The Squirrel War part 4

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My mother and Mrs. Reinholt were good friends. Jelly Reinholt and I were born nearly on the same day, but Jelly was "a bit slow" and was one grade behind me. On Saturday afternoons, my mother would drag me to visit the Reinholts, which until Pudgy came along, was a "Awww, Mom, do I have to" sort of thing. She would drag me, cause I had my brakes on, hoping she would forget about me and I could get on with doing important work. She never forgot and after dragging my feet for a few blocks, I reluctantly slumped along behind her.
Mrs. Reinholt's name was E.D. That's all. E.D., just two letters. Eedee found out she was pregnant with Pudgy just after he got born. You see, Eedee was a "stout" woman, which is a way of saying "fat" without getting slapped by your mom. Some words are dangerous to use around my mother, and there ain't no book or list, each is a painful lesson. "Fart" is another word like that. The way it happened, Eedee thought she had "gas", painful gas and on the way to the bathroom Pudgy came bouncing along. Just like that, with no warning. Fortunately, the dog was snoozing in the hallway and when Eedee stepped over the dog, the dog got surprised. Everybody was surprised, except Jelly. Jelly was just enchanted.
Now I had seen babies before and I could see that women and girls just about turn themselves inside out at the sight of a baby. I couldn't understand it, I thought babies were worse than useless. They could smell real bad (that's a safer way of saying they "stink") and are about as much fun as chewing cardboard. Baby Jim just transformed Jelly. She coo-ed and gurgled right along with her little brother, like they spoke the same language that nobody but them two understood. Until then, Jelly only said one word. Jelly. That's all she ever learned. Within days she was saying "Baby".
Oddly enough, I understood Jelly. The way I figured, she was in school all the time. She daydreamed from morning to night, which is just about all I did in school. She sat quiet, in a corner of her own making and, I don't know, dreamed of babies, maybe. I dreamed of Pirates and Captain Danger and Cowboys and Indians. I never thought she was dumb, I actually envied her. The teachers left her alone and she got D's for "trying". I got D's for not trying. Sometimes I thought she was smarter than any kid I knew.
I had spent years of Saturdays in the company of Jelly, out in the back yard. She was a girl, but she wasn't weird like other girls. I was there to keep her company while the two Moms chatted and drank "coolers". I resented being there, but I saw that my Mother would get into a real fine mood and I was happy for her. Jelly left me alone; didn't talk to me or insist on playing "house". The way I saw it, at least it wasn't school.
When Mr. Reinholt came home, he joined Jelly and me in the back yard. Jim Reinholt was a wire of a man, pure bones, muscles and tendons, just enough skin to do the job and a head attached as an afterthought. Like Jelly, he had a dreamy look and gave out words as sparingly as God gives wealth to the poor. He would unwind his tallness and sit in a creaking chair. Jelly would melt into his lap and I would look at his left hand. He was missing the two end fingers and for some reason it fascinated me endlessly. We played a game together. I would ask him what happened to his hand and he would make-up a story, a tall tale told softly. The year Pudgy was born, I was playing pirates and probably was wearing a homemade black crayoned cardboard eye patch. He told me of flying ships and buccaneers. Of tropical islands and piles of bananas. Of monkeys and parrots and pieces of eight. He never told me the real story; that carpentry is a dangerous job.

The year Pudgy was born was also the year Mr. Gramm got that foolish idea and the year following, the town got Squirrels, Pudgy got his nickname and I was learning a lot about babies.
Babies like to taste stuff. That is about all they like to do. They taste the kitchen floor, the dog's tail, your shoes, the kitchen table legs, the grass, dirt, worms, whatever they can reach, goes into their mouths and gets well tasted. Since they can't walk yet, everything knee-down gets a good coating of spit. I realized that I was a baby once and that I probably went around lipping everything like him. Jelly had learned a few new words, but had reverted to her normal, dreamy self. Mom and Eedee were giggling over coolers and I was watching Pudgy make mud pies in the garden. He was real good at making spit and would follow a simple mud pie recipe. Grab a fist full (or two) of dirt, smear dirt around mouth, lick palm, fingers, lips and cheeks and swallow. Repeat until full. I had forgotten how dirt tastes and judging by his enthusiasm, must be about as good as gum drops. I was tempted to refresh my memory, when the squirrel walked up. Now Pudgy had learned to say one word. Everything edible or tasty was; "yumm". When Pudgy saw the squirrel, he took a quick, audible breath, his eyes and mouth got round and equal size and he pointed, then looked at me and said: "yumm". He had never had squirrel before! Quick as a wink he leaned sideways, reached and grabbed and had that critter in both hands, on his back with both legs in the air and a gusher of spit waiting for the taste test. Unlike the dog, some food fights back.