Grandfather's Ballade of the Two Brothers

“Grandpa, tell me a cowboy story?”
“Okay Cindy. This is the simplest cowboy story I know, and that’s cause it’s all true:
“Crocodile Slims walked in to the saloon whistling the melody from Bach’s 17th Cello Suite. You know the one?”
Cindy whistled: “shu-shu shu, shu-shu shu, shiu-shu-shu-shu-shu-shu-shoo…”. Grandpa said, “Yup, that’s the one. It was Crocodile’s favorite. When he was sad, he’d hum a few bars of Gluck’s ‘le endorphine de appoggiature’.”
“Good choice,” Cindy said.
“You bet. Anyway, Crocodile walked in with a tune at his lips, and whom did his eye catch but his best girl Okra, called so because she was Irish. And Okra was waltzing with a stranger, someone not from the town.”
“Uh-oh!”

“Croc bust in: ‘Wut’s yer name, feller?’.
‘Tex McAlligatorius Rubinstein. What chu want?’
‘Yer dancin’ with my gurl.’

“All at once, the great cowboy Croc reached into the other man’s eye and scooped out his eyeball using only his left thumb. It was a grizzly act committed by a hardened man.”
“Eww, gross Grandpa!”
“Listen little lady, you asked for a cowboy story, and I’m telling you the simplest one I know! Now let’s see, where was I? Oh!
“So needless to say, there was much hubbub in the sa-loon,”
“Say it right, Grandpa.”
“…in the saloon, and people were hubbing ub. No one realized how exacting the Dainty Franciscan could…”
“Huh?”
“…”
“What did you say?” Cindy asked.
“Crocodile Slims was known throughout the West as the Dainty Franciscan. Now you see my child, this is not so much because he himself was dainty, it has more to do with the fact that it is difficult to be a steely, tough man from San Francisco on a national stage, much as it is hard to be a patient, fuzzy person from Brooklyn.”
“Oh.”
“As I was saying, the folks at the tavern were a bit aghast and decided they would form a posse, with Okra’s permission of course, to round up the Slims. You see Crocodile had a brother named Pterodactyl Slims, and the two of them were some of the meanest, cruelest, most direct toughie-toughs running around north of the blessed Rio Grande. The two ran together and they were known by the moniker ‘The Dainty Franciscan his terrible brother, Dinosaur Almighty’.
“Now the crux of the story lies in the fact that the Slims didn’t see themselves as being such horrible scoundrels. Why, they say themselves more as artistes.”
“Is that like an artist?”
“Yes, yes, my bird. Pterodactyl wrote songs and Crocodile would write the words. Real pretty songs, songs about loving the horse you depend on, songs with real interesting harmonic minor passages, songs that really came from some place special. Saint Francis himself sighed a few times, that’s how pretty they were. But since they didn’t know people in town real well other than Okra, nobody knew this side of the Slims brothers. In their mind, so much of the scrappin’ and tearin’ it up they did was on account of people not respecting their sensitive temperaments.”
“What’s temperament?” Cindy said.
“Well, it’s like temperature, but it’s in your head, and it has nothing to do with heat.”
“Okay.”
“When the people at the tavern called Croc ‘Dainty’, he couldn’t stand that it was supposed to be ironic, because as his poetry showed, deep down he was pretty dainty. Being misunderstood really drove him up the walls.”

“Oh dad, what is that smell? You smell like an eleh-men-ahry school teacher!”
“What does that mean?” Cindy said.
“Listen, I’m telling the girl a story, you wanna butt out here?”
“What does that mean, smell like an elemen-tary school teacher?”
“It’s nothing. Good night.” Sheila slammed the generation gap open.
“I still don’t get what that means.”
“Pay your mother no mind. Where’d we leave off? Oh, Croc and his brother Pterodactyl were about to get rounded up by the posse, aha! But first! First the posse had to go to the priest.

‘Well, it’s about time some Posse Comitatus happened to get those nasty Slims thugs,’ the priest said. ‘Nice thinking Ivory Mose Callahan.’
‘Thank you kindly, padre.’
‘But before you go, just one thing…’
“The priest spat on a passing snake and it turned, right in front of their eyes, into a lariat.”

“Whooaa…”
“And this was no ordinary lariat, my dearest muffin, this was the fabled lariat of Saint Ignatz of Pomeranz. And the posse knew this right away. In perfect unison, they said 16 Hail Jeebuses and 5 Blessed Isaiahs in recognition of the miracle.
“‘Come on now, stop that,’ the priest insisted.”
“Now armed with their mighty lariat, the posse left the town and went off in search of our friends, the songwriter and the poet. As the passed the bank, they saw Okra weeping gently as she gave them a big waive in front of a forced smile and a thumbs up sign. Good Ol’ Nora, the mistress at the tavern, came up next to her with a blanket and a shot of whiskey. Wake up a second young lady, I’m still talking!”

Cindy blinked a few times.
“Round about this time, the boys were down at Butte Flats, staying at the tavern of Emit Yuschenko, Purveyor of Truth. Emit was fixing them some nice egg white omelets and some greens. Pterodactyl liked his over easy with some hammed grits, and Crocodile took his greens in garlic and a little mint sauce. Those big apes were chowin’ down like it was Party time on Nob Hill, makin’ a big ol’ slopp all over Emit’s upholstery, etc. etc.”

“Just then, a young guy comes crashing in, interrupting the boys’ eating:

‘Mister Croc! It’s the boys from the town! They’ve formed up a posse and they’re a-comin’ for yas!’

“Pterodactyl spat and then Crocodile spat even meaner. They looked at each other and nodded. Standing up together in one motion, their chairs shot backwards and hit the wall. They both started emitting low, complex noises and gnashing around, upending the table and the remains of the ham grits. Emit walked in and yelled, ‘Boys! Take it easy! Destroying my tavern will get you no where!’”
Cindy rolled over, having drooled a little.
“When the Slimses stepped outside, there was a line of scowling men with stubble and bullwhips, spaced out evenly in a semi-circle so as to pin the boys against the tavern. Inside, Emit was crossing himself in the Russian Orthodox fashion and weeping gently, reminiscent of Okra. But Croc played it cool. He said,

‘Howdy. Whut can I do you boys fer?’
‘We’ve called you out today Croc ‘cause you and yer brother have been nothing but trouble in our peace-loving, law-abiding vale.’
‘S’at so? Huh huh. Well I reckon then you want to clean us up or run us out, eh?’

“Pterodactyl clicked his boots together and held his hands just above his hips, fingers moving. Dusty Samuel, the best shot in the posse, put his hand on his gun’s hilt. Unc’ Trev’, the best roper in town, pull on his lucky pair of chaps. But nobody saw what was coming next… what was coming next… oh come on, pumpkin, this is the good part.”
“There’s gonna be a show down, Grandpa?”
“Well… I’m gonna tell you what’s gonna happen, but you gotta stay awake!”
“Okayblurbbbbrbr…” Cindy’s eyes were closed.
“Well next what happened was that those muscular Slims boys were suddenly caught within the holy lasso, which was expertly tightened and had that saintly glow about it.

‘Repent Croc! Repent for what you did to that poor man and his eyeball!’
‘Feel the holiness of St. Ignatz and confess to your heinousness!’
‘Yeah! Do it!’

“But Crocodile Slims wasn’t saying anything to anyone. He and Pterodactyl struggled mightily and tried to loose the lariat. Pterodactyl’s boot came off in the gnashing and hit Carolina Hokum right upside the head. Hokum went down, and the semi-circle fell apart when the men rushed to the aide of the fallen comrade, and boys used this as their chance. Cantoring as a beast with four legs to their left, the Slims Brothers made a run for it.”
Cindy perked up a bit and braced herself against the bed with her two elbows.
“While running, Croc’s tongue was flappin’ in the breeze, leaving caustic spit on the holy lariat. Poor Mose Callahan was being dragged along, unable to reach for his six-shoot. The rest of the posse was so torn up between the boys makin’ a run for it and Carolina Hokum being conked on the head that their aim was not by any means true, and bullets missed the Slim Boys with a wide range of incorrectnesses. As Crocodile and Pterodactyl moved to a gallop, Mose lost his grip on the lariat, but by this time, the posse had its wits back and pursued the fiends on horseback.”
“This is very long. I thought you said it was simple.”
“Simple is an attitude, my peach, not a set length. On the chase went, and the Slimses wound slowly towards the river, juking out of the path of cactuses and prairie dogs. The lariat began to come apart from boys’ excessive spit, but they stayed in four-legged formation because they knew it’d be faster. But speed was not going to save these boys; soon they could see that they were approaching a cliff. They skidded to a halt and the posse, minus Carolina of course, surrounded them.

‘Alright men, let’s finish this off and shove these outlaws over this here cliff.’ Mose said.
‘Just like St. Ignatz woulda done!’
‘Yeah!’ said the posse.

“Grandpa?”
“Yes?”
“How are they gonna push them off of the cliff when the posse is surrounding them? I mean wouldn’t that mean some of the posse would go over the cliff, too?”
“You’re smart as a whip, little missy! The posse closed in their circle, cracking bullwhips and shooting bullets to show the Slims boys where not to step. But before long, they were face to face with the villains and simultaneously realized there was no way to get them over the cliff without taking a tumble themselves.”
“See, I should’ve been there with the posse.” Cindy said.
“You’ll make an excellent colonel some day, my peach, but I don’t think posse life is for you. As for the story, at this point, Croc and Pterodactyl reach out and start grabbing limbs. The ease with which Crocodile Slims had scooped out another man’s eyeball was nothing compared to the fluidity with which arms left their sockets. Later, no one could figure out how such big men could move so quickly. But lying before God, there lay the remains of the posse, unable to whip, shoot, or lasso. Just a bunch of crippled thugs from the town, unsuccessful in their attempt to put a stop to the most physically able men around.”
Cindy looked thoughtful. “What happened next?”
“Next?” her grandfather asked her. “Cindy, I told you this was a simple story. This is no epic. The sensitive bad guys got away, and that was the truth of the matter. Maybe some other time I’ll tell you more of ol’ Croc’s exploits in the grand old West.”
“No… you just made that up, no way that’s true.”
“Well, granddaughter, I wasn’t there, but neither were you.”
And with that, he turned off her light and gave her a smooch on the forehead. “G’night, Grandpa.”
“Good night Cindy. Sleep well.”

 

 

by Dave Ruder

copyright 2006