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funsway Inner circle old things in new ways - new things in old ways 9982 Posts |
BANE
For me, Halloween is about memories more than goblins and candy. My birthday is near the end of September and lot of things seemed to happen between my day and All Souls Eve. For one thing, it was a good period for “knee listening.” You know, sitting at the knee of some old time folks picking up bits of wisdom and joy. Fall is like that – colorful memories falling from rocking chairs to gather on the lawn with the leaves of the maple tree. I raked leaves into piles for fun and pay, and I gathered stories because … Anyway, it’s time I told you about Uncle Jake and the Bane. Kept secret ‘til now outta respect for any kin still livin’ er carin’. I don’t talk like that, but Jake did. He was the only person on our street called by his first name. He wasn’t my Uncle or of anyone I know. Other neighbors were “the Svensons” or “Widow Jenkins” or “Mr. Young.” Never heard anyone call this old guy anything but Uncle Jake, so we will have to go with that. He kept to himself, mostly, and I never saw any relative visit his place. He was out everyday puttering around his yard and waving at passer-bys with rake or hammer. Of an evening he would sit on his porch swing whittling. There was a place on the lower step where a kid like me could rest against the newel post and watch and listen. He whittled wooden chains and birds and whistles to give to kids. Except before Halloween! There was a huge chestnut tree in his front yard near the street. Between that and his cracked-up walk was a tarp covered lump most of the year. After my birthday he would unveil the mystery to reveal a special chair made from a tree round and a bouncy tractor seat. In front was a small fire-pit fashioned from a tire rim and a galvanized bucket filled with last year’s shaving. He would fetch down a wooden box of knifes and files and began working on a Bane. That’s what he called it. Every year a new one out of an apple wood branch culled from the orchard out back. After Halloween he would chop it up and use the chips in his bar-b-q. Each was about three feet long and thick as a silver dollar, except for the knuckle on the larger end. Wasn’t much fancy whittling going on actually – mostly forming and shaping. He called it, “Letting the natural out.” The knobby end became round and smooth with a lip underneath. Kinda like a doorknob comfortable to the hold. He called it “thump.” I mentioned that it looked like an Indian war club in the museum, and he said, “That too.” It might have been a shillelagh if he was Irish instead for mid-European, and for the other end of the Bane. That was fashioned into a sharp point he called “spike.” He would hold it near the fire coals and then scrape off the char. Then he cut some ring-grooves along the length. “Don't serve none to have er slip in yer hands.” When finished the Bane rested against the tree trunk with ‘thump’ nestled in a root hollow. Every person on the street could see it but no adult ever mentioned it nor kid dare touch the Bane. On Halloween he would sit on this seat with a bowl of saltwater taffy in his lap. Each piece was wrapped in pale green or yellow or pink paper “all the way from Oregon.” A steady parade of ghouls and knights and hobos and princesses drifted by to select two pieces in return for telling why they chose that costume. The Bane stood nearby and I figure parents felt safer about their wandering kids with Uncle Jake standing guard or something. Like I said. No adult ever mentioned that pointy stick. One year, the last before I moved away, I learned more about the Bane. Past midnight I was jerked awake by weird shrieking and moaning. Then a lot of chaos with lights coming on all down the street and grownups shouting at each other. I joined the crowd in bathrobe and slippers and matched many others. Uncle Jake was standing in the road laughing. His cap with the fold down flaps was lying on the pavement. One shoulder of his coat was torn away and Ms. Saunders who was a nurse checked his arm and back. My dad helped get his coat off and I could see Jake’s bare back though the rips in his shirt. There were three bloody streaks about three inches apart. Nothing too deep and he waved down any call for an ambulance. But he did agree to having Mr. Young drive him to the hospital. This neighbor was a retired police officer and said he would get to the bottom of things. An on-duty officer arrived and was directed to check out the scene and street. No one had seen anything, or heard anything besides the eerie shrieking. He didn’t know about the Bane or notice that it was gone. Nobody mentioned it then or later either. “No crime, no foul,” or something. Uncle Jake was back on his porch the next evening and seemed OK. Case closed. But, there is more than just a strange series of events to tell – what I know and never shared with anyone. Nobody would have believed me anyway. No reason why you should now. That night no one found the Bane because I was standing on it hidden in the colored leaves. It was warm through the thin souls of my slippers and kinda pulsed. The moon whispered that I should keep its secret. As everyone was leaving for home I scraped some more leaves over it. It was still there in the morning as I got ready to deliver papers. The grass and leaves were covered with frost but the Bane was still warm. I carried it up to the porch and set it behind the swing for Uncle Jake to find. It had a strange smell and was slimy-dark from the spike halfway up towards ‘thump’. In the morning rays I thought the goo looked greenish but can’t swear to it. Wasn’t red though. That night Jake gave me a long stare and then a nod. All he said was, “In the old country I learned that the veil is thin when the moon is past full. My grandpa taught me how to fashion a Bane. It’s in my blood, I guess.” He crossed himself and muttered something like zedrekavic. There were tears in his eyes but he wasn’t sad at all.
"the more one pretends at magic, the more awe and wonder will be found in real life." Arnold Furst
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