Jacob Two-Two Meets the Hooded Fang

by Mordecai Richler

  When Jacob Two-Two emerged from the shower, trembling with cold, Mr. Fox shoved a towel at him, saying, “Hurry, I’m prone to chills.” Then, narrowing his eyes, he added, “Hey, you haven’t washed behind your ears.”

  “I have,” said Jacob Two-Two. “I have.”

  “Then what’s this?” asked Mr. Fox, plucking out the supersonic bleeper.

  “Nothing,” said Jacob Two-Two. “Nothing.”

  “Nothing? Why, look here,” said Mr. Fox, holding it to the light, “it’s a precious stone. I’ll have it, then. Thank you very much.”

  Jacob Two-Two kicked, he punched, and he bit, but he couldn’t recover the supersonic bleeper. Indeed, all he earned for his effort was a bruised cheek, before Mr. Fox gathered him up and flung him back into his cell.

  Lying on the stone floor, Jacob Two-Two sobbed. He sobbed and sobbed, until suddenly he realized he was being foolish, for it didn’t matter one bit that Mr. Fox had stolen his bleeper. Child Power would still track it to the hidden prison and set everybody free.

  Mr. Fox appeared again. “We’re having a party in the dining hall tonight,” he said. “You’re invited.”

  Some party. There were no balloons, no loot-bags, and no ice cream. Even so, Jacob Two-Two was delighted to be led finally into the dining hall, if only to enjoy the company of other little people, boys and girls, who, like Jacob Two-Two himself, were still unable to ride a two-wheel bicycle, dial a telephone number, whistle, do joined-up writing, play checkers, or catch a ball. So many of them, too! Jacob Two-Two hadn’t realized until now that there were something like two hundred other boys and girls being held in the prison. All of them dressed in itchy, ill-fitting, gray prison uniforms, their faces pale, circles under their eyes, because on Slimers’ Isle they never, never saw the sun.

  Jacob Two-Two was seated between two other boys, one called Pete, and the other, Oscar. He liked them both immediately. But before he could ask them any questions, a menu was placed before them. It read:

  CROCODILE STEAK

  or

  TART OF DEATH-WATCH BEETLE

  ELECTRIC EEL SOUP

  or

  SNAKEBURGERS

  NETTLE PIE

  “Whatever you do,” warned Pete, “don’t take the electric eel soup.”

  “Why?” asked Jacob Two-Two. “Why?”

  “Because,” said Oscar, “it’s shocking.”

  At another long table, Jacob Two-Two noticed a little boy crying. A girl, maybe four years old, kept calling, “I want my mommy.” Oscar looked sad. So did Pete. And Jacob Two-Two was bursting to tell them about his supersonic bleeper and how all their troubles would soon be over, because any day now the leaders of Child Power, the fearless O’Toole and the intrepid Shapiro, would track them down and liberate everybody. But before he could whisper his secret, all the other children began to shriek, some even hiding their eyes, as the dreaded Hooded Fang padded into the dining hall, growling and baring his fangs. Suddenly, The Hooded Fang frowned. “I know my audience,” he bellowed. “I’ve got antennas. There’s a little stinker in here somewhere who isn’t trembling for me. Would he please stand up?”

  Jacob Two-Two was about to rise, but Oscar held him down on one side, and Pete on the other.

  “If you’re not afraid,” Oscar whispered, “you must pretend.”

  But it was too late. The Hooded Fang was already upon them, glaring down at Jacob Two-Two.

  “So it’s you, is it, Two-Two? I’ll soon fix that. But first,” he said, striding to the raised platform at the head of the dining hall, children scattering left and right as he passed, “I must tell all of you why we are here tonight. We are here to honor Mr. Fox and present him with this month’s Rotten-to-Children Award. And, furthermore, I must tell you that as Mr. Fox has been so splendidly cruel here, so rough and tough with little brats, he is being promoted. Mr. Fox will be leaving us. He’s going to London. Undercover work. An entirely new division.” Here The Hooded Fang paused, his smile vile. “Toy Shop Sabotage.”

  Going to London? Heedless of any danger to himself, Jacob Two-Two raced to Mr. Fox’s side and tugged urgently at his sleeve. “When are you leaving?” he demanded. “When are you leaving?”

  “Why, tonight,” said Mr. Fox, beaming as he flashed the supersonic bleeper at Jacob Two-Two, “tonight, right after the party.”

  “Then give me back my bleeper right now,” cried Jacob Two-Two twice.

  In reply, Mr. Fox shook with laughter and gave Jacob Two-Two a shove, sending him sprawling.

  I have failed everybody, thought Jacob Two-Two, and that night he wept fresh hot tears on the cold floor of his cell. For now he knew that the fearless O’Toole and the intrepid Shapiro would never, never find him. He was condemned to linger in the hidden prison for two years, two months, two weeks, two days, two hours and two minutes.

  CHAPTER 9

  eanwhile, in the Child Power tent, under the shade of the copper beech tree, the fearless O’Toole paced the floor, his cape hanging limp. The intrepid Shapiro sat at her desk, holding her head in her hands.

  “If you won’t say it, I will,” said Shapiro. “We’re up the creek without a paddle.”

  “Poor little Jacob Two-Two.”

  To begin with, the Child Power receiver in the tent had picked up definite bleeps, tracking them to the outskirts of the fog country, when suddenly everything had gone haywire. The signals were lost.

  O’Toole searched, Shapiro cogitated, but again and again they came up with nothing.

  Then, two days later, the intrepid Shapiro burst in on the fearless O’Toole, enormously excited, and insisted that she had picked up the supersonic bleeps in the West End of London.

  “Why, that’s crazy,” said the fearless O’Toole.

  But they had to pursue every lead. And so, off they ran, through Hyde Park, around Piccadilly Circus, and into the gigantic toy shop of Regent Street that had always been their favorite. The fearless O’Toole followed the intrepid Shapiro to the second floor, through a door and into the packing room, where a jolly fat man sang as he fiddled with boxes of jigsaw puzzles. No sooner did the fat man espy the intrepid Shapiro and fearless O’Toole than he leaped back from the boxes, dropping several pieces of jigsaw on the floor.

  “I wasn’t doing anything wrong,” he said quickly.

  “But nobody said you were,” said the intrepid Shapiro.

  The fat man, who wore dark glasses, kept to the shadows. Eyeing the young intruders suspiciously, he sang out, “Care for a sweet?”

  The intrepid Shapiro hesitated.

  “Here,” said the fat man, offering a chocolate to the fearless O’Toole, “have this.”

  Suddenly, the fearless O’Toole grasped the man’s hand and shouted for the intrepid Shapiro. “Look here,” he said. “Quick.”

  It was the supersonic bleeper, set in a ring on the old man’s finger.

  “Where did you get it?” demanded the intrepid Shapiro.

  “Well,” said the fat man, “one day, fishing in the Thames, below Richmond, I caught me a lovely plump trout, of all unlikely things, and no sooner did he land on the bank, flipping and flopping, than he coughed up this precious stone. Gorgeous, isn’t it?”

  The fearless O’Toole’s eyes filled with tears. The intrepid Shapiro bit her lip.

  “Oh my,” the fat man called back after the retreating Infamous Two, “did I say anything to distress you?”

  The intrepid Shapiro was too upset to answer.

  “Come and visit me again. Ask for me at the door any time. My name is Fox. Mr. Fox. I love children.”

  Outside, Shapiro said, “Obviously, Jacob Two-Two was drowned while trying to escape.”

  “Poor Jacob Two-Two,” said O’Toole.

  CHAPTER 10

  ay by day Jacob Two-Two grew thinner, in spite of the chocolate bars and occasional bag of gumdrops that continued to turn up so mysteriously in his cell, each time with a note enclosed–

  IF YOU WANT MORE OF THE SAME, MUTTON-HEAD
, TAKE MY ADVICE AND TREMBLE WHENEVER THE HOODED FANG PASSES.

  A FRIEND

  With Oscar and Pete, members of his work gang, Jacob Two-Two worked very, very hard indeed, mostly at the fog-making workshop attached to the prison. The fog, Jacob Two-Two discovered, was manufactured by the perfidious Slimers to keep the children’s prison safely hidden. Other goods made in the prison included–

  Jigsaw puzzles too complicated to solve.

  Pinball machines that registered tilt, if you so much as blew on them.

  Ping-Pong tables with a net bound to collapse the first time it was struck by a ball.

  No-flow ketchup, guaranteed to stick in the bottle.

  Blue jeans labeled preshrunk, but manufactured to shrink still more after the first washing.

  Dentists’ drills.

  Bad-temper pills for teachers and baby-sitters.

  Shoes made especially for children to outgrow within three months.

  Rain for picnics.

  Weeds to ruin swimming holes.

  Major news stories concocted to break only when they could replace favorite television programs.

  The Slimers also turned out KEEP OFF THE GRASS signs by the thousand, giving them away free, and offered special cut-rate to builders who put up apartment buildings where there were ABSOLUTELY NO PETS ALLOWED, not even a tropical fish tank. In a word, anything to torment little people or get them in trouble with big people who did, in fact, love them.

  Day by day, Jacob Two-Two’s skin turned gray, like the other prisoners, and there were soon circles under his eyes, for in the hidden children’s prison he never, never saw the sun.

  Well, not exactly never. For once, tramping through the fog with a work gang, he noticed a thin shaft of sunlight penetrating the gloom in a remote clearing. Another day the guards, also catching a glimpse of the sunlight in the clearing, hastily donned their dark glasses and turned their faces the other way, as if the feeble shaft of sunlight was actually a ray of blinding intensity.

  “Hurry,” cried the guards. “Get to the fog workshop and get up some more fog. Hurry, brats!”

  Inside the workshop, Jacob Two-Two and the rest of his work gang were set to feeding coal into the fog-making machines. Faster, faster. And once their shift was done, they were marched past the Fog Control Room. Here, Jacob Two-Two noticed three Slimers hard at work repairing the Control Switch.

  “What happened?” asked Jacob Two-Two. “What happened?”

  “Some idiot pulled the switch the wrong way and cut the power,” said a Slimer, shivering. “Another ten minutes and the wind might have blown our fog away.”

  All three Slimers shook their heads, appalled.

  “We might have been exposed to the sun,” said the second Slimer, trembling at the thought.

  “A close shave. A very close shave. Now on your way, brat, we shouldn’t be telling you any of this.”

  Jacob Two-Two continued on his way, his manner pensive. Suddenly, he turned to Oscar. “Why can’t they stand the sun?” he asked twice.

  “Because,” said Oscar, “speaking scientifically, any big person who cannot stand little ones also fears the sun.”

  “Or pets,” added Pete.

  “Or flowers,” said Oscar.

  Or even laughter, thought Jacob Two-Two, remembering The Hooded Fang.

  CHAPTER 11

  acob Two-Two was not only overworked and hungry most of the time, but he was also in ever-deepening trouble with The Hooded Fang. The Fang, it appeared, had come to detest him more than all the other prisoners.

  “That lousy Jacob Two-Two,” complained The Hooded Fang bitterly to his wife one night, “will be the end of me. When I pass, he doesn’t cower, shiver, or even tremble, but instead puts a hand to his mouth to suppress a giggle.”

  Mrs. Hooded Fang was outraged. “But hasn’t he seen all the signs on the prison grounds, saying you’re vile, inhuman, and vicious.”

  “The little stinker,” cried The Hooded Fang, “was brought up not to believe everything he reads. Furthermore, I can’t even get him to admit his age. Whenever I ask him how old he is, he says,” and here The Hooded Fang mimicked Jacob Two-Two, “‘Why, I’m two plus two plus two years old.’ Worse news. He won’t answer his cell door unless I knock two times.”

  “Punish him!”

  “But no punishment works.”

  “Have you tried making him eat soup with a fork?”

  “I’ve tried everything. I must break his spirit, you see, and the only way I can do that is to get him to say anything but two. If only I could get him to say one, three, or even sixteen. Sixteen!” exclaimed The Hooded Fang. “That’s it!” And he leaped up, knocking over his wife, and charging out of his lair and down the two hundred steps to Jacob Two-Two’s cell, remembering to knock two times.

  “All right, Jacob Two-Two,” said The Hooded Fang, “if you’re such a clever little fellow, can you tell me how many legs I’ve got?”

  “Why, two, of course,” said Jacob Two-Two. “Why, two, of course.”

  “Good. First-rate. And now, Jacob Two-Two,” said The Hooded Fang, hard put to conceal a fiendish grin, “can you tell me how many suns there are?”

  “Aside from me,” said Jacob Two-Two twice, “my father has two. Daniel and Noah.”

  “No, you twerp! Suns. S-u-n. Can’t you even spell?”

  “I’ll answer that,” said Jacob Two-Two, “I’ll answer that, if you tell me how many times two goes into two?”

  “Think I’m an idiot, do you? The answer to that,” said The Hooded Fang, thrusting out his chest, “is one.”

  “And that,” said Jacob Two-Two twice, “is how many suns we have.”

  “You’re not playing fair! You’re cheating.”

  “I am not! I am not!”

  “All right, then, smarty-pants. Tell me how many ounces there are in a pound.”

  “Why, that’s easy. That’s easy,” said Jacob Two-Two. “There are two times two times two times two ounces in a pound.”

  Shaking with rage, counting on his fingers, and then removing his shoes to use his toes as well, The Hooded Fang had to admit that Jacob Two-Two was right. “Oh, I hate you,” he bellowed. “I could chew you up right here and now.”

  “But, Mr. Hooded Fang,” said Jacob Two-Two, “please, you mustn’t be so sad.”

  “Mustn’t I?”

  “Because,” said Jacob Two-Two, “you, too, can be a two-two.”

  “What’s that, you little twerp?”

  “How many sides are there to every story?” asked Jacob Two-Two. “How many sides are there to every story?”

  “Two.”

  “What should every boy learn to stand on?”

  “His own two feet.”

  “And what will it be when it gets dark?”

  “Tonight.”

  “And where will you go tonight?”

  “To bed.”

  “And what will it be when you wake up?”

  “Why, tomorrow, of course,” said The Hooded Fang, smiling just a little.

  “You see, you see,” exclaimed Jacob Two-Two, jumping up and down joyously, “it’s easy, it’s easy. You, too, are a two-two now.”

  The Hooded Fang’s cheeks flared red. He looked like he was going to explode. “All right, then. I’ve tried everything. And now there’s only one thing to do. Tuesday afternoon at two o’clock, I’m going to feed you to not one, but two hungry sharks. Ho, ho!”

  “Oh no,” cried Jacob Two-Two. “Oh no.”

  “Oh yes,” replied The Hooded Fang, “and what’s more, I will personally bring you your last meal.”

  CHAPTER 12

  irst thing next morning, Jacob Two-Two huddled with Oscar and Pete in a far corner of the prison workshop and told them of The Hooded Fang’s threat.

  “What are we going to do?” asked Pete, enormously upset.

  “We are going to try to escape,” said Jacob Two-Two. “We are going to try to escape.”

  “That’s impossible,” said Pete,
and he reminded them of the sign they had all seen on first arriving at the hidden prison–

  THIS WAY TO SLIMERS’ ISLE

  FROM WHICH NO BRATS

  RETURN

  Mindful of passing guards, whispering, Jacob Two-Two told Pete and Oscar of his desperate plan to liberate all the prisoners … with the help of the intrepid Shapiro, and the fearless O’Toole, the fabled leaders of Child Power. Pete was skeptical and a little frightened. But Oscar said, “As plans go, it does have the merit of being scientific.”

  So that night, unobserved in the dining hall, Pete and Oscar helped Jacob Two-Two draft a letter, making two copies of course. It read–

  TOP SEKRUT

  To: Child Power

  Attenshun: Intrepid Shapiro, Fearlus O’Toole

  FOR YUR EYEZ ONLY

  Hi Fearlus! Greetings Intrepid!

  Bad noos. The supersonic bleeper was stolin from me by one Mr. Fox, whooz now in London on a sekrut mishin, doing sabotage in toy shops. Track down Mr. Fox and he can lead yu to us in the hiddin childrenz prisin. But pleaz remember to dress warmly, becauz to get heer yu must travel by car, trane, bus, canoo, helicopter, ox-cart, rickshaw, stiltz, dingy, skiz, kayak, submarine, flying balloon, camil, dogsled, rollerskates, glider and motorcicle.

  Something elz. Bring weapons. With all due respect, yu will need them. Signal yur arrival by poizining the crocodials in the waters that surround the prisin. Then remember not to attak until two o’clock by which time, with the help of Pete and Oscar, I will have rendered the Slimers helplus.

  Yurs trooly,

  Jacob Two-Two