Summer of the Monkeys (23 page)

“Oh, yes, they would, Grandpa,” I said. “I know. No one knows what those monkeys would do any better than I do. If you hit Jimbo with that stick, he’ll sick those little monkeys on us, and they’ll eat us up.”

Grandpa must have believed what I was telling him. He dropped the stick and looked at the sycamore again. “They’re gone!” he said, in a loud voice. “Where did they go?”

I looked, and sure enough, the monkeys had disappeared. I felt like bawling. “They’re gone, all right,” I said. “So are our coconuts and my pony and .22. Doggone it—just when it looks like I have a cinch on getting my pony and .22, something like this happens every time. What are we going to do now?”

“We’re still going to catch those monkeys,” Grandpa said, as he untied the halter ropes from the gum tree. “I’m mad now. Just because we lost those coconuts doesn’t mean that we have to give up. No, sir-e-e. We’re still going to catch those monkeys.”

“How are we going to catch them, Grandpa?” I asked. “We don’t have any coconuts for bait.”

“We’re going to build that pen just like we planned,” Grandpa said. “We’ll use apples for bait. We’ll use everything I have in my store if we have to. We’re still going to catch those monkeys.”

Before Grandpa and I got into the buckboard, we took another look at that beautiful sycamore tree. Grandpa chuckled and said, “You know, when you think about it, those monkeys didn’t exactly steal our coconuts. They made a trade with us. They traded us your old britches, gunny sack, traps, and beanshooter for the coconuts. It’s as simple as that.”

“Grandpa,” I said, “now do you believe those monkeys are smart?”

“Yes,” Grandpa said, as he climbed into the buckboard, “they’re smart, all right. But they’re not smart enough. I still believe there never was an animal that couldn’t be caught. We’ll see. We’ll see.”

When Grandpa and I came in sight of our house, we saw Mama, Papa, Daisy, and Rowdy standing on the porch.

As we drove up, Papa said, “Is everything all right? When I saw Rowdy coming home alone, I was kind of worried.”

Grandpa didn’t get out of the buckboard. He just sat there, holding the reins in his hand, and looked at Papa. He shifted a little on the seat and said, “I’ve never deliberately told a lie in my life; but if I thought I could tell one and get out of this, I would. I’m going to tell you what happened to us, but I don’t think you’re going to believe it. I saw it happen, and I don’t believe it.”

Taking his time, Grandpa told Papa everything that had happened to us down in the bottoms.

Papa started laughing. I had never seen him laugh so hard. He stood up and laughed. He bent over and laughed. Then he sat down on the porch, buried his face in his arms, and laughed. Mama started laughing, too. Rowdy got all excited and started bawling. With all of that laughter going on, I laughed a little, too.

Everyone was laughing, but Daisy. She didn’t crack a smile. With an angry look in her eyes, she just stood there looking at me.

Grandpa either got mad or disgusted. Anyway, he looked at me and said, “Give me a few days to get things straightened out at the store, and then we’ll build that pen. We’re going to catch those
monkeys and stop some of this laughing.” He took off down the road, with the buckboard bouncing, and the dust a-boiling.

Grandpa wasn’t out of sight when Daisy said, “Jay Berry, do you mean to tell me that you lost my ribbons?”

“I didn’t lose them, Daisy,” I said. “Those monkeys stole them. The ribbons are down there in the bottoms, strung all over the top of a sycamore tree.”

Daisy said, “You’re always bragging what a good tree climber you are. Why didn’t you climb the tree and get the ribbons back for me?”

“Climb the tree!” I exclaimed. “Aw, Daisy, you don’t know what you’re talking about. I couldn’t climb that sycamore. It’s the biggest one in those bottoms. Why, it’s a hundred and fifty feet to the first limb.”

With fire flashing from her blue eyes, Daisy said, “Jay Berry Lee, I don’t care if it’s five hundred and fifty feet to the first limb, you could get yourself down there and get my ribbons. That’s the least you could do.”

Mama said, “I think we had better forget about the ribbons. I don’t want him climbing any sycamore trees. I’m going to order some things from Sears and Roebuck, and I’ll get you three spools of ribbons.”

That helped to calm Daisy’s feelings a little, but not very much. She was still upset about those stupid ribbons.

“Jay Berry,” she said, “I’m not going to speak to you for six months. I’m not even going to pass anything at the table to you. I needed those ribbons. I have five doll dresses completely finished and I wanted ribbons for trim.”

Daisy had put me through the silent treatment several times in my life, and I didn’t like it at all. I could put up with it for a few days and then it would get on my nerves.

It seemed that while I was going through the silent treatment, Daisy would stay as close to me as she could. She wouldn’t say a
word; just stare at me with her mouth clamped shut as tight as a snapping turtle.

The only way I could break the spell was by giving her something, or by promising her something.

“Daisy,” I said, “if you won’t be mad at me for losing your ribbons, I’ll let you have Sally Gooden’s next calf.”

Daisy’s eyes lit up and she said, “You will!”

I nodded my head.

“All right,” Daisy said. “I’m going to hold you to that. Let’s shake hands on it.”

I shook hands with her and watched as she hobbled into the house, as happy as a lark.

Daisy and I took turn-about claiming Sally Gooden’s calves. Even in that deal, I always came out on the short end. Every time it was Daisy’s turn, Sally Gooden had a heifer calf. Every time it was my turn, she had a bull calf. Bull calves weren’t worth fifteen cents.

I wasn’t feeling too good when I went to bed that night. It had been a terrible day for me. Along with losing the coconuts, I had given up my calf, and I wasn’t any closer to having my pony and .22 than I was the day Rowdy treed the first monkey.

I hadn’t completely given up on catching the monkeys. I still had a lot of confidence in my old grandpa. With his help, I figured that, in the long run, I’d come out all right. I always did.

T
hat night, not long after I had gone to bed, a storm blew in. Br-r-rother, was it ever a storm. As I had often heard my grandpa say, it was a “ringtail wampus cat.” I was sound asleep when the storm broke and I was awakened by an earth-jarring clap of thunder that all but turned my bed over. I was lying there, watching the flashes of lightning through my window and listening to the raging storm when the door of my room creaked open.

It was Daisy. She always was scared of storms.

“Jay Berry,” she whispered, “I’m scared. Can I come in for a while—just till this crazy old storm blows over?”

I was scared, too, but I wasn’t going to let Daisy know it. I figured that boys didn’t ever let girls know that they were scared.

“Aw, Daisy,” I said, as I sat up in the bed, “I don’t know what you’re scared of. It’s just a little old storm.”

“A little old storm!” Daisy said, as she came in and sat down on the edge of the bed. “I think it’s going to blow the whole country away. I bet my playhouse is a mess, and I had it looking so pretty.”

For several minutes, Daisy and I sat in silence, listening to the storm. Lightning was cracking and thunder was rolling. Every time it thundered, our old log house trembled and the windows rattled. Strong gusts of wind slammed the rain against the window so hard
I thought it would surely break the glass. I could hear the big red oaks around our home fighting back at the storm. Limbs were squeaking and snapping, and leaves were rattling.

Right after a loud clap of thunder that all but shook the house down, Daisy said, “Boy, Old Thor must really be mad tonight.”

“Thor?” I said, surprised. “What are you talking about? I never heard that name before.”

“Surely, Jay Berry,” Daisy said, “you’ve heard of Thor, the thunder god. Everybody knows about him.”

“Well, I didn’t know about him,” I said. “I’ve never heard of a thunder god with a name like Thor. Where do you hear things like that anyway?”

Daisy sighed and said, “Jay Berry, I just don’t know about you. I learn things by reading. If you would read something besides those old hunting and fishing stories, you might learn something, too.”

“Aw, Daisy,” I said, “I like to read hunting and fishing stories. I don’t like to read anything else. I wouldn’t like to read anything about an old thunder god.”

“I think you’d like to read the story about Thor, the thunder god,” Daisy said. “It’s a real good story.”

“What’s it about?” I asked.

Daisy scooted a little closer to me. She said, “Well, it goes something like this. Thor, the thunder god, is a warrior. He lives way up in the heavens somewhere. He has long red hair and a red beard. He has a chariot, too. It’s pulled by four coal-black horses that snort fire.

“Every time Thor gets mad, he jumps into that chariot, whacks those black horses, and takes off through the heavens. The only weapon he has with him is a big hammer. All along the way, he throws that hammer right and left. Every time the hammer hits something, it turns into a bolt of lightning.

“It makes no difference how many times Thor throws that hammer,
he never loses it because it always comes back to him. The thunder you hear is the rumbling of those chariot wheels. That’s why they call him ‘Thor, the thunder god.’ ”

“Boy,” I said, “that does sound like a good story. I think I’d like to read it. Do you still have it?”

“Sure,” Daisy said. “It’s in one of those little books that Grandma gave us. You were supposed to read those books, too; but you never read a one.”

“Aw, Daisy,” I said, “I don’t like to read books like that. Whoever heard of a boy reading stories like
The Little Red Hen, Little Red Riding Hood, The Three Little Pigs
, and stuff like that? They’re girl books—that’s all they are—girl books.”

“Girl books!” Daisy said. “Jay Berry, I declare! I don’t think there’s any hope at all for you. I don’t think you’ll ever learn anything. Every girl and boy should read those stories. After all, they are really good stories.”

“I don’t care how good those stories are,” I said. “I couldn’t get interested in reading them—not now. The only thing I’m interested in right now is catching those monkeys.”

Just mentioning the word “monkeys” made my hair fly straight up. I all but jumped out of bed. I forgot all about the storm and everything else. “Oh!” I said in a loud voice.

A frightened look came over Daisy’s face. “What’s the matter, Jay Berry?” she asked. “Are you going to have a fit?”

“No,” I said, “I’m not going to have any fit! I just thought of those monkeys. I bet they will get drowned in this storm. It would be just my luck.”

“Jay Berry,” Daisy said, “I don’t think you have to worry about those monkeys getting drowned. All animals know how to take care of themselves in a storm. If you know anything at all about animals, you should know that.”

“I do know about animals,” I said. “I know all about coons, possums, skunks, squirrels, and things like that; but I don’t know
anything about monkeys. If I ever catch the ones that are hanging around here now, I hope I never hear the word ‘monkey’ again as long as I live.”

Daisy giggled. “I bet Old Rowdy feels just like you do,” she said.

Just then Old Thor really must have thrown that hammer. A big bolt of lightning zoomed down from the sky, hissing like a mad snake. From somewhere close by, there was a loud crack that sounded like a hundred rifles had gone off, all at the same time.

I knew that somewhere in the hills a big tree had split wide open. My room lit up, so bright I could see the stitches in the patchwork of the quilt on my bed. From a sitting position, I jumped about two feet straight up. Daisy shivered; then she uttered a low moan and started rubbing her crippled leg with her hand.

“What’s the matter, Daisy?” I asked. “Does your old leg hurt?”

“It sure does,” Daisy said. “Every time it storms like this, my leg hurts something terrible. Sometimes I just have to grit my teeth to keep from screaming.”

I felt so sorry for my little sister. I wanted to help her but I didn’t know what to do. I didn’t know anything about doctoring. I couldn’t doctor a sick cat, much less a crippled leg.

“Do you want me to get the liniment bottle?” I asked. “Maybe if you rubbed some of that stuff on your leg, it would help.”

“No,” Daisy said, “that wouldn’t help a bit. It used to, but not any more. Lately, nothing seems to help.”

“Why don’t you tell Mama that your leg is hurting?” I said. “She can doctor anything.”

“No,” Daisy said, “I don’t want Mama to know. She has enough to worry about. Besides, she needs her rest.”

About that time, Thor must have gotten tired of riding around in his chariot because the storm let up. The wind, thunder, and lightning stopped but it was still raining tadpoles and crawdads.

As she got up from my bed, Daisy said, “It looks like the storm
is letting up. I think I’ll go back to my room and lie down. Maybe my old leg will stop hurting.” Just as she reached the door, she stopped and said, “Oh, I almost forgot. Just before I left my room, I saw the Old Man of the Mountains again.”

“You did!” I said. “Where was he when you saw him? Right here in our house?”

“No,” Daisy said. “He wasn’t in the house. When the storm came, I got up to close the window because the rain was coming in. I looked through the glass and saw him standing out in the yard.”

“Holy smokes!” I said. “What was the old man doing, prowling around on a night like this? I’ll bet he was sopping wet.”

“No, he wasn’t wet,” Daisy said. “The Old Man of the Mountains doesn’t get wet if he doesn’t want to.”

I started to give Daisy one heck of an argument about this. I didn’t figure that anyone, not even the Old Man of the Mountains, could mess around in a rainstorm without getting wet, but I had already decided that he was a spirit of some kind and I didn’t know a thing in the world about spirits. Maybe they didn’t get wet if they didn’t want to.