Roughing it with Gramp

Mama said, “How about taking a drive along the river front tonight?”

“It's not the place to be seen after dark,” said Aunt Gigi.

I felt sorry for Mama to be left here among all these sets of active teeth eating their way through mountains of food while Gramp and I climbed the Rockies and beyond in our Model T. But as Mama said that night, “It's a man's world, baby boy, a man's world, so you just be good and blow your nose often and don't let Gramp punish his liver (code words meaning “don't let him drink too much”) and write me every day.”

I said, “Of course, Mama,” and I kissed her because I loved her very much and I would miss her.

Uncle Peter wanted to give us a big send-off, roast half a deer, plank a river fish on an oak door or something like that, but Gramp begged off.

“You see, Pete, we're not used to eating so much.”

“It's nothing, old boy. Wish I had some bear steak for you.”

“Never mind; too old to digest bear.”

Aunt Gigi said to Gramp, “Tell Peter we have a bear ham left in the Spring-house on the farm.” Aunt Gigi wasn't speaking to Uncle Peter. It seems he had given one of the girls in a show a pair of garters with small diamonds on them spelling out “Rhine Beer and Lager” and she showed them every night on the stage on a pair of well-filled black silk stockings. Uncle Peter called it advertising, but Aunt Gigi called it—well, let's skip it, maybe she didn't mean it.

“Tell Gigi,” Uncle Peter said, “we ate that bear ham last Thanksgiving.” When they weren't speaking, they spoke across each other.

“Hmmm,” said Aunt Gigi, “I'm sure I never ate a drop or shred of it, but I'm Sure the girls at the St. Louis Fun House and Ballet did.”

Uncle Peter threw up his hands in despair. He did leave two bottles of Hennessy cognac in the car for us. “Medicine,” he said. “Take it for colds, chills, and damp. Never fails.”

Gramp agreed; said he preferred it to doctors. Mama kissed us both, and we said we hoped she would have a good time. We had to go downtown to get some spark plugs and then go to the express office to pick up a new tire being shipped out to us. Then, off to California, with some Hennessy on our knee.

We were missing a big dinner and we were happy about it. Minced lobster tails, jambon en croûte, shashlik caucasien, and pompano sauté meunière.

As we were driving to get our spark plugs, Gramp said. “I kind of feel bad leaving Sari in that nest of heavy feeders.”

“They're her relatives.”

“That's no excuse.”

“Was the convention fun, Gramp?”

Gramp looked at me, then looked away and played with the steering wheel, missing a trolley car by a thin hair. “The older you grow, Stevie, the quicker you'll learn it's all a dream, a bubble, and a snare. Don't be romantic about women, Stevie, like your Uncle Peter, and don't be a cynic like your grandfather. The romantics find women unfaithful, and the cynics sec their shabby little souls that would sell a man out for a place to park their big feet.”

“How shall I treat women. Gramp?” I asked. I wanted to know because one never knew what the future would hold.

“Treat 'em often.” Gramp said. “That's the best advice I can give you, and avoid meeting any like your Aunt Gigi. Avoid at all times women who are sad and a little mad in the head and those who say they adore you and then tell you how much they give and some-how never remember how much they take. But. hell, boy, you've still a year or two before you're ready to tell some-thing on long legs she's the greatest thing since Helen of Troy.”

Looking back. I guess Gramp and my Uncle Peter led a hard life, full of adventures that didn't always end neatly and romantically. I don't know if Cramp's advice ever really helped me. But that's another story, as Mr. Kipling used to say.

We finally picked up the spark plugs and then crossed town to the express office to pick up our tires. And there in the express office, next to a crate of ducks, stood Mama, her bags at her feet!

“What the h—,” said Gramp. “Damn me. Sari, they throw you out?”

“I ran away.” said Mama, kissing me on the top of the head. “I couldn't take it any more.”

“What will they think?”

“I don't care. I'm coming with you.”

Gramp grinned and lit the first cigar of the day. “Well, Sari, I don't say I blame you. I like fat women, but not as fat as you would have gotten there in a few weeks.”

“Besides,” said Mama, “Aunt Gigi didn't believe in doing anything but retaining her social position.”

“She's got a big one, too,” said Gramp, winking. “A beaut.”