Brass Monkeys Page 2

  “Here he is,” said Mom, “hiding out here.” It was obvious she had been talking about me and everyone had come up front to see me for themselves. I must have looked like some kind of freaky kid who likes to hug cactus plants.

  “My goodness,” cried Doris, “look at him. He’s all grown up.” That was depressing. It sounded like I was all done in life—a six-footer with a pot-belly and a bank account. Then it seemed like they all started asking me questions, and like the village oaf, I froze up. One of the ladies asked me what grade I was in and I remember mumbling, “I’m an eighth grubber, I mean grader.”

  “That’s so wonderful,” said Doris. “My son Walter is in the eighth grade too. He’s going to help you guys unload. And oh, Harriet here is also in the eighth grade.” She nodded at the girl.

  I glanced over, expecting to find her grinning at my dumbo remarks, but instead she was watching me with a tense expression.

  “Harriet’s also going to lend you a hand,” Doris went on. “She usually works for me after school, but since it was closed today because of the weather, she came in early just to help you out. Oh, and I nearly forgot. Mrs. Peterson,” she gestured at one of the women, “asked her son Alvin to plow out your drive.”

  “He’s over there now,” said Mrs. Peterson, “and he’ll help with the heavy stuff.”

  “Oh my goodness,” said Mom. “Thank you so much. All of you.”

  “Listen, don’t worry about a thing,” said Doris. “You just go on over to the house and get unloaded. If I could scoot out of here, I’d give you a hand myself.”

  There was a flurry of hugs, and while Mom exchanged some last words with the women, Harriet and I headed out into the blowing snow. My brain whirled wildly. ‘What had Harriet meant by “dangerous?” Was she trying to warn me about the old guy with the sword?’

  When we reached the car I turned to her quickly. “So this dangerous thing—?”

  But she stopped me swiftly with a finger to her lips. She glanced over my shoulder, and I could tell by her expression that Mom had come out of the building. Harriet looked back at me, and I thought she wasn’t going to say anything. Then a big cloud of snow enveloped us and she leaned toward me, whispering, her warm breath batting softly at my ear, “Things are really bad, but I think you got here just in time. And you can still turn everything around. If you’ve got enough nerve.”

  I stared at her, totally dumbfounded. I opened my mouth to say something, but I never got a word out because Mom was suddenly there.

  “Look out!” she cried. “Here comes Rudolph with a big red nose!”

  I knew this was Mom’s pathetic attempt at humor and I glanced over at Harriet, giving her a pained look. She was still staring at me, her eyes deepening to a darker gold. And even though I didn’t know the language of eyes, especially when it came to girls, I could tell there was some kind of strange and maybe even frightening story hovering in those golden-brown depths.

  An icy gust of wind snaked up my pant legs and I shivered violently. Enough nerve for what?

  3

  the wild kid and the prince of words

  I rode in back, while Mom and Harriet sat up front. Mom chattered like crazy, asking a million questions, and Harriet responded politely, but never seemed to give out much information. Finally a huge silence grew until my stomach gurgled loudly. To cover it up, I said quickly, “Okay, wow, how’s school?”

  This was a supremely stupid question because, after Harris Junior High, even the word “school” made me flush with panic.

  “School?” Harriet gave me a look that contained the same flicker of fear I’d seen earlier. “It’s okay.” She paused, then added, “Why?”

  “I don’t know,” I blundered on. “I was just wondering what kind of school I was getting into. You know, good, bad, or really rotten.”

  “I’ll bet it’s a great one,” piped up Mom, sounding like the Welcome Wagon lady. “That would be my guess.”

  Harriet hesitated. “It’s different.” Her glance held mine for a brief moment and I thought she was trying to tell me something, but I had no idea what. Then she turned to Mom. “We go right at the next stop sign.”

  Before I could ask Harriet what she meant by “different,” Mom started up.

  “You know, I think different is good. You don’t want the same old routine, Eugene. You need a challenge, something startling, something outside the box.”

  While Mom rattled on, I happened to glance behind us. I gasped softly. Here was something “outside the box” all right. About fifty yards behind us, pedaling along crazily in the snow, was the old man on the orange bike.

  He appeared clearly for a moment, then disappeared in the blowing snow, but it was him for sure. His green cap showed up like a beacon, and I even got a clear look at the sword on his belt. What was going on here? Was this some kind of Tour de Michigan for iron-hearted lunatics?

  I turned around and announced dramatically, “Okay, hold it. I want everyone to check this out.”

  Right at that moment Mom cried, “Oh, I see it too! I see it! It’s that cute little brown one. Tell me I’m right.”

  That totally confused me until I realized she was talking about the house.

  “That’s the one,” said Harriet. “And that’s Alvin plowing the drive.”

  I snapped a quick look behind us again, but I couldn’t see a thing because of the clouds of snow. Then the wind died down briefly and the road was empty. There was no one in sight. Nothing.

  “What a cute little charmer,” Mom went on.

  She and Harriet were staring ahead at a homely two-story house that evidently had once been painted brown. The house sat by itself in a large field.

  There was a tiny yard, a garage, and a lone pine tree that leaned sadly over the front porch. I could see a red Jeep plowing the driveway.

  “It’s so quaint and, gosh, I don’t know … simple,” Mom said.

  I thought it looked like the home of an ax murderer, but I kept my mouth shut. I was still baffled over the disappearance of the old man. Maybe he had fallen over, or maybe he had turned down another road. I thought about telling Mom and Harriet what I’d seen, but I knew Mom would think I was simply being a smart aleck again and she’d probably say something like, “Oh honey, for heaven’s sake, people don’t ride bikes in snowstorms.” I’d end up looking really dumb in front of Harriet.

  “I hear the house has some nice bookcases,” said Harriet. She gave me a strange, intent look. “If you happen to like books?”

  “I like ‘em a lot,” I replied. “I’ve got about a zillion.”

  “Really?” Harriet smiled and her eyes seemed to glow. “That’s so great.”

  Why had she asked me about books? That seemed odd. I was about to expand on my book collection, but before I could start, Mom let out a muffled scream.

  Like an out-of-control rocket, the Jeep went sailing by in reverse.

  “That’s Alvin,” said Harriet, shaking her head apologetically. “He’s kind of wild.” She turned and looked at me. “He’s in the eighth grade too.”

  “He’s a bit young to be driving, isn’t he?” said Mom.

  “Actually, he’s fourteen,” said Harriet, “and he’s got a driver’s permit.”

  Alvin came toward us again, hitting the brakes at the last second. He rolled down his window, and I saw a big haystack of a kid with unruly blond hair.

  “Alvin,” Mom called out, “thanks so much for doing this.”

  He grinned. I could see he had a chipped front tooth. “Nuttin’ to it,” he said.

  He glanced over at Harriet. “Howdy, Harriet.”

  “Hi, Alvin,” said Harriet. As though it were planned, both of them turned and looked at me. I could tell Alvin was checking me over with a critical eye. All this staring was beginning to drive me nuts, and I wanted to yell out, “Whaat?”

  “So, Alvin,” Mom broke in, “how should we unload? Can I pull straight in?”

  “No, ma’am,” he said, “better b
ack that sucker in.”

  “Oh gosh, I can’t do that,” said Mom. “Eugene, can you?”

  They all turned and looked at me, and again I noticed how closely Harriet and Alvin were watching. “Mom,” I said, like the biggest dolt in the county, “I can’t back this thing, no way.”

  “Hey, no problemo,” said Alvin. “I’ll put that fardex in there for you.”

  We got out of the car and stood shivering in the cold wind while Alvin climbed in behind the wheel. In seconds he had the trailer backed snugly to the front steps. He jumped out to see if he was close enough. “What do you think?” he asked me.

  “Well, as an expert Tonka truck driver,” I said, “I’d say it was perfect.”

  Alvin let loose with a great, booming laugh. “Fardex, man! That is hi-larious! The old Tonka driver!”

  He gave me a playful punch on the arm that jolted me painfully. I was going to ask him what “fardex” meant, but I began to suspect he used it whenever he felt like it and that it could mean any number of things.

  Mom and Harriet were already opening the doors on the trailer, and as I started over to help, I saw a movement in one of the lower windows of the house. It was just a flash of green, but it made the hair on my neck prickle with alarm. I turned to the others. “I think someone’s in the house.”

  “Is he acting dumb?” Alvin wanted to know as he hoisted a rug to his shoulder. He and Harriet seemed unconcerned.

  I looked back at the window and saw a boy in a green winter coat peering out. His head was tilted and he held the curtain under his nose like a huge mustache.

  “Yeah, I guess you could say that,” I said with a laugh.

  “Oh, my gosh,” said Mom, humor-handicapped as usual. “What is he doing?”

  The boy was plastering his face against the glass like a giant snail.

  “It’s Weeser,” said Harriet. “I mean Walter, Doris’s son. He’s being goofy.”

  Alvin grinned. “The little bizarro. He came out with me and he’s supposed to help unload, but he likes to fool around.” Alvin started toward the front door carrying an enormous load consisting of two rugs, a lamp, and a large footstool. When he opened the door I saw the kid jump back out of sight.

  “C’mon Weeser,” said Alvin, “get your butt in gear and give us a hand.”

  Alvin lumbered inside with his load and Weeser popped into the doorway. He was a pale kid with washed-out brown hair, large glasses, and a wispy mustache. He held up both hands in a “V” for victory signal and said in a gravelly voice, “I am not a criminal.”

  “That’s his President Nixon impression,” said Harriet. “He thinks it’s funny.”

  “Read my lips. No new taxes!” cried Weeser. “Who said that?”

  “George Bush, Sr.,” snapped Harriet. She turned quickly to me. “Whatever you do, don’t encourage him, please.” She and Mom headed toward the entrance, carrying some boxes of dishes.

  Weeser came down the steps and stood watching me as I pushed more stuff toward the edge of the trailer. His eyes were a startling green.

  “So,” he said, “you finally got here.”

  I nodded. “I’m here. I’m Eugene Wise.”

  “So I’ve heard.” He jumped up beside me. He looked like an overgrown elf. “Never was there a name more disappointing,” he said, grinning slyly.

  I gave him a puzzled look. “Yeah, what’s wrong with my name?”

  Weeser rolled his eyes as if this was the dumbest question he’d ever heard and said, “Duwang! It’s your initials. When we heard it was E.W. we were so depressed. I mean down, glum, butt-on-the-floor grim, man. Harriet and Alvin still have hope, confidence, and great expectations, but obviously I don’t.”

  I stared at him. “You know what?” My voice had a snappy edge to it. “I haven’t the foggiest idea what you’re talking about.” I took a deep breath. “In fact, none of the stuff this morning has made any sense to me.”

  Weeser grinned. “Knew it wouldn’t. Kept telling Harriet and Alvin that. I told them E.W. doesn’t fit, so you can’t be the one. I said we should listen to the Prince of Words. He’s smart, alert, intuitive, and he knows a thing or two.”

  “Oh yeah, great. So who’s the Prince of Words?”

  “Me, of course,” said Weeser. “Duu-wang!”

  He opened his eyes wide and made such a crazy face I had to laugh. He joined me and he had the funniest, wheeziest laugh. But then it ended in a coughing fit that turned his face scarlet. Alarmed, I started to pat him on the back.

  “It’s okay,” he gasped. “I’m fine.” He sat down and began fanning himself. “I’m robust, lusty, and feelin’ my oats. Not.”

  Harriet came out then. “Oh no, Weese, what happened?” She turned to me. “He’s got asthma real bad and he’s supposed to stay calm.”

  “He was talking about my initials,” I said boldly, “and how they don’t fit.” I figured it was time to hit this crazy stuff head on and get some answers.

  Instantly Harriet looked worried. She gave Weeser a sharp look and was about to say something, but we could hear Mom and Alvin talking and then Alvin burst out, coming for another load.

  Harriet bent over, straightened Weeser’s glasses, and said quietly, “Quit messing around. We’ll talk to Eugene later.”

  “I’m not messing around,” Weeser said, indignantly. “I resemble that.”

  “And don’t get goofy with the words,” added Harriet. “We don’t have time.”

  Weeser turned and gave me a sly grin. “I like pithy words,” he said.

  “Ew, watch your language,” cried Alvin, as he bounded up onto the trailer.

  “I like pungent words,” Weeser continued, “like protean, pristine, and pulchritudinous.”

  “That’s ‘cause you’re a word-nerd,” said Alvin, giving me a big wink.

  “Look, guys, this is funny and all,” I began, “but the truth is I’m starting to feel a little weird here. I need to know what’s going on.” Seeing Harriet’s alarmed look, I lowered my voice. “I mean, just tell me. Mom can’t hear us.”

  Alvin nodded at Harriet. “So what the fardex, tell him. Just blab it out real quick. We’ll get to the details later.”

  Harriet chewed on her lower lip for a moment, then gave me that intense, golden-eyed look of hers. “It’s kind of hard just to blurt it out,” she began. “But we thought, all three of us at first, that you were coming here to help us.”

  “Sort of like a madman rebel,” said Alvin. “You know, a wild kid who wouldn’t be afraid of stuff.”

  “Like a crusader,” added Weeser, “a wandering warrior.”

  “Like a salmon on rye,” said Alvin.

  Weeser rolled his eyes. “Samurai.”

  “Samurai?” I stared at them. “To do what?”

  Harriet took a deep breath and gave me such a look of desperation I could barely meet her eyes. “To help change our horrible, rotten school.”

  4

  my secret cult me

  When I heard this, I didn’t know whether to laugh hysterically or fall down and begin bawling like the true wimp I am. One thing was for sure: when the word “school” hit me, I could feel my stomach tying itself into the world’s biggest square knot.

  “For crying out loud,” said Weeser, “don’t faint.”

  “Faint?” I snorted sarcastically. “I’m not going to faint.” More like topple over and die, I thought. I forced myself to inhale. “Why in the heck would you think I was some kind of warrior and all that? I mean, I don’t understand any of this. And school?”

  “There’s a good reason for it all,” said Harriet. “The note.”

  “What note?” I asked. I sounded so baffled, it was like I had said, “What foot growing out of my head?”

  Just then Mom reappeared at the front door, waving cheerfully. “Table and chairs, guys. C’mon, hop hop.”

  Mom kept us hard at work for the next hour, and I went around feeling like I was caught in a bad dream. I desperately wanted to know more,
but at the same time I wanted to avoid any talk about me being some kind of caped crusader with an “S” for Samurai embroidered on my briefs. Who in their right mind would move to Grindsville just to reform their “horrible, rotten school”?

  I expected the house to fit right in with my depressed mood, I was totally wrong about it. It was a pleasant surprise. It may have looked gloomy from the outside, but inside it was cheery. There were hardwood floors, lots of windows, and a small fireplace in the living room. And my eyes lit up immediately when I saw all the bookcases. For the first time in my life, I’d have a place for my books.

  It was nearly five o’clock and growing dark outside when I found myself alone with Harriet. We had just finished putting the bed together in my room, and Mom had dragged Alvin and Weeser downstairs to help unload some boxes of canned goods. Harriet tiptoed to the landing and listened a moment, then came back to me. Her eyes had that deep golden look.

  “You want to see the note, right?

  “Oh yeah,” I said. “Sort of. Maybe.”

  “I know you do.” She grinned at me. “It’s written all over your face.” Eagerly, she reached into her shirt pocket, brought out a folded piece of paper, and handed it to me. “Take a look at this and then you’ll see why we thought it might be you.” She hesitated, then added, “And why I still haven’t given up hope.”

  I started to unfold the note when, I heard voices on the stairs. It was Alvin and Weeser. Impatiently, Harriet waved them in and then motioned to me to hurry up. I opened the note and read the hastily printed message:

  Dear Harriet Grove,

  Must write fast! Danger is close!

  I know school is horrible, but trust me, help is

  Watch for B.B., Dec. 19. He’s an eighth grader,

  a brave resourceful kid and a reader of books.

  Be careful WHO you show this to; could be dangerous.

  PS. You will be contacted soon.

  When I handed the note back to Harriet I realized my hand was shaking.