Brass Monkeys
Page 34
“Oh man,” I said, “that’s more scary than anything that happened down below. I mean, it’s way out of my league. Shoot, if Jack and the others could remember stuff and help me, it would be different. But look at them. Jack doesn’t even know why he’s got that stupid white sport coat on, for crying out loud.”
Ray cleared his throat nervously. “Yeah, I know. That part’s a big screwup and I did it. I’ll have to talk to Adjana and find out what she wants us to do about it. In the meantime, Jack and the others will just teach. What the heck, they’ll be great. But I still have to know about you.” He gave me a sober kind of smile. “You gotta get your boots on, Bumpus-man. Just like you told me back in the desert days, ‘Sometimes you have stop the talk and do the walk.’“
Out in the kitchen Mom dropped a pot on the floor and it rattled around for what seemed like a century. Ray watched me intently the whole time. Finally, the racket stopped and I muttered a faint “Pingeroo.”
Ray looked amused. “What’s that mean? Old pingeroo?”
“Nothing. It’s just something I used to say.” And I knew right then I’d probably never say it again, because it was a word that belonged to the past, to a kid who no longer existed.
I drew myself up and straightened my shoulders. “Listen, you can tell Adjana I said I’d do the mission, right to the end, and I will.”
“Flame on,” said Ray. “I figured you’d say that. You know, in my mind, you’ll always be the Bumpus-man I saw running across the sand that day, his old trumpet winking in the sun and half the Stormie army right on his tail!” He laughed as he grabbed up his jacket. “Well, I gotta go. Duty calls.” He headed for the front door and I followed.
He paused there. “Tell your Mom thanks for everything,” he said.
“I will. Look, Ray, why don’t you stay until tomorrow morning?”
He sighed. “Man, I’d like to. But Adjana and the rest are down there fighting for their lives. I told her I’d come back. And I’m going to.”
“Yeah, I know.” I choked up.
He put on his jacket and zipped it up. “All righty then.” He held out his hand and I shook it.
I could see his eyes filling.
“I ain’t crying,” he said. “Might look that way.”
“I know it,” I said. “Me neither.” And then I added, “Aren’t you going to need a ride back to school or something?” I gestured helplessly at the winter night. The sky had cleared, revealing a million stars. And it was bitterly cold.
“Nah … Can’t do that. It’s all gotta stay a secret. I’ll just hoof it to the school. The Big Monkey is there, waiting. So, Bumpus-man, I’ll just say goodbye so we don’t get carried away.” Without another word, Ray started down the road toward town.
“Ray, wait,” I called. But he didn’t stop. I ran inside and grabbed Todd Lemons’s trumpet and then came back out. I lifted the bell toward the glittering stars and started playing “These Boots Are Made for Walking.” The notes rang out and seemed to sparkle like fire on the cold, crystal air.
Off in the distance, I saw Ray’s hand go up once in salute, then he turned and went on into the night.
the end
Acknowledgements
I would like to acknowledge the following:
My daughter Wendy Allen for her generous help and unflagging loyalty over the long years; Becky Chown for her laser-eyed editing skills and indomitable energy; Erin Anderson for her inspiration and tireless work on both early and late drafts; Anne Marie Oomen for her wise and informed critiques; Marguerite Cotto for her long friendship and critical acumen; Claudia Delp for her belief in the book and unwavering optimism; Anne and Brian Lewis at Mackinac Island Press for their valued expertise and steadfast support; Tom Mills for his creative work on the cover; Beverly Martin for her professional, heartfelt help and encouragement; Diane O’Connell for her sharp-eyed overview of the project; my former students scattered across the globe, always the affectionate focus of the book; and most of all Marlie, my wife, who read the manuscript too many times to count; and not least of all, Cynara, Ayesha, Xena the Warrior Princess and the great Nefertiti.