remmers
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Rawhide Cello
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Oct 31 06:09 UTC 1994 |
It's a hard life out tuh here in the valley. Me an' muh mules we trek
all day under the hot sun a-headin' for them mountains whar the gold
is. Somehow, them mountains never seem tuh get no closer no matter how
fur we walk, but they's thar, I'se can see 'em, and I knows thar's
gold. So iffen I jes' keeps a-walkin' I'se bound to get to 'em sooner
or later.
Water's gettin' low. I filled up the canteens at th' last river but
that was days ago and now th' water's almost gone. Hopes I comes to a
stream or sumpin' soon or maybe them mountains, I knows thar must be
streams in them thar mountains, cascadin' rivulets sparlkin' in th' sun
jes like the wings of Icarus when he done flew too close. Muh pappy
always liked tuh tell me that ol' story so's I'd learn a proper caution
an' not suffer from an excess of impetuosity. Wa'l, I has tuh laugh,
here I bin goin' for the gold I done lost count of how many days now
an' I don' seem tuh be gettin' no closer to it. Nuthin' to worry my
ol' pappy's head about, God rest his soul.
Ever' mornin' I gets up 'fore th' sun an' builds muhself a campfire
so's to boil water for coffee. Not that I has real coffee no more, it
done run out weeks ago, so I scoops up some sand an' sagebrush from th'
ground and I boils th' tar out of it for two, three hours an' then I
drinks it, t'ain't the real thing but if I closes muh eyes real tight
an' turns on muh imagination it sorta seems like coffee. Then I packs
up th' mules and trudges on towards th' mountains till sundown. It's
pretty uneventful goin', the trudgin', 'cept fer a rattler now an'
then, yuh always gots tuh be on the lookout fer rattlers. When I sees
one I whips out muh sixshooter an' I shoots it daid, I likes snakes I
kin trust, and the only rattlers yuh kin trust is daid rattlers.
Ever' evenin' when th' sun goes down I sets up camp fer th' night. The
evenin' twilight is th' bestest time o' th' day fer me, I likes it the
most. My mule Ben, I calls him muh 'cello mule cause he carries muh
'cello whut Alassandro made fer me back in Laramie. Great leather
worker, that Alassandro, an' he done made me one big beauty of a
rawhide 'cello. Rawhide lasts better than wood out here in th' desert
country, it won' break should I drop it on a rock, an' it dries out
good as new after a rainstorm or a river crossin'. Rawhide, it's good
fer the long haul. So lak I say, in th' evenin' after makin' camp, I
takes out muh rawhide 'cello an' sits m'self down on a rock, an' pulls
the bow 'cross the strings an' makes thet 'cello sing for an hour or
two. Usually I plays Bach S'natas fer the unaccompanied 'cello, but
sometimes I'se'll do muh Dvorak fav'rites jes' fer variety.
After I'se had muh fill o' 'cello playin', I wraps muhself in muh
blanket and goes to sleep fer the night, under th' stars. 'Fore I
drifts off tuh sleep, I thinks 'bout what life's goin' tuh be like once
I gets tuh the mountains an' makes mah fortune in gold. But in th'
meantime, I gots muh rawhide 'cello.
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