 
DAVID SHATH SQUARE Chapter Four
BY THE TIME I GOT BACK, my grandfather's situation was critical. His mouth was level with the surface of the bog and his face covered with black flies and mosquitoes. Every now and then he'd smack at the insects with a free hand and suck up a mouthful of slimy water.
"Christ Almighty, Swede Hansen's homebrew tastes better than this swamp swill.
You boys better figure some way to get me out of this fix before I drown in this witches' brew."
After each outburst he'd shut his mouth fast to prevent another stream of sludge from entering his lungs.
"Well, at least his harangues have been reduced to precise statements of fact," my father said. His attempt at humor died quickly. The group of men clustered around the jitney were too despondent to laugh at a weak joke. My father looked away embarrassed and began to brush black flies off of Jeb's face.
I felt bad for my father as I waded into the swamp because he was trying to make the best of a bad situation. I handed the saw and the homebrew to Lee Chang. He seemed puzzled at first and then disbelieving. But before he could object, my father turned to me and said, "Hardy, you're the only one who can swim. I want you to get under water and see if you can unhook the radiator hose from the engine. Maybe Jeb can use it as a snorkel."
To tell the truth, I wasn't happy about sticking my head in that murky water, but I loved my grandfather and would make any sacrifice to save him. So I waded to the front of the jitney where the engine was and took a deep breath before submerging myself.
The water was lukewarm as it oozed over my face and head. I had to shut my eyes because they filled with grit when I kept them open. I groped about in the dark until I found the engine compartment, yanked it open and located the radiator hose. By then my lungs were bursting so I returned to the surface.
When I got my eyes open, I saw the men were standing close to Jeb, ready to supply him with lungsful of oxygen when he was no longer capable of breathing on his own. My father tried to hold his head above water, even though the sinking jitney continued to pull it under.
"Hell's elongated bells, Jude," I heard him complain, "if you don't let go my neck it's going to stretch like a chicken's at the chopping block. You want me to strangle before I drown?"
"Suit yourself," said my father, releasing his grip. There was gagging as Jeb inhaled another draught of swamp water and tried to clear it from his lungs.
"Now why'd you go and do a stupid thing like that, Judas? Grab hold my head before I suck up this entire swamp."
"Be quiet and listen to me, Jeb," my father said. "I want you to drink some of Swede Hansen's homebrew and try to relax."
He took the sealer jar from Lee Chang and gave it to my grandfather. "How in Sam Hell did you get this?" he asked, taking long, grateful pulls on the jar. "Tastes like shellac. Got a kick like the back end of Lee Chang's grandmother," he said, handing the empty quart back to the Chinaman.
"Mr. Jeb, it is very bad luck to speak evil of the departed," I heard Lee Chang say as I dove back under water. I had decided to get the hose off by brute force, reasoning the clamps were probably as rusty as every other part of the motor and a good yank would break them loose. As it turned out, a light pull was sufficient. I returned to the surface jubilant, waving the hose above my head. But my joy was tempered by what I saw.
My grandfather's head was immersed in the swamp; air bubbles appeared on the surface. My father and Lee Chang managed to lift his head above water long enough for my father to press his lips against my grandfather's, blowing fresh oxygen into his lungs.
"Hardy, get that hose over here now," my father yelled. I waded through the swamp and handed the black rubber hose to Lee Chang. It was two feet long and about two inches in diameter; big for a snorkel but it was all we had.
"We're going to have to get his head above water one more time so we can get the snorkel in his mouth," said my father. "When I count three, Hardy and I will lift his head and Lee Chang will place the snorkel. The rest of you try and lift this corner of the jitney, although I doubt it will budge."
On my father's count, we managed to get Jeb's mouth above water long enough for Lee Chang to shove the snorkel in his mouth -- but not before my grandfather managed a few angry words: "Don't anyone kiss me again. You hear me, Judas? I'd rather be kissed by the rear end of a porcupine than by a..."
And then his head was back under water, although we could still hear him muttering through the open end of the hose. After a while, he began to sing.
"Thank God he's drunk," my father said, as he took the saw from Lee Chang and examined the teeth. Then he handed the saw to me.
"I hate to ask you to do this Hardy," he said, "but you're the only one who can stay under water long enough to get the job done."
"I won't do it..." I started to say, but just then a commotion interrupted my protest. The Swede had arrived in his truck, along with an entourage of barking dogs. I noticed Thoreena sat in the front seat beside her father.
To Chapter Five
Copyright © 1998 David Square/Log Cabin Chronicles/10.97 |
