Brass Monkeys

by Terry Caszatt

“Wow, that’s crazy stuff,” I began, “but I don’t understand any of it. I mean, did you guys actually think I was this B.B. kid and that I was sent here to help you with school?”

  Harriet gave me a level look. “I did, absolutely.”

  “Hoped, prayed, and yearned for it,” said Weeser.

  “Would have made me a happy pooperoodie,” muttered Alvin.

  “We don’t know who wrote the note,” Harriet went on, “but just two days after I got it, Doris told me you were coming to Grindsville. And then we found out you were in the eighth grade. And when were you arriving? On the nineteenth. Plus, she said you liked to read books. It all fits, except for the initials.”

  “Exactly, the initials,” I said. “On top of that, I don’t know a thing about any of it.” I felt flushed and hot. “So maybe somebody wrote the note as a joke.”

  Harriet gave me a piercing look. “The note isn’t a joke, believe me. Somebody knows exactly what’s wrong with our school and they’re trying to help.”

  “So what exactly is wrong with your school?” I said. I tried to keep my voice under control, sort of Samurai cool. “You make it sound pretty terrible.”

  Weeser let out a wheezy breath. “It’s conborfear.”

  “Conborfear?” I said, imitating his accent on the second syllable.

  “It’s Weesey’s made-up word,” said Alvin. “It’s short for confusion, boredom, and fear. And that pretty much sums up education at Grindsville Middle.”

  “Except that it’s gotten a lot worse,” added Harriet, “especially lately.”

  “Yeah, but c’mon, you guys.” I tried to laugh it off. “I mean, conborfear? That describes the last school I was in, and probably ninety-nine percent of—”

  Harriet shook her head fiercely. “You don’t understand, Eugene. But you will.”

  Alvin gave me a gloomy look. “So this really means you don’t know a thing about our school. And no one sent you, right?”

  “Nobody,” I said.

  “But you’d tell us if they had, right?” said Harriet. She had grown pale.

  “Absolutely I would. Truly.”

  “Okay, wait a minute. What about this?” Weeser frowned thoughtfully. “Maybe you’ve got another name you never knew about—a secret cult name like Bernie Blavatski, or something. Or maybe an Indian tribe adopted you when you were little and you’ve got a tribal name like Buffalo—”

  “Booger,” said Alvin helpfully.

  I laughed, but then stopped because I could see how desperate they were.

  “Guys, listen,” I said, “there’s no cult or Indian tribe. I’m just simple old Eugene Wise. That’s been my name forever.”

  Harriet’s eyes filled suddenly and she looked away.

  “Rats,” mumbled Alvin.

  “I told you guys it wasn’t him,” said Weeser. “And anyway, whoever this B.B. is, he’d have to be one rowdy boy.”

  Alvin sighed. “Yeah, he’d have to be a major fardex.”

  “What? Just to fight off some stupid boredom and stuff?” I was irritated by the way they were comparing me to the great B.B. What was I—a minor fardex?

  Harriet shook her head grimly. “It’s a lot more serious than just boredom.”

  “You’re not kidding,” said Alvin. “First of all, last week little dufus here”—he jabbed a big hand at Weeser—”told one of his buddies that a day at Grindsville Middle was like having your brain sucked out. Duwang! Not too bright, ‘cause the kid ran straight to Ming the Merciless and told her.”

  “Yeah, but I’m not the real problem now,” said Weeser, glancing at Harriet. “After last Friday, I’m not even a pop-up ad on her computer.”

  Harriet shuddered. “It’s true, I’m the problem now. And I know she’s just waiting for me tomorrow.”

  “Guys, hold it,” I said. “You’re moving too fast. What’s this stuff about tomorrow, and who’s Ming the Merciless?”

  “Who’s Ming?” Weeser’s green eyes widened with fear. He and Alvin looked at each other and both said, “Duu-wang!”

  Harriet flashed an irritated glance at them. “C’mon you guys, quit scaring Eugene. If he isn’t involved, and it looks like he’s not, he doesn’t have to worry.” She turned to me. “Forget tomorrow. That’s strictly my problem. And Ming is Mrs. Merci Mingley, our English teacher. Friday I got into trouble with her because of the poets we’re studying. She says there are only three worth reading—Pitts, Potts, and Higgenbottom.”

  “I’ve never heard of them,” I said.

  “Exactly,” grumbled Alvin. “And after you heard ‘em you’ll wish you hadn’t.”

  “Anyway,” Harriet went on, “I simply asked Mrs. Mingley about other poets like Maya Angelou, Robert Frost, Emily Dickinson, people like that.”

  “And Ming went nuts,” said Weeser. “She went stark raving bananas.”

  “Off the launch pad without her wig,” added Alvin. “Scary.”

  Harriet sighed. “Mrs. Mingley is sort of the root of the problem in our school.”

  “The root?” snorted Alvin. “Man, she’s the whole tree, along with her two buddies, Strobe and Fundabore, the old butt kissers.”

  “That’s charming,” said Weeser. “But quite vivid and certainly entertaining.”

  “Strobe teaches science,” Harriet went on, “and Fundabore—”

  “Thunderous Bore,” put in Weeser.

  “Teaches band,” Harriet said.

  I shivered. “I think I’m signed up for all three.”

  Weeser and Alvin groaned in sympathy.

  I swallowed nervously. “Listen, if these guys are that bad, why don’t you complain to your parents? At Harris we had Mr. Heilbart, this strange English—”

  Harriet stopped me with a pitying look. “We did all that. When Ming and her friends arrived a year ago we started complaining like crazy, both to our parents and to Mr. Plumly, the principal. We even got up a petition.”

  “But old Plumly—” began Alvin.

  “Thumper,” added Weeser under his breath.

  “Is almost as bad as Ming,” Harriet finished.

  “And every time the parents came up to check on things,” Weeser said, “Ming and the others changed like chameleons. Suddenly they were the greatest teachers in the world. Totally bamboozled our parents. ‘Course that wasn’t hard.”

  Harriet sighed. “We used to have a lot of good teachers, but one by one Ming and her buddies drove them out. Now there isn’t anybody who really cares. Anyway, the three of us have kind of a bad reputation up at school. We’ve been trying so hard to improve things, but I’m afraid it hasn’t helped much.”

  “Yeah, we’re like The Last of the Mohicans,” said Weeser. “We see stuff no one else sees. In fact, we could write a book about it, except no one would believe us.”

  The three of them slapped some high-fives and I watched enviously. Right at that moment I wanted more than anything to be a part of their group. I didn’t want to be the hotshot B.B., but I desperately wanted to, well, to belong.

  “I understand exactly what you guys are saying,” I said. “My life’s kind of like a book too. I mean, really goofy things happen to me all the time. Like today for instance.” Quickly I told them about the old man with the sword. “I mean, that’s weird. On top of all that, he acted like he wanted to tell me something.” I waited for their astonished looks. Weeser and Alvin burst out laughing.

  “Relax, Tonka-bud,” said Alvin. “You saw Funny Frank, the town nut-cake.”

  “Don’t call him that,” said Harriet. “He’s just a sad old man.”

  “He thinks he sees aliens from outer space,” said Weeser, “and he’s always trying to warn us. Sometimes he writes goofy messages on the porch or garage.”

  “Lots of times he’ll carry a toy rifle or a plastic sword,” added Alvin.

  “Oh,” I said. My face was hot with embarrassment. “Well, I thought it was sort of interesting.” Just then Mom came clattering up the stairs and peeked in. I could tell she was
irritated with me for disappearing when she needed help.

  “Well, Mr. Billy, here you are hiding up here. How about getting back downstairs and giving me a hand with the stove and refrigerator?” She smiled at the others, letting them know she wasn’t really mad.

  She went back down and I started to follow her when I realized Harriet was staring strangely at me. Alvin and Weeser were also giving me an odd look.

  “Mr. Billy?” said Harriet. “What’s that all about?”

  “Nothing,” I said, but then the whole thing flashed through me like an electric shock. “It’s just a stupid nickname.” I hesitated, and

  I wished I’d hesitated for forty years before I told them the rest, but no …

  “Billy Bumpus,” I said.

  5

  a scary message in the snow

  I heard Harriet gasp. Alvin cut loose with a bellowing laugh.

  “I knew it,” Harriet said. Her eyes sparkled with a fierce light. “It is you.”

  “Gotta be you!” Weeser burst out. “Now it works!”

  “No way,” I began. I felt a hot, rising panic. “Guys, listen. That’s just my Mom’s dumb nickname for me.” But they weren’t hearing a thing I said.

  Weeser shot me a buddy-punch to the shoulder, and Alvin gave me what I’m sure he thought was a friendly scalp burner, but it just about set my hair on fire.

  “Are you coming?” Mom called up the stairs.

  “Coming down, Mom,” I yelled.

  “The old salmon on rye is on the move,” cried Alvin.

  “Listen, I’m not on the move,” I said.

  Right then I should have stopped the whole show and cleared it up, but there was something about the excitement, those eyes of Harriet’s, and the fact that I was at the center of it all, that made me do the dumbest thing in the world. I grinned like a silly fool and said, “Okay, maybe I am on the move.”

  We trooped downstairs, with Alvin and Weeser trading ridiculous karate chops. A few minutes later we had the stove and fridge in place, and in that short time I had lost my nerve and was worried sick about what I had said upstairs. Just as we finished plugging everything in, we heard a car horn.

  “It’s my parents,” said Harriet. “I’ve got to run.” She made a little motion with her head, meaning she wanted to talk to me. I nodded quickly, because I desperately needed to put a stop to the whole misunderstanding.

  I followed her into the hallway and started right in while she put her coat on. “Harriet, listen, we need to clear this up.”

  She waved me quiet. “Eugene, please, I know this makes you nervous, but it shouldn’t. See, I think I understand it all now. Someone who really knows you well believes you’re going to make some changes at the school. That person knew you were moving here and alerted us. You don’t know anything about it yet, but it’s your destiny to help us. It’s all mixed up with mystery and magic, but I think that’s the way life works sometimes. You know—fate.”

  I was shaking my head in denial, probably looking like Mr. Potato Head on a spring, when Alvin and Weeser came piling into the hall.

  “Caught you,” said Weeser, “whatever you’re doing.”

  Harriet grabbed them, then drew us into a little circle. “Look, we’re all in this together,” she whispered, “and now we’ve got the help we’ve been hoping for.” She paused dramatically. “Tomorrow Ming is going to meet her match.”

  I opened my mouth to protest one last time, but the car horn sounded again.

  Harriet raised her hand for a high five, and like the biggest dunce of the galaxy, I joined her. In a flash, we were all drawn into the wildness and we began trading fives like a victorious team. Harriet gave me a last, warm look, then turned and ran out the door. Weeser hopped onto Alvin’s back, and yelling like lunatics, they chased after her. It was still snowing lightly, but the wind had died down.

  I waved from the back step as Harriet drifted past in her parents’s car. Then Alvin and Weeser shot by, the Jeep horn blaring loudly.

  Weeser stuck his head up through a hole in the soft top and yelled out “Tomorrow!” Alvin gave me a thumb’s up, then the Jeep swung out onto the road and the taillights slowly disappeared into the winter night.

  When I came back inside, Mom was staring at me in bewilderment. “I never saw you make friends so fast in my life,” she said. “What on earth happened?”

  I knew why she was confused. At Harris I was just another geekeroo, lonely and friendless. Now, miraculously, I had acquired three fabulous friends.

  “Nothing happened,” I said. “We were just having a good time.”

  Mom left the room shaking her head. “Maybe we should move more often.”

  I flopped down in a chair and expelled my breath. The excitement about my new friends was fading fast, and tomorrow was starting to loom like a scary beast.

  I tried to put the entire mess out of my mind by picking up my latest favorite book, The Day of the Triffids, and reading a bit. That worked for about five minutes, and then the nagging worry began again.

  Later, when Mom and I were roasting hot dogs in the fireplace, it all swept over me in a nauseous wave. I wanted desperately to tell her about Ming and the awful school situation and how I had let Harriet and the others think I was the fabulous B.B., but somehow I couldn’t even begin. Mom was too happy.

  “Are you okay?” she asked me at one point.

  “I’m fine,” I said. “Terrific. Hey, how about some more coffee?”

  “I’d love it.”

  I went out to the kitchen to get it for her, and when I came back, I was stunned to find her crying.

  “Mom, what is it?” Alarmed, I set the cup down and put my arms around her.

  “Nothing honey,” she said. She wiped her eyes quickly and smiled at me. “It’s just that I’m so excited. I don’t know what it is, but I have the best feeling about this town and the people. I hope you do too. Because, if we work at it, me in the salon and you at school, I think it’s going to turn out really wonderful.”

  I hugged her. I knew she had picked up on my nervousness and was worried about me getting in trouble at school and ruining everything. “Don’t worry,” I said. “I’ll work my stupid brains out. I’ll be so good they’ll give me a medal.”

  At that moment I would have promised her anything to make her happy. I got her some Kleenex and then did some dumb Three Stooges’ nose-grabbing stuff—all on my own nose—and finally got her to laugh a little.

  But later, when I was upstairs in bed, I was scared brainless. What had I done? “You dumb, freaking moron,” I moaned softly. No way was I the “brave and resourceful” B.B. of the note, and yet I had let Harriet, Alvin, and Weeser think I was. I pulled the covers over my head and tried to sleep.

  It must have been around midnight when I heard something scrape against the side of the house. I stumbled from the bed and peered out the frosted window. The sky had cleared and the moon was visible, casting a cold light on the yard. I gasped softly. Below, in the drifted snow, somebody had scrawled a message:

  WATCH OUT TOMORROW

  “What the heck?” I mumbled.

  Quickly I scanned the yard looking for an intruder, but there was no sign of anyone. It must be Funny Frank, I thought. Obviously he’d followed me home, and now he was trying to warn me about aliens or whatever. For just an instant I thought about getting Mom up and telling her everything, but I abandoned the idea fast. First of all, she’d freak out if she thought Funny Frank was sneaking around the house, or worse, she’d think I was exaggerating again, trying to make Grindsville look like a bad place to live. I couldn’t do that to her.

  “Get a grip, son,” I whispered, falling into the tough-guy movie talk I always use when I’m nervous. “Don’t panic. It’s just old Frank doing his thing.”

  But thinking about tomorrow had set off all my alarm bells. When I finally drifted back to sleep, one horrible thought kept pinballing through my mind: what would happen tomorrow when I met up with Ming the Merciless
and my new friends discovered the truth about me?

  6

  the woman with hair like red snakes

  The next thing I knew it was morning and someone was yelling at me.

  “C’mon honey, let’s shake a leg!” It was Mom, sounding like an Army drill sergeant. “I’ve got to be at work by 8, and we have to drop off the trailer before I take you to school.” She bounded downstairs, calling back over her shoulder, “So move, move, move!”

  I got up in a total daze. I was staggering around with one leg in my jeans when I remembered the message in the snow. I hopped to the window and scratched a hole in the frost. Outside the day was gray and wintry looking, but the snow had stopped. Down in the yard lay a blank tablet of white.

  “Drifted over,” I muttered. Right then I made a mental note not to mention the message to Alvin or Weeser. I didn’t want to hear about how my life wasn’t like a book and how Frank wrote stuff like that all the time, blah blah blah.

  But all this made me suddenly remember the horrible lie I had started. I groaned loudly and vowed, on the spot, to tell my new friends the truth the minute I saw them. With determination, I thrust my other leg into my pants, but I lost my balance and smacked my forehead into the edge of the bedroom door.

  That sort of set the tone for the rest of the morning. I found the shirt Mom had ironed for my first day at Grindsville, and it was the hated “Meat Loaf Special.” This was a blue thing with cutesy little orange cowboys on it. They were racing around lassoing what were supposed to be buffalo, but looked more like pieces of meatloaf. At least that’s what the smart-mouth kids at Harris always said.

  Then I spent five minutes brushing my teeth before I remembered accidentally dropping my toothbrush into the toilet stool the night before. Oh, well, that was nothing as it turned out.

  When Mom got to the school, she managed to get the car stuck between two school buses. Madonna shooting a video in the snow couldn’t have attracted more attention. We went back and forth about twenty times and when she finally pulled away, the tires flipped muddy slush over my entire body. A perfect way to start your first day in a new school—Mr. Mud Butt.