Emil and Pete droned on for about fifteen minutes. Seemed more like hours to me. The cars coming up behind us just got waved through. Times were different back then, no terrorists, no drugs. Just tourists, locals and fishermen like us.
Turned out the two of them went way back. Seemed my uncle made part of his living smuggling hooch across the border in the early years of Prohibition. The guards would just laugh and wave him through. They couldn't believe a sixteen year old, toe headed kid who looked about thirteen, had a cigarette dangling from his lower lip and driving a Model T truck could be doing anything worse than just being a sixteen year old with a cigarette dangling from his lower lip and driving a Model T truck. Liquor aboard? Not unless it was in his stomach.
When they finally figured it out, Emil was gutsy enough to grease their palms. And the border boys ate that up. So cute. Barely old enough for pimples and the kid's a gangster. After some discussion, they figured, what the heck, how much damage can one boy do? And fifty bucks passed in a hand shake went a long way toward paying the bills for a public servant with a family. Yup, times were tough even up in Canada.
I learned years later Emil really did have the smarts with his money. He didn't just throw it away like most of the rum runners back then. No, did all his business in cash and when the stock market tanked, went and bought up all the blue chips his ill gotten thousands would allow. It's not like that made him a rich man but come the end of his Army days in the war he never had to work for a living. Oh, my uncle held a job but only 'cause the work interested him. Bought and sold a small business in the post-war years. Emil being Emil did it the right way, sold it to his employees. Made another small pile from the exchange and invested that also. Mostly he and Lena hadn't led flashy lives and made a dollar go a long way. Traveled when they felt like it, never missed a meal or a deal and always had a roof over their heads paid for with cash.
Just before we moved on Pete leaned in the window, looked me in the eye and said, "You're one lucky kid, eh. Emil's a legend here on the border. Kept the wolf away from many a door. When he talks, you listen. Even his crazy is smart." Then we were off.
It was light up time on the road to Winnipeg. Back then I found something mystical in the way cigarette smoke drifted through sunbeams in a moving car. Wavy ghost lines ending in curlicues looked a lot like those infinitely non-repeating computer graphs of chaos I read of in later years. Whatever that means. These days smoking is considered evil and it's no longer proper to see anything good in it. Keep in mind few things are totally evil or totally good.
Odd thing was, Emil wasn't a smoker any more. "I only smoke on my Canada trips. Or if I'm in the boat and the fishing's hot. Other times tobacco kind of rips me up. My habits are something I've learned to live with. Or maybe die by. Must be a hangover from my bootlegging days. Excitement, adventure, coughing. What fun, eh?"
"Where were we Archie, me lad? Ah yes, Rapunzel, stuck up in a tower. The story says that tower was really tall. Pure horse manure. How could it be? Hair grows what? Three or four inches a year. Let's say the tower was twenty feet high. That's to the bottom of the window. Had to be at least that high or Prince Charming could've jumped in. So figure four inches a year, a foot every three, Rapunzel's about fifteen, twenty foot tower and by the time her hair is long enough our little sweetie is gray haired and seventy-five. Any taller and she's a corpse. Do you think Charming's gonna climb that hair? I sure wouldn't."
"So, the way I see it, there's no tower. No witch either. Just a lonely kid looking out her bedroom window when some young guy on a horse comes riding by. And it's no plow horse either. The guy's dressed nice, clothes are clean, colors coordinate in a dashing manner. All in all, neat as a pin. So is the horse. Must have money. Ticket out of the sticks figures Rapunzel."
"So she whistles for the guy to stop. Which he does. It's a nice day. Blue sky, light breezes. It's fall in Northern Europe and the sun hangs low. The way the light sets the young lady's hair to glowing would of made any man pull up and check it out."
"They talk a minute, she invites him up but he better not go through the front door because mama's down there and guards her kid's maidenhood like it's gold. So our Prince Charming simply climbs the downspout."
"Once inside she begins to seduce the guy. Or at least she gives it her batty-eyed best. But our hero isn't having anything to do with her charms. Just begins to stroke that hair. Then he sets to combing it and humming like he's in some kind of trance. He grabs a scissors from Rapunzel's night stand. It's a real butcher of a cutter but the guy gives her a real clean, short hairdo. Kind of a bob. Hip for the times."
"By now Rapunzel's figured out she's got a man who's more into fashion than passion, got other things on his mind besides marriage. But he sure does know his way around hair."
"Long story short, ten years pass and the two of them have a chain of beauty shoppes, with two 'p's and an 'e', throughout the kingdom. Even do the queen's hair and all the ladies of the court. They call their operation Mr. Wonderful's, make a fortune and live happily ever after. Or at least 'til they over extend their operation, have to file bankruptcy and the Black Plague kills them both."
After he's done, another Lucky Strike gets lit and it's quiet in the car. I didn't know if he was serious or not. The way he told the story he could have been giving a lecture in school. Sounded as factual as if he was reading from an encyclopedia. Me, what could I do? I was just a dumb kid so I gave him the look.
Finally Emil says, "Archie me lad, that was supposed to be funny. You could at least try to laugh. Tell you what, next time I'll give you a wink before I get started to let you know a chuckle or even a knowing smile would be appreciated."
