completely
surrounded by a strange assortment of shelving. They weren’t flat
as one would expect shelves to be. Rather, they were drawer-like as
if they were supposed to hold something in place, allow nothing to
fall onto the floor.
I walked toward
one and peered within.
It was
empty.
“ These are
weird,” I commented aloud.
“ They’re like
that on purpose,” replied my mother right away. “They’re made deep,
so they can hold four to five inches of soil.”
“ Why?”
“ In the old
days, people used to grow crops that didn’t require sunlight in
places like this. Although,” she continued rubbing at her chin,
“you don’t see very many still built underground.”
“ What would they
grow, mama?” Eli had climbed up one of the lower-lying shelves and
was peering into the same one I had.
“ Oh, I don’t
know - mushrooms, potatoes if the ground above was too hard -
things like that.” She paused to rummage atop one of the higher
shelves. “They’re also used for storage, because the air stays cool
and moist. You can put carrots or beets and other vegetables roots
in place like this for a long time.”
I nodded,
looking about. The old owners
must’ve saved a ton of money on electricity. Then, I realized why someone would go through all
the trouble of building one in the first place. There hadn’t been
electricity back then! Duh,
Donny Dickhead!
My
m om coughed out some dust, her
face stern with concentration. “I asked Bruce about this cellar
when Eli and I first found it. He said it was also used to store
the Gates’ stockpile of hooch during Prohibition.” I could tell she
was smiling even though I couldn’t see her face. She had a
different way of speaking through lips drawn tight.
“ What’s ‘cooch’,
you guys?” Elijah was so darned cute sometimes.
My mother and I
both laughed.
“ Not ‘cooch’,
son. ‘Hooch’ and it means Mr. Booze.” My mom always had a way with
explaining things to us in a way we could understand, even when we
were young like Elijah.
“ Yeah, ‘cooch’
is something else you’ll wanna know about when you get older…,” I
muttered to myself.
My mother tossed
an old rag at me, her eyebrows raised in outrage. It fell pitifully
short.
I laughed,
shrugging. “Well, he will.”
She wagged a
finger at me. A silent warning, ordering me to keep my mouth
shut.
My smiled
broadened.
Elijah’s head
was tilted almost horizontal. “But why would they put their Mr.
Booze in dirty, ole’ place like this?”
She smiled,
deliberately, pushing aside my rude comments. “I knew you were
going to ask that question,” she said to my brother, pointedly not
at me. “There was a time, Elijah, when Mr. Booze was against the
law to drink.”
“ Really?” He said it the way
he’d say things when he thought whatever we were talking about was
tremendously interesting.
“ Yeah.”
“ Pretty dumb,
huh, big guy?” I asked, earnestly. Prohibition was a waste of
everyone’s time and only gave rise to some of the most powerful
crime lords we’d ever seen in the United States.
“ But if it kept
people from getting drunk, then it might’ve been a good idea… for
certain people, right?”
I always knew
Elijah was a genius.
My
m om went still.
He kept talking.
“I mean, if Dad couldn’t drink, then… well… Um, wouldn’t that be a
good thing?”
It was so
innocent, I wanted to cry. Forget all the macho bullshit drilled
into us boys since we’re old enough to walk. What Elijah said right
then, right there under the earth, made more sense to me than
anything else in the world. His logic, the simplicity, the purity
of the thought, made it ironclad- real in my mind.
I knew what went
on in our household was affecting him more than the rest of us,
aside from my mother. Though, it was true, I had borne the brunt of
the idiocy for more years than anyone other than my mom, Elijah was
the baby of the family. He was the one who should’ve been spoiled
rotten,
surrounded by a strange assortment of shelving. They weren’t flat
as one would expect shelves to be. Rather, they were drawer-like as
if they were supposed to hold something in place, allow nothing to
fall onto the floor.
I walked toward
one and peered within.
It was
empty.
“ These are
weird,” I commented aloud.
“ They’re like
that on purpose,” replied my mother right away. “They’re made deep,
so they can hold four to five inches of soil.”
“ Why?”
“ In the old
days, people used to grow crops that didn’t require sunlight in
places like this. Although,” she continued rubbing at her chin,
“you don’t see very many still built underground.”
“ What would they
grow, mama?” Eli had climbed up one of the lower-lying shelves and
was peering into the same one I had.
“ Oh, I don’t
know - mushrooms, potatoes if the ground above was too hard -
things like that.” She paused to rummage atop one of the higher
shelves. “They’re also used for storage, because the air stays cool
and moist. You can put carrots or beets and other vegetables roots
in place like this for a long time.”
I nodded,
looking about. The old owners
must’ve saved a ton of money on electricity. Then, I realized why someone would go through all
the trouble of building one in the first place. There hadn’t been
electricity back then! Duh,
Donny Dickhead!
My
m om coughed out some dust, her
face stern with concentration. “I asked Bruce about this cellar
when Eli and I first found it. He said it was also used to store
the Gates’ stockpile of hooch during Prohibition.” I could tell she
was smiling even though I couldn’t see her face. She had a
different way of speaking through lips drawn tight.
“ What’s ‘cooch’,
you guys?” Elijah was so darned cute sometimes.
My mother and I
both laughed.
“ Not ‘cooch’,
son. ‘Hooch’ and it means Mr. Booze.” My mom always had a way with
explaining things to us in a way we could understand, even when we
were young like Elijah.
“ Yeah, ‘cooch’
is something else you’ll wanna know about when you get older…,” I
muttered to myself.
My mother tossed
an old rag at me, her eyebrows raised in outrage. It fell pitifully
short.
I laughed,
shrugging. “Well, he will.”
She wagged a
finger at me. A silent warning, ordering me to keep my mouth
shut.
My smiled
broadened.
Elijah’s head
was tilted almost horizontal. “But why would they put their Mr.
Booze in dirty, ole’ place like this?”
She smiled,
deliberately, pushing aside my rude comments. “I knew you were
going to ask that question,” she said to my brother, pointedly not
at me. “There was a time, Elijah, when Mr. Booze was against the
law to drink.”
“ Really?” He said it the way
he’d say things when he thought whatever we were talking about was
tremendously interesting.
“ Yeah.”
“ Pretty dumb,
huh, big guy?” I asked, earnestly. Prohibition was a waste of
everyone’s time and only gave rise to some of the most powerful
crime lords we’d ever seen in the United States.
“ But if it kept
people from getting drunk, then it might’ve been a good idea… for
certain people, right?”
I always knew
Elijah was a genius.
My
m om went still.
He kept talking.
“I mean, if Dad couldn’t drink, then… well… Um, wouldn’t that be a
good thing?”
It was so
innocent, I wanted to cry. Forget all the macho bullshit drilled
into us boys since we’re old enough to walk. What Elijah said right
then, right there under the earth, made more sense to me than
anything else in the world. His logic, the simplicity, the purity
of the thought, made it ironclad- real in my mind.
I knew what went
on in our household was affecting him more than the rest of us,
aside from my mother. Though, it was true, I had borne the brunt of
the idiocy for more years than anyone other than my mom, Elijah was
the baby of the family. He was the one who should’ve been spoiled
rotten,
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