Saturday, May 16, 2020

The Indian Died

Did I Mention


The Indian died, about ten miles north of Waldingford Bridges, a location well known for its refusal to participate in a feature film. Y’know which one. So we hitched a ride with an eighteen wheeler ( the part of the vehicle in which we sat featured 10 of the 18 wheels) hauling frozen beef lungs to a dog food plant in Taswell. Auntie (I rarely called her that because when I used that form of address she’d snarl and split like a Eastern Diamond Back thinking Johnny Burgoyne was marching through her swamp) nonetheless, she was fascinated with all of the gauges on the dash that the driver used to ascertain the operating condition of the vehicle. Also, she was mesmerized by the chords hanging from the ceiling of the cab. The sway of one chord had a particularly hypnotic affect. The trucker let my aunt haul on one as we passed a pasture filled with grazing dairy stock. As thrilled as she was with her new toy, the cows paid little attention to the sound, and she found that exasperating. (Our driver mentioned that the cows had become insured to the sound of an air horn. Farmers had trained them thusly to prevent the souring of product. My aunt remained unfazed.) As well, as we entered the depot at Taswell, she hauled on the lanyard to the air horn and lumpers scattered. Later, one old timer related a story about how, when he was much younger working the docks in Gloucester, a ship’s horn sounded and so frightened the crane operator, the operator jerked the controls too quickly and a pallet loaded with 50 pound cartons of cheese, tipped and fell into the harbor. A woman, somewhat renowned for her bird portraits, photographing sea birds perched on a nearby wharf recorded the event and the roll of film was seized by the authorities pending the outcome of the law suit certain to be filed. As of this date, the suit remains unsettled but the film, appraised at $50 at the time its execution, is now valued at hundreds of thousands. Appraisers feel that the price will rise even higher as the death of the eminent artist is imminent. 

©2020 Ed Touchette

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