Edgar the Weed Killer
Steve Olson
I have noticed that the Adventures with Edgar series involves
drunkeness, property destruction, anorexia, theft, arson and now
accidental death. They may be examples of Man's Inhumanity to Man, but
I must tell you that Edgar had a heart as big as an ocean liner and
being inhuman was the last thing that would have occured to him. I
think of these tales as mainly monuments to carelessness; things got
out of hand quickly and in unexpected ways. In our vocabulary,
'coping' was a synonym for 'fleeing.'
One of Edgar's chores on the farm was keeping the ditches clean of
weeds and other brush. Naturally, Edgar had let this slide for about a
month, so when Mr. Edgar hollered at Edgar to get busy and clean the
ditches, the plants had grown about chest high and were an incredible
nusiance. Edgar, however, had found an answer. He took about a gallon
of gasoline and lit a series of small fires in the dry grass to burn
up the weeds.
It worked like a charm. Edgar carefully patrolled the edge of the
fires and made sure they didn't get out of hand. Brad and I and two
other people did the same thing. We all had about a half-gallon of
water apiece to put out any recalcitrant flames. Everything was going
according to plan. Edgar even proudly fetched the taciturn Mr. Edgar
to the edge of the ditch.
Shortly after Mr. Edgar appeared, the first duck bolted straight up
out of the fire, the tips of its wings ablaze, and crashlanded at Mr.
Edgar's feet. This duck was followed by six more in various stages of
combustion. It was when the second duck emerged from the flames that
Edgar remembered that ducks frequently used the ditches in which to
nest.
Edgar dashed into the fire, brandishing his milk carton brimming with
water and trying to put out the inferno, but it was no use. The wind
had the flames now, and Edgar was nearly heartbroken every time
another blazing duck flew too late to safety. We all used every drop
we had and Brad was frantically screwing together sections of garden
hose, but it was all too late.
Mr. Edgar calmly watched the carnage, quietly dispatching any
surviving ducks by efficiently braining them with a piece of riprap
he'd dug out of a nearby ditch. Then he went over to his weeping son
and tried to console him by saying that everything was okay, that he'd
burned up lots of things in his time too. It was such a bizarre moment
of sympathy that I stopped dead and wondered how in God's name you
ever comfort your kid with that approach and what Mr. Edgar had ever
accidentally burned down in his life. After all, we had a grain
elevator on our side of the ledger (see Edgar Plays with Fireworks);
what did he have in his past?
Brad and the others left shortly afterward, but I stayed around
because, well, Edgar was my friend and I thought it was the right
thing to do. I helped Edgar bury the nests that night in the smoking
ditch after the fires had gone out. Neither of us said a word.
Signed,
The Name Edgar Screams Out in his Sleep
Next: Mr. Edgar
Steve Olson
Edgar' before this one.