The can and the canoe, Part II (ghost stories)
Two weeks ago in my column, we left Jerry Stone driving home with his mother’s ashes in a rusted coffee can beside him. But what of Jerry’s dad?
At the time, the old man lived in the sunny garden flat of Jerry’s Manhattan brownstone, a comfortable home for his dotage, but a far cry from his beloved 40 acres in the woods. The man was bored, too young for “The Price is Right,” but too old, or so his doctors told him, for the stress of a busy law practice. So he stalked the park with his old box camera, shooting squirrels the only way socially acceptable in Old New York. When he wanted the thrill of earthy violence, he’d get it in a diva’s lusty vibrato at the opera; all his game birds were roasted by Lutece. But oh! How the old man longed for the great outdoors. There was one thing that made Jerry’s dad really happy: fishing.
Slap a rod and reel in his beefy palm and the man would beam with remembered pleasure. Memories of standing hip deep in a rushing stream washed over him like the chilly waters themselves. One day, Jerry took pity and said, “Dad, how about a weekend at the lakes?” With a great laugh of triumph, the old man grabbed his creel and raced Jerry to the car.
They drove straight up the highway and over the border into Quebec to a nameless little lake stocked with great big trout. The whole area was owned by an aging trapper known to everyone simply as Monsieur Alain, a free-as-a-bird codger who saved the choicest secrets of the lake for old-timers like himself and Jerry’s dad. And if you were truly among the blessed, Monsieur Alain would even come at dawn and fry up a trout or two with his home-smoked bacon and eggs, a forest feast for the lucky few.
What you couldn’t eat right then, Monsieur Alain would smoke and ship home so the essence of the North Woods would live on through snowy winters when the path through his woods was impassable. He was just packing away a dozen big ones from their successful plunder of the lake when he looked over at Jerry’s dad. The old man was slumped against the rough trunk of an ancient oak, his battered cap hiding his eyes from the glare of a brilliant day, just rising. Jerry called out to wake him, but his dad didn’t move. He was dead to the world. Literally.
What happened next was a scene out of a Coen brothers movie although the principals swear it’s true. With a court date in the morning and a good 10 hours to drive, Jerry had no time for the niceties of international paperwork. Monsieur Alain concurred. Together, they wrapped Jerry’s father into a canvas tarp as a shroud and tucked his body into the ancient birch-bark canoe he loved as his coffin. Tenderly, together they hoisted it on top of the car. Securely fastened with stout rope, Jerry drove off rumbling down the rutted fire road toward the highway, the border and the fast interstate home.
Imagine how like a felon Jerry must have felt when a U.S. Custom’s agent asked what he had to declare. Jerry says he was still sweating when he saw the familiar blue gambrel roof of a Howard Johnson’s just a few miles into New York State. He pulled in for coffee, leaving the car locked in the farthest reaches of the parking lot.
When he came out, the car was gone.
As his moral dilemma deepened, Jerry did what any respectable attorney with a court date might have done. He caught a cab to the airport and flew home. Days passed and then weeks. Finally, the phone call he’d been dreading came from the upstate police.
“Hell, Mr. Stone?” drawled a cheerful voice. “I’m pleased to tell you we’ve found your car. I didn’t see it on any missing auto report, though.”
“My dad took it fishing,” Jerry fibbed, “We haven’t heard from him in a few days…”
The canoe was never found. Nor, was Jerry’s dad. After a few years, a court declared the man dead and the case of the missing canoe was closed forever.
Smoked Trout Mousse
When I was little, my aunt would show up at Thanksgiving with smoked marlin. She loved deep-sea fishing and a ship captain used to smoke her catch so she could bring it home. This is her recipe- a pinch of this; a splash of that and taste until you like it.
2 lb. smoked trout (or any smoked fish)
1 pkg. cream cheese
2 Tbs. mayonnaise
2 Tbs. minced onion
1 tsp. lime or lemon juice
1 tsp. hot pepper sauce
1 tsp. Worcestershire sauce (or prepared horseradish)
Salt and pepper to taste
1. Puree in a food processor. Serve as an appetizer with crackers and/or crudités.