by John Davis Collins @1997 All Rights Reserved By John F. Clennan, Esq.
"Who yells 'Cuba libre' today, Doc, tell me that!" An old scratchy voice
cried out in a darkened bedroom. "Seems to have changed."
"Johnny, 'Tain no reason why you lain in that there bed 60 years. No
reason you can't pull yourself up, walk down town astrolling into my
dispensary like everybody else do." The doctor reached hard to strain for
the throaty deep masculine voice of the mountain country, as he pushed his
homberg back to the fringes of his retreating scalp to wipe the Indian summer
sweat off his forehead.
The doctor's booming voice distracted me. I was lining up toy cars on
the fringes of the worn carpet in the living room. It was an unexpected
Indian summer vacation in the mountain town. I looked into the darkened room
where the doctor scratched a belly that was beginning to pop the buttons of
his white shirt. The doctor stared at me pensively and turned to the barely
visible outline of the old man lying in the bed.
"Johnny," Doc whispered, "be careful of talking like that in front of the
young folk ... Heck, with the scare up and down the Eastern seaboard, the
cousins sent back all the kids from as far north as New York and Boston to
the southland ..." the doctor leaned forward and said at low breath. "Like
the Ruskies will lit New York and Richmond and leave us mining for coal."
"Today them Ruskies shout `Cuba Libre' ... 60 years ago it was us," the
old man declared.
"Pick up the toys, before the doc trips and falls," my Aunt Sally passing
by cautioned me, "and I have two lazy mountain goats abed 'stead of one." As
Sally stood erect in the doorway, I could only see a shadow, her long black
dress marked by her starched white apron.
"Nothing keeps Grand-daddy Johnny abed, Doc," Sally declared, " 'cept the
lazy goat," Sally deliberately straightened her white apron, "don't want to
... ain't that right grand-daddy? You took to your bed as soon as you came
back ... unblemished ... by the Spanish War in ought-ought."
"Cuba libre!" The old man shouted. "That's what we yelled at the top of
the hill. And I looked down at the river and all the dead ... if the Spanish
fleet had stayed put and pounded the hill with their guns ... the Spanish
would have been yelling 'Cuba libre' at us."
"Nasty old mountain goat ... yelled 'Cuba libre' from the top of a hill
... and come back here to your bed to rest ..." Aunt Sally roared
emphatically, "for 60 years ... Imagine if all the boys from the two wars
with Germany did the same ...," Aunt Sally tested Johnny.
The Doc's professional smile broke into a belly laugh and soon even Aunt
Sally and I joined in. The old darkened house rang with laughter at Aunt
Sally's and Great Grand-daddy Johnny's daily routine .. especially well
played for the visiting doctor.
Feigned annoyance crept into the shadowy figure's scratchy voice. "And
you, Mr. Doctor. What's your complaint? Ain't like you don't get your pay."
The doctor subsided into a bemused smile, leaning back in his chair.
"Did I hear Uncle Sam upped the pension of your boys from the Spanish War to
... a whopping $15 per month. I can't hardly wait to retire on your largess,
but, in the meantime," doc turned to Aunt Sally, "your mint tea and butter
milk ... and if you don't mind, a jar of your preserves might be nice."
Aunt Sally was ready with a plain paper sack. "I throw in some apple
pie, your wife liked last time and a loaf of my honey bread."
Aunt Sally turned to the doctor and looked toward me and whispered, "will it
be peace or war, Doc?"
The doc paused gravely and shook his head. "The US and the Ruskies," the
Doc sighed deeply, "will do some hottin' and yammering, yelling 'Cuba Libre'
at each other, shake hands and cool it off ... the doc slapped his knees
empathetically and rose. "I hope ... so do the school board ... with all the
extra kids we have behind desks in our little school house, it better work
out that way."
The doc stretched and leaned over the bed, "Ain't nothing doctoring can do
for you Johnny," doctor patted the bed as he rose. "Til you decide if you
want to live for the time left to you or just die right in the bed."
"Cuba libre," said the scratch voice in the bed as the shadowy figure rolled over.