Ellenore turned to Calli whose head was already deep inside the refrigerator. “Well, I’ll be damned.”
Calli straightened up, a chicken drumstick in one hand. “It’s good to be home.”
“It’s great to have you home,” Ellenore agreed. “Any more chicken in there?”
GOLDCRAFT
“Youth is the most beautiful thing in this world—and what a pity that it has to be wasted on children!” George Bernard Shaw
Randall Dixon turned to look back at the other biker, prepared to yell at him to hurry up, until he noticed his younger brother’s flushed face dripping sweat and his heavy panting. Instead, he slowed his pace and waited for Pee Wee to catch up. Of course, Pee Wee wasn’t his brother’s real name, but it’s what everyone had called him pretty much from his first day on Earth when he’d been born four weeks premature. Randall had asked his brother once if he minded being called Pee Wee, to which he answered, “No, why should I? It’s my name, isn’t it? It’s sure better than Maurice. What were Mom and Dad thinking?”
“We’re almost there,” Randall said as he wiped his own face with the back of his hand. “Want to race the last block?”
“Sure,” Pee Wee replied between labored breaths. “Last...one...there...” The challenge took too much energy—energy he’d need to beat his older brother.
Randall did the best he could to make sure the race ended in a dead heat and didn’t protest when Pee Wee claimed victory. Even though Pee Wee was about to turn eleven, most people thought there was more than three years difference between the boys. Not only was he small for his age, he’d always been sickly, catching just about every cold or flu that was in the area, each time being hit harder than anyone else.
Even so, there was no mistaking that the two boys were brothers—same jet black hair, same deep blue eyes, same winning smile. Also, they almost always hung out together. It wasn’t just that Randall took being the older brother to heart and felt a need to protect the small boy, but he also genuinely enjoyed his brother’s company, his quick wit and his tenacious outlook on life.
The two boys placed their bikes in the bike rack and started walking down the street towards Goldcraft, Inc. Despite the “Inc.” at the end of the name, the shop was small, hardly more than a narrow alleyway between two other buildings, but it was also one of the most interesting and well-kept shops along Foster Flat’s Main Street. As far as anyone knew, Albert Goldman had owned the shop for...well, for as long as anyone could recall. It had been a mainstay of Main Street for decades. But it had been the eclectic mixture of merchandise found in the display window that had first attracted the two brothers. Everything from old pocket watches to jewel-encrusted pendants in the shape of bugs and the models of three-masted sailing ships that regally sat in the upper display.
As Randall pushed the shop door open, the bell tinkled, alerting the owner that a new customer had arrived. Goldman glanced up from his workbench to peer at the two boys who were undoubtedly some of his youngest visitors. He slid the magnifying loupe onto his forehead and smiled.
“Ahh, it is only you, my fine friends. I was hoping for a paying customer for a change but come in, come in. Perhaps others will see you in my shop and realize I’m open.”
It was pretty much the same greeting he always used whenever the Dixon brothers visited, but as far as Randall could tell, Mr. Goldman’s business was doing just fine. He never saw the old man when he wasn’t working on some watch or piece of jewelry. He glanced around at the walls, where a line of wild animal heads hung.
“Is there something new on the wall?” Randall asked.
“Yes, you’re quite observant,” Goldman replied, pointing to the head of a mountain goat with large curving horns. “It came in a couple days ago. Do you like it?”
“Impressive,” Randall said.
“Yeah, it’s cool,” Pee Wee replied as he walked over to take a closer look. “Are those horns real?”
“That they are, boy. How’d you like to get butted by one of those?”
“No, thanks,” Pee Wee said as he backed away a couple steps. He looked above where Goldman sat and pointed to the large black bear that stood in the corner of the balcony. “Yogi is still my favorite.”
“Mine, too,” Goldman replied with a chuckle. He sat back in his chair and rubbed the bridge of his nose. “What are you boys up to today?”
“Aw, nothing,” Randall replied. “Just hanging out, you know.”
“And how are your studies? Have you brought that spelling grade up yet?” he asked, gazing at Pee Wee.
“Yeah, I think so. We had a pop quiz on Monday and I made a B on it.”
“Good for you. And you, boy. How’s the history coming along?” Goldman asked, turning his gaze on Randall, who shrugged, but before he could answer, the bell over the front door jingled. He looked around to see a large brute of a man dressed in a tailored black suit with a formal bow tie pushing a smaller, much older man in a wheelchair. The man in the suit reminded Randall of Herman Munster about to go to a formal dinner. The man in the wheelchair had to be the oldest person he’d ever seen. It was hard to imagine someone could be so withered and wrinkled and still be alive, but indeed he was. The man held a large wooden chest on his lap, his hands gripping it as though it were his most valuable possession.
“Ahh, Mr. McMasters. What are you doing here today? I believe our appointment isn’t until next week,” Goldman said as he rose from his chair, noticeably flustered by the appearance of the two men.
“I couldn’t wait,” the old man replied in a dry voice, hardly above a whisper. “I had to see you this week. Don’t worry. I’ll make it worth your while.” He patted the chest to emphasize his point.
“Well, okay then,” Goldman replied. He pointed behind him towards the rear of the shop. “Please, right this way. I’ll be with you in a moment.”
McMasters nodded and waved his companion forward with a skeleton-like hand.
When the two were gone, Randall looked at his friend, who appeared more worried, even frightened, than he’d ever seen him. “Is everything all right?”
“Yes, of course,” Goldman replied, though his face didn’t match the words. “He just caught me by surprise. Everything will be fine...just fine, I’m sure.” But it sounded to Randall like Goldman was trying to convince himself. “I’m afraid we’ll have to cut our visit short today,” Goldman continued. “Come again next week. I always enjoy your visits.”
“Sure thing,” Pee Wee replied. “You’re pretty cool, yourself...for an old guy.”
Randall threw his brother a displeased look, but Goldman only chuckled.
Not far from home, Randall pulled to the side of the road and stopped, waiting for Pee Wee to catch up. Together they walked their bikes up the last hill before reaching their mountain home. It had become a ritual of theirs. The five or ten minutes it took to reach the top of the hill gave them time to recap the day and review whatever adventures they might have shared. It also gave Pee Wee a few minutes to recuperate before entering the house and facing their mother with the number one question she always asked. “Are you okay, Pee Wee? You look a little...” Fill in the blank. Most commonly the sentence ended with something like peeked, or flushed, or tired, or pale, or like you may be running a fever. She never seemed at a loss to find new ways to describe her younger son’s appearance and it was never good.
Randall walked slowly to give Pee Wee plenty of time to rest and prepare himself for their overly concerned mother. Finally, he asked, “What do you think that man wanted with Mr. Goldman?”
“I don’t know,” Pee Wee replied in a soft, whispery voice as he continued to catch his breath.
“Did you notice how Mr. Goldman reacted?”
“Yeah,” Pee Wee replied.
“What do you think was in the box?”
Pee Wee paused to consider the question before replying. “Maybe a shrunken head, or a pirate’s treasure.”
“Yeah.” Randall smiled. “Or maybe
the pirate’s shrunken head with his treasure.”
The two boys looked at each other in the rapidly disappearing light of another day and both shuddered. It was a favorite game they liked to play, scaring each other with tall tales of pirates and witches and such.
“Grownups are so weird sometimes,” Randall said as he started walking again.
“Yeah, like always,” Pee Wee agreed.
As soon as the two boys left, Goldman walked to the door, locked it, and placed the closed sign on the door’s window before limping back to the rear of the store. He found McMasters sitting in his wheelchair with the chest still in his lap and Helgor, his valet, standing behind him.
“Where have you been and why haven’t you been in touch before now?” Goldman asked, surprised at how angry he’d become between the door and the rear office. “How long has it been? Twenty years? Longer?”
“Twenty-seven to be exact,” McMasters replied, apparently nonplussed by Goldman’s reaction. “My businesses had a series of unexpected setbacks. I didn’t keep the appointment because I couldn’t live up to my part of the agreement, but I can now.” He patted the chest once again.
“Well, you could have at least called or written me a letter...something,” Goldman replied in a strained but calmer voice. “I thought you had died, maybe killed in an auto accident or something. I kept checking the newspapers, but nothing.”
“Yeah, well, I’m fine now and ready to resume our agreement,” McMasters replied. “There’s enough gold here to buy back my youth. Let’s see, I think thirty years should do nicely.”
Goldman stared at him, his mouth falling open in shock disbelief. “Are you crazy? I don’t keep that amount of youthful energy around. The most I’ve ever had on hand at any one time was nine or ten years, and that was back when I had a larger clientele of young men and women willing to sell off a year or two of their lives for start up capital or to pay off a gambling debt or take care of medical bills for a loved one.”
McMasters sat staring at him for several seconds, anger growing in his eyes as he tapped lightly on the chest with his fingers. “Well, how much do you have?”
“I don’t know exactly. I’d have to check. Maybe six or seven years worth,” Goldman replied.
“Well, that will never do,” McMasters shot back. “You’ll just have to acquire some more...at least twenty years more.”
Goldman chuckled dryly. “It’s not that easy. It’s not like I can hop on down to the local superstore and pick up two cases of youthfulness. I mean, I can check around with some of my other clients to see if they’d be willing to part with a bit more, but...”
“Enough!” McMasters suddenly shouted, startling the other two men who both jumped at the word. “I need it all and I need it now. I’m running out of time. Look at me. No one should have to put up with this much old age. I can hardly walk. I’m down to little more than a hundred and twenty pounds soaking wet, which, by the way, speaking of wet, I do that to myself way too often. I want my youth back. I’ve got the money for it and I’m here to buy it per our long-standing agreement. Besides, it looks like you could use a little of your own. I know that’s how this works. You keep a small percentage of what you take in. It’s only fair. It’s the price of doing business. So, when can you make arrangements so we can complete this transaction?”
“You don’t understand. It’s not that easy. It could take me years to acquire that much...”
“No, no, no, no,” McMasters interrupted again. He took a couple deep breaths, but continued to tap nervously on the chest. Finally, he said, “Let me see if I can be a little clearer. I’ll give you ten days to come up with your side of the deal. At least twenty-seven years worth. Preferably all thirty. If, upon my return, you don’t have it, I’ll be forced to show you why I keep such a large valet under my employment. Do you understand me? And after Helgor is through playing with you, I’ll go around this fine little town and let everyone know exactly what a shady business you’ve been running here. You’ll be ruined. Washed up.”
“But where in the world could I possibly get that much in such a short time?”
“That’s your problem,” McMasters replied. “Figure it out.” He nodded to Helgor. “Let’s go.”
Helgor started pushing him towards the door, but before they reached it, McMasters raised his hand.
“Those two kids that were in the shop when I arrived could be a good starting point. Use your imagination...just get me what I require.”
After McMasters left, Goldman stood glaring at the door. The nerve of some people, Goldman thought. Stays gone for close to three decades and then saunters in making ridiculous demands, then threatens to have me beaten up and ruin my life if I don’t comply. The nerve! At the same time, he knew McMasters wasn’t joking around and would be more than willing to follow through with the threat. People at the end of their lives often became ornery and unreasonable, especially those accustomed to wealth and power.
Finally, Goldman walked over to the old puppet stage that he now used for storage. He paused for a moment to gaze at the half dozen lifelike puppets that hung from the sides of the stage. Puppeteering had once been Goldman’s passion but he’d abandoned the hobby several years ago. When Randall and Pee Wee had first seen the stage and puppets, they’d pleaded with him for a show. He’d put them off, claiming his arthritis made it too painful to perform so they had eventually dropped the request.
He walked around to the rear of the stage. Stooping down, he unlocked one of the side storage drawers and pulled it open to reveal five spherical globes about the size of a large goose egg. Only one of them glowed with a soft golden sheen, the dull gray color of the other four indicating they were empty vessels ready to be filled with youthful energy. He estimated from the gold color that the one globe was a little over half full. He’d been saving it for himself but now he was faced with a much more serious problem. How to fill it and at least two more of them within the next ten days.
He pushed the drawer closed and locked it before making his way back to the front where he once more locked the door that McMasters and his goon had left open. He turned around to gaze at the small shop that was now in jeopardy of being closed forever. His eyes fell on the line of animal heads along one wall. Besides the newly acquired mountain ram was the head of a deer with a full rack, two pheasants in the midst of flight, a large mouth bass and the head of a lynx. A large and well-preserved raccoon caught in the motion of cleaning its face with his human-like hands sat on the display case below the other animals.
“What am I to do?” Goldman asked out loud, dismayed by the pleading sound of the question.
After several seconds, he heard the reply. “It is indeed a problem, but I’m sure if we put all our heads together, we can come up with a solution,” answered the deer, who then looked from side to side at his companions, who all nodded. Even the large bear, who’d been affectionately named Yogi by the Dixon boys, nodded agreement.
“We all have something at stake here,” the black bear said. “We certainly don’t want to see our benefactor beaten up, and if your secret is revealed, the townsfolk are likely to torch the place.”
Goldman groaned, the image of his shop in flames flashing across his mind.
The group spent the next several minutes brainstorming ideas. The raccoon proposed turning McMasters in to the authorities, but everyone agreed it would be too easy for the man to simply deny the accusation and in the process, the police would likely question Goldman’s sanity. The suggestion of closing up the shop with a ‘gone on vacation’ sign on the door was also quickly nixed.
Finally, Yogi spoke up. “Why not do what McMasters suggested?”
“What?” Goldman asked. “He suggested I use the youth of the Dixon boys. I couldn’t do that. They’re my friends, not to mention Pee Wee’s health is too poor. He’d never survive it. That’s the worst idea yet, Yogi.”
“Well, that’s not exactly what I meant,” the bear replied. “I’m very fond of
Randall and Pee Wee as well. After all, they’re the ones that gave me my name. But, they have friends in school, right? And those friends have other friends. Why not gather a bunch of the kids together and pull a little youth from all of them. That way no one is hurt, McMasters gets his youth back, and we go on living our lives.”
“Why, that’s just too absurd,” the raccoon replied. “Who ever heard of such a thing?”
The bear opened his mouth to argue, but before he could say anything, Goldman spoke up. “You know, that might just work.”
“Really?” the raccoon asked. “Are you serious? You really think it would work?”
“Maybe,” Goldman said. “I’m not sure how exactly, but the general idea has possibilities. I mean, desperate times call for desperate actions. The question is how do we attract a large group of kids in just the next ten days, especially without drawing the attention of the rest of the townsfolk?”
“You aren’t seriously considering this crazy bear’s suggestion, are you?” the raccoon asked.
“Do you have a better idea?” Goldman shot back.
“Well, no, not at the moment,” the raccoon said.
“Then let’s explore this one further. How can we attract, I don’t know, say thirty or forty kids to one location before the deadline?”
There was a long pause again as Goldman and most of the animals tried to come up with an answer, while the raccoon huffed and snuffed his disgruntlement. Finally, the bear said, “I’ve got it. Hold a puppet show!”
The raccoon was quick to reply. “What a dumb...”
Fantastic Fables of Foster Flat Volume Two Page 3
