Summer of the Monkeys

by Wilson Rawls

  Rowdy didn’t even try to jump the fence. He found a wide place between two rails, low to the ground, and wiggled his way through.

  I made it to the top of the fence in pretty good shape, then something went wrong. I got dizzy and fell off. For a few seconds, I thought sure that I had broken my neck.

  When I finally reached the gate going into our yard, I thought I had it made, but just as I opened the gate, all my luck ran off and left me. Daisy came around the corner of the house on her crutch; humming a silly little tune. She took one look at me standing there half naked, and by the expression on her face, you would have thought that she had stepped on a snake. Her mouth flew open and she gasped like she had swallowed a butterfly.

  “Jay Berry,” she said, in a loud voice, “where on earth are your britches? It’s not very nice to run around half naked like that. What’s the matter with you anyway?”

  I didn’t say a word. There wasn’t anything I could say. I just groaned way down deep, wrapped both arms around the gate post, and held on.

  Daisy came over, peered at me, and said, “Jay Berry, you’re as white as an egg. Are you sick?”

  “Sick?” I said. “Daisy, I’m sicker than I’ve ever been in my life. I think I’m dying.”

  When I told Daisy that I thought I was dying, it scared her. She caught hold of my arm and said, “Here, let me help you into the house.”

  Before I could unwind myself from the gate post, Daisy turned loose of my arm, stepped back, and said, “Phew! What’s that I smell?”

  I didn’t say anything and wouldn’t even look at her.

  Daisy stuck her nose up close to me and started sniffing. With a frown on her face, she stepped back, and said in a disgusted voice, “Jay Berry, you’re not sick. You’re drunk. You smell just like an old whiskey bottle.”

  “I can’t help it if I am drunk,” I said. “I’m sick just the same.”

  Looking toward the house, Daisy yelled in a voice louder than I had ever heard her yell, “Mama, Mama, come and look at Jay Berry! He’s as drunk as a boiled owl and naked as a jaybird.”

  Mama must have had a pot in her hands when she heard Daisy yell, because I heard something hit the floor with a loud bang and clatter its way across the floor.

  I wanted to run but knew if I ever turned loose of the fence post, I would probably fall flat on my face.

  Mama came sailing out of the house, looking more surprised than she did the time she found the young hoot owl I had put under an old sitting hen that had just hatched a bunch of chicks.

  In the late evening shadows and with me being hugged up so close to the fence post, Mama didn’t see me right away. She looked at Daisy and said, “Daisy, what did you say?”

  “Look at him, Mama,” Daisy said, pointing her finger at me. “He’s so drunk, he’s cross-eyed, and he’s lost his britches. Can you imagine anything like that?”

  “No,” Mama said in a slow, cold voice, “I can’t imagine anything like that.”

  “Go smell him, Mama,” Daisy said. “He smells just like an old whiskey bottle, and you can see for yourself that he’s lost his britches.”

  With a deep frown on her face and an uncertain look in her eyes, Mama came and looked me over from my head to my feet. Then she grabbed me by the arm, shook me a little, and said in a very hard voice, “Jay Berry, are you drunk?”

  “I guess I am, Mama,” I said, “but I didn’t mean to.”

  “Didn’t mean to!” Mama shouted. “What kind of an excuse is that? Who gave you that whiskey anyway? You tell me now! Somebody is going to get into trouble over this. Did those Gravely boys get you drunk?”

  “I haven’t seen the Gravely boys, Mama,” I said. “That Jimbo monkey got me drunk.”

  “Oh, for heaven’s sake, Jay Berry,” Mama said, “you don’t expect me to believe that, do you?”

  “It’s the truth, Mama,” I said. “There’s a whiskey still down in the bottoms. That’s where I found the monkeys. They were drinking sour mash and I guess I had a few drinks with them. I didn’t know that stuff would make you drunk.”

  “What happened to your britches?” Mama asked.

  “I don’t know, Mama,” I said. “I went to sleep and when I woke up they were gone. I think that Jimbo monkey got away with them.”

  Just then Daisy let out a squeal and said, “Look, Mama! Rowdy’s drunk, too!”

  Poor old Rowdy. He could tell by the tone of Mama’s voice that the fat was in the fire, and he was trying very hard to disappear altogether. He was trying his best to get under the porch.

  Mama looked at Rowdy, and then, looking up the heavens, she closed her eyes and said, “Dear Lord, what have I done to deserve this?”

  Grabbing me by my left ear, Mama said, “Come on, young man, you’re going to bed. Your monkey-hunting days are over. I’ve had all I can take.”

  Mama wasn’t any too gentle about putting me to bed. She just kind of wadded me up and crammed me down under the covers. I fell asleep immediately.

  I woke up sometime during the night and heard Mama talking to Papa and she sounded as if she was real upset. I heard her say, “As far as I know, he’s never lied to me, but I just can’t believe that a bunch of monkeys could get a boy drunk. I still think that someone got him drunk.”

  Papa laughed and said, “No, I don’t think so. I know there’s a still down in the bottoms because while I’m working the fields and if the wind is right, I can smell the sour mash.”

  Mama said, “I don’t care if there are a hundred stills down there. Whoever heard of a bunch of monkeys getting a boy drunk?”

  “It probably happened just like he said it did,” Papa said. “Those monkeys found that still and you know as well as I do that most animals love sour mash. It’s made of everything that animals like—sugar, corn, malt, and yeast. There’s probably more to this than we know. I’ll have a talk with him in the morning and find out all about it.”

  “You had better talk to him,” Mama said. “I don’t think I can take any more of this monkey business. Why, if that monkey is as smart as everyone seems to think he is, he might catch Jay Berry down on the river and drown him.”

  Papa laughed and said, “Aw, I don’t think anything like that’s going to happen.”

  Mama never should have said anything about Jimbo drowning me because after I went back to sleep, I had a horrible dream. I dreamed that the monkeys caught Rowdy and me down in the bottoms. Then they threw us down a deep well that was about half full of ice-cold water. Rowdy and I were swimming for our lives. I could see all the monkeys looking down at us and laughing. I woke up swimming all over the bed.

  ten

  I woke up the next morning with a pounding headache and twice as sick as I had been the day before. My whole body screamed for water and my throat was so dry I had to jiggle my Adam’s apple three or four times before I could swallow. I had such a nasty taste in my mouth it reminded me of the time I had eaten some green persimmons.

  When I first opened my eyes I couldn’t remember a thing. For a few seconds, I didn’t even know where I was. Everything I looked at was going round and round and round. Then, little by little, the spinning stopped and things started coming back to me—the monkeys, the whiskey still, drinking the sour mash, and the loss of my britches. The more I thought about everything that had happened to me, the more ashamed I became. I tried covering my face with a pillow but that didn’t blot out a thing.

  I was lying there, feeling sorry for myself, and wondering how Rowdy was making out, when Papa and Daisy came into my room.

  Papa smiled and said, “How do you feel?”

  “I’m sick, Papa,” I said. “I’m sick enough to die.”

  Papa laughed and said, “Oh, I don’t think you’ll die. You may think you will, but you won’t. In a day or two, you’ll be as good as new.”

  “Papa,” I said, “I didn’t know that sour mash would make you drunk. I thought that it had to be made into whiskey first.”

  Shaking his head, P
apa said, “Oh, no! Sour mash will make you just as drunk as whiskey does and twice as sick. Once that stuff gets down in your stomach, it just keeps on fermenting and you’ll be sick.”

  Up until then Daisy hadn’t opened her mouth. She just stood there looking disgusted, and listening to Papa. Turning to leave the room, she said, “Well, I guess I’d better get busy because it looks like I have my work cut out for me.”

  I was so sick that I didn’t pay much attention to what Daisy had said; but I should have known that I was in for another one of her Red Cross go-arounds, and that’s all there was to it.

  I didn’t have to worry about Mama paying me a visit because she was really put out with me. This didn’t bother me too much because Mama’s mad spells never did last very long. My mama was just about like any other boy’s mama. She would stay mad at me for a little while and then she’d start feeling sorry for me and everything would be all right.

  Papa said, “I can’t understand why you drank that sour mash. I know that you found stills before and I’m pretty sure you didn’t drink any of the mash.”

  “I didn’t, Papa,” I said. “That was the first time I ever drank anything like that. Everything happened so fast. The first thing I knew Rowdy and I were both drinking it like water.”

  Papa sat down on my bed and said, “Suppose you start at the beginning, and tell me all about it. I’d like to know just what did go on down in those bottoms.”

  I could always talk to Papa much better than I could to Mama. It seemed that he could understand me better. I figured it was because he, too, had once been a boy. I told Papa everything that had happened, but I was so ashamed about losing my britches, I didn’t look him in the eye while I was telling it.

  Papa laughed and said, “To me it looks like that Jimbo monkey wanted to get you and Rowdy drunk so he could steal your britches. What do you suppose he did with them?”

  “I don’t know, Papa,” I said. “He could be wearing them for all I know. I wouldn’t put anything past that monkey.”

  Papa said, “Well, I can’t see where there’s been too much harm done, but I don’t believe I’d tie into that sour mash any more. It might get to be a habit, and that’s not good at all.”

  “Papa,” I said, “you don’t have to worry about me. I won’t be drinking any more sour mash or any other kind of whiskey as long as I live. If drinking makes a fellow as sick as I am, I won’t ever drink it again. I mean that, too.”

  Papa smiled and said, “You know, if a fellow can learn something through experience when he’s young, he doesn’t ever forget it.”

  “I won’t ever forget this, Papa,” I said, “and if I ever get ahold of that Jimbo monkey he won’t forget it either.”

  Papa laughed and said, “I’ve always figured that a man can do almost anything if he puts his mind to it and doesn’t ever give up.”

  “I won’t ever give up,” I said. “I’ll catch that monkey if I have to chase him clear to Arkansas.”

  Getting up from the bed, Papa looked at his watch and said, “Your mother and I are going to the store today. Is there anything you want me to tell your grandpa?”

  “Just tell him that I’ll be up to see him in a day or two, and that we’ll have to figure out some other way to catch those monkeys.”

  Papa smiled and said, “I don’t suppose you want me to tell him about how you lost your britches, do you?”

  “Aw, I don’t care, Papa,” I said. “Mama will tell Grandma all about it, and she will tell Grandpa. As long as we keep it in the family, I don’t mind so much; but I sure wouldn’t want anyone else to know about it.”

  Chuckling to himself, Papa left the room. It wasn’t long until I heard our old wagon leave and screech its way up the road.

  I had just about dozed off when, to my surprise, Daisy came into my room. She was all decked out in that silly-looking Red Cross uniform and was carrying a tray with a large bottle of castor oil and an empty water glass sitting on it. I could see that she had a book tucked under her arm.

  I thought, “Oh, no! If she gives me a dose of castor oil, and then starts reading to me, I will surely die.”

  It was the same old thing that I had gone through a hundred times. Smiling all over, Daisy said, “Good morning! And how is my patient this fine morning?”

  “Oh, for heaven’s sake, Daisy,” I said. “Please! I’m too sick to go through any Red Cross business this time. I don’t believe I could stand it. I thought that you went to the store with Mama and Papa. You always do. How come you didn’t go this time?”

  “Oh, I wanted to go,” Daisy said. “I wanted to go very much; but, Jay Berry, a good nurse never leaves a sick patient.”

  “You didn’t have to stay here just because of me,” I said. “I’m not that sick. I never will be that sick.”

  For all the attention Daisy paid to my protests, I may as well have been talking to a post oak stump. Taking her thermometer, she started shaking it. I just groaned and crawled way down under the covers.

  Daisy started pulling at the quilts, saying, “Jay Berry, you’re acting like a little baby. You sit up here now and let me examine you.”

  “Go away!” I shouted. “I’ll be all right if you’ll just go away and leave me alone.”

  For a few seconds there was complete silence. Then I heard Daisy say, “Well, it says in my nursing book that when a patient gets unruly, a nurse is supposed to be stern.”

  Reaching down under the covers, Daisy grabbed a handful of my hair. I was squalling like a scared chicken as I was pulled to the head of my bed, and propped to a sitting position with a pillow.

  “Now,” Daisy said, sticking the thermometer into my mouth, “if you’ll just be patient, this will be over in a few minutes.”

  I was too sick to fight any more. “All right,” I mumbled. “If I die, it’ll be your fault.”

  Daisy smiled and said, “Jay Berry, you won’t die. You may think you will, but you won’t. In a day or two, you’ll be as good as new, I hope.”

  “You’re just saying that because you heard Papa say it,” I said.

  “No, I’m not!” Daisy said. “I’m saying it because I’m a nurse, and nurses are supposed to cheer up their patients.”

  I knew all too well that once Daisy had gotten into one of her Red Cross nursing spells, it was ridiculous to even think of trying to argue her out of it. So I just groaned, closed my eyes, and sat there while she looked me over.

  Counting silently, Daisy took my pulse. Then she looked at my eyeballs, felt of my brow, and tapped around on me with her fingers. She even laid her ear on my chest and listened to my heart beat. From the expression on her face, I seemed to be in pretty good shape until she took the thermometer from my mouth and looked at it.

  Frowning and letting out a low whistle, Daisy said, “Boy, Jay Berry, you have a fever. Why, it almost busted this thermometer.”

  This scared me a little. I knew that I was sick, but I didn’t think that I was sick enough to bust a thermometer.

  Daisy said, “Let me see your tongue.”

  By this time, I was getting a little bit on the nervous side. Without any protest, I stuck my tongue out as far as I could.

  Daisy looked at it, and making a sour face she said, “Yuck! Jay Berry, your tongue is so coated, it looks just like the inside of Papa’s shaving mug.”

  This really shook me up.

  “Is that bad?” I asked.

  “Oh, it’s not too bad,” Daisy said, “but it’s bad enough. I think I know what’s causing it.”

  “You do!” I said. “What’s causing it?”

  Daisy said, “Remember what Papa said about your stomach being full of that old sour mash. As long as it’s in there, you’ll just stay sick, and your tongue will be coated.”

  “Daisy,” I said, “I’m sick all over but it’s not my tongue that’s sick. What are you going to do now?”

  “I don’t know,” Daisy said as she reached over and picked up the book she had brought with her when she
came into my room.

  I saw that it was her nursing book.

  Daisy wet her thumb on her tongue and started thumbing through the pages.

  “Jay Berry,” she said, “I don’t know a thing about doctoring a drunk. I’ve looked all through my nursing book and can’t find anything that tells me how. But I know that somewhere in here, I’ve read where it does tell how to keep a patient’s tongue from being coated.”

  “Daisy,” I said, “you don’t think that I’m a drunk, do you? Just because I got drunk once, doesn’t mean that I’m a drunk, does it?”

  “I’m not too sure about that,” Daisy said, still turning pages and not looking at me. “From what I’ve heard and read that’s the way drunkards get started. They have one drink and then they have to have another one, and another, and another. And pretty soon they’re drinking it by the barrel.”

  “Daisy,” I said, very seriously, “if I live through this, you won’t have to worry about me ever drinking any more mash or whiskey. I promise that. Why, I’ll even cross my heart and hope to die.”

  With a very sad look on her face, Daisy said, “I hope not, Jay Berry. I sure would hate for us to grow up and have people see you staggering down the street and say, ‘That’s that old drunkard, Jay Berry Lee. He’s Daisy Lee’s brother.’ I don’t believe I could stand that. I just wouldn’t put up with it. I’d tell people that I didn’t even know you.”

  “Aw, Daisy,” I cried, “I’m so sick now, I’m not an inch from the grave and you keep talking about all of those old bad things. I thought you said that nurses were supposed to cheer up their patients, not bury them.”

  Just then Daisy’s face lit up and she said, “Ah, here it is.”

  She sat down on the foot of my bed and started reading in silence. Finally, after what seemed like a week to me, Daisy sighed, closed her book, and said, “Jay Berry, I think what you need is a big dose of castor oil.”

  I always did think that the very thought of castor oil was enough to make a buzzard sick. “Castor oil!” I said. “Why, Daisy, I couldn’t take any of that nasty stuff. All you think about is castor oil. If I even mash my finger, the first thing you do is grab that old castor oil bottle.”