Uncle Eric, known as ‘The Grouch’ since the death of our sweet Aunt Ida took his oars and left the veranda of his shack.
He went down to the estuary carrying them easily in spite of being an old man.
After hauling and shoving the old klinker built rowing boat he took off his cap, wiped his still beefy arm over his sweating brow, and hitched up his frayed shorts in exasperation.
Looking about he saw two ‘louts’(also known as hooligans or skollies) in his opinion but reckoned ‘they would do’. He beckoned with the internationally recognised gesture of a curled arm that pointed at them and pulled. Such was his presence that the beckoned boys peeled themselves off the sand and slouched towards him.
‘Wanna earn a buck?’ he asked by way of introduction. ’10…….each,’ he said.
They shrugged with palms held upwards.
He answered, appreciating the necessity of few words and began to haul on his boat. He gestured to the water several metres away.
The three gradually inched the boat to the water and when it was floating, the two 15 year olds stopped.
Uncle Eric gestured at the rods and fishing tackle in the front of the boat and said, ‘Fish?’
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One boy’s eyes gleamed for the first time in ages and he hopped into the boat immediately.
The other looked uncertain until Joe, the first boy said, ‘we can catch a fish with this uncle and braai it on the beach.’ His gesture of rubbing his stomach made an impression on Bobby and he too nodded.
From the centre of the estuary they fished in silence. Uncle Eric had shown them the tackle and handed them a rod each. Joe had taken over at that point and with enthusiasm and with reasonable skill he had baited up both his and Bobby’s hooks.
‘Let it run man,’ yelled Joe as his friend almost dropped the rod. The fish dashed away and under instruction from his mate Bobby eventually got a reasonable sized Grunter up to the edge of the boat. Eric gaffed it and hauled it into the boat.
He also laughed as the two boys high fived each other and their sulky faces lit up with enjoyment.
Altogether they caught 5 fish. Joe caught one, Uncle Eric two and Bobby was ecstatic to beat his friend.
Relaxed, with their ‘hoodies’ off in the warmth of the sun, the boys helped Eric moor the old boat to a solid pole in the shallow water
On a whim he said, ‘I’ve got some boerewors. Come to my place and we can braai it.’
And so they did. The way the boys wolfed down the juicy farm sausage made Eric very thoughtful. ‘Kip out here on the veranda he said,’ as they piled the tray with dirty plates.
‘We will sir,’ said Joe, we’re a long way from our auntie’s,’ he said almost wistfully as he bounced softly on the comfortable couches.
‘Thank you sir,’ said Bobby as Eric threw them a rug each before he closed the door into the house.
Eric overslept and woke to a police van, lights flashing, drawing up onto the grass outside his humble cottage.
‘More Meneer,’ said the sergeant in Afrikaans as he roused a sleepy Eric from his slumbers. ‘Did you sleep well sir?’ he asked.
Eric rubbed his head with both his hands, ‘Yes, went out on the boat yesterday and had a good catch. Too much sun!’
‘We heard you had some company sir,’ he said.
‘Mmmmm, yes! Two kids……..got 3 fish between them. We had a great time actually,’ he said still remembering the laughter.
He looked about for Joe and Bobby and noticed that the two rugs had been neatly folded and left one of the couches. ‘Now, where are……’ and he broke off as he noticed the sergeant’s serious face. ‘What?’ he asked.
‘Those two kids are known felons sir. They are on the run from Boys’ Town, place of correction for troubled teens, sir.’
The second policeman added, ‘they are thought to have robbed a man and his wife of clothes on their wash line. Happened day before yesterday about 20 kilometres away……. Do you know where they might be headed sir?’
Slowly Eric gathered his scattered thoughts.
He remembered their delight when they caught the fish……..their effort at helping him with the boat, their respect shown to him at all times and their gratitude when he fed them and gave them their money, brought a massive lump to his throat. He was glad too that they had braaied the fish they had caught and put the left overs in a bag.
‘No idea Sergeant,’ he said, stifling the memory of their talk of an auntie in faraway George in the Cape.
When the dust had settled as the van left, Eric sat with his coffee and wondered what would have happened to him when his parents had died if his Grandma hadn’t been there to take him in. He remembered the good woman Ada had been to him with a feeling of gratitude.
He rasped his thumb against his prickly chin and was glad that he had on an impulse given the boys enough money to keep them going for a while. Glad too that he had given them the back route to George in the far away Cape.
A prayerful thought surprised him as he hoped that the auntie they had spoken of would be the person they so desperately needed.