My grandfather Ross is the only grandparent I never got
to meet, and stories like this one make me think we would have gotten along
like a house on fire. Actually, scratch that. There’s nothing good about a
house on fire. We would’ve gotten along like a perfectly normal house.
My grandmother Jude and grandfather Ross had three kids:
Mike (the oldest and my father), Martin and Carl. Raising three boys,
particularly these three boys, would
probably have had Mother Theresa reaching for the wine bottle, so it’s
completely understandable that Ross liked to have the occasional drink.
However, he wasn’t keen on letting any family members catch him in the act,
especially his nephew, who was both the local minister and an insatiable
gossip. As part of his strategy for avoiding unexpected guests, Ross never
answered the door himself and often hid away somewhere, leaving it to Jude to
make up excuses for him.
One evening Jude and Ross were sitting in the kitchen
having a drink when the doorbell rang. They both froze as they heard the
minister’s booming voice echo through the house.
“Mike! Are your parents here?”
“Yeah, they’re in the kitchen. Come on through.”
They figured he was there to inquire after Ross’ father
(my great-grandfather), who was ill in the hospital at the time. The minister
was there with the best of intentions, and Ross was having none of it. He
wasted no time and bolted through the back door. In the next split second Jude
decided that she was tired of making up excuses for her husband and followed
him. It was pouring rain; Ross dashed across the back yard towards their small
shed, Jude hot on his heels. Once they arrived they found the tiny room
dripping, with only one dripping-wet chair available. Ross took it. They waited
quietly.
Meanwhile my father had led the minister back through to the
kitchen, where there was no sign of life save for two half-full glasses sitting
abandoned on the countertop.
“I don’t understand, Uncle Joos,” said my bewildered
father, who was fifteen at the time. “They were just here two minutes ago.”
Back in the shed Ross had just anxiously told Jude, for
the umpteenth time, to go check if the minister had left yet. Obligingly she
crept through the rain to the house. There was a problem, however. The house
was built on large foundations, and the windows were too high up for her to see
anything. However, Jude was a determined woman. Drawing on her fifteen years
experience as a financial consultant, which didn’t help one bit, she scaled a
large rubber tree, finally reaching a height where she was able to see through
their bedroom window. A sliver of the kitchen was visible through the doorway,
but the minister was nowhere to be seen. Sensing a trap, Jude snuck around to
the front of the house, sticking to the shadows. Her suspicions were confirmed:
The minister’s car was still there.
She reported back to the shed and the couple resumed
waiting, rather wishing they had thought to bring their bottle with them.
Meanwhile the minister was walking curiously through the
house, his search yielding nothing but three bewildered and apparently
abandoned children. Eventually he left, and Ross and Jude happily returned to
what they had been doing before, which was nothing at all, really.
*
The next day Jude got an urgent phone call from Ross: she
should be ready to leave directly after work. The minister had called and asked
Ross where they had been the night before.
“We were visiting my father in the hospital,” he had
said.
“What’s wrong with you?” the minister had demanded. “You
don’t even tell your children. You just disappear.”
“Oh, no. We didn’t tell them because Carl always cries
when we leave.” (At the time Carl was an exceptionally independent six-year-old
boy who didn’t give two hoots where his parents were. My grandmother would like
me to point out here that my fondness for making up stories probably comes from
Ross).
The minister had said he was going to visit Ross’ father
that night, so Ross and Jude had to rush to the hospital after work and get
there before the minister to ensure
their cover.
“What if he’s already there?” asked Jude as they sped
towards the hospital.
“It’s not seven yet. He said he was going at seven.”
“He suspects something. I think he’s trying to trap us.”
“No, he said seven.”
When they pulled into the hospital parking lot they
spotted a cream-colored Jetta.
“He’s here,” said Jude. “That’s his car.”
“No man, that
car has a CAM number plate.”
“That is his
number.”
“He lives in the city! It’ll be CY.”
“The car’s registered in the country. For cheaper
insurance. CAM.”
“That’s not his
car.”
They both got out, Ross jogging ahead of Jude. When she
was halfway up a flight of stairs Ross came streaking back down, nearly
knocking his wife off her feet . “He’s there! Quickly! Get out!” My grandmother
says she’ll never forget the look of absolute terror on his face.
They drove halfway back and parked under a tree, waiting
under the cover of foliage until the enemy cleared out. They had narrowly
escaped a trap. When they returned the first time the cream Jetta was still in
the lot. The second time they struck it lucky.
They ran up the stairs and into the room. Once there Ross
zeroed in on his father. He didn’t bother with pleasantries like saying hello,
but got right down to business. This was it. The moment of truth. Had their
cover been broken?
“Dad, when last did you see Joos?”
“Now that’s funny that you should ask. He was just here
not two minutes ago.”
“Did he ask if we were here last night?”
“Yes, he did ask.”
“What did you say?”
The old man shrugged. “I said my son visits me every
day.”
*
And so our story ends with what could possibly be the
most ingenious guilt-trip ever. I’d just like to add that it makes me happy to
know that my family history reads like something out of a screwball comedy.
LOL I'm laughing so hard right now xD that great grandad of yours is brilliant xD wit must run in the family ;)
ReplyDeleteMy god, I like were this blog is going girl! Keep it up PLEASE >:D
ReplyDeleteThis comment has been removed by the author.
ReplyDeleteSo funny! Crazy to what extent people go just to cover something up. Can't say I'm not one of those people ;b I think it was awesome how your great-grandfather covered for his son like that. That's what I call real family unity!
ReplyDeleteOh, and I really like that this is a real-life experience, so I hope your blog will continue to be in that category. If there's something I love, it's real-life experience with an eye-openening point or another point of view than normally - like your other story/blog-thingy "Bugs in my coffee" :D Though, with your intellect and awesome writing I'm sure I'll enjoy whatever your blog turns out to be ;)
You're the first blogger I've ever followed, and I'm planning to keep reading all your posts. Made a new account for this to prove my point :P
Stay awesome! :D
It's great to see someone from Wattpad here!If everything goes according to plan, this blog will be pretty much exclusively real-life shit, so I think your expectations will be met. I'm flattered that you started an account especially to follow me! You're awesome.
Delete