After a whispered conversation with her sister nymphs, Elysia came up to Percy-Us. She carried several objects.
"Here," she said, handing him a leather bag. "You can stuff The Gawgon's head in it. And here's a pair of sandals."
"I have sandals already."
"Not like these. Strap them on and you can fly through the air whenever you want.
"And this cap..." She held up a leather headpiece with long ear flaps. "Wear it and you'll be totally invisible."
Percy-Us heartily thanked Elysia and the nymphs and promised to return the items once he finished with them.
"Never mind," said Elysia. "Just go away. Put on that cap. We don't want to see any more of you."
The Gawgon seemed a lot brighter than she was after Dr. McKelvie's visit. She had stacked up several books on my card table. When I came in, she was at the roll top desk picking through some papers. She motioned for me to sit down.
"Show me what you've done with those knots," she said, without further ceremony, and took her place in the rocking chair.
Suddenly wishing I had worked harder at them, I held up the yarn. It looked, if anything, worse than when she gave it to me. The Gawgon snorted something like "Phrumph."
At Rittenhouse Academy, we spent each class period on a separate subject. As I would come to understand, The Gawgon's method-if method it was-mixed everything together, as much a hodgepodge as the knotted yarn. That afternoon, for no particular reason, she had me do arithmetic, which started her talking about Euclid, who invented geometry.
"Do you know geometry? The value of pi?" said The Gawgon. "If you don't, you should."
When I explained that was for Upper School, The Gawgon made another snorting noise. "What nonsense. Why lose time? I have none to waste. Nor do you, for that matter. You have a brain, don't you? You're the paragon of animals."
"The what?" My aforementioned brain, by then, was going in circles. "William Shakespeare," she went on. "While we're at it, write this down:
"What a piece of work is a man! how noble in reason! how infinite in faculty! in form and moving how express and admirable! in action how like an angel! in apprehension how like a god! the beauty of the world! the paragon of animals!
"As for that," she said, "Captain Jack might hold a different opinion.
"It's from a play called Hamlet," she added. "Bloody, violent, brutal."-she saw she had caught my attention "so all the more reason to read it, would you say? Apart from being the best play ever written."
She glanced at the little round watch pinned to her black bodice, a signal for me to leave. "Time goes quickly. For me, if not for you."
"It does," I sincerely admitted. "Quicker than school. Really, Gawgon." The word was out of my mouth before I realized I had spoken it. No way could I get it back; it seemed to hang in the air, floating in huge capital letters tormentingly beyond reach. The Gawgon stiffened in the rocking chair and raised an eyebrow. "What was it you said?" I expected to be turned to stone even as I sat there. I mumbled, "Gawgon."
"I suppose you mean 'Gorgon.' Where did you lick that up." I stammered that I must have heard it somewhere from somebody. "Rosie, no doubt. It sounds like her. That's how you think of me? Next, I daresay you'll want to cut off my head."
I had never hurt an adult's feelings, never, in fact, imagined it was possible that adults had feelings to be hurt. I did not know how to apologize or beg forgiveness. I hung my own head, wishing it had been cut off before I had made such a blunder. From the corner of my eye I saw her shoulders trembling. I feared she had burst into tears, which would have been still more unbearable, and I was ready to do the same.
She was rocking with laughter. "Gawgon?" she said, catching her breath. "That's a good reputation to have. Better a Gawgon than a silly old goose. I like it. I like it very much. From now on, that's what you shall call me." She raised a finger. "But only in private between the two of us. We can enjoy our small secret." I recovered enough to grin, and asked if I, too, could have a special name. "Very well," said The Gawgon. "I shall call you-Boy. The Boy. With capital initials. The capitals make all the difference." Happy with that, I got up to leave and started to hand back the yarn.
"Keep it," ordered The Gawgon. "You could stand to learn a little patience and perseverance. If you think those knots are hard, they're nothing compared with the kind you'll have when you're older. Those you'll be untangling for the rest of your life."
The Gawgon pointed to a bowl on the desk. "Take a gumdrop. I recommend the licorice."
7 Captain Jack
The Saturday of my promised overnight visit turned out to be more of a treat than I expected. Yet another aunt and uncle had stopped by the boardinghouse. I did not see them often; they were always very busy, but I adored them nonetheless. Aunt Florry, my mother's younger sister, worked as a paid companion for a Mrs. Heberton, who owned a big estate on the Main Line. To measure up to the elegance of her surroundings, Aunt Florry had to spend a good bit of her salary on clothes, and we all admired her for being a nifty dresser. When I saw her that day, she looked fashionable indeed, trim and neat in a white linen suit, a Panama hat with a red feather in the band. Nifty dresser though she was, I always thought of her as my dancing aunt. She especially loved the Charleston and tried to teach me the steps. I had difficulty knocking my knees together and wiggling my legs, and she finally gave up. Still, it was a delight to see Aunt Florry in motion.
Along with her came Uncle Will, my mother's youngest brother. He worked for the same Mrs. Heberton as chauffeur and gardener. To me, he was my handsome uncle. I had, on occasion, seen him in his stiff cap with a shiny visor, leather gaiters, and gray tunic, like a dashing cavalry officer. With his wavy black hair and ruddy cheeks, he was the idol of the family. Making him still more romantic, he had a secret sorrow.
"The way that woman treated him absolutely broke his heart," I once heard my grandmother remark to my mother. "I’m not one to go against the law-Prohibition and all that but I make allowances. Do you wonder the poor boy takes a drop of something now and again?"
On that Saturday, Uncle Will wore civilian clothes, which took nothing away from his air of gallantry. From time to time, he would briefly vanish into the storage shed at the rear of the kitchen and reappear bright-eyed and high-spirited. When my grandmother and Aunt Florry finished making dinner, I took up a tray to Captain Jack's room. His gramophone was going full tilt, playing one of the opera arias he dearly loved, and he did not answer my knock. Obeying standing orders, I left his tray on the floor.
The Gawgon, by then, had come downstairs to the dining room. She gave me an almost imperceptible wink, our secret unspoken and delicious. The Gawgon, like all of us in the sunshine of Uncle Will's presence, was in a fine mood, even joined in a game of Parcheesi-and won.
At the end of the evening came the ceremonial winding of the cuckoo clock, and we trooped into the parlor. The cuckoo lived behind the door of a Swiss chalet carved all in curlicues. To keep the clockwork mechanism going, large iron pine cones hung at the ends of two long chains. It was my honor and privilege to pull them up.
Uncle Will cheered me on as if the pine cones weighed a ton apiece: "Heave-ho, Skeezix!" he called out. "Hoist the topsail! Haul away, splice the main brace! Steady as she goes!" Aunt Florry laughed; my grandmother told him, "Oh, Will, you are a caution." When I finished-making the operation look as strenuous as possible-Uncle Will clapped me on the shoulder. "Good work, Skeezix," he said. "That should get us through another day."
We waited for the big hand to reach twelve. The door flew open, the cuckoo appeared before its admiring audience, cuckoo-ed the time, then popped back into its cottage and the door snapped shut; all in all, a dramatic event.
Nora, not to be outdone by a mechanical bird, did cuckoo imitations and never let up until I draped a cloth over her cage. The Gawgon retired. Uncle Will left soon after, saying something vague about an important engagement. The boardinghouse was like an accordion, expanding and contracting accor
ding to the number of residents. Now, with lodgers occupying the other bedrooms, the accordion was stretched to its limit, so Aunt Florry doubled up with my grandmother. I was assigned to an old army cot, unfolded and set in a corner of the dining room. I lay full-length on the musty-smelling canvas sling. The cuckoo diligently announced the hours until I lost track of them and my thoughts turned to Percy-Us. I had originally planned to have him cut off. The Gawgon's head. But I had grown too fond of The Gawgon herself to allow such a fate, so I relented and made some adjustments.
PERCY-US BRINGS THE GAWGON'S HEAD
Percy-Us put on the cap and sandals the nymphs of the Tulip Garden had given him. Next thing he knew, he was high in the air-a thrilling sensation, except he was flying upside down and backward. Kicking his heels and flapping his arms, it took him some time to get the knack of soaring through the clouds as if he were belly-flopping on a sled.
Since the cap made him invisible, flocks of birds kept bumping into him until he finally took it off. Soon, Percy-Us saw the mountain range that Hermes had described and swooped down to land at the mouth of a cave, where The Gawgon sat in a rocking chair.
"I've been expecting you, Percy-Us," said The Gawgon. The serpents that covered her head instead of hair had been snoozing; but now they perked up, dafted out forked tongues, and fixed him with beady eyes. Percy-Us made sure not to gaze directly at The Gawgon. Following the advice of Hermes, he used his polished shield as a mirror.
"Speak up. I can't hear you," said The Gawgon. "Stop mumbling into that shield. When you talk to people, it's polite to look at them. Don't you know anything at all about being a hero?"
Percy-Us, too clever to be caught in such a trap, only tightened his grip on the sword. The Gawgon kept on calmly rocking.
"I assume you're here to cut my head off," The Gawgon said. "Very well, get on with it."
Holding up his shield, observing The Gawgon in its reflection, Percy-Us walked backward to her. When he was close enough, he swung his sword in a great, glittering sweep. Percy-Us miscalculated. He had forgotten that everything reflected in a mirror was reversed. Instead of smiting The Gawgon, he nearly sliced off his own ear.
"Try again," The Gawgon suggested.
Percy-Us made another swipe with his sword, but eyes on the polished shield, he still got mixed up over which was left and which was right. He kept swinging at empty air until he was out of breath.
"This is getting tiresome," said The Gawgon, who kept on rocking while Percy-Us slashed around in all the wrong directions. "You'll do better if you can see what you're trying to chop off.
"Put down that shield and go straight about your business. Don't worry," she added, "you won't be turned to stone. I'll give you something to make you immune."
The Gawgon tossed Percy-Us a licorice gumdrop. "Here, eat this," she said as Percy-Us eyed it distrustfully. "Go on, it will protect you. Gawgons never lie."
Percy-Us chewed up the gumdrop and took a quick peek at The Gawgon. He was glad to find he had not turned to stone.
"That should make things easier," The Gawgon said. "But, before you start chopping, let me review the situation. You need a present for a wedding you don't want to go to, for a king you don't like to begin with. So you blurt out the first thing that comes into your head and promise something you know perfectly well you can't deliver.
"Furthermore."-The Gawgon sharply eyed Percy-Us, who shuffled his feet uncomfortably "what you promised was at the expense of an innocent bystander who never did you any harm. All for the sake of saving yourself embarrassment, making yourself a hero, and gaining the good opinion of that oaf Polly Deck-Tease. Am I correct so far?" Percy-Us sheepishly admitted she was.
"That strikes me as utterly selfish," The Gawgon said, "with no regard for anyone's feelings but your own. Stupid, into the bargain. What do you say to that?" Percy-Us stuttered and stammered and came up with no answer. He finally admitted The Gawgon was right.
"Good," said The Gawgon. "Now you're beginning to think straight even if you can't smite straight. Nevertheless, I recognize you've gone to some effort. That's commendable; I give you credit. So, I'll tell you what I'm going to do."
The Gawgon explained her plan, to which Percy-Us heartily agreed. Hand in hand with The Gawgon, he soared into the air, and the two of them flew quickly to the palace of King Polly Deck-Tease.
While The Gawgon waited outside the door, Percy-Us strode into the great hall. The bride had not yet arrived, but the impatient Polly Deck-Tease and his warriors had already started feasting and reveling, gobbling refreshments by the handful.
"Aha!" shouted Polly Deck-Tease. "There you are! About time. You brought me The Gawgon's head?"
"Yes," Percy-Us replied, "certainly did."
"Let's have it, then," Polly Deck-Tease ordered. "So far, my only wedding presents are a lot of napkin rings." Percy-Us tossed him the leather sack. Sucking his teeth in gleeful anticipation, Polly Deck-Tease opened it. His jaw dropped.
"Empty!" he burst out. "Nothing! What kind of joke is this? You broke your promise, you boasting, bragging, pathetic excuse for a hero! I don't like being disappointed, especially on my wedding day. You'll regret trifling with me. I'll have you diced up and deep-fried in boiling oil."
"I didn't break my promise," Percy-Us replied. "I told you I'd bring The Gawgon's head. So I did." Having put on the cap of invisibility, The Gawgon stepped into the hall. "And all the rest of her, too," said Percy-Us.
The Gawgon took off the cap and glared at the revelers. Instantly, they turned to stone. Polly Deck-Tease, shaking a fist, stood literally petrified. Some of the warriors had stayed seated, others climbed to their feet, still others held goblets in upraised hands, motionless as marble statues.
"Nice garden ornaments," The Gawgon said. "Someday, no doubt, they'll be in the British Museum." Percy-Us, delighted everything had ended so well, flew The Gawgon to her cave, thanked her, and was about to leave when he stopped and turned back.
"For a Gawgon," he said, "you're not a bad sort."
"For a hero," said The Gawgon, "you're not a bad sort either."
Thuh End
Sunday morning, Uncle Will had not come back; no one had heard anything from him. The rest of us ate the traditional Sunday pancakes. After stuffing myself, I carried a breakfast tray to Captain Jack's room. His dinner, untouched, was on the floor where I had left it the night before. I feared his breakfast might suffer the same fate, but when I knocked, he called me in.
A nose-prickling haze of Turkish tobacco smoke hung in the air. The canvas window shade had been pulled down to the sill; sunlight filtered through it in a yellowish glow. A bare bulb, unlit, hung from the end of an electric cord in the middle of the ceiling. Captain Jack's bed was rumpled, the bolster and half the covers on the floor. The most prominent piece of furniture was his gramophone: a tall cabinet with a hinged lid, and on one side, a handle to crank the mechanism. Captain Jack himself, unshaven, still in his BVDs, sprawled in an armchair. He grinned at me and gave a loose kind of salute:
"First Sergeant. Report."
"Company all present and accounted for, sir." I straightened to attention, then marched forward to set the tray on his lap. Captain Jack picked up the tin shaped like a log cabin and watched the syrup pour out. It seemed to fascinate him. "Been on the sick list, I hear," he said at last. "Returned to duty? Good. And that bloody bird strong as ever?" I assured him Nora was fine. Captain Jack grimaced. "She ought to be roasted for Christmas. She'll drive me 'round the bend with her bloody screeching."
I felt sorry Captain Jack hated Nora, but let it go. My grandmother always told me never to worry over anything Captain Jack said or did; he had his good days and bad. Now, though he had drenched his pancakes with syrup, he only picked at them. I mentioned that Aunt Annie-I almost said "Gawgon." was giving me lessons. I told him she recited something about man being the paragon of animals and that he might have a different opinion.
"Paragon?" Captain Jack said. "Not the ones I've s
een. Not I'll the trenches. Only animals. Live like pigs, die like pigs. There's your paragon."
It sounded gruesome but interesting. I asked him to tell me more about the Great War. "The war to end all wars?" Captain Jack said. "It's loud, it's dirty, and it stinks. Horses scream worse than anybody when they're hit. Over and done with now. Just thank God you'll never have to go through anything like it."
Captain Jack was staring past me into the distance. I asked him if he wanted to play some records. "Eh?" He focused on me again. He knew I loved to crank up the gramophone and open its wooden shutters, like venetian blinds, to make it louder. "Whatever you please, First Sergeant."
He enjoyed his operas, so I put the quartet from Rigoletto on the turntable, carefully lowering the arm with its steel needle onto the first groove. Captain Jack settled into his chair and shut his eyes. For variety, I put on a comic song we listened to occasionally, very bright and jolly. A man's voice came through the shutters; it sounded as if he were singing from the bottom of a bucket with a tinny brass accompaniment.
"Keep your head down, Fritzie boy," he taunted, while the trombone brayed impudently:
Keep your head down, Fritzie boy. Late last night in the pale moonlight, I saw you, I saw you. You were fixing your barbed wire When we opened rapid fire. If you want to see your father In the Fatherland, Keep your head down, Fritzie boy.
"Enough of that," Captain Jack snapped. "Not in the mood for it." I hurried to lift the needle before the band started a second chorus.
"It's true, you know," he said, less harshly. "Moonlight almost bright as day. You can see a man's face at a hundred yards."
He held out the tray. "Bloody song soured my stomach. Take this away. You're a good boy, First Sergeant. Dismissed."
I closed the door behind me. Captain Jack had put on Tosca and was singing along with the tenor. In the parlor, Nora was hanging upside down from the top of her cage and, as if taking revenge on Captain Jack for his remarks, screeching her head off.
The Gawgon and the Boy Page 4
