The Storyteller

"Just a second, please," the hostess said to the party of six as she rushed past them. She then pulled a couple of small, square tables together and positioned six chairs around them. Once the tables and chairs were arranged, she walked back to the podium, grabbed six menus, and led the party, consisting of four men and two women, to their seats.

Three of the men and both of the women took their seats immediately, but the fourth man waited for everyone else to sit before taking his own seat. Tall and slim, the final man to sit, Jim, was clean-shaven with a full head of white, wavy hair. He had a warm, approachable smile and, upon sitting, continued telling a story that he had started earlier.

"I'm sure ya'll can imagine my surprise." He opened his eyes wide, lifted himself half out of his chair, and extended his arms, gesturing at his entranced audience. "In front of my tent an on all sides of it, were myriads of other tents for as far as the eye could see." He sat back in his seat and tilted his head from side to side. "I'd been expecting a quiet, relaxing weekend to myself, but instead I found myself in the middle of Minnesota's answer to Woodstock." Everyone, including the storyteller, laughed heartily.

"Jim, where'd you learn to tell stories like that?" One of the men asked.

Jim tilted his head in thought and scratched his chin. "Well, I reckon from sitting and watching my Dad and his friends play checkers when I was just a boy. They would play for hours, every Saturday and Sunday, and each would take turns telling about events that each of them already knew by heart.

"I knew the stories well also, so it didn't take me long to figure out that each time they told 'em, the stories changed a bit. The drought of nineteen and 22 became the drought of nineteen and 22 through nineteen and 24. Ole man Johnson's 400 lb heifer put on 200 lbs and gained an extra head. Good Doc Bradley went from erecting a small one room clinic on Main Street to designing Zumbrota's first hospital." Jim counted off his examples on his large wrinkled hands and nodded at each of his listeners as he talked.

As Jim finished his explanation, the waiter walked up to the table and glanced around. "Are you ready to place your order?"

Jim sat up straight. "I reckon I'm ready. Is everyone else?"

The other members of the party nodded in the affirmative, and the waiter removed a pad from the front pocket of his apron and looked at Jim. "Let's start with you. What can I get for ya?"

"Well, that there roast beef dinner sure looks mighty tasty. I reckon I'll have one of them," Jim says.

"How would you like your potatoes: baked, mashed, or fried?"

"There ain't nothing better than a good ole baked potato."

"Would you like soup or a side salad to start your meal?"

"What kind a soup ya'll got simmering today?"

"We have cream of broccoli and vegetable beef."

"Is yer vegetable beef all chunky like?"

"Yes sir."

"I'd sure be pleased with a steaming cup of that'n then."

"Anything to drink?"

"Just set a pitch black cup a coffee right down here in front o' me and make sure it don't get empty."

The waiter then took the orders of the other five people.

"Have ya'll heard about the time I went fly fishing on the Mississip?" Jim asked, pretending to cast off a fishing pole, and glanced at his listeners. The interested expressions on their faces gave him the go ahead to continue.

"Well, I reckon I was knee high to a field mouse when pa first took me an sissy down to Mather's creek. He taught us how to get them there night-crawlers and give us a lure or two, but then he done told us that there was something even better than lures and crawlers. Well, my four year old mind didn't want to be wasting time with no silly worms and such iffen there was a better way, so's I told pa that I wanted to learn the better way to fish.

"He laughed an told me that I wasn't ready for fly fishing, but that if I's real good all year he'd take me to the Mississip next spring and teach me the right way to catch fish, with flies..."

"Here's your soup sir," the waiter said and placed a steaming bowl of vegetable beef soup in front of Jim. He set a soup or salad in front of each of the others as well and then walked back to the kitchen.

"Mmmm, mmmm, good soup," Jim said, after tasting a spoonful and letting it sit in his mouth to savor the flavor. "Let me finish up this here bowl and I'll get back to my story." It didn't take Jim long to empty the bowl. He then wiped his face with a napkin and looked around at his audience.

"Now where was I? Oh, that's right, my pa said he'd take me to go fly fishing iffen I was good. Well, I didn't much care to wait a whole year to try out this fly fishing and I wasn't too sure I could be good that long so I devised me a plan to get to try out this fly fishing sooner. I knew that the good ole Mississip ran through Winona an I knew that my ma used to go there once a month to visit my aunt Mabel..."

"OK, who had the roast beef?" the waiter asked. He spied Jim nod his head and placed the roast beef dinner and baked potato in front of him. The waiter then distributed the other meals. "Does anyone need anything else?" Everyone shook their head.

Jim took a few bites of roast beef and a couple fork-loads of potato and glanced around at his eager audience once again. "The only problems I could see were getting ma to bring me with her to Aunt Mabel's an figuring out how to fish using flies.

"The first problem sort of solved itself one week when the babysitter ma hired called and said she couldn't make it. Ma got sissy an I dressed in our Sunday best an strapped us into the car. Before she could, though, I stashed one of pa's collapsible fishing rods under the seat.

"The second problem proved harder to solve than I'd imagined. I sat there in the car on the way to Aunt Mabel's an I thought an I thought an I thought, but I just couldn't figure out a way to catch a fish using a fly. Well, I wasn't gonna let not knowing how stop me from trying an when we got to Aunt Mabel's I asked her how far away was the Mississip. Well, she pointed toward her back yard and said that it sat 'bout a mile that way."

"Would anyone like some desert?" the waiter asked, looking around the table.

"I guessen I could go for a bowl a ice cream," Jim said and patted his stomach. The waiter took the other's desert orders and walked away.

Jim opened his eyes wide, looked around the table at his listeners, and continued his story. "Now I ran to the car faster than a squirrel from a lawnmower an got out my pa's fishing pole. Then I looked 'round to make sure no one was watching and started walking toward the Mississip.

"I don't know how long it took me, but I's a might tuckered out by the time I got to the bank of the river an I sat down to rest a bit. Once I got my wind back, I stretched out pa's fishing pole an reached into my pocket for the dead flies I'd found in my bedroom window sill. They were a bit dry, though, and every time I tried to put one on the end of the hook, they'd fall apart.

"Finally, I had only one fly left. I set it down on a big, flat rock sitting on the bank of the river an dripped a drop or two of river water on it. I figured that maybe it would stay together better iffen it was wet. I watched as the drops soaked into the dead fly an I waited a couple of seconds longer to make sure it was wet enough. Just as I was ready to try an put the fly on the hook, though, I heard a sound behind me. It was Uncle Phil, Mabel's husband, an he was madder than a coon dog on a leash. He grabbed me by my collar, saying something about stupid this and bratty that an he carried me all the way back to Aunt Mabel's house."

"Here you go sir, one bowl of ice cream." The waiter delivered the deserts and walked away.

Jim took a bite of his desert. "Oooeee, this is good ice cream. Now where was I again? Oh yeah, Uncle Phil carried me back to the house an he hauled me under one arm like a bag of apples. I was so sore by the time we got back. My ma had been crying, but when she saw me, her tears disappeared an she grabbed me an give me a licking. I couldn't remember getting a licking that bad before an I don't know iffen I ever got one that bad since. Not that licking hurt, but do you know what the worst thing about it was?"

Jim's listeners looked at each other and raised their shoulders. The man who earlier complimented Jim on his story telling ability said, "Did you get grounded? What happened?"

Jim rubbed the palms of his hands together and leaned forward. He glanced at each one of the members of his absorbed audience and then raised the index finger of his right hand and started shaking it. "I sure did get grounded, once ma told pa, but it wasn't the licking or the grounding that hurt the worst about that trip. What hurt the worst was that I never did learn how to catch a fish with a fly an I still don't know how to catch a fish with a fly to this very day." Jim and his listeners laughed heartily.