“Hush, Rocky,” Goldman interrupted. “A puppet show?”
“Yeah. You’ve got everything you need in the back, right? And Randall and Pee Wee have pleaded with you to do a show, and you’ve kept putting them off. Well, now seems to be the perfect time. They can tell all their friends to come. There’s not a lot to do in Foster Flat, especially during the summertime. I bet we can easily get the number of kids we’ll need.”
Although he wasn’t sure, Goldman thought he could hear the puppets in the back all clapping their approval.
“Can we come?” the deer asked.
“Yeah, this will be so much fun,” one of the pheasants added and the rest of the animals all nodded, even Rocky.
“Well, maybe,” Goldman replied. He looked around at the shop. It was long and narrow but with a little rearranging, he could easily fit thirty or more kids in the front room if they all sat on the floor. It would also save him needing to find another location. He only had ten days to pull this off, but with a little help from his two friends, that should be enough time.
But what about Pee Wee? He was already so sickly. What would the spell needed do to him? Somehow, Goldman would have to persuade Randall to keep his brother away. He would promise them a private showing. That would do the trick. At least he hoped it would.
Goldman peeked through the makeshift curtain at the flock of fluttering and fidgeting children ranging in age from preschool to Randall’s age. So much youthful energy, he thought. Surely, none of them would miss it or be adversely affected if he simply borrowed (okay, stole) a little from each of them. Somehow, he and his two small assistants had managed to pull it all together with almost a full day to spare. He studied the faces one last time to be sure Randall had done his job and kept Pee Wee away. Randall said his brother had been deeply disappointed when he was told he couldn’t attend and then turned to anger in an attempt to get his way.
“I worked as hard as anyone to make this happen,” Pee Wee had complained, “and now you’re telling me I can’t be there. That’s just not fair.”
Goldman had to agree it wasn’t fair, but it was the way it had to be. The offer of a private showing had only partially eased his disappointment, but at least it had worked—no Pee Wee in the audience. He’d just have to find another way to make amends with his little friend.
Meanwhile, it was time to get on with it. Time to steal a little bit of youth from the children of Foster Flat while praying none of their parents ever found out what he’d done. How would he ever make it up to these boys and girls? Of course, no one would ever know what had happened. He had it all set up for the transfer spell to be included in the show. They’d all be asked to participate, like in Peter Pan where everyone is encouraged to clap to save Tinker Bell’s life. Except, in this case, they’d be invited to close their eyes and dream of their most heartfelt desire. Then, everyone would fall into a deep sleep for a few minutes while the transfer took place, and the crystal globes hidden behind the front of the puppet stage would begin to glow as they were filled with youthful energy.
Later, he would take a small portion for himself, for that was the deal and how he had managed to live for so many years. Truth be told, it was the only reason he continued his behind-the-scenes business. Like so many of his clients, he’d become addicted to living.
Goldman took his position behind the stage and gave Randall the signal to raise the curtain. The first scene was all his and would give his assistant time to get in place for the next part. Randall had been a quick study, and Goldman made sure to keep the storyline simple so no more than two puppets would be on stage at any one time. Everything went like clockwork, just as they had practiced it, until just after the closing scene. The climactic scene with the magic spell had gone flawlessly and Goldman felt confident that enough youth had been transferred to the globes to satisfy the contract.
The entire crowd stood up for a standing ovation, clapping and hooting their praise until someone suddenly shouted, “What’s wrong with that little girl?” Everyone turned in the direction the boy was pointing. Goldman held his breath, then let it out when he realized the girl in question was simply sleeping. He started to relax but as he continued to stare, he felt an ominous feeling building in the pit of his stomach. Something wasn’t quite right. Then he realized it was the little girl’s hair. It didn’t sit quite right on her head. In the next moment, he knew why. The hair was a wig and the little girl wasn’t a girl at all. It was Pee Wee—imaginative, tenacious Pee Wee. He’d found a way to see the show. Goldman hoped the boy’s ingenuity hadn’t cost him his life.
For the next twenty-four hours, Goldman felt trapped in a living nightmare as concerned parents appeared from every corner of the town, along with questions from the police and members of the school board. It became vividly clear to him that where Foster Flat’s children were concerned, it was ill advised to do anything that might put them in harm’s way. Luckily, Randall came to his friend’s defense several times, especially when his distraught mother showed up at Goldman’s shop. The ambulance had just left to take Pee Wee to the hospital as the medics continued their effort to rouse him from a deep sleep.
It was fortunate that Goldman had a stellar reputation in the town. Several of the other local shop owners assured Mrs. Dixon that he had meant no harm to anyone and especially not to Pee Wee. But the more people who came to his defense, the guiltier he felt, for he realized he really hadn’t had the children’s well being in mind when he’d conducted the puppet show, and now one of his dearest friends was in a coma because of it.
He tossed and turned that night, trying to come up with a way to fix the problem that he’d caused. He knew from personal experience that youthful energy had incredible healing properties. He would just need to figure out a way to siphon off a little of it and get it to Pee Wee before the small boy deteriorated further.
He was still in the midst of working out the details when McMasters showed up at his shop the following evening looking even older, with a gray pallor and a raspy breath.
“Do you have my order ready?” he asked, as Helgor pushed him into the shop.
“Yes,” Goldman said.
“All of it?”
“Yes, all of it,” Goldman replied, then added, “but given how long you’ve gone without a transfusion and your condition, I must insist you remain here tonight so I can monitor the process. Otherwise, I can’t guarantee the outcome.”
McMasters glared at him suspiciously a moment before replying. “I never needed to stay previously.”
“You were never on death’s door,” Goldman started to say, but stopped himself at the last moment and said instead, “I realize that, but to infuse this amount into someone in such a frail condition as yours requires special care and attention. Otherwise, the treatment could overtax your heart.”
McMasters continued studying Goldman for several seconds before finally nodding. “Oh, all right. I don’t want to come this far just to have something go wrong at the last minute. Where do you want me?”
“Right here is fine,” Goldman said with a sigh of relief. “I’ll just lock up and pull the drapes so we won’t be disturbed. By tomorrow morning you should be feeling much better and by the end of the month, your rejuvenation should be complete.” And if my plan goes smoothly, Pee Wee should be feeling better soon also, Goldman thought.
He walked to the rear of the shop to fetch the storage globes. He’d spent much of the previous night poring over the ancient text he’d discovered decades ago in a used book store on an island in the Mediterranean. The book had eventually led him to his new profession. He’d finally found the key passage he’d been looking for; instructions on how to channel a small amount of the youthful energy into a fourth globe that he now placed in his pants pocket.
Before returning to McMasters, he paused for a moment to say a short prayer that all would go well. Unfortunately, his prayer went unanswered. Within the first few minutes of making the energy transfer, Goldman knew some
thing was going wrong. He could feel the globe in his pocket beginning to heat up, a feeling that grew in intensity as the minutes passed. He tried to move in such a way to avoid contact with the sphere but all he managed to do was draw McMasters’ attention.
“What’s going on? What’s that in your pocket?” the old man asked, pointing to the bulge that was now glowing dimly through the thin lining of his pocket.
“Oh, that? Nothing really,” Goldman replied with a nervous tremble to his voice. “I’m...I’m just saving my commission for later.”
“I don’t believe you,” McMaster replied. “Take it out of your pocket. Let me see it.”
Reluctantly, Goldman reached into his pocket and withdrew the globe, holding it lightly in an effort to keep from burning himself further. He took a handkerchief from his back pocket and placed the globe on it.
“What are you doing?” McMasters asked, growing more suspicious by the moment. “Give that thing to Helgor.”
“It’s hot,” Goldman said, pulling the globe away from the valet.
“Hot, is it?” McMasters sneered. “You’re trying to steal from me, aren’t you? You’re grabbing more than your share.”
“No, really,” Goldman replied.
“Then why is it so hot? And why not simply take in your portion directly?”
“I can explain,” Goldman said. “You see, there’s this boy, one of the ones that were here on your last visit. He’s in the hospital and needs my help. I need a little of the youthful energy to give to him.”
“Oh, you do, do you?” McMasters spat back. “Isn’t that a sweet story. It’s also a bunch of bull. You should never try to con a con-man. Helgor, show our Mr. Goldman what happens when someone tries to take advantage of my generous nature. Start with his fingers and work up the arms.”
As Helgor lumbered towards him, Goldman placed the globe behind his back in an act of defiance, but there was nowhere to go. He started to back away from the giant, but felt the edge of one of the display cases press along his back.
“Leave him alone.”
“Yeah, pick on someone your own size.”
“Step back.”
Goldman’s animal friends all shouted at the same time.
Confused by the sudden outburst, Helgor stopped, looking in the direction of the voices.
“What the hell is going on here?” McMasters shouted. “How in the world...?”
“Leave him alone,” the deer repeated sternly from the wall.
McMasters continued to stare at the animals, a look of incredulity on his face. Then he laughed. “Good trick, Goldman, but it won’t work. Go ahead, Helgor. Don’t worry about them. They’re all stuck to the wall.”
Helgor took another step towards Goldman, who now had a smile on his face. Even though he spoke softly, Goldman’s words resonated throughout the shop. “But they’re not.” He pointed to the bear and raccoon. As if on cue, the bear leapt onto Helgor as the raccoon flew through the air, landing on McMasters’ head.
THE NEXT MORNING, ALBERT Goldman took a cab to the hospital to see Pee Wee. He carried with him a small vase of flowers filled with small pebbles in the bottom to give the stems a firm foundation. He was surprised and pleased to see Randall was there visiting with his younger brother, then realized it was Saturday. Randall was equally pleased to see his old friend.
“Please sit and stay a while,” Randall said as he rose from the lone chair that sat next to the bed, offering it to Goldman.
Goldman shook his head. “No, I really can’t stay long. I have to get back to the shop. It’s in need of a good cleaning so I can open it for business later. How is he doing?”
“The doctors say he’s stable, whatever that’s supposed to mean,” Randall replied, obviously worried about his little brother. “We’re all trying to stay hopeful, but the longer he goes like this, the harder it is.”
“I understand,” Goldman replied as he placed the vase of flowers on the table next to Pee Wee’s bed. “Don’t give up hope. I had a dream last night that Pee Wee would be fine. It’ll just take a little more time.”
“Thanks, Mr. Goldman. I appreciate your words. How dependable are your dreams for coming true?”
“Very,” Goldman replied, smiling at Randall. “Just give it a little more time. Now, I must get back to the shop.” He turned to leave, but then stopped. “By the way, I’d like to start offering puppet shows regularly to the kids around here. It’s time I started giving back.” Giving back what I stole, he thought. “Do you think you two could help me with that?”
“Sure thing,” Randall replied. “I’m sure Pee Wee would love to help.” He glanced over to his sleeping brother with a look of affection that melted Goldman’s heart.
It wasn’t until late into Saturday evening when one of the night nurses noticed a warm golden glow coming from the flower vase. “What in the world?” she whispered, as she walked over to inspect it more closely. She was about to pick it up to go show it to the other nurses on the floor, but was interrupted by a soft cough, followed a moment later by a raspy voice coming from the bed.
“Where am I? Where’s my brother?”
MASK MUSEUM
Daisy Davis catches the movement of the boy out the corner of her eye just in time to keep him from taking one of the hundreds of masks off the wall and placing it on his face.
“No, no,” she says for what seems like the twentieth time. “You mustn’t touch the masks and definitely don’t put one on.”
“Why not?” the tall, lanky toe-head of a boy asks, also for the twentieth time. “Isn’t that what masks are for?”
“Not these masks,” Daisy replies. At sixty-seven years of age, she finds she has little patience for such questions, Still, she takes a deep breath and slowly lets it out before replying in as calm a voice as she can muster. “It’s considered bad luck to put on these ceremonial masks. Now, please, look but don’t touch.”
“Really? Bad luck,” the know-it-all father replies. “I’ve never heard such a superstition.”
And of course, if you haven’t heard it, then it must not exist, right? Daisy thinks, but then bites her tongue to keep it to herself.
“Well, the African tribes where many of these masks came from believe that certain masks have the power to steal the soul of anyone who tries to wear them.”
“Hogwash,” the father replies as he walks over to his son and tousles his hair affectionately. “I think you made up that story just to scare little boys. Come on, Alice. I know when we’re not welcome somewhere.”
A young woman who was clearly the boy’s mother and the source of his blonde hair nods and obediently follows her husband and son towards the door.
Daisy opens her mouth to object or apologize, she isn’t sure which, but then closes it again. It’s late in the day and she’s ready to close the Mask Museum. She and her husband had founded the museum over twenty years ago after spending the first twenty-five years of their marriage traveling around the world collecting masks from dozens of different cultures.
The family turns to leave. The small house with blue siding and matching dark blue shutters doubles as the museum and Daisy’s home. As they open the door, a slender young man wearing a wrinkled black blazer that hangs on his almost skeletal frame pushes his way around them. He’s followed a moment later by a second, much larger man that reminds Daisy of Hoss Cartwright from the TV show, Bonanza. He has the same, happy, easygoing smile on his face while his companion wears an expression of sternness, even worry.
“I’m sorry, but the museum is closed for the day,” Daisy says as she tries to block them from entering.
“Doesn’t look closed to me,” the slender man replies. “Come on, Moonpie. Look at the pretty masks.” He speaks as though talking to a small child even though Moonpie is well over six feet tall and could no doubt play lineman for the Chicago Bears.
“Aww, Isaac. Can’t you see the lady is tired and wants to go home?”
Daisy doesn’t bother to point out t
hat her home is less than twenty steps away.
“Maybe we should come back tomorrow.”
“Look at these things,” Isaac replies, ignoring his companion as well as Daisy. “These are some humdinger, ugly ass masks. I bet they’re worth a fortune, don’t you? Where’d you get all these things?” he asks, finally looking in Daisy’s direction.
“My husband and I traveled around the world collecting them,” Daisy replies, finding herself falling into a part of her tour speech despite herself. “There are over sixty countries represented, but never mind. Come back the first of the week. We’re closed tomorrow and Monday, but come back Tuesday. I’ll be happy to give you a tour.”
“Where’s your husband?” Isaac asks, ignoring her request and gazing around the room. ”I’d like to meet him.”
“He’s no longer around,” Daisy replies, automatically answering with the same vague response she always gives when asked the question.
“Ahh, that’s sad,” Moonpie says, frowning.
“We’re just passing through,” Isaac continues as he takes out his cellphone and snaps a few pictures. “Not sure we’ll still be in town on Tuesday, but we’ll see.”
He looks around the room again. “Interesting, very interesting,” he repeats, then shrugs. “Okay, let’s go Moonpie.”
After the two men leave, Daisy locks the door behind them. As she walks through the room towards her small apartment in the rear of the house, she passes a large mask set off from the rest. It’s the face of an old man with ruddy cheeks and a full beard carved from wood, a golden crown on top of his head.
“No longer around?”
“Yeah, well, it’s not a complete lie,” she replies. “I don’t trust that man. He’s up to no good.” She takes the mask off the wall and resumes walking to her quarters. “I need company tonight. I don’t want to eat alone.”
“Okay,” the voice from the mask replies. “But after dinner, I think it would be best if you return me to the museum for the next few days...just to be on the safe side.”
Fantastic Fables of Foster Flat Volume Two Page 4
