New Jersey Yankee In King Arthur's Court

by P McAuley, Robert

  “We have to talk,” answered the tall, gray haired man, his face very serious.

  “Okay, Merryl. Whatever you say.” He turned to the flailing knight and helped him up. “Sir Dolt! Remove your armor.”

  The man was furious. “I shall do no such thing for such a ragamuffin as yee. Kill me should yee desire but my armor doth stay on me.”

  “Oh no, it doesn’t.” He turned to the new group and said, “This is the guy who called you peasants? Look at him now! It’s like having a peanut. Open the shell and remove the soft inner core. Let’s disrobe this wanna-be knight, guys.” Both groups happily joined in and when he was stripped of his armor the man stood in what looked like padded pajamas.

  “Would’st thou slay him?” asked one of the boys.

  “No, what for? Look at him, he’s nothin’ but an empty shell.”

  Arty turned to the man and said as he pointed down the road, “Sir Dolt! Turn around and face that way.” The man reluctantly did and was rewarded with a swift kick to his butt. The crowd roared it’s approval as Arty said, “And don’t come back again, Sir Dolt.” The little man sauntered away hopping every so often as he stepped on a pebble.

  “Boy,” said Arty to his friends, “he sure is a short guy, isn’t he?”

  That night the sky was jet black and the stars seemed to be almost touching the earth as they sat around roaring campfires. Arty was lying back on a bed of long grass that some of the ‘new guys’ as he called them, had provided.

  Bruno sat with him in the shadows and said, “I’m tellin’ ya Arty, it’s kinda weird. All them guys say the same thing: they were born right here in New Jersey . . . only they don’t call it New Jersey, they call it Essex.”

  Arty looked at the meat on a stick he was feasting on and said, “Yeah, but for outta-towners they sure can cook up a bar-b-q pretty fast.”

  He looked at Jennie who was combing her hair. “Hey Jennie . . . you’re kinda smart. What do ya think is goin’ on here?”

  She looked at both of them and slowly answered, “Well, as Bruno said, it is kind of weird that all of them say the same thing. So I have to think that maybe it’s us who are thinking wrong.”

  “Wrong?” asked Arty sitting up. “How? I mean, we are in Keansburg, New Jersey, and these kids suddenly appeared along with that stupid excuse for a knight. Naw,” he said with a shake his head, “it’s them that are wrong, not us.”

  “You know,” said Jennie as she twisted her hair into a braid, “I bet Merryl has some thoughts about all of this. Where is he?”

  Bruno waved his thumb over his shoulder and said with a laugh, “Ha! Ol’ Merryl is by them outta-towners showing them tricks.”

  “Tricks?” asked Arty.

  “Yeah! Seems he was a clown in a traveling circus or something and he did magic stuff.”

  “You mean,” asked Arty as he got up, “like making things disappear and stuff?”

  “I guess. Why don’t we go down there and see?”

  The three went down the hill to the group of teenagers sitting around a roaring campfire. The light of the fires showed a tall, thin Merryl waving his long arms around and saying, “Abbra-Ka-Dabbra” as he acted out for his new audience. From just inside the shadows, Arty, Jennie and Bruno watched as he mesmerized the crowd of ‘out-of-towners’ as Arty and his group called them. The handyman went over to Ron and removed a handful of flowers from behind his ear and the crowd went wild as the boy swore he had never worn flowers in his hair.

  “Boy,” said Arty in a whisper to his two companions, “ol’ Merryl is pretty good.”

  They watched for another thirty minutes until the handyman ended his show by disappearing in a flash of smoke only to reappear out of the shadows next to Arty, Jennie and Bruno.

  “Wow!” said a startled Arty. “Man, how did you do that, Merryl?”

  “Ha!” answered the tall man who had untied his ponytail allowing his long gray hair to drape over his shoulders. “Simple, if you have the ingredients to toss into the fire,” he put his hand into his pocket and came out with a pinch of white powder. “Magician’s escape powder. Every want-to-be magician carries some to awe his crowd.”

  “You mean you always carry that stuff?” asked Bruno.

  “Sure. It only costs me five bucks online.”

  “So,” asked Jennie, “I guess you were a magician before you became a handyman for the museum?”

  “Ha!” answered the tall man whose gray eyes glowed with the reflection of the various campfires, “Magician, soldier, teacher, panhandler, nurse, handyman, night watchman and a few others I forgot because they took place during the Sixties.”

  “Boy, you’re too much, Merryl,” added Arty as they walked back to the spot on top of the hill. He looked up at the stars and asked in a quiet tone, “Hey, Merryl, how come we can’t see any lights from town? I mean, you know how even on the darkest night you can see the glow of Coney Island across the bay from Keansburg. Well, what I mean is, how far can we be from Keansburg if we can’t even see the glow of the city lights?”

  “Arty,” answered Merryl matching his somber tone of voice, “I think the theory I spoke of earlier has been confirmed.” He squatted down facing the moon and the others followed his lead.

  “I’m not really sure where to begin, and as I learn more, I’ll fill you guys in on my theory.” He suddenly looked at the three of them and said, “And it is just a theory! I might be wrong and I hope I am. I hope that we wake up tomorrow and find ourselves asleep in our bed.”

  “Ya mean, pull-out couches, right?” quipped Arty as he mimicked a man rubbing his back.

  “Yeah,” added Bruno doing the same, “and some of us get the pull-out bed with the broken spring.”

  Merryl seemed to understand what the boys were talking about and his eyes softened as he said, “Believe me guys, life gets better as you grow older.” He sat straight and took on the role of a teacher. “Now, as I said it’s just my theory, and here it is. First some facts: The box of armor that you boys opened came from England. They were discovered in an old castle over fifty years ago and the Keansburg Museum was on a list to display them. They finally got the permission to do so and they arrived six weeks ago. Our new guy decided not to show them until we fixed the museum up and they sat in the basement until you guys opened them. Now, here’s where my theory begins. They were discovered in a half-buried castle in, get this, Essex, England!”

  “Hey,” said Jennie, “that’s where the kids say we are right now! In Essex!”

  “Exactly,” said Merryl. “I think that somehow when you were all dolled up in the armor, lightning struck the building and transported the armor, and you, right back here to Essex, England.”

  “What?” Arty slapped his knee as he said with a grin, “Merryl, I think you did a lot more goodies than you remember back in the Sixties. Your theory is way out, dude! Way out!” He pointed a finger at Merryl and, with a squint in his eye asked, “If your theory says that we got sent back because we were dressed in the armor, how come you’re here? I mean you weren’t dressed in armor. Right?”

  Merryl nodded and answered, “Yes, that’s true and as I said, this is only a theory. However, Miss Jennie wasn’t dressed in armor either and she’s here also.” Before Arty could answer, Merryl said in a louder voice as he held up his index finger to state a point, “However! Miss Jennie was almost buried beneath all of you as you tried to all get out the window at the same time and I was holding Lance’s leg armor when the lightning strike occurred. Hence, my point that somehow the lightning bolt sent all who were dressed in armor, or touching the armor, back in time to the place where the armor originated: Essex, England. And, have you noticed how small that knight was? Well, if my theory is correct, then we’ll be taller than most around here as each generation is taller than the one before it. End of my theory . . . for now!”

  Jennie chimed in, “You know what, Merryl? I was thinking the same thing. I mean, I’m taller than most of the new guys and girls we met here
.”

  There was silence on top of the hill for a few minutes. Finally, Arty seemed to grasp the meaning of the man’s theory. “Do you know what that means?” He shook his head, his long hair whipping back and forth. “This means that that knight, Sir Dolt, was right! He expected us to get off the road because that’s the way it goes here.” He held his head in his hands as he continued, “That’s why Rob and the others were dressed so funny. In fact,” he said looking down at his motorcycle boots, “it’s us who are dressed funny! We’re the outta-towners, not them!”

  Jennie put her arm around Arty’s shoulder and said in a soft voice, “Arty, it’s not that bad. I mean it’s not like the kids here are looking down on us.”

  “Yeah,” added Bruno, “it’s not like those town-kids in Keansburg who challenge us to play baseball because they have the good gloves and have a good chance of beatin’ us.”

  “And,” added Merryl with a shrug, “at least these kids like my magic act and I don’t have to worry about losing my job.”

  The four of them laughed and settled down with their own thoughts.

  “Hey Merryl,” asked Arty before they fell asleep, “If you add anything to that theory of yours, will you share it with us?”

  “I promise, Arty. I promise.”

  The sun was just peeking over the curve of the earth as Ron awakened Arty with a freshly scented wet cloth in his hands.

  “Sir Arthur. Yonder breaks the sun. I be here with yer washin’ cloth and morning-meal.”

  Arty blinked twice before putting it all together and answering, “’Mornin’ Ron. Hey, ya don’t have ta bring me any washcloth, I can wash up at . . . at, well, at the sink when we get there.”

  The look on Ron’s face told Arty a lot and he softened it a bit, “What I mean is, thanks a lot and when we get to a place with a . . . a sink or tub I’ll wash up even more. Okay?”

  “Fine, sire. Shall I leave your morning-meal here or will I feed yee?”

  “Uh, no,” said Arty staying in character, “I’ll dine alone. Thanks anyway.” He watched as Ron walked down the hill to the small camp below. He nudged Jennie awake and as she rubbed her eyes said, “Hey Jennie, like some bacon and eggs?”

  “Wow!” Jennie said as she brushed grass off her jeans, “Where did you get this?”

  He nudged Bruno as he said, “From Ron. He wanted to feed me, but I said no.” Arty held up the wet cloth and added, “He also brought me this wet facecloth.”

  Jennie grabbed it and said with a pleading voice, “Please let me use this Arty. I feel so nasty after all of this.”

  “Yeah, sure,” he said in a generous sounding voice, “I can get another anytime I want.” He watched as Jennie ran behind a stand of trees with the facecloth. She was as happy as he had ever seen and he shook his head puzzled by it. “Girls!”

  After close to an hour, Arty, Jennie, Bruno and Merryl were full but still Ron kept coming up the hill carrying platters of food. As he set it down Arty said, “Ron, no more we’re full! Did you eat yet?”

  The young man stood and answered, “Not yet sire, but thine men have been fed.”

  “Ron, sit and eat.”

  “Sire,” he answered, “I thank thee but I’ll eat with the peasants.”

  “Why?” asked a puzzled Arty.

  “Sire, ‘tis the way ‘tis done.”

  “No more it aint! Sit an’ eat. Right now, Ron or I’ll . . . I’ll,” he looked at Merryl for the right words.

  “Dismiss,” answered the man in a whisper.

  “Right. Eat now or I’ll dismiss you, Ron.”

  The reluctant young man sat and ate as they chatted about what the day would bring.

  “Ron,” asked Merryl, “what would be the closest town to here?”

  “Tinsdale, sire.” He tilted his head in the direction they had been walking. “That direction, for half a days walk.”

  Merryl looked at Arty and said, “Half a days walk. Not to far. Should we keep going that way?”

  Arty shrugged and said, “Guess that way is as good as any.”

  Ron wiped his hands on the grass and asked in a defensive way, “Sir Arthur. Might I be so bold as to ask yee a query?”

  “What?” asked Arty not understanding him.

  “Silly. Ron wants to ask you a question,” explained Jennie.

  “Oh,” said Arty as he looked at the young man, “sure, go right ahead, Ron. What’s up?”

  Ron cocked his head as he looked up at the sky and answered, “Sire? The clouds be up and perhaps birds be aloft this fine morn.”

  Arty looked at Merryl who answered with a grin, “You asked, ‘what’s up’ and Ron answered, ‘the clouds and maybe birds too.’”

  Arty looked at Ron and said, “What I meant was, what’s the question you want to ask me?”

  “Ahh! “ said Ron, “my query, sire and that of my friends is, where is thy suits of armor? Why dost knights such as thyself wear odd clothing and not armor?”

  Arty looked at Bruno and asked as he shrugged his shoulders, “Guess we never thought of it.” He turned to Merryl and went on, “So, with your theory should we go back and get our armor?”

  This time is was Merryl who shrugged as he answered, “Why not? I mean if my theory is correct, it might benefit us to have you and the guys in armor.” He pointed to Ron and added, “It’s not like we don’t have help putting them on.”

  “Right,” said Arty. He turned to Ron and said, “Tell your gang, er, I mean tell your friends that as knights, we decided to remove our armor to see how others are treated by, so-called knights. And now that we have seen how they are mistreated, we will don our armor once again. However, we stashed the armor a few miles back under some trees.”

  It took a few minutes but Ron caught on and said, “If, sire, your armor and the armor of your . . . ah, gang, are to be found beneath a crop of trees in yonder direction, my, ah, my gang will set out and retrieve them for your use. Is this acceptable to yee?”

  “Yeah! That’d be swell, Ron. Want us to show you the way?”

  “Sire, if as you say tis down the road and they be set ‘neath a crop of trees, my gang will surely find them.”

  “Fine then. We’ll wait here until they get back. Okay?”

  “Okay, sire. Okay.” A smiling Ron walked away to tell his ‘gang’ of their new quest.

  A few hours later Ron and his gang had dressed Arty and his gang in the armor. Ron was visually proud of his sire and constantly rubbed off any mud he found on his armor. He led the white horse Sir Grogan was riding on when they met him and said, “Sir Arthur, let me help yee alight on thy steed, Shemp.”

  “Shemp?” asked Arty as he looked at the horse, “Who’s Shemp?”

  “Tis him, sire. Thine steed.”

  “And he was called Shemp?”

  “Sir Grogan’s page told me that the knight bestowed that very name upon him when he was birthed but three summers ago.”

  “Well,” said a smiling Arty as he shook his head, “where I come from, a shemp is a person who’s a butt-head.”

  “Butt-head? What, sire, is a butt-head?”

  “That’s just another word that means, shemp!”

  Ron shook his head and wore a look of confusion on his face as he said, “Sire, methinks yee jest with meself at times as I know not of what yee speak.”

  Arty put an arm around his shoulder and said, “Ron, believe me, I don’t mean to mess you up with my kind of talk but just know this, you are a friend of mine and I will think long and hard before I speak. Now, let me tell you this: Where I come from calling someone a shemp means they are stupid. And look at this horse! He is a beauty and I can’t let him be called Shemp! You get it?”

  “Ahh,” said an understanding Ron with a smile, “I get it! I understand it. Thou wouldst call thy steed by another, more excellent name. Yes?”

  “Yes!” answered a relieved Arty, “And, my friend, you may name him for me. Okay?”

  “Okay. Shall I help yee alight now?”

/>   “Me?” asked Arty with a look of amazement on his face. “Not me, buddy! I don’t climb on no horse. Man, I can’t stand ‘em.”

  It was one o’clock in the afternoon when the group of 33 teenaged boys and girls started out on the road again, the boys walking and the two girls riding on the white horse. Just under one hour later Arty called a halt to the march.

  He pulled Ron aside and said in a private conversation, “Ron, dude. Let me tell you a little secret about my gang and me. We don’t really like wearing armor.”

  Ron’s eyes opened wide. “Sire! A knight who does not wish to don his armor? Never hath I heard of such a thought. And, pray tell, why wouldst this be? Dost thou not find it an honor to don thine armor?”

  “Of course we do,” said Arty assuming a look of shock, “it’s just that we sort of took an oath to be able to mingle with the normal people and if we don our armor, they become nervous with us. Get it?”

  “Get it, sire?”

  “Yeah, get it? Like, do you catch on, or do you understand what I’m saying?”

  “Oh,” answered Ron with a satisfied look on his young face. “Yes, sire, I’m understanding what yee hath said.”

  “So,” said Arty matching his satisfied look, “then you’ll help us get out of our armor and not think that we’re wimping out or anything?”

  “No, sire,” said Ron shaking his head, “I thought not that yee be wimping out. But I must admit to not being able to understand your tongue always.”

  Arty’s Keansburg gang were relieved of not having to wear the armor and sat on the side of the road as Ron’s gang cut down small limbs from trees. Perplexed, they all watched as the limbs were slid through the various sections of the armor and easily carried by the group on their shoulders.

  Arty sat with them and lit one of his cigarettes as the group from Ron’s gang looked on speechless. They were also taken aback when Jennie stormed over and stood with her hands on her hips and berated him for smoking.