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Cousin Frankie's Last Kick at the Can
by D. Grant DeMan
"The chains of love may never set you free
But thru the years, as mem'ries fonder grow
This broken heart will always wait for you, dear."
It was signed, "Your lonely Filipino Rose." - Hank Snow
"Well, the trip up here was a chore this time," Cousin Jean was quite out of breath. "As I reach nearer the century mark life takes a definite up-hill slant. Hal! Drop those bags at the foot of the stairs. Dinner is like . . . when?"
We had stoked the pantry well, for Jean was a big eater, especially partial to Chinese and Thai, while husband Hal, though a mere eighty-nine, possessed one of those hop-skip-and-jump eryeryurp stomachs. Somewhat incongruously, for he was a master of food preparation and service, having stewarded many a vessel out of Baltimore, and now purchased supplies for a downtown restaurant.
Sitting herself gently down, Jean began:
"I realanize that on your last visit - the family reunion - you were taken unawares by the news that the reason my brother Frankie did not take his regular fishing trip, was because he'd cashed in his bodily chips. I could rightly see the disappointment on your face we had not mentioned the event before, nor were particularly upset. Something mighty peculiar, you surmised; and you were correct in that, Cousin, for now I am able to relate the story of Frankie and what went on with him.
"Just to go back a half-century, you'll remember that Frankie was a war ace with his P-40 and Mustang and then went to college for an agricultural degree, for he wanted to be a farmer. While there he met Jonnie, a botanist, and didn't they make a fine couple? At first, that is, until... But I'm getting ahead of myself. No sooner had they graduated and bought a farm, then neighborhood folks approached with a proposal. Said they were building a new town called Feral Way, and could they use the farm for some buildings. One thing led to another, they leased out the property, built a new estate with the income, and before long turned it into a giant park which is a prize national monument.
"This allowed them opportunity to pursue lofty interests. Frankie became a champion bee keeper, horticulturist and fisherman, while Jonnie developed into one world-famed much-honored environmentalist - though now and again my dear brother might let slip that their sex life was no longer up to snuff, and that smells of trouble, if you get the drift.
"It was during the eighties that our church took interest in psychic healing, for as God relates to Moses in Exodus 4:6-8:
And the Lord said furthermore unto him, put now thine hand into thy bosom. And he put his hand into his bosom; and when he took it out, behold, his hand was leprous as snow. And he said, put thine hand into thine bosom again; and he put his hand into his bosom again; and plucked it out of his bosom, and, behold, it was turned again as his other flesh. And it shall come to pass, if they will not believe thee, neither harken to the voice of the first sign, that they will believe the voice of the latter sign.
"Consequently our little group pilgrimaged to an inner mind institute in Manila where we witnessed the miracles of Healer Jun Labo who uses holy prayer and his bare knotty fingers to remove any putrid organ that bothers an ill-omened soul. Unfortunately Frankie became far more impressed with his young assistant, Rose, and subsequently took up with this flirty-flirty girl.
"Frankie claimed he got better inner healing from that gal than a squadron of winged psychics, and made a raft of subsequent trips, concubining her in a villa with servants. He insisted upon acquainting me with the fluidizations Rose and he enjoyed in bed and such. But I told him sternly, 'Frankie, you are my brother, and I do not wish to hear the ins and the outs of what you and her all done over there.'
"Then, it was a month or so before the reunion, he was fixing to go again. So enthusiastic was he that he slipped on the ramp up from the boat and broke a leg. Though that was mighty serious for a man in his late eighties, he had the doctors mend him temporary-like, and he made the trip regardless. Such is sexual passion, I reckon.
"Well, I do hope that one last romp through Rose's bacchanalic gate was sufficiently enthralling, for he dropped like a rock while unpacking the day he got back.
"Jonnie was less disturbed with his passing, than she was with the idea of allowing Rose all that loot, though she admitted reluctantly that at the very least Frankie had gone out grinning, just the way he liked.
"And that, Dear Cousin, will explain why we took those events in stride with nary a word spoken during the reunion. It's a family secret you can tell when we have passed through the swinging mother of pearls.
"What's for supper?"
Now my mind drifts upon times with Frankie, the conversations on fish and birds, bees and trees, and how Lady Lucky guaranteed the lease millions rolling in: I can see the twinkle of his sky blue eyes, and imagine the dulcet charms of his Tagalog Sweetheart who maintained it.
A retired psychologist-author once remarked, "The Filipinos invented sex. I'm going back there when I reach eighty or so. Every man deserves one last kick at the can."
Even Frankie, I reckon.
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