Tommy Puke and the Boy with the Golden Barf

by Robert T. Jeschonek

Tommy kicked away something that looked like a moldy potato, swaddled in white fuzz. "Surely you've heard of Hesperides Gulch."

  While sidestepping a pile of chicken bones, I nearly put my foot in an unidentifiable blob of red and gray mush. "Never heard of it."

  Tommy squatted and grabbed something off the ground. "You've really led a sheltered life, haven't you?" When he bounced back up to his feet, he was holding an open tin of sardines. "Well it's a good thing I came along." Sticking two fingers into the tin, he tugged out a slimy gray fish steak and popped it into his mouth.

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  Chapter 9

  "Tommy, no!" My heart pounded as I watched him chew the rotten sardine. "It'll kill you!"

  Tommy shook his head. "Cast-iron stomach." When he said it, he sprayed out bits of gooey gray fish, some of which landed on me.

  "Seriously." The sight of him chomping that foul seafood made my gorge rise in my throat. "That's just sick, man."

  Tommy grinned and kept chewing...then spat the rancid gruel in the dirt. "Don't worry, Josh." He wiped his mouth with the back of his arm. "I was just messing with you."

  As we walked further, the garbage became more plentiful. It was scattered along the path and among the trees, piled on the ground and even dangling from branches. Soon enough, it was impossible to take a step without walking on rubbish.

  As I picked my way along, trying not to put my foot in anything too gross or dangerous, I called to Tommy, who was up ahead of me. "So what's the big deal about Hesperides Gulch?"

  Tommy waved for me to catch up with him. "All will be made clear, Grasshopper."

  He waited for me, scratching his crotch, at the crest of a little hill. As I climbed toward him, a wave of stench rolled over me, so sweet and rank it blocked out every other smell.

  When I drew up beside Tommy, he turned and swept his arm in a wide arc. That was when I got my first look at Hesperides Gulch.

  The hill where we stood was on the rim of a long gulley in the woods. Trees lined the rim on both sides, leaves rattling in the breeze, and in the middle...

  Leaning out and looking down, I saw that the middle of the gulley was full of garbage.

  All down the length in both directions, there was nothing but garbage, a sea of discarded debris of all shapes and sizes. I saw stoves and refrigerators, couches and mattresses...heaps of bricks and cinder blocks and boards...tumbles of bottles, cans, and cartons...split-open bags overflowing with bones and putrid produce. A legion of crows and raccoons hopped and crawled on top of it all, beaks and mouths dripping with scavenged waste. The sound of barking dogs echoed in the distance.

  Staring down at the vast mess, I was blown away. I hadn't expected to see it out there in the woods. "I don't get it. We're nowhere near the town dump, are we?"

  "It's an illegal dump." Tommy reached out and squeezed my shoulder. "But it's still beautiful, isn't it?"

  "If you say so." I just kept staring, trying to take it all in. Where were the barking dogs, I wondered? There were no dogs anywhere in sight. "So why are we here?"

  "Gertrude." Tommy let go of my shoulder and headed back down the hill, away from the rim of the gulley. "We need to check on her for Mr. D."

  I followed Tommy along a crooked path through the trees. The sound of the barking dogs grew louder.

  The barking was loudest of all when we pushed through a tangle of tall weeds and emerged in a clearing. In the middle of the clearing sprawled a rundown shack that looked like it had been built out of junk from the dump.

  Tommy stopped at the edge of the clearing, stuck his warty pickle nose in the air, and sniffed. "She's here, all right."

  "Gertrude? How can you tell?" I sniffed, too, but couldn't catch a whiff of whatever he'd detected.

  "Grab a stick." Tommy pulled a big one off the ground; it was at least three feet long, with a thick shaft and a sharp tip. "You're gonna need it."

  "Need it for what?"

  "A weapon." Tommy pointed toward the shack. "Those dogs do not sound friendly."

  I couldn't find a stick nearby, so I walked a few steps back into the woods. There, on top of a waterlogged pillow, I found one that looked pretty decent--thick and pointy, but not very long. It was only two feet from end to end, but it would have to do.

  Tommy was calling. "Come on, Josh! Hurry up!"

  As I rushed back to him, one of the dogs let loose a high-pitched yelp. That just made the other dogs bark louder than before.

  "Now follow my lead," said Tommy. "If one of those dogs attacks you, hit it with the stick as hard as you can. Got it?"

  "Yeah." My heart was hammering in my chest. What had I gotten myself into?

  "If that doesn't work, hit it with this one." Tommy handed over the three-foot stick he'd grabbed from the ground.

  I didn't take it at first. "But what about you? What weapon will you use?"

  "A weapon those wild dogs will be powerless against." Tommy pushed the stick toward me.

  I took it, and he started toward the shack.

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  Chapter 10

  My hands shook as Tommy Puke and I crept up on the shack. I'd never fought wild dogs before; I'd never fought tame dogs, either.

  As we rounded the corner, they came into view. There were six of them surrounding the ramshackle back steps, barking at whatever was hiding under them. They lunged and snapped, but the space under the steps was walled off with sections of trellis, and they couldn't get through it.

  From what I could see, the dogs were all mixed-breed mutts, and they came in different sizes. Two were pretty small, maybe a foot high; three were middle-sized, more like a foot and a half to two feet tall. One was all black and bigger than the rest, a good three feet from the top of his head to the pads of his paws.

  Tommy and I stood at the corner a moment and watched. One of the middle-sized dogs clawed at the trellis, panting and grunting, trying to break through. Suddenly, we heard a hissing sound, and the dog scrambled backward, yelping like crazy. He ran in circles as his fellow dogs watched, then barreled off into the woods with his tail between his legs, still yelping.

  As the stricken dog bolted off, I caught a whiff of what had zapped him, and I finally understood. I wrinkled my nose as the powerful stink flowed through it, drowning out the sickeningly sweet fragrance of the illegal dump nearby. There was no other smell quite like it. There was no doubt in my mind what had made it.

  Gertrude was a skunk.

  As the truth sank in, Tommy stormed forward, stuck two fingers in his mouth, and let out a shrill whistle. All five remaining dogs looked his way at once, ears perked.

  The big black dog peeled his lips back and started growling. The other four followed suit, dipping their heads and baring their teeth.

  They stayed like that for a long moment, perhaps waiting to see if we intruders backed down. But Tommy wasn't going anywhere, and neither was I.

  As we stood there, facing that wild pack, I wondered what our next move would be. Would Tommy charge and scatter them, leaving me to drive them off with the sticks?

  Not exactly.

  A strange gulping noise started in Tommy's chest. He bobbed his head as if something was stuck in his throat, and he was trying to force it down.

  Or force it up.

  Suddenly, his head shot forward, his mouth snapped open, and a raging shower of vomit blasted forth. The spray of chunks and fluid splashed the ground, leaving a puddle of steaming pink puke to curdle in the late day sun.

  For a second, I wondered why he'd done it. He hadn't hit the dogs or even come close.

  But his strategy quickly became clear. Five of the six dogs bolted over and pounced on the puddle at once, eagerly lapping up the regurgitated slop.

  Only the big black dog didn't dig in with the others. He just kept growling and staring at Tommy.

  And then, like a bull in a bullfight, he charged toward him.

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  Chapter 11

  My hands tightened on the sticks, and I stepped f
orward...but Tommy threw back a hand and stopped me. Then, as the dog raced toward him, he sucked in a deep breath.

  Eyes wide, heart pounding, I almost pushed past Tommy's hand to fend off the dog. The animal was big and fierce enough to tear Tommy apart. I couldn't see how one unarmed boy could possibly survive such an attack.

  The dog ran closer. Tommy hunched and worked his shoulders, and his cheeks puffed up.

  Snarling, the big dog leaped...

  And Tommy's mouth sprang open, unleashing a thunderous belch.

  The stench of his breath must have been inhumanly strong, because the dog yelped in mid-leap and twisted away from it. He landed on his side and lay there twitching and whining, feebly scrabbling at the dirt as if he'd been traumatized.

  The other dogs didn't even look up from their dinner. They just kept lapping at the puddle of puke, nipping and nudging each other out of the way to get at the choicest chunks.

  "Good boy." Tommy crouched by the fallen black dog and launched another mighty belch at him. The dog whimpered like a puppy and shut its eyes.

  Tommy patted the dog's side and got up. "The coast is clear." He said it over his shoulder as he headed for the back steps.

  I wasn't as sure about that clear coast as he was. I kept my distance from the dogs as I followed him and never let go of my two sticks.

  When I got to the steps, Tommy turned. "Give us a little space, okay? Gertrude's shy."

  His vomit-soaked breath in my face was so awful, I thought it might burn my nose off. It was worse than the smelliest poop I'd ever smelled; I could see why it had left the big, bad dog writhing in the dirt.

  Tommy truly amazed me. He was like a walking arsenal of toxic weapons, a Swiss army knife of disgusting tricks.

  I was glad he was on my side.

  As I watched, Tommy squatted by the trellis wall enclosing the space under the steps. "Ger-trude." He said it in a sing-song voice. "Come on out, sweetie-pie."

  I took a step back, expecting skunk spray to come shooting out at any minute. But Tommy seemed to have no fear. He got down on his knees and ducked his head, pressing his nose between the slats of the trellis.

  "Please, honey-bunch?" Tommy hooked a finger through one of the gaps and wiggled it. "Uncle Tommy-kins is here to see you. Your daddy, Mr. Diogenes, asked me to check on you, and I can't do that if you stay under there."

  Suddenly, a little black snout pushed through the trellis by Tommy's face. The nose at the tip of the snout snuffled for a moment, and then a tiny pink tongue curled out and licked Tommy's cheek.

  "Aw, Gertrude." Tommy gave the black snout a lick with his own tongue. "I love you, too."

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  Chapter 12

  With the dogs no longer waiting to attack her, Gertrude crawled out from under the steps through her own private little tunnel. It was too small for even the smallest of the wild dogs to enter, but the perfect size for a little skunk like her to shimmy through.

  As soon as Gertrude got out, she waddled straight into Tommy's waiting arms. Grinning with pure delight, he scooped her up and hugged her tight.

  "Isn't she beautiful?" Tommy swung her around to face me. "Isn't she a cutie-pie?"

  He was right about that. "She sure is." Gertrude's little black eyes stared back at me, set off by the furry white stripe between her ears. But the smell of her spray clung to her, making me nervous; as tame as she seemed, I couldn't stop worrying that she might spray me at any time.

  Tommy nuzzled her with his filth-caked pickle nose. "Let's get you some din-din, sweetheart. You'd like that, wouldn't you?"

  Gertrude snuffled in reply.

  "You can come too, if you like, Josh." Tommy walked up the back steps with Gertrude in his arms. "I'm sure Mr. D. wouldn't mind."

  I dropped my sticks and followed. "This is his place?"

  "Casa Diogenes, yep." Tommy opened the back door, which wasn't locked, and stepped inside. "Illegal dump on one side, sewage treatment plant on the other. Does it get any better than this?"

  I walked in after him and closed the door...then did a double-take. The inside of the shack wasn't at all what I'd expected.

  The outside looked like it had been thrown together out of junk wood and metal scraps from the dump. But the inside wasn't junky at all. It was kind of small, but the furnishings were nice, from the matching dark blue sofa and recliner to the flat-screen TV in the entertainment center.

  There was pale blue shag carpeting on the floor of the living room, and light brown paneling on the walls. A curio cabinet with a glass door and mirrored shelves occupied one corner, filled with all sorts of lamp-like knick knacks.

  I wandered over and took a look at them. "Mr. D. has a thing for lamps, huh?"

  "Just like the guy he was named after." Tommy put down Gertrude, and she waddled after him into the kitchen. "The original Diogenes was a philosopher in ancient Greece. He used to carry around a lamp all the time, looking for an honest man."

  Leaning down, I looked at the lamp knick knacks on the lower shelves of the cabinet. "That sounds familiar."

  Tommy ran some water in the kitchen. "Time for a drink, sweet Gertie-pie." Then, I heard him open cupboards and drawers. "Guess what the original Diogenes' philosophy was? Cynicism."

  "What's that?" I left the cabinet and joined Tommy in the kitchen. It was just as nice as the living room, with clean white cupboards, a stainless steel sink, and white marble counters. The stove and refrigerator both had stainless doors, and the floor was covered in light gray tile.

  "Cynicism is not always accepting what you're told. Rebelling against society." Tommy pulled a can of cat food out of a cupboard. "Telling it like it is." He stuck the can under a can opener and pushed down the handle. The opener's point punctured the lid, then cut around the rim as the can slowly turned. "Living life the way you want to, no matter what anyone says."

  "So that's cynicism, huh?"

  Tommy grinned. "My kind of philosophy. Mr. Diogenes' too, obviously." He spread his arms to take in the shack. "He does his own thing. That's why I said he was my role model, remember?"

  I nodded. "You did say that."

  Tommy grabbed the cat food can from the opener and dumped the contents in a green plastic bowl on the counter. "Mr. D. tries to be like the original Diogenes, and I try to be like both of them." He leaned down and put the bowl of food on the floor. The second it touched the tile, Gertrude shoved her snout deep into the pasty brown muck. "Did you know the original Diogenes lived in a barrel?"

  I smirked. "Do you live in one, too?"

  Instead of answering me, Tommy suddenly frowned. "Say, where's that piece of corn, Josh?"

  I reached in my pocket and pulled out the rolled-up baggie. "Got it right here. Don't worry."

  "Don't just stand there!" Tommy looked annoyed. "Check it!"

  I guess I never really expected the corn to change to gold, because I'd forgotten about it. Part of me thought the labors and Chonganda and all that were just part of a game we were playing. How could that crazy stuff be real, right?

  So when I unrolled the baggie and checked the corn, I was extra surprised. I lifted it up to eye-level and stared, wondering if it was some kind of optical illusion.

  Tommy walked over and stared, too. "Finally!"

  "It changed. It actually changed." I couldn't believe what I was seeing. The squished-up kernel of corn in the baggie had turned from yellow to gleaming gold. "This can't be happening, can it?"

  "It can if Chonganda's nearby," said Tommy.

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  Chapter 13

  I pinched the kernel between my fingers. It was hard as metal, not squishy like corn. "But how...?"

  "Don't you see? We're closing in on him!" Tommy pinched the golden kernel with his own filthy fingers. "The snot-casting and poop-reading were right. We did three of the four labors, and now we're about to find the golden barf!"

  As the shock wore off, my heart started pounding. For the first time in my life, I had the proof of something mag
ical right there in my hand. Maybe incredible things could happen in this world; maybe there was more to life than nasty nicknames and getting picked on by bullies.

  "Come with me!" Tommy hurried through the living room and out the back door. Gertrude looked up for a second, then went back to gobbling her cat food.

  Breathless with excitement, I followed Tommy outside. The wild dogs were gone, thank goodness; they must've run off into the woods in search of less troublesome prey.

  Tommy ran down the back steps and stopped in the dusty yard, waving for me to join him. When I caught up, he grabbed the hand holding the baggie and hoisted it high between us. "Watch it now! Don't take your eyes off it!"

  I did as he said. "Watch it for what, Tommy?"

  "More changes!" Walking backward, he led me across the yard toward the trees. The whole time, he never let the kernel out of his sight.

  Neither did I. "What kind of changes?"

  "There! Like that!" He shook my wrist, and the bag flapped in my grip. "See?"

  Squinting up at the kernel, I did see. The corn no longer looked like pure gold. Somehow, it had shifted back to its original yellow state.

  "Why did it change?" I tried to lower the baggie for a closer look.

  Tommy wouldn't let me. He kept it hanging overhead between us. "Because Chonganda isn't in this direction. He's nowhere near the dump, which is on the other side of those trees." With that, Tommy turned and led me back across the yard and around the corner of the shack.

  We kept going around the next corner and ended up in front of the place. Tommy paused to hork up a loogie, then pulled me along to the middle of the front yard.

  That was where we checked the corn again.