Banana Man (a Novella) (3 page)

In the evening, when it started to get dark, Mr. Cleary would turn on the neon sign hanging in the window. He would yank the little chain, and the old glass tubes would flicker a few times before they finally glowed OPEN. Even after they warmed up, the tubes flickered every now and then, threatening to burn out. But they never did, and the kids kept visiting the store even though it was battered and run down. The neighborhood kids loved the place. They didn’t care what the store looked like. As long as the sodas were cold and the comic books got delivered on time, they would continue stopping by on their way home from school.

Danny’s bike skidded to a halt in front of the porch. He hopped off, carried it up the steps, and leaned it against the wall near the front door under a big window. Mr. Cleary’s weathered face stared out the window at Danny. He was inside, sitting on a stool, and reading the paper. He waved.

Danny ran inside the store. Just like he imagined, the latest issue of Banana Man was on the white rack. He stared in awe at the gruesome cover. Even the title was amazing:
Banana Man versus Buster the Bull
. The cover depicted a muscular Banana Man standing boldly in the center of a two-lane highway. He stood protectively between fleeing townsfolk and a crazed bull charging down the road. Buster the Bull was big as a house, and flames spewed from his nostrils. A dead farmer, wearing overalls and a straw hat, was impaled on one of Buster’s bloody horns.

The cover artwork was better than anything Danny could imagine. He couldn’t wait to buy the issue and take it home and frame it on his wall. Danny was so fixated on the comic he forgot to say hello to Mr. Cleary sitting behind the register.

The cranky store owner said, “Hello Danny!”

Mr. Cleary sat on an old, wooden bar stool that creaked every time he spoke. He never got off that stool. Not completely. If he needed something done around the store he would tell one of the kids to do it so he could keep reading. He was always reading. Today it was a newspaper. He held it a good distance away from his face and a good distance away from those reading glasses at the end of his nose. When the old man got excited and animated, which was often, his glasses would rock back and forth. Danny always thought they would slip off his face and break, but they never did.

“Hi Mr. Cleary.”

The old man frowned and smacked the countertop. “I told you to call me Farmer Cleary! I’ve been a farmer my whole life.” He sat up straight and hooked his thumbs into the straps of his weathered overalls and tugged outward. “Don’t I look like a farmer?”

“Yes, sir,” Danny said.

“You here to buy Captain Crunch? Got three new boxes on the shelf.”

Last week Danny’s dad sent him to the store to pick up a box of Cap’n Crunch. Danny liked the cereal but sometimes it scratched the roof of his mouth. “I’m not here for cereal. I’m here for Banana Man.” He flashed a courteous smile at the store owner and quickly returned his eyes to the comic. He reached out to grab it but hesitated; his hands were wet and splattered with mud from the ride over in the rain. “Farmer Cleary, can I wash my hands?”

“Go ahead. Basin’s in the back.”

Danny rushed through the adjoining doorway and found the sink in the small storage room. He scrubbed his hands under the cold water and then thoroughly dried them on an old towel. He was back to the comic book in less than a minute.

He carefully picked up the issue and gently traced his fingertips over the smooth, glossy artwork. The weight of the comic felt wonderful in his hands, and the pages smelled fresh and new. As beautiful as it was, Danny quickly realized a glaring problem: he was holding the only copy. There were supposed to be three, not one. He turned and asked, “Why is there only one?”

Farmer Cleary stood up and leaned over the counter, staring down at Danny’s feet where water began to pool. The old man liked to keep his concrete floor clean and dry, which was hard to do when it was almost always raining. “You’re dripping on my floor. Get that broom and sweep out the water.” He pointed a bony finger at a broom leaned against the far corner.

“Yes, sir,” Danny said. He carefully returned the comic to the rack and then snatched the broom and began sweeping water toward the open doorway. There was more water on the floor than what Danny brought in; someone else had recently been in the store and dripped on the concrete. Even with the extra water, it didn’t take long for him to sweep it out. “How come there’s only one issue of Banana Man?”

“The twins’ mom bought two copies a few minutes ago. Billy and Tommy’s mom. You just missed her.” Mr. Cleary didn’t always talk much, and apparently he had reached his limit for one customer. He suddenly snapped open his paper and started reading again. From behind
The Valley Tribune
, he said, “Put the broom back when you’re done.”

The twins were collecting Banana Man too. That was news to Danny, and it was bad news. By his count there were four kids collecting the comic, possibly more. Now there was only one copy left, and his friend Chris would be heading straight to the store to buy it after he got out of detention.

He could have easily guessed what Farmer Cleary’s answer would be to his next question – a big fat
No! --
but
he still asked: “Can I take it and pay you later? My dad’s coming home from work soon and I’ll get money from him.”

“Absolutely not,” Farmer Cleary said. “You want the comic book, you have to pay for it.”

Danny’s dad always told him: 
you can’t get what you don’t ask for
, and so Danny learned not to be afraid when asking for what he wanted. “Can you hold it for me until I get the dollar from my dad?” It was a long shot that Farmer Cleary would hold onto that last copy for Danny, but it didn’t hurt to ask.

Mr. Cleary almost said
no
, but hesitated.
He absently stroked his white mustache for what seemed like an eternity while he gave serious thought to the boy’s request. Danny patiently waited. Eventually Mr. Cleary shrugged and said, “Oh, I suppose it can’t hurt. Give it here and I’ll keep it behind the counter.”

“Thanks!” The boy carefully removed the comic from the rack using both hands, and then gently handed it to the old man. Mr. Cleary placed the copy on a shelf under the counter. Danny watched to make sure he didn’t bend the corners.

Mr. Cleary noticed Danny’s concern over the well being of the comic and reassured the boy with a wink. “It will be right here when you get back.”

With the comic safely tucked and hidden behind the counter, Danny felt secure knowing it wouldn’t matter if his dad got home late from work. He would get the issue no matter what.

“Thanks Farmer Cleary! I’ll be back with a dollar!” Danny left the store and jumped on his bike and rode home in the unrelenting rain.

CHAPTER THREE

Danny Makes a Fire

When Danny arrived at home, he was disappointed to see the empty driveway. His dad hadn’t got home yet. He picked up today’s issue of
The Valley Tribune
from the front lawn, slipped his bike inside the garage, and entered the house through the kitchen.

The house was dark and quiet, but the dark didn’t scare Danny. He was brave and strong, or so he told himself. He turned on the kitchen light and sidestepped his way around an overflowing trash can, and then ran passed a sink full of dishes. He tossed his wet backpack and the newspaper onto the kitchen table and headed straight to the living room where he tore off his rain-soaked jacket and flipped off his wet shoes.

Danny knelt in front of the fireplace and got busy making a fire. He had only recently been making them all on his own. His dad liked to walk into the house after a hard day of work and smell burning wood, so he taught Danny how to build a fire and told him to make one every day after school. Of course, that was against his mother’s wishes. In her eyes Danny was too young. Like any overprotective mother, she was worried he’d hurt himself (and possibly burn the house down). Despite her protest, Danny made one every time he got home from school.

Beside the fireplace was a messy pile of old newspapers, and a short stack of wood and some kindling. He opened up a section of newspaper, separated the pages, and twisted the individual sheets. He cranked them nice and tight, and then unwound them a little. His dad told him they couldn’t be too tight or the fire wouldn’t be able to breathe. The flames needed oxygen.

His father explained to him on more than one occasion how to build a proper fire:

Layers Danny. A good fire starts with layers from the bottom up: first newspaper, then a pile of kindling. Then a fast burning wood, like pine. After the pine is burning hot, add a piece of oak. Make sure it’s dry though; can’t be wet or green otherwise it’ll just smoke. The oak will take a while to catch, but once it does it will burn through the night.

After creating several layers of newspaper, he piled on some kindling. On top of that Danny strategically placed several pine logs. Finally, he squirted a heavy dose of lighter fluid over everything and let it soak. Danny laughed. He remembered his dad telling him about the lighter fluid:
use it but don’t tell your mother; she’ll have a heart attack and think you’ll catch the house on fire. Keep it in the pantry so she won’t see it.

Danny sprayed another shot of lighter fluid over everything. Then he set down the can and went to his bedroom.

He stripped off the rest of his wet clothes and threw them on a pile of laundry in the corner. He put on fresh everything: underwear and jeans, a sweatshirt, and socks. The dry clothes felt good against his skin. He would feel even better once he got the fire started.

Hanging on the wall in his bedroom was the first issue of Banana Man, the one his mother bought him for his birthday. A thin sheet of glass protected the first edition, and the comic was center-framed inside a wooden box. The issue was titled
Banana Man: Rise of a Super Hero
. The cover depicted Banana Man pinning down a pile of rough looking men with one foot while he smiled and flexed a bicep to photographers and fans.

Once he got the latest edition, he would frame it inside another box and hang it next to that one. He wanted to line the walls with this particular comic. He collected a lot of comics but for some reason this one meant a lot to him. He flicked the light off, and the darkness swallowed up his room.

Danny returned to the living room and sat down in front of the fireplace. Even with dry clothes on the chill air made him shiver, and he rubbed his arms to get warm. The cold rain had soaked him to the bone.

The storm clouds choked off the afternoon sunlight, and dim light filtered in through the windows; the day was fading faster than it should.

His dad still hadn’t come home yet but he would be there soon.

Danny grabbed one of those long and thin matches, the kind meant for starting fires from a distance. He dragged the tip against the end of the box, and the match flared up. The flame burned bright and hot in front of Danny’s eyes. It immediately started to eat its way down the wood toward his fingers. He stared at it for a moment and watched it burn, and then he gently poked the flame into a corner of the twisted newspaper. The lighter fluid ignited at once and flashed across everything. A short blast of heat followed. Danny liked it. He tossed the match into the flames. Then he swung the protective grill shut and enjoyed the heat in the darkened house.