Jackson Jones, Book 2
Page 7
“I’m very busy. Please go away.” He grunted again, giving the rag one final yank.
Jackson watched him for a moment. “Do you want some help?” he asked.
The elf’s bright green eyes looked up in surprise, but then he scowled. “You’ll just get in the way. A lot of work to do. Can’t be bothered with all your chitchat and whatnot.”
“No, no. I’m great at tying knots. My dad taught me.” The elf gave one last tug on the rag, then stood up and eyed Jackson up and down. “I suppose you can’t tie a clove hitch?”
“Of course I can!”
The elf reached into his dirty workbag and pulled out a handful of colored rags. He looked Jackson over again, then shoved the rags into his hands.
“Find a leak, tie it off.”
“Are these all water pipes?” Jackson asked.
“Work!” yelled the impatient elf.
Jackson quickly shoved the rags into his own satchel and walked around, inspecting the pipes. He could hear dripping. He listened very carefully, following the sound to a large pipe that was already festooned with many bright rags. Liquid gathered at the bottom of the pipe, forming into droplets that made loud PLOPS as they hit the ground. The dirt was muddy underneath. Jackson reached up, swinging a red rag over the pipe and pulling it tight on the other side. His fingers moved slowly and carefully, pulling the ends of the rag through each other and then yanking them tight. The dripping stopped. Walking slowly between the pipes, Jackson listened for the next leak.
“I’m Jackson, by the way!” he called out.
GRUNT! “Alfonso!”
Jackson found another leak. He tied another rag. “What do these pipes hold?” he asked. “Water?”
Grunt. Snort. “Pipes … they’re roots!”
“Roots?” Jackson touched one of the pipes gingerly. It wasn’t smooth like a pipe and it wasn’t made out of metal or plastic. He squeezed it, and the dampness oozed between his fingers. He squeezed a bit harder, and a piece of bark came off in his hand. Oops. He patted it back on, looking around to make sure Alfonso hadn’t noticed.
“Where did you think you were? A building? You’re in a tree!” GRUNT.
“We’re underground, then?”
Alfonso gave an unpleasant-sounding snort. “That’s where roots grow,” he said.
Jackson gave a final tug on a yellow rag and looked back at Alfonso. “Why are the roots leaking?”
“Because roots are porous. They have tiny holes in them to suck in or push out water. Don’t you know anything about trees?”
Jackson did know quite a bit about trees, actually. He thought of several rude things to say to Alfonso but bit his tongue instead.
“But don’t you want the roots to leak? You want to get the moisture everywhere so the tree doesn’t dry out?”
Alfonso stopped mid-tug and looked at Jackson. He checked his watch. “How many did ya do?”
“Three.”
“Humph. I’m keeping the roots from leaking because they need as much moisture as they can get. This here is one sick tree.”
“What do you mean? Is it diseased?” Jackson squinted at the roots, looking for fungus.
Alfonso’s dirty hands reached into his even dirtier work bag. He pulled out a sandwich and began to munch, paying no attention to the soil and muck getting all over his bread.
“Wumph. Mugletdd.”
“Neglected? What do you mean?” (Jackson had a copy of Thompson’s Full Mouth Translation and had read it several times, so he understood what Alfonso had said.)
Alfonso swallowed. “No one’s taking care of it.” He switched hands to eat. His sandwich, which had looked quite tasty, was now covered with dirt.
“What about Stimple? He takes care of the tree, doesn’t he?” Jackson asked.
Alfonso snorted. Then started choking. Jackson smacked him on the back a few times. “Much obliged.” The elf took another big bite. “Dapl whomey mah festtsss.” He swallowed a big swallow. “You know, only keeps out the riff raff.”
“What about Sir Shaw?”
Alfonso stopped chewing. “Who?”
“Sir Shaw. The guy who runs the elevator.”
“There’s an elevator in here? When did that happen?” Alfonso wondered aloud.
Jackson looked at Alfonso strangely. “Just how long have you been working down here?”
Alfonso chewed thoughtfully, a piece of something awful stuck to his lower lip. “Hm. Ah. Ever since I was a young lad. Humph. Dunno.”
“You don’t know? How old were you when you started?”
Alfonso scratched his head. “Ah, let’s see. Twenty? Yah, I was twenty. Just graduated from Rag-Tying School. Graduated first in my class!” His chest heaved proudly. He took another bite.
“And how old are you now?”
“Well, that I’m not sure of. I’m too busy to know what day it is!” With another grunt, Alfonso shoved the remainder of his sandwich back into his grubby satchel. “Back to work!” he cried.
“But don’t you have a calendar or something?” Jackson protested.
“Work!” Alfonso yelled.
Jackson sighed and grabbed another rag from his pile. He found a leak near Alfonso and began tying a green rag on the root. “Don’t you even have a calendar?” he asked again after a moment.
“Of course I do!” said Alfonso. “Everyone needs a calendar! Tells you what day it is and what time your dentist appointment is! It’s at home, of course!”
“Where’s your home?” A leak escaped from the rag and squirted Jackson in the eye. He tied the knot tighter.
“Huh. Well. I think it’s around here somewhere.” Alfonso shrugged, then walked off. Jackson tied off one last rag and followed him.
“You don’t remember where you live?” Jackson tried to keep his voice friendly even though, truth be told, he wasn’t sure he liked Alfonso very much.
“We-ell. It’s been a while since I’ve been home. Terribly busy here trying to keep up with all the work.”
“But what about your family?”
Alfonso’s eyebrows furrowed in puzzlement. “Family?” He looked down and his forehead wrinkled. “I remember a wedding.” His eyes lit up. “The bride wore white, the groom wore a tux, there were flowers everywhere, and people came to watch.” Then he frowned again. “Was it my wedding or my brother’s? Wait. Do I have a brother? Hmm.” Alfonso shrugged and wiped egg salad off his mouth. “Ah, well. Back to work.”
The elf grabbed another fistful of rags and moved among the pipes, listening for drips and tying them off when he found them. Jackson joined him, tying clove hitch after clove hitch wherever he heard the plop! of a leak. The damp air hung around him as he moved back and forth between the pipes, and after a few minutes Jackson felt himself panting.
“Why is it so hard to breathe down here?” he gasped.
Alfonso chuckled. “You’re underground, boy. Not a lot of air here as it is. If the roots were growing properly, they’d aerate the soil and make it easier to breathe. But as it is, I’m trying to keep this tree from going anywhere.”
Jackson stared. “Why would a tree go anywhere?”
“If you’re gonna make me talk, you’d better help me work,” he said. Jackson tied a magenta rag around a particularly leaky root. “Trees are like people,” said Alfonso. “They need nourishment, water, air, sunlight. Wait, do people need sunlight?”
Jackson stared. “I guess so. I think a person would go a little crazy without seeing the sun for a while.”
Alfonso looked at Jackson in surprise. “I guess it has been a while since I’ve seen the sun. Hasn’t bothered me yet!” And he cackled in a very weird sort of way. “Anyway, this here is an old tree. A very old tree—some say older than Time itself. And it used to have great roots. Wasn’t going anywhere. But over time trees, like folks, get itchy feet, you know?”
“Itchy feet?”
“Means they gotta move. Find something new, work somewhere else, do something new, be someone new.”
“We-ell, imagine if you didn’t like who you were,” said Alfonso, grunting as he tied another rag. “You could just move somewhere new and pretend you’re a whole new person. No one would know you, and you could be anyone you wanted.”
Jackson stared at Alfonso. “Why would anyone want to do that?”
“Because …”
“Because if you didn’t like who you were, then that means you were doing things that weren’t very nice. Instead of just taking off, you should apologize! Then you could work on fixing problems instead of ignoring them,” Jackson burst out.
Alfonso stopped tying and peered at Jackson. “Wait. Wait a minute. What do you mean you can just apologize?”
“I mean just say you’re sorry!”
“But what if what you did was really awful?” Alfonso began worrying his rag. (This doesn’t mean he was worried about his rag or that his rag was worried. It means that he was twisting it about in a nervous way.)
“Then apologize!”
Alfonso nodded. “Yes, but what if it was really, really awful?” He worried the rag more.
“Apologize.”
“Yes, yes, I see, but what if it was something really, really, really awful?” The rag had almost came apart in his hands.
Jackson threw his hands up. “Are you serious? A-pol-o-gize.”
Alfonso paused. “But … but what if …”
“Alfonso.”
“Yes, but … you don’t understand.”
Jackson sighed. But then he reached out to Alfonso’s shoulder and gave it a squeeze. “Just say you’re sorry, okay?” Alfonso nodded.
There was a long moment of silence, during which Jackson pretended not to hear the sniffly sounds coming from Alfonso’s direction. Instead, he looked around at all the roots and brightly-colored rags tied tightly around them.
“Are you sure this tree wants to leave? I mean, trees don’t normally just walk away, do they? They normally just keep their roots in the ground and grow.” Jackson wrapped a yellow rag under and over a root and brought the ends together.
“Well,” Alfonso sniffed, “I don’t know for sure that it wants to leave …”
Jackson paused. “Then why are you doing this?”
“It’s my job.”
Both of them were quiet for a minute—then two—then three. Finally: “When was the last time you were home?” Jackson asked.
Alfonso looked at Jackson. “I don’t know.”
And then … Wait. What was that noise?
chapter 57
Which Involves Neither a ‘66 Charger Nor a 371xp Husqvarna Chainsaw
Was it a ‘66 Charger?
Nope. Louder.
Was it a 371xp Husqvarna chainsaw?
No. Louder.
“What is that noise?” Jackson had to yell. “A ‘66 Charger? A 371xp Husqvarna chainsaw?”
Alfonso smiled.
“Squirrels.”
chapter 58
In Which Our Hero May Be Headed for Disaster
Now you think you know about squirrels. Everyone knows about squirrels. Even people who live in remote villages far across the ocean know about squirrels.
And you don’t think that squirrels are that loud. Oh sure, they’re pretty annoying when they’re screeching at five o’clock in the morning because the birdfeeder is empty. But you can usually turn on the radio, and you can’t hear them anymore.
But have you ever been in a room completely filled with squirrels? I think not.
But that was exactly where Jackson was headed.
chapter 59
In Which Jackson Makes a Very Silly Decision
Jackson tiptoed down the hallway with Alfonso following closely behind. There was no need to tiptoe—the chattering drowned out any noise — but Jackson knew that squirrels scare easily.
A black door with gold hinges met them in the hallway.
Jackson put his ear up to the door. It sounded like there were about a million squirrels on the other side. He looked at Alfonso. Alfonso looked at Jackson.
Jackson reached out and grabbed the doorknob.
And turned it.
chapter 60
This Is Not Actually Chapter 60! It Is Just Pretending!
Wouldn’t it be just absolutely awful if I were to interrupt the story right here? I just want to point out that it’s terribly late and you’ve been reading a lot already, and perhaps it’s time to put the book down and go to bed, do your homework, feed the hippo, or mow the lawn.
But the next chapter is pretty fantastic, so maybe you should keep reading after all.
chapter 60
The Real Chapter 60
There were approximately 3,486 squirrels in the room. They had been all chattering at the same time, which is something squirrels normally do. They sat in a kind of circle, all facing one squirrel who was standing at a podium and chattering right along. It was like they were having a meeting.
And then all 3,486 squirrels stopped chattering, turned their heads, and looked directly at Jackson.
chapter 61
In Which Alfonso Is Not a Team Player
Ah,” Jackson mumbled.
The squirrels were staring at him.
“Alfonso?” Jackson whispered between his teeth.
“Just don’t move. You’ll startle them,” Alfonso whispered back.
The squirrels were still staring at them.
“Why did you let me open this door?” Jackson hissed.
“I didn’t know you were going to!”
The lights from the hallway reflected off 3,486 sets of eyes. Which means there were 6,972 black, shiny squirrel eyeballs looking at them.
Jackson suppressed a shiver.
The leader squirrel, in the center of their circle, dropped to all fours and began walking toward them.
“Quick. Do you have any food in your pockets?” Jackson muttered in Alfonso’s direction.
Alfonso didn’t say anything.
And the reason he didn’t say anything was because the lead squirrel (whose name, incidentally, was Ralph) had stopped walking, risen up on his hind legs, and pushed his little black nose right up into Alfonso’s face.
Alfonso didn’t move. Ralph’s whiskers quivered as he sniffed Alfonso, then he sat back on his haunches and stared. Jackson couldn’t help but notice how large Ralph was. Like the size of a dog. Not the kind of dog you carry around in your purse, but more like the size of a small Labrador.
“I-I don’t mean any trouble, I’m sure.,” Alfonso stammered.
Ralph tilted his head to the side. Then he pointed at Jackson.
“No, no. He was just curious, is all,” Alfonso murmured.
Ralph turned, very slowly, to look at Jackson. Jackson swallowed and held out his hands. “I come in peace?” he said.
A strange garbling, chittering sound came from Ralph’s mouth while his cheeks puffed in and out. The other 3,485 squirrels were still staring at them. Then Ralph let out another ‘cheet!’ and they all lined up, rows upon rows of black squirrels.
A bead of sweat ran down Jackson’s nose and onto his upper lip. “Alfonso?”
Alfonso whispered, “On the count of three, I want you to run as fast you can and get out of here.”
“What?”
“One …” said Alfonso and then promptly ran away. Jackson didn’t even think. He turned and ran after him.
If Jackson had taken two extra seconds to turn and slam the door shut behind him, the whole situation might have turned out very differently. But Jackson didn’t take those two seconds, and before he knew it, 3,486 squirrels were close on his heels.
chapter 62
In Which Jackson Is on His Own (Except for the Squirrels)
Jackson’s heart pounded as he ran down the hallways, desperately trying to follow Alfonso. But after three turns, Alfonso had disappeared, and Jackson found himself back at
the main root system where they had been tying rags. He ran to hide behind a very large root.
Little footsteps skittered across the ground (that’s 13,944 feet) and then stopped. Jackson waited, holding his breath as best as he could. He peeked around the corner.
A large semi-circle of squirrels all stood at attention, their black, inquisitive eyes staring hard at Jackson. Jackson had no idea what to do.
Ralph moved forward about ten steps and then stopped. Jackson breathed hard. He had to do something, but what?
He looked around him frantically. Was there anything in his satchel that would help? He couldn’t throw a water bottle at them—that would only take out one or two at best. He couldn’t throw his flashlight—even then he could only take out a few. And he didn’t have time to make a macramé net out of his toilet paper. (Macramé is the art of tying knots to make horribly tacky planters and wall-hangings.)
But then Jackson saw the bag that Alfonso had abandoned. He slowly reached out and grabbed the strap, sliding the bag toward him. He jammed his hand inside (which probably wasn’t a good idea, as you never know what you’re going to find if you jam your hand into something without looking to see what’s in it first).
Jackson’s hand hit something disgustingly gooey. He pulled his hand out and sniffed.
Peanut butter.
chapter 63
In Which Necessity Is the Mother of Invention
Jackson opened Alfonso’s bag and pulled out a jumbo-sized jar of peanut butter. No one moved. Well, none of the 3,486 squirrels moved. Actually, they moved a little bit. Their noses did, at least. Exactly 3,486 noses twitched ever so slightly at the smell. Ralph didn’t say anything.