The Tale of Rip Van Dunnkle

What a shock I received last Saturday afternoon. I heard a knock on my front door, and when I answered it, standing there was a disheveled man with a long, gray beard, wearing torn and worn clothing. “Can I help you?” I asked cautiously, as I slowly pushed the door to the almost shut position.

“Bill, it’s me!” the man said. “I’m Rip, your cousin. Rip Van Dunnkle.”

“What?” I exclaimed. “My cousin Rip went missing years ago, and he’s presumed dead. I went to the memorial service.”

“It’s me, I tell ya,” he implored. “Something has happened to me. I don’t know exactly what, but I… I… Can I come in?”

“Um, why don’t we sit out here on the steps and talk,” I offered, preferring not to have a person who smells like a goat carcass inside the house.

I opened the door and stepped outside, reaching behind me to make sure my iPhone was in my back pocket, just in case I had to make a frantic 9-1-1 call. He sat on the top step of the stairs and leaned against the railing. I also sat on the top step, but as far away from him as I could. Luckily, he was downwind of me.

He began to talk. “I took my kayak into the Connecticut River yesterday, like I always do when I’m stressed out. I paddled around for a while, and then went to a desolate section of the river bank. I pulled the kayak onto the bank and walked up into the woods to get in the shade.”

“Yeah,” I said, “they found your— I mean, they found my cousin Rip’s kayak floating past the docks in Old Saybrook, but they never found the body.”

My words did not seem to register with him. He continued, “I was in the woods, sitting there next to a tree, when suddenly a group of strange men appeared. They were as surprised to see me as I was to see them. They were really odd looking. Strange clothes, big mustaches, almost like Civil War reenactors. Lots of brass buttons. They didn’t seem dangerous, but I was a little nervous. I said hi, and they returned the greeting. I noticed they were sharing what looked like a wine bottle with no label, passing it to each other. The man with the bottle held it out toward me and said, ‘Wouldst thou like a nip? ‘Tis quite good.’ I thought, Why not? So, I reached out for the bottle and took a small swig. Well, I’ll tell ya, it was not wine. I don’t know what it was, but it was strong and it burned my throat. The men continued walking and before they were out of sight, my head started spinning. I couldn’t even stand up. I flopped down next to the tree and passed out.”

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As the grungy man spoke, I thought to myself, He looks a lot like my cousin, and he sounds like him, too. I asked, “One drink from that bottle made you pass out?”

“Yup,” he said. “Out like a light. When I woke up, I could tell it was early morning. I slept through the whole night! I was under a large pile of sticks and leaves. Those odd men must’ve covered me up as some stupid prank. When I got up, my back and legs were really stiff. I couldn’t believe how strong that liquor was. I went to find my kayak, but it was gone. I bet those weirdos in the strange clothes took it. So, I walked back through the woods until I reached Middlesex Turnpike. Then I walked to where I had parked my car. It wasn’t there, and the marina looked completely different than it did yesterday. That’s when I hitched-hiked to your house, because you’re my relative who lives closest to the marina. The guy had a pickup truck and for some reason he made me ride in the back. I’m really confused, Bill. I don’t know what’s going on. And I can’t figure out why my beard is suddenly so long and my clothes are torn.”

“Um, I think I have an idea about that, Cousin Rip,” I said. “When you went out in your kayak, what was the date?”

“The date? It was yesterday, July 24th.”

“And the year?” I asked.

“The year? Whattaya mean?” he said. “It was this year, 2006.”

“Rip, you’d better sit down,” I said solemnly.

“I am sitting down.”

“Then you’d better hold onto the railing,” I offered. “You see, today is July 25th—”

“I know that!” he interrupted.

“...July 25th, in the year twenty twenty-six.”

He stared at me for a moment, a puzzled look on his dirty face. Finally, he said quietly, “Huh?”

“Yes, the year is 2026, Rip. You’ve been asleep for 20 years!”

This time, he was unconscious for only five minutes, not two decades. When he came to, I said, “Rip, something really weird has happened, but don’t worry, we’ll figure it out. First, please don’t take this personally, but you really need a shower. C’mon inside. I’ll let you borrow some of my clothes while I put yours in the washing mach— uh, you know what, let’s make that the fire pit.”

While Rip was in the shower, I prepared some food for him, after first opening all the windows. Sleeping in the woods for two decades tends to envelope one with a distinctive aroma. I gave him some shorts, a pair of sweatpants, a tee shirt, and some old running shoes. All the clothes hung loosely on his bony frame. We sat in the living room.

“Is it really the year 2026?” he asked incredulously while wolfing down a PB&J sandwich.

In reply I held up my iPad. It was streaming the Red Sox game, which had just started. “What is that thing?!” he yelled. “A tiny television?”

“No, it’s called a tablet device. See, it does all kinds of cool stuff.” I swiped up so the ballgame disappeared, and then I opened the Gmail app and showed him my email inbox.

“Wait!” he yelled. “You made it change with just your finger!”

“Oh yeah, it’s a touch screen. Everything has a touch screen nowadays.”

Rip stared at me for a few moments, unsure of what to say. He looked back at the iPad in amazement, then said, “Where’s the wire for the internet?”

“No wires,” I said. “It’s all wifi and Bluetooth.”

He sat back in the chair, a small glob of peanut butter stuck in his beard, and shook his head. “Wow, I have missed so much,” he said softly. Then he leaned forward and said forcefully, “Bill, 20 years! I can’t believe it. How did this happen to me?”

“I dunno, Rip,” I said.

Rip finished chewing the last piece of his sandwich, then stood up and paced around the room. “Where’s my family?” he asked. “How are Doris and Rip Junior?”

“Um, yeah, you see, we all thought you drowned, Rip. Please, sit down. Anyway, about two years after you disappeared, well, Doris married your best friend Lenny.”

“Lenny? Lenny Kowalski? You’re kidding me! Hmm, well, Lenny is a pretty good guy. How are they doing?”

“They moved to Florida five years ago. I get a Christmas card from them every year. Seems like they’re OK.”

“What else have I missed during the last 20 years?” he asked.

“Um, a lot of stuff, I guess,” I replied. “What was big news in 2006?”

“Well, let me think. One big story was the national debt. After September 11th and then the war in Iraq, Washington started borrowing money like crazy. The debt went over 8 trillion dollars! Can you believe that?! I hope they got it under control by now.”

“The national debt is currently a little under 40,” I said.

“Really? They brought it down to only 40 billion dollars? That’s great!”

“No,” I said. “Forty trillion dollars.”

Rip stared at me in disbelief. “How is it even possible to spend that much money?”

“A lot of people have been asking the same question, Rip.”

“Well, who’s the president now?”

“Donald Trump,” I replied.

“Trump? You mean that New York real estate guy, the ‘You’re fired!’ reality TV guy?”

“Yeah.”

“Wow, I never woulda figured that.”

“You’re in good company, Rip.”

“Since he’s never been a politician before, he’s probably being low-key and cautious, right?”

“Uhh, yeah, surrrrre.”

Rip sat there, shaking his head slowly. Then he said, “Hey Bill, did you get my Blackberry out of my pants pocket?”

“It was all corroded and cracked,” I answered. “So, I had to throw it away.”

“Oh no! Dang it, I love that thing. You’ll have to take me to the Cingular store so I can get another one. You must have a Blackberry, right? Everyone has one. They are so awesome. You know, not too long before I fell asleep, I withdrew most of my savings and bought a ton of Blackberry stock. After 20 years, I’m probably a millionaire now.”

“Um, maybe not, Rip. You see, Blackberry doesn’t even make phones these days. They got crushed by Apple and Samsung.”

“Oh man, that was supposed to be the inheritance for Rip Junior. By the way, how is he doing? He must be 25 years old now.”

“Well, Rip Junior is now called Rippina. He’s a girl, I mean, she’s a girl.”

“Wait, what?” Rip said.

“You know, Rip, a lot has changed since 2006. I don’t want to overwhelm you. We can talk about it later.”

Suddenly, Rip stood up and headed for the front door.

“Where are you going?” I asked.

“Back to the river bank to find those weird guys. And they’d better have that bottle!”

# # #

(The humor column “A Matter of Laugh or Death” appeared weekly for 24 years in the Republican-American newspaper, Waterbury, CT.)

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