Brass Monkeys

by Terry Caszatt

  Weeser half-turned and gave me a disinterested look, then turned back. “Yeah, I can see it’s you. You’re late.” He sort of mumbled the words and didn’t seem surprised at all. Or interested.

  “Listen, I know you guys are mad at me, but we gotta talk right away,” I hissed back. “I think we’re in big trouble here.”

  Just then Alvin heard me and turned around. His eyes were bloodshot and he seemed weary and distant. “Where have you been?” he whispered in a slurred voice. He still sounded irritated and I could tell he didn’t really care where I’d been. “They’ve been asking about you,” he went on. Then he lifted a small paper cup—the kind you take medicine from—and drank.

  “What are you drinking?” I asked, my voice tight with alarm. I realized now that Weeser and some of the other kids were holding similar-looking cups.

  “It’s punch,” said Weeser without looking at me. “Good old holiday, happyday, slappyday punch. Ming said we’d like it. Cookies and punch …” He drank, then his arm fell listlessly to his side and he dropped the cup.

  “You shouldn’t have drunk it!” I said it too loud and a couple of the kids in the row gave me a dull look. “I mean, that was dumb!” I tried to lower my volume.

  “Dumb, stupid, abysmally ignorant,” muttered Weeser. “It’s all over now.”

  “No it isn’t,” I cried out. “We can beat this.”

  A tall spy just behind me leaned forward and whispered in a smug but mechanical voice, “Talking, whispering not allowed. Thank you.” He drank from his cup, then his eyes shifted into the distance.

  I shook Weeser’s arm, then punched Alvin hard in the shoulder, but they never even looked at me. I could tell they weren’t hearing anything now.

  In a panic I dropped back a couple of rows, and that’s when I spotted Harriet off to my left. She had already seen me and was watching with a kind of sad smile. I stumbled over to her side.

  “Harriet, listen,” I began in a whispering rush. “We’re all in big danger. And you gotta listen to me.” I took a shuddering breath. “Look, I know I caused all this—”

  She gave me a sad look. “It doesn’t matter now, Eugene. We’re on our way.”

  “No! Listen to me!” I burst out. “I can get you out of this! I have something that can stop Ming in her tracks.”

  But Harriet was shaking her head. “We’re lost. All of us.” She gave me a last look. “Goodbye, Eugene.”

  She looked away. I started to grab at her elbow for one last try when suddenly someone off to my left called out my name, as only a teacher can.

  “Well, well, Eugene, you foolish boy—you dared to come back into this building. That was very, very un-Wise!”

  14

  the big monkey

  I snapped around and there was Mrs. Mingley standing by the library door. I came to a dead standstill, while the students kept marching on past, going by me as if I were a small boulder in the stream.

  “Did you come back to survey your handiwork?” She gurgled out a laugh. “You certainly gave us the school on a silver platter by reciting that ridiculous poem. Still, it was the exact dark thing we needed. It ended Harriet’s little rebellion—nipped it right in the bud! I think you may have silenced her forever!”

  “Yeah, and you’re a liar,” I blurted out. “She’ll never be silenced.”

  She smiled widely. “You just can’t admit it, Eugene, but you will. You provided us with the final push we needed. And now there’s only one more thing we need from you before you join your friends.” She started toward me and I backed away quickly.

  “Don’t be skittish,” she cried out. “I simply want to know if you have a little red book that my heart desires? Hmmm? Do you have that certain little book? By you know who?”

  “What book?” I managed to say, and I was secretly glad to sound so puzzled.

  “Oh, I’m tired of this game!” She came for me, moving very quickly and nimbly for a person her size. As she did, she called out loudly, “Stormies! I need you!”

  I stumbled and nearly went down, my trumpet case and backpack sliding away from me. Somehow I managed to stay upright, and in a flash I was away, running hard down the hall. I heard one more scream of “My Storm! Come to me!”

  I heard a roar of guttural voices and a loud clash of bells, and it sounded like I was totally surrounded. I screeched like a frightened rabbit and bolted straight ahead, pushing past the marching kids. I saw a squad of Stormies coming down the hall toward me in that lurching run of theirs. I cut sharply to the right down a second hallway. That turned out to be packed nearly solid with kids and faculty all going in my direction. I pushed and shoved my way along, yelling like a banshee. The book inside my shirt bounced all over the place and once clipped me painfully under the chin.

  It was at that moment, my eyes swimming with pain, that I saw Fundabore and Strobe coming down the hall from the opposite direction. They spotted me, and I heard Fundabore yell out something that sounded like, “Weee’ve got him nowwww!” Without thinking, I veered sharply to the right and down a stairwell, following the flow of kids right in front of me. If I’d had time to think about it, I might have asked myself why the hall traffic was all headed down that particular stairwell and into the basement. But I didn’t have time to think about it. I just pushed down the stairs like a madman. Behind me the jangling bells of the pursuing Stormies rang out louder and louder.

  Near the bottom of the stairs, I crashed into a knot of kids and we all went tumbling down to the basement floor. When I staggered to my feet and saw the huge room and all the activity, I was stunned. The place was brightly lit and packed with kids, Grindsville teachers, and dozens of Stormies. The latter were flailing about with wicked-looking whips, trying to line up the students and faculty. Huge, screw-like jacks had been placed here and there, evidently to lift the ceiling higher.

  I had no more time to think about anything because several Stormies began driving my group off to one side of the room. That was lucky for me because seconds later Ming, Fundabore, and three Stormies came raging into the basement.

  I lowered my head and pushed deeper into the crowd of kids. Now the floor began humming loudly, then with a mounting roar a yellow and black bullet shape came screaming up out of the darkness on the far side of the basement. At first I thought it was a train of some kind, but on second look it appeared more like a roller coaster. Its brakes hissed loudly as it slowed and steam flowed back from its sleek sides.

  Immediately the Stormies began driving groups of kids and faculty toward the cars. I caught a brief glimpse of Ming, Fundabore, and a knot of Stormies searching the crowd for me, but by now I was on the far side of the room and being herded with a group of kids toward the strangest cars I’d ever seen. They had no tops, but were constructed with high sides that contained round glass portholes, each in the shape of an eye. And in each eye was a red neon sign—a grinning monkey. Drawing closer to my car, I could see there weren’t any seats inside. Instead, I saw rows of black posts, each in the shape of a cross. From each cross post hung a pair of what appeared to be earphones. The roller coaster squealed to a stop now and the earphones swung to and fro with a frightening clatter.

  The doors on the roller coaster opened with loud sshooup sounds, and the Stormies started driving the kids and teachers on board. When I passed through the door of my car, I glanced back to check on Ming and the others, but there was no sign of them. I went on quickly, pushing my way down the crowded aisle and feeling a bit safer in the milling confusion.

  That lasted only a few seconds because Storm Teachers appeared at the other end of the car and started strapping kids to their crosses. Evidently we were to ride in a standing position, arms outstretched, the headsets clamped to our ears.

  I saw a graceful-looking girl just ahead of me stumble over somebody’s backpack and go down. Others started to trample over her, but quickly I had her by the arm and was lifting Harriet to her feet. She looked at me with those once-luminous eyes and I wanted t
o sit right down and bawl.

  “Are you okay?” I asked stupidly. For a second I thought I saw some recognition. Then a surge of kids shoved us violently into a row of seats. Harriet ended up near the wall of the car and I was next to her. Just four rows ahead, I spotted Alvin and Weeser being strapped in. They looked beaten and helpless.

  I turned to Harriet. I wanted desperately to tell her that even though I was the rotten kid who had caused this, I was the great B.B. after all and I was going to save her and every kid in the country. But I never got a word out because the Stormies were closing in on my row. I sank down with a moan and tried to hide among the legs.

  I heard a Stormie in the next row yell out, “I can’t get the straps on this one! Take his coat off!” A big winter coat came flying over and landed on a pile of sweaters and jackets, excess clothing that had evidently gotten in the way of the strapping process. I reached over a dropped trombone case, grabbed the coat, and pulled it over me. Huddling next to the wall of the car, I kept my eyes squinched shut while Harriet and the others were strapped in. In seconds the Stormies moved on, evidently seeing my coat as nothing more than debris. I started to exhale slowly, but now I heard voices outside that sent a new zing of fear surging through me.

  “One of the guaaards saw him get on boooard.” It was Fundabore’s hollow voice. “But he’s nooot sure which caaar.”

  “But was he carrying the book?” Ming’s voice.

  “He saaays he doesn’t think the boooy was carrying aaanything.”

  “I told you both he didn’t have it,” came a loud, high voice. Strobe. “I doubt if Webster ever escaped to begin with. And I can’t imagine he’d give the book to a lunkhead like Eugene Wise.”

  “I think you’re right, said Mrs. Mingley. “For once. They’d never give McGinty’s book to a boy like Wise. We were stupid to think he’d been sent here to cause trouble. He’s simply a coward and a nobody who wandered into our school.”

  “But the muuusic?” Fundabore broke in.

  “Had to be an accident,” snapped Mingley. “Let’s get a move on. We’ll get Eugene when we arrive. If he survives a trip on the Big Monkey!”

  There was some laughter at this, and the voices began to fade away. For a long moment I sat very still. Slowly, bitter tears of anger welled up. The words “He’s a coward and a nobody” tumbled through my mind like a small, fierce storm. I reached under my Meatloaf Special and fingered Brass Monkeys. Suddenly Mom’s face came rushing clearly at me—how she’d looked yesterday afternoon as she’d walked bravely toward the Hair Temple, her baseball cap down over her curly white hair, her face pale but determined.

  “This is survival time,” I whispered her words. I gritted my teeth to keep them from chattering. “And I can do this.” I glanced at my watch. It was nine o’clock.

  The Big Monkey lurched forward, groaned, then started moving slowly ahead.

  15

  the ride that never went to cleveland

  Rides of any kind have always frightened me. I was the only kid in my fifth grade class to throw up (on my teacher, Mr. Hapgood) while riding the Ferris wheel. So now, I began to worry about what kind of ride I was in for. Ming’s words, “If he survives” rang loudly in my brain. And where were we headed? It all sounded too scary to think about.

  For several minutes, the Big Monkey did nothing unusual. We simply clicked along at a rapid rate. I began to think that perhaps Webster had exaggerated the terrors of the whole thing. Maybe the cars were simply going straight to, I don’t know, maybe Cleveland. Growing braver, I rose to a crouch.

  I glanced up at Harriet, thinking I’d try to talk to her. Maybe I could break through the Monkeymind haze, show her the book, and give her some hope. I was about to nudge her when the car’s nose dropped and we hurtled downward at a terrifying angle. Harriet and the others moaned loudly and I joined in with a fearful bellow. I managed to grab the lower part of Harriet’s post, then wrap my arms and legs around the base. Red, blue, and green lights flashed along the insides of the car walls. The portholes containing the red neon monkeys began pulsating—first the monkeys smiled, then frowned.

  We rose upward now, the car shaking violently, and began the first of a series of horrible twists and turns. It seemed to go on forever and most of it is a blur in my mind. I know I was grunting and yelling. Loose backpacks, books, and musical instruments flew through the air like missiles.

  We made one last gut-wrenching climb upward. Then we rolled over and headed down again, but not just at a steep angle. We were going straight down.

  A final groan rose from the kids, and someone was going “hi-yi, hi-yi” in a loud, hysterical voice, and I realized it was me. But finally the sound trailed off and there was nothing but the mounting roar from the roller coaster. I kept waiting and hoping for the rise upward, but it didn’t come.

  This is when things went all the way to ten on the doom scale. I was lost in a daze when I realized Harriet was changing. Her face, already stretched by the G-forces of the ride, was turning into … a monkey.

  I clamped my eyes shut and made big mooing sounds of zero-fear. The car started vibrating so hard I thought it was going to shatter to bits. And now the colorful lights went all the way to a blinding white. I began crying out, “Stop it! Stop it!” Still, the ride went on and on. My cheeks ballooned outward and I thought my teeth would explode. Suddenly the cars pulled out of the dive with such a thunderous bang. I was sure the roller coaster had split in two, but now we were sailing along on the level going a gazillion miles an hour. With my eyes clamped tightly shut, I reached inside my shirt to check the book. Still there.

  A few seconds later I dared open my eyes. The interior of the car looked like a hurricane had hit us. Coats, hats, books, and musical instruments were strewn about. Then I looked up at Harriet and the others, and what I saw made me want to shut my eyes and never open them again. I was surrounded by monkeys.

  I let out a terrified cry and grabbed up a duffel bag to hold in front of me. Peering out at their faces and clothing, I realized I could still tell one student from another. Even Harriet, covered with a brown coating of fur, was still pretty and didn’t look like the other girls. But they were all monkeys, no doubt about it.

  Besides the hair, they were making chimpy sounds and their movements were quicker and more monkey-like. To top it off—or bottom it off—they had tails.

  In a panic, I checked myself for fur and a tail but found nothing. I remembered now that Webster had said Ming’s music and incense could turn me into a “fur brain.” This was obviously what he’d meant—the end result of Monkeymind. I just hoped I hadn’t been exposed long enough to turn into one myself.

  The chattering of the kids was punctuated by a screech of fear—mine—as we blew out of the tunnel into a blinding light. With a tremendous hissing of brakes, we finally slowed to a point where the blur of objects flying by began changing into a real landscape. What I saw left me speechless with wonder.

  16

  monkeyopolis

  During the ride down I was convinced we were headed for some dark, hellish place near the Earth’s core. But what I saw outside was a vast, sunlit desert. The sand itself seemed a blend of pleasant pastel colors. To complete the friendly picture, golden-colored rock formations sparkled in the light.

  The train slowed some more and I began to see shrubs and trees that had thorny trunks like cactuses, except that they came in a variety of pastel colors. The “sunlight” that played over everything seemed to come from a gigantic rectangle of lights that appeared suspended from the top of this strange world.

  I was still trembling like crazy, but the other kids seemed to be losing their fear. They were craning around, taking in the sights, and grunting in a chimp-like manner. Only Harriet stood quietly, looking out with a fearful gaze. I glanced ahead and saw a huge metal archway over the tracks. On top of the arch sat a large, grinning brass monkey, identical to Ming’s incense burner. Just below it was a sign that read: WELCOME TO MONKEYOPOLI
S.

  We flashed through the gateway, and ahead of us I could see the first buildings of what appeared to be a huge city. As we drew nearer my eyes widened. The houses were wild, crazy-looking structures, put together from a hodgepodge of … school junk!

  We rocked rapidly past the first of the fantastic houses and my mouth hung open in astonishment. I spotted walls made from basketball backboards, gym bleachers, and colored desk tops. Mixed in crazily were dozens of classroom odds and ends. I saw sections of buildings made out of ballpoint pens and doorways framed with pencils, compasses, and rulers. Entire rooftops were constructed from what appeared to be flattened pieces of world globes; maps and colorful illustrations, probably taken from encyclopedias, were plastered willy-nilly over everything. I saw plastic bubble skylights and parts of aquariums being used for windows, and weird chimneys made out of band instruments, mostly trombones, French horns, and tubas.

  At first I saw only the yellow-faced, wild-haired Storm Teachers moving around the buildings and along sidewalks lined with the cactus-like “trees.” It was like an entire suburb of Stormies, but then the Big Monkey turned and we clattered on into the heart of the city. I started seeing other people on the streets—normal-looking men, women, and children. I say “normal,” because their faces looked totally human, but there was one strange detail: they all wore white tunics, and sewn on the front of each tunic was a letter of the alphabet.

  I was trying to puzzle this out when I saw the first of the motorized vehicles. I was amazed by the bizarre look of them. It was as if some of my classmates—the ones who spent hours in class drawing wacked-out cars and motorcycles—had been hired on as designers.

  Right away I spotted three basic designs. There was a big, bulbous-looking truck whose body seemed to be made from blackboards, janitor carts, and gutted computer monitors. Then there was a two-seater car with what looked like a solar panel “engine” made out of aquarium glass. Finally, there was a weird motorcycle with a football-tackling dummy frame and an engine made from what appeared to be—I swear—three-ring notebooks and cafeteria silverware!