bit of hell on Hamburger Hill. Instead I found myself winging south to the 9th Infantry, the first division pulled out of The Nam. The how, why or meaning is up to you. Me? I think Uncle Emil had his finger in that pie.
     Lets get one thing straight. Our shoe sizes may differ but I'm about the same as most everyone else. Maybe with a little different angle of outlook but more or less the same. We're all in the same boat. Live, die, look for a meal and a little love in between. Variations on a theme. And if you're a man kind of person, the odds are you're dumb as a stump until your mid-thirties. I know for a fact I was. In those early years you think and act like you're gonna live forever and pretty much consider yourself God's unique gift to Life just waiting for recognition. That might be a little harsh but no more than a little. However, the flow of Life says an outlook like that can't go on forever. Either it goes or you go.
     At least that was the gist of what me and Emil were talkin' about up on Hovde. The bass there aren't all that big. A thin two pounds is about tops. Not enough for them to eat, I suspect. On the day in question we were floating in the mouth of a little bay on the southwest side. The bass were hunkered down in the cabbage beds. There were a lot of them and all seemed anxious to spit our spinners in mid-air. Uncle Emil had a fondness for my squirrel tail, red bladed lures and lucky for him, so did the bass. Emil would break into rambles as the mood struck him. After a few of them I noticed the stories came after every third fish. Never varied. A Dutchman is a Dutchman. He'd invariably lip that third bass, hold it up sideways to admire the color, chuckle, give it an outward flip, rinse his hand, wipe it on his right thigh, pull out his ancient Zippo with RSN engraved on body then fire up a Lucky. The following conversation came in the four minute smoke breaks between popping drags.
     "Remember that dream you had back eight or nine years after you killed me off just to win twenty bucks at a liar's contest? Twenty bucks? Think about that. Even the Bible says you should get at least thirty. By eight or nine years I'm referring to 1984. You wiped me out in 2002 your time and 1975 my time. Don't do the math. Truth be known, I'd been hanging around for your whole life but that contest was the moment I figured it was time for me to introduce myself, thank you. 'Spose it seems kind of odd that someone who never was, at least flesh and blood never was, could up and die. Believe me, I have just as hard a time getting the sense of it as you do. But here's my take on it. You ready for this?
     I didn't exist until you were born. And even then I was nothing but a faceless form. Guess I didn't need a face at that time. But I would someday. Back then I could see you, give you a nudge in the right direction once in a while. But talk to you, do stuff like this with you ? Not in the cards.
     Then somehow, someway you opened up a door for me and I walked through. At that very moment I was given a face and a body. I was born on that January, 1984 night. Born with as much of a past of my own as a newborn infant has. Nuthin'. Zip. So I grabbed on to whatever was floating around in your brain that more or less fit what I was gonna let you in on. But I screwed up. Had too much to say. Tried to get it all out at once. Came out as so much gobblety-gook. Sorry about that. But it sure as hell got your attention didn't it?
     Hang on a second while I fire up another coffin nail... Let me skip ahead to the liar's contest. Up to that day I was no more than the memory you had of that dream and also the next one. You thought those were three separate guys but they were all me. Well not exactly but we'll get to that later. In the years after, I sure liked it when you visited once in a while to ask me questions. And you have to admit I never hesitated to give you answers. Honest answers. On the money, God's truth answers. You didn't always like what you heard but you knew I wasn't peein' on your shoes and telling you it was raining. But I still wasn't the real me, Emil. It as during the turkey leg munching saunter - I sure do like that word, saunter. Makes me feel like I'm making a pilgrimage - that the two of us came to an agreement as to who I really was. I needed you for that to happen. Do you understand what I'm saying? Lord knows you needed me. And I needed you so that I could have a life. Think of me as one of those paint-by-numbers. Until you opened the door, I was a blank sheet. I needed you to draw in the outlines of my life, then give it color. Together, we'll either get it done - whatever that 'it' might be - or we won't. Not even sure if it matters one way or the other.
     Lets see now. January 1984. You're 36, almost 37. Broken ribs. Going back to work in a couple of days. Hadn't smoked dope for three days. I believe those numbers are accurate. Also on target was the feeling you had that smoking weed was becoming a problem. No one else seemed to notice anything out of the ordinary concerning your behavior but you sure did. Trouble was, you were too much of a wimp to make any big changes on your own. Typical baby boomer crap. Life too easy for your own good.
     Your smoking closed the doors of your mind to a life with any real meaning. All those pseudo-intellectuals talking about drugs opening up the mind had their heads up their groovy kiesters. And you fell for their spiel simply to justify stupidity. Life calls for a person to stand on his own. No crutches. No regrets. But your doors were closed. And locked from the inside by some hookah wielding trollop who'd made herself at home in a place she had no right to be. And you'd invited her in. Dumbass move boy.
     Then those three days came along. One small door opened, I stuck my foot in and set the kind of grandiose scene you'd take seriously. So would the little lady. For whatever reason you'd cleared your head, it was you who pushed it open (even though I might have given you a little nudge in the right direction).
     Heckuva night, wasn't it? How many times have you been through thunder, lightning and a snowstorm at the same time? Don't look at me. I had nothing to do with the weather. Really. That was all Mother Nature's doing and she's way too grand an entity for the likes of me. Gonna have another smoke. You finish the story. I'll cut in when necessary."
     "I found myself in a mountain scene. Felt like the Alps though I had no idea what the Alps might feel like. Vaguely I remember ascending from meadow to meadow. When I ran into any problems, there were always animals around to help me. Can't say that was much more than a feeling I had. Don't remember any specifics at all. The same with the climb. When I reached the top, I knew I'd come up through twelve levels of meadows but had no specific recollection of the how. Once in the twelfth meadow, I came upon a stone tower built on the rock ascent at the end of the valley. It also had twelve levels. On the twelfth story I found a seer, a kind of alchemist dressed like he'd stepped out of the pages of Faust."
     Emil: "Yup. that was me. All that symbolically mystical twelfth level of the twelfth level was just the kind of mumbo-jumbo someone like you would fall for. The outfit I chose out of the corners of your memory was a kind of Nostradamus meets Whatever's-in-the-Closet. Nice touch, don't you think?"
     Coolfront: "Gotta admit, I fell for it. You standing at that font-like stand, face hidden by your hood, water swirling away. Then explaining in great detail the meaning of the four quadrants on the sides the font's basin. Didn't have a clue what you were saying. It all came at me so fast. But I knew it was important. Just couldn't understand a single word of it."
     Emil: "Easy enough. I was simply telling you, in detail, your entire life, beginning to end. But it all came out at once. Words piled on words piled on words. I also knew you were a generation from any understanding of it. Not a problem. Like you said yourself, you were under the impression you were God's gift to creation but had no reason for thinking so. Classic bonehead. Like you could understand anything of meaning at the time (Emil laughs softly)."
     Coolfront: "So who was the old guy in the salt and pepper suit?"
     Emil: "That was you. About the same as I am you. I realize at first you thought it was your father. A little later your ego kicked in and you thought it was Carl Jung. Double wrong. But it was only you. When a person is born, their whole life is locked into place. At least so far as the major events that effect the flow of existence. Lucky for us that's not as much as you might think. On the individual level, the piss-ant level, the one you can relate to, there's a wise old man in every baby boy's future. The function of that geezer is to coerce the boy into living long enough to become the geezer. Kind of strange isn't it? I am you and you are me but we're each of us our own man until we become one at the end. Somewhere in the middle, between the boy and the old man, we meet. Some write that meeting off as so much BS. Go out and buy a Corvette. You didn't."
     Coolfront: "I appreciate your gift of the green and gold t-shirt with 'Why Do I Smoke?' written on the front. Running t-shirts were always important to me so I took the gift as my task. Turned out that the 'Why' was the challenge. Took a lot of digging and a lot of steps backward. Can't say I ever did find the answer. But the thought and work involved made it worthwhile. A man needs work. On all levels. A life unquestioned and all that happy crap....
     And then a few days later you go and get Biblical on me."
     Emil: (Laughs and lights another Lucky. All that smoking'll be the death of him. Guffaw.) "Someone should give me a medal for that, don't you think? Dressing up like Moses and showing you how to draw water from the ground with a staff. That's a hoot if there ever was one. Nearly strained a muscle pattin' myself on the back. Then you got the water flowing on your own, first try. I sure didn't see that coming. Made me smile. But when you fell into your own itty-bitty stream and thought you'd be swept into Deadman Lake. Now that made me laugh. 'Course you were too busy sputtering and squealing like a little girl to notice. How you could be so skilled and so clumsy at the same time was beyond me. Like Snoopy retrieving soap bubbles between his teeth and always tripping in the way back."
     Coolfront: "Thanks a lot old man. Of course, then the wind roared and blew the big white pine down onto the cabin. I'll give you a 9.75 on the imagery. Crushed flat all the work I'd put into that structure. When I crawled into the wreckage, I immediately figured there was no point repairing the damage. Then,  I saw the wood stove, fire and all, driven deep down in the earth where it could do no harm. At that moment I knew my life was not beyond repair. I looked around and I was alone."
     Emil: "But you ain't now. So pass me another spinner. I've bent this one so many times its like to break in half. A red one if its not too much trouble for your Royal Boneheadedness."