Aaron Finn tore the page out of his notebook and handed it to the evil-looking, parachuted little man.
"What a jerk," Seamus Finn whispered to me.
"Really," I whispered back.
We forgot all about Sandor Eucalyptus as the Tri-Motor took off, and soon we couldn't smell him for the fumes from the engines.
"The Grand Canyon is two hundred and seventy-seven miles long," Jack Lacheln shouted at the top of his lungs. "It's eighteen miles wide at its widest point, and six thousand feet—more than a mile—deep at its deepest. It's been cut by the Colorado River for the past six million years, and you can see the strata of rock that show two billion years of our earth's geologic history." The plane was rising into the air, and I had never felt so good in my life.
"There is evidence of human life in the canyon dating back three to four thousand years," Jack shouted. "Around a thousand years ago, the Anasazi people farmed in the canyon, and developed a rich culture, and the present-day Hopi people consider the canyon their ancestral home. And in Havasu Canyon, which is one of the many side spurs, the Havasupai people are still farming today.
"The Grand Canyon was set aside as a forest preserve by President Benjamin Harrison in 1893, and was proclaimed a national monument by President Teddy Roosevelt in 1908."
Jack kept talking, but I wasn't listening. What I was seeing was too incredible to pay attention to anything else.
Now that I come to it, I can't say what it was like. I barely had time for it to sink in that we were up in the air, above everything—and then we dipped down, into the canyon, and we were below everything and above everything at the same time. We were flying inside the earth! I was hardly breathing. I don't think I blinked.
"Jack!" I shouted at the top of my lungs. "What's that down there?"
"Turtle Rock?" Jack shouted back. "That's a natural rock formation—or maybe a paleolithic carving—experts disagree—looks like a red-eared turtle. Considered very important by the Hopi people. Has some kind of ritual meaning—something to do with preserving the world, or protecting the world, or something."
It was exactly like my turtle, the one the turtle-shaman, Melvin, or whatever his name was, had given me!
"Oh, you noticed that it's just like your turtle," Billy the Phantom Bellboy said. "Interesting coincidence, isn't it?"
Jack took the plane up again—now we were high over the canyon, making a slow, sweeping turn.
"What turtle is that?" Aaron Finn asked.
"I have a stone turtle," I said. "A shaman gave it to me."
"May I see it?" Aaron Finn asked. I handed him the turtle. Aaron Finn held it in his palm. "This is fine," he said. "It's evidently very old. Wonderful thing."
"Let me see it, Father," Seamus Finn said.
Aaron Finn handed the turtle to his son. Seamus looked at it closely. "Really. Wonderful," he said.
"And now you will give the turtle to me, young man," Sandor Eucalyptus said. We saw that he was holding a gun, a small silver one. "Just give it to me, and please, no one move." Sandor Eucalyptus was standing up in the aisle between the rows of seats. "Quickly! Hand it over!"
Seamus Finn plunked the turtle into Sandor Eucalyptus's outstretched hand. He gripped it in his fist, then shoved it deep into his pocket. Then, keeping the gun trained on us, he moved backwards toward the door of the airplane. Still facing us, he reached for the handle of the door. He turned the handle. He opened the door.
"And now, signori ... auf Wiedersehen!" Sandor Eucalyptus said, and hurled himself out of the airplane.
We saw him falling. His hat blew off and floated after him. Then his parachute opened, and we watched him drift down, out of sight into the depths of the Grand Canyon.
"Well, that was a first," Jack said. "The fellow is obviously as crazy as a bat. Going to be a lot of trouble finding him—assuming he survives the parachute drop, or the canyon itself, a tenderfoot like that. We'll have to go back to base now and make a report to the police."
It was all sort of shocking. I couldn't say anything at first. Then I said, "He took the turtle."
"Yes, it was too bad about that," Seamus Finn said. "I'm sorry, Neddie, sorry I handed it over to him—but he was holding a gun on me. You see how it was."
"Yes, of course," I said.
"I couldn't do anything else," Seamus said. "I just plunked it in his palm—like this—here, Neddie, hold your hand out."
I didn't know why Seamus was going on about it. We had all seen what happened. But he took my wrist and made me hold my hand out, palm up—and then he plunked something into it. It was the turtle!
"What? What? How'd you...? You! What?" I said.
"Here, I'll show you. Give it back to me," Seamus said.
Aaron Finn was grinning broadly. I gave Seamus the turtle and he plunked it into my palm again—only this time when I looked it wasn't the turtle—it was a jellybean!
"Mmmm, it's a black one," Seamus Finn said. "Eat it up, Neddie. I hope Mr. Sandor Eucalyptus enjoys his jellybean after his parachute ride." Seamus Finn handed me my turtle.
"Seamus has special permission to leave the school on Tuesday nights to attend the magicians' club at Joe Berg's Studio of Magic," Aaron Finn said. "Fine work, son. Worthy of a Finn."
I thought it was fine work too.
CHAPTER 17
Box of Weasels
"So, it's your belief that the gunman was of unsound mind?" the sheriff's deputy asked Jack Lacheln.
"It's my belief he was as crazy as a barn owl," Jack Lacheln said. "Crazy as a loon. Crazy as a bedbug. A bun short of a dozen. A nutcase. Crazy as a box of weasels."
"And what makes you say that?" the deputy asked.
"Well, he smelled like the perfume counter at Woolworth's, he insisted on wearing his parachute, then he got excited and made this gentleman give him a little drawing he'd made, and after that he pulled a gun on everybody, made this lad give him a little stone turtle, and jumped out of the airplane. I'm no psychiatrist, but I don't call that normal behavior."
The deputy wrote in his notebook: Crazy as a box of frogs.
"Box of weasels," Jack Lacheln corrected him.
"Hardly a chance in the world we'll find him," the deputy said. "Probably broke his neck, or else he's wandering around the canyon, raving mad, eating small animals. Would you say he's dangerous?"
"As a box of rattlesnakes," Jack Lacheln said.
"Or a box of Gila monsters?" the deputy asked.
"Yes, I'd say so."
"I'll put that down, box of Gila monsters," the deputy said. "Does anyone have anything to add?"
"Yes," Seamus Finn said. "I..." But Aaron Finn gave him a stern look and shook his head slowly. Seamus stopped speaking.
"My boy here wanted to mention that the gentleman claimed to come from foreign parts, and spoke several languages," Aaron Finn said. "If you have no further need for us, we'd like to continue on our way."
"No, I don't suppose you'll be needed," the deputy said. "I don't suppose we'll ever find the fellow either. Probably a mountain lion will eat him. But we'll go down on mule-back and have a look. I'm sorry about this unpleasant interruption, and I hope you'll enjoy the rest of your trip."
In the Packard, Seamus Finn asked his father, "Why didn't you want me to tell about the neat way I substituted a jellybean for the turtle? I did it really well. You know, if you plunk a small object into someone's palm, they'll tend to close their fingers around it. I learned that at the magicians' club—it's called the French substitution."
"It was neat," I said. "And you knew he would shove the thing in his pocket. In his excitement, he never noticed that the jellybean was smaller than the turtle."
"It was very neat," Aaron Finn said. "But obviously Jack Lacheln, busy piloting the noisy aircraft, missed the bit about you substituting the jellybean, and thus said nothing about it to the deputy. It might be best to let people think that Sandor Eucalyptus got away with the turtle. Just in case anyone else is thinking about coming after it.
"
"You think he meant to get it on purpose?" I asked.
"You don't think he was merely as crazy as a box of frogs?"
"Box of weasels," Aaron Finn said. "And it pays to play it safe. I had a part in a spy picture once, and the situation was ... well, actually, it was nothing like this, but all the same, I think it is best not to let too much be known. Now, who's for lunch? Anyone hungry?"
"I could sniff a bowl of chili," Billy the Phantom Bellboy said.
"Capital idea," Aaron Finn said. "Let's be on the lookout for an authentic taqueria."
CHAPTER 18
Scorched Lizard
"This looks like the place," Aaron Finn said as he pulled the Packard up in front of a broken-down-looking building, with a sign on the roof that said eat. Painted over the door was lagarto chamuscado—cold beer.
"It looks a little crummy, Father," Seamus Finn said.
"oh, that's how you can tell it's the real thing," Aaron Finn said. "We're going to have a royal feast here, mark my words."
It was hard to tell if the place was even open for business or just an abandoned old shack. There were no cars parked outside, the windows were thick with dust, and it was just sitting all by itself way out in the desert. We piled out of the Packard and followed Aaron Finn inside.
Once we got in, it was a little better. There were rough wooden tables, and benches, a fire crackling in the fireplace, and an extremely nice smell. No people, though.
An enormous guy, well over six feet tall, with a big belly, wearing one of those tall chef's hats and a white apron, came through a little door at the back of the room. His face was all red and shiny, and he had a black mustache that curled up at the ends.
"Gentlemen!" the guy in the chef's hat said. "Welcome to Lagarto chamuscado! Please be seated, and I will wait on you."
We took seats on two benches. "May we see a menu?" Aaron Finn asked.
"The menu is in my toque blanche," the enormous guy said, pointing to his chef's hat. "I am Antonio Frantoio Del'Fagiolo, graduate of the culinary Academy of Belgium, diplomate of the Institute of cookery of Rome, and I also attended the Cooks and Bakers School of the United States Army. Today we have Navajo fry bread, Hopi corn stew, cheese and green chile soup, blue corn dumplings, of course, green chile paste, yucca pie, wolfberry jam, and Hopi tea. Also coca-cola and Dr Pepper. What is your pleasure?"
"How about a little bit of everything?" Aaron Finn asked.
"I was hoping you would say that," Antonio Frantoio Del'Fagiolo said. "I will now busy myself in the kitchen, and in a short while, you will begin a meal which will surpass your wildest dreams of happiness. While you await your spectacular repast, would you care to whet your appetites by snacking on these tortilla chips and salsa? We have hot, dangerously hot, and foolhardy." He placed a basket of oilylooking chips and three cracked bowls of green stuff on the table, then disappeared through the little door.
"I wonder which salsa is which," I said.
"I'll tell you," Billy the Phantom Bellboy said. He sniffed each of the three bowls. "This one is okay. This one will test your nerves. And this one will cause you to see visions. Be careful with this stuff—this is how I died."
Aaron Finn then explained to us that the thing about eating hot foods is not to let them know you're afraid of them. Still, I noticed that after sampling salsa number one and salsa number two, he never touched number three. None of us did.
It's amazing that I was able to taste anything after the salsa, but I was. Antonio Frantoio Del'Fagiolo brought plate after plate of wonderful things I had never seen before, but every one of them tasted like an old friend.
"Did I or did I not tell you this was the right place?" Aaron Finn said. We all said things like "ummph," and "mmmm," and "yum," except Billy, who said snfff.
While we were eating, Antonio Frantoio Del'Fagiolo pulled up a bench and sat watching us. Nobody was talking much—we were too involved with the food. All anybody said was "Please pass those blue things," and "Try some of this," and "May I have more of that?" and "Yum!"
After a while, it sort of came to an end, and we looked around at each other. Everybody looked happy. Antonio Frantoio Del'Fagiolo poured cups of tea. "So, best meal you ever had in your lives, wasn't it?" he said. "And this one has been eating on the Super chief, which is famous for good cooking."
"How did you know I was on the Super chief?" I asked Antonio Frantoio Del'Fagiolo.
"You're the kid with the turtle, aren't you?" he asked me.
"And how did you know that?" I asked, excited.
"There's a medicine man, comes in here all the time. He loves my blue corn dumplings, and who wouldn't?"
"Melvin?" I asked.
"That's the one. He told me you'd be coming in."
"And how did he know that?" I asked, more excited.
"Like I said, medicine man. He knows all sorts of things. He told me to give you a message when you came in."
"He did?"
"He did. Now, what was it? Oh, darn, I can't remember. He said, this kid who has the turtle—that's you—would be coming in with some other people, and a ghost—that's how I was sure it was you—and I was supposed to tell you ... It's right on the tip of my tongue."
"So you have no trouble seeing the ghost?" Seamus Finn asked.
"Billy? I see him fine. I eat my own cooking, you know. If you eat that foolhardy-grade salsa, you'll see all kinds of things. Oh! I remember the message! It's 'Get out of this country. You're in danger.'"
"In danger? What kind of danger?"
"He didn't say. Just 'Get out, you're in danger'—that's the whole message."
"Why didn't he tell me himself? I saw him only a couple of hours ago."
"No idea. So, what did you think of the food?"
CHAPTER 19
Get Your Kicks on Route 66
"Ah, Route 66, the Mother Road, the Will Rogers Highway." Aaron Finn was behind the wheel of the Packard. "Now we'll see what this baby will do. I'll bet we can make Los Angeles in six hours flat. Now everyone put on your goggles."
Instead of putting the top up, Aaron Finn had goggles for everyone in the car, although Billy the Phantom Bellboy couldn't wear, and didn't need, his.
"This is a historic highway, boys. You'll see many interesting sights flash past in a blur. Someone make a note of the time and mileage—we're out to break the record to L.A.!"
There were some questions I wanted to ask Billy the Phantom Bellboy.
"What do you know about my turtle?" I asked him.
"That it's important, and you should hang on to it?" Billy said.
"In many Indian creation myths, the world is said to have been created when certain animals, such as the muskrat, brought mud from the bottom of the Great Water and piled it on the back of Big Turtle—then trees grew, and so forth, and the world is carried on the back of Big Turtle. In fact, to this day, most indigenous peoples refer to North America, or the world in general, as Turtle Island. And the turtle looms large in Chinese and other Asian mythology, also African, and South American—pretty much the same sorts of stories, and the same sort of significance. There are even Eskimo turtle stories, though there's not a turtle to be seen in the Arctic. If that's any help," Aaron Finn said.
"How do you know all this stuff, Father?" Seamus Finn asked.
"I have an encyclopedia in my trailer at the studio," Aaron Finn said. "There's a lot of waiting around while they set up the cameras and lights."
"What do you know about Melvin, the shaman?" I asked Billy.
"He's unusual," Billy the Phantom Bellboy said. "The average Navajo will go out of his way to have nothing to do with a ghost. It's chindee—that's like taboo, or forbidden—but Melvin is open-minded, probably because he's a medicine man, though some suspect he's not really Navajo. In any event, he's a nice guy."
"Do you know why he gave me the turtle, and why that guy in the airplane tried to take it, and why Melvin sent a message that I would be in danger if I didn't get out of there?"
"Nope. My guess is, he gave it to you because he saw that you were the right one to give it to. But I don't really know anything about that other stuff."
"Well, thanks anyway," I said.
"And if I knew any more, I wouldn't tell you," Billy said. "Ghosts can keep a secret."
Billy the Phantom Bellboy and Aaron Finn got into a conversation about the history of the movie business, and old-time movie stars who had stayed in the Monte Vista Hotel and been haunted by Billy. This topic interested both of them, and it was clear they would be at it for hours. It was also clear that Billy was not going to give me any information, if he had any, about the turtle, or Melvin the shaman.
Seamus Finn and I adjusted our goggles and watched the scenery go by. It was nice, riding and not talking. The conversation about William'S. Hart and Charlie Chaplin and Theda Bara droned on in the front seat, and soon blended with the rush of air and the hum of the motor.
The big Packard was flying along the road, leaving a cloud of dust behind it. Route 66 was interesting. We went through long stretches of desert, and every so often we'd come upon something completely unexpected. These are some of the things we passed: ghost towns, signs pointing to old mines, rusted-out diners, trading posts, fancy hotels, drive-in movies where you watch from your car, a meteor crater, lots and lots of roadside zoos with signs for miles before, saying SEE THE FIVE-LEGGED LIZARD, a barbershop with a car on the roof, and motels shaped like teepees, a whale, an airplane, a windmill, and a huge duck. When it got dark there were animated neon signs in a lot of colors.
We only stopped for gas, plus once, when we were across the state line in San Bernardino, California, at McDonald's fifteen-cent hamburger stand, where you Buy 'Em by the Bag. "This is a good idea," Seamus Finn said. "They should open more of these."
I'd like to take another ride on Route 66, and go a lot slower.
CHAPTER 20
Another Old Hotel
The Neddiad Page 5
