Summer of the Monkeys (15 page)

The next time Daisy entered my room she was all decked out in her nurse’s uniform. It was starched as stiff as a gingerbread man. She had a tray in her hands. To me, it looked like she had all the medicine we had in the house on it. There was liniment, Raleigh salve, iodine, peroxide, castor oil, all kinds of clean rags torn in strips, several boxes of pills, and a glass half full of alcohol with a thermometer in it.

“Good morning!” Daisy said, smiling all over. “And how are my patients this fine morning?”

“Aw, Daisy,” I said, “you didn’t have to say that. You were here just five minutes ago.”

“I know,” Daisy said, “but that’s the way the nurses do it.”

Looking up to the ceiling and talking to myself, I said, “Br-r-other, if I come out of this alive, I’ll sure be lucky.”

Ignoring my remark, Daisy set the tray on the small table in the room and started looking over her nursing supplies.

“Let’s see now,” she said, “I think I have just about everything I need right now.”

Rearing up on my elbows, I said, “Daisy, if you think I’m going to take all of that stuff, you’re crazy. Why, I’d be dead before the sun goes down.”

As if she were the best doctor in the whole wide world, Daisy said, “Oh, I don’t think you’ll have to take all of it, Jay Berry, but I won’t know just what medicine you’ll need until I examine you.”

Taking the thermometer, Daisy gave it a good shaking, walked over, and dabbed it in my mouth. She felt my pulse, changed all the bandages on my monkey bites, and washed my face with a cool rag. Then she lit into Rowdy. She changed all of his bandages, washed his face, and got him a pillow to lay his head on.

I had to admit that Daisy was a pretty good nurse but it always made me feel uncomfortable lying there with her fussing around me that way.

The first time Daisy brought me a glass of water I was thirsty and drank every drop of it. Five minutes later she brought me a second glass and I drank it, too. Five minutes later she brought me the third glass and I drank it just to please her.

It didn’t seem like I had hardly drunk the third glass when she came with the fourth one. By this time, I was pretty well waterlogged and refused to drink it.

With a scared look on her face, Daisy stepped back and said, “Jay Berry, are you sure you don’t want any more water?”

“Sure, I’m sure,” I said. “What’s the matter with you, anyway?”

Before I hardly knew what was taking place, Daisy yelled, “Mama, you’d better come here right now.”

Mama came running, scared half out of her wits.

Looking at me and seeing that I was still alive, she looked at Daisy and said, “What’s wrong now?”

With a sorrowful look on her face, Daisy said, “I think we’d better get the chains, Mama. He just quit drinking water and you know what that means.”

“No,” Mama said, “I’m afraid I don’t know what it means. What does it mean?”

“It means he’s going mad, Mama,” Daisy said. “That’s what it means. I looked up the word ‘hydrophobia’ in the dictionary and it said very plainly that anything going mad refuses to drink water. And he just quit drinking.”

I figured that it was about time for me to say something or I would surely have to drink the well dry or be chained to a fence post.

“Mama,” I all but shouted, “I haven’t quit drinking water. I just can’t drink any more. She’s brought me a glass of water every five minutes for an hour and half. I’ve had so much water now that I feel like a spring.”

Glancing at the glass of water Daisy held in her hand, Mama smiled and said, “I think we can forget about the chains for a while. It may be that you’re overdoing this water drinking.”

Rowdy put up with Daisy’s nursing for one day; then he hopped out the window, went back under the house, and refused to come out for anyone.

It was three days before I saw the sunshine again and I was never so happy in all my life. I was burning up with the monkey-catching fever and couldn’t wait to get after them again.

On the morning of the fourth day, I got my net and called to Rowdy. “Come on, boy,” I said, “let’s go to the store and have another talk with Grandpa.”

Rowdy started out from under the house but he never came all the way out—just his head. On seeing the net in my hand, he turned around and went back. I saw right away that between Daisy’s nursing and those monkeys, Rowdy had had it.

Getting down on my knees, I peered back under the house. I could see Rowdy way back in the farthest corner.

“Come on, boy,” I coaxed, “I’m not going monkey hunting. I’m going to the store. Don’t you want to come along?”

I could hear a lot of tail thumping, whimpering, and whining; but Rowdy still refused to come out. I begged and I pleaded. I promised him everything from fried rabbit to a red squirrel stew, but it did no good. Disgusted and feeling terrible, I took off down the road for Grandpa’s store.

I hadn’t gone far when here came Rowdy, wiggling all over and tickled to death. Once he had seen that I wasn’t going to the bottoms where those monkeys were, he was willing to come along.

“You should be ashamed of yourself, Rowdy,” I said. “A great big dog like you scared of little old monkeys.”

I really didn’t mean what I had said to Rowdy because way down deep I was just as scared of those monkeys as he was, but I was still determined to catch every last one of them.

Grandpa must have been expecting me, because just before I got to the store he came out onto the porch and looked down the road. On seeing me, he sat down in his favorite chair and waited for me.

As I walked up, he peered at me over his glasses and said, “Well, how did it go?”

“It didn’t go so good, Grandpa,” I said, as I leaned the net up against the store.

“Didn’t the net work?” Grandpa asked.

“Oh, yes, it worked, Grandpa,” I said. “It worked just like you said it would. I caught two of the little monkeys, but they got away from me.”

“Got away!” Grandpa said. “How did that happen?”

“I really don’t know how it happened, Grandpa,” I said. “One minute I had two in the net, and the next minute they were gone. I was pretty busy at the time and didn’t see exactly what did happen.”

Grandpa arched his eyebrows, and said, “Busy? What were you doing?”

“I was fighting monkeys, Grandpa,” I said, “that’s what I was doing. They were eating Rowdy and me up. Look!”

Stepping over close to Grandpa, I showed him the scabbed-over monkey bites on my arms and legs.

Grandpa looked me over, let out a long whistle, and said, “Boy, they sure did get ahold of you, didn’t they? Did it hurt?”

“Hurt!” I said. “I’ll say it hurt. It made me sick. I’ve been in bed for three days. I never was so sore and stiff in all my life. If you think a squirrel can bite, you just ought to get bit by a monkey.”

“How did all this happen?” Grandpa asked. “Tell me about it.”

I told Grandpa everything that had happened from the time I jerked the blue ring on the net until the monkeys got away. I ended up by saying, “I don’t believe those monkeys can be caught.”

“Oh, yes, they can,” Grandpa said. “Just remember what I told you about animals. There never was one that couldn’t be caught. And always keep more than one iron in the fire.”

“I know, Grandpa,” I said, “but I’m afraid if things keep going
like they have, we’re going to run out of irons and the fire’s going out.”

Grandpa laughed, got up from his chair, and said, “Come here—I’ve got something to show you.”

I followed Grandpa into the store and watched while he reached up on a shelf and picked up an envelope. Waving it in front of my face, Grandpa grinned and said, “Do you know what this is?”

I shook my head.

“This is a letter from an animal trainer down in Florida,” Grandpa said. “He’s the fellow that trains animals for that circus. He trained that hundred dollar monkey.”

“He did!” I said. “He must be a darned good trainer because that is the smartest monkey in the world. I didn’t see him do it, but I’m pretty sure that while those other monkeys were chewing on Rowdy and me, he sneaked in and let those two in the net loose.”

“I wouldn’t doubt that a bit,” Grandpa said. “He’s smart enough all right. Did you know that monkey has a name?”

“A name!” I said, very surprised. “Whoever heard of a monkey having a name?”

“I never gave it much thought,” Grandpa said, “but after I read this letter, I got to thinking—practically all tame animals have names. Take your old milk cow, her name is Sally Gooden. Your Dad’s two mules are named Fred and George. My buggy mares are named Molly and Birdie.”

“I know, Grandpa,” I said, “but that monkey’s not tame. He’s as wild as a hoot owl.”

Grandpa frowned and said, “I don’t believe that monkey is as wild as you think he is. Once an animal has been tamed, he doesn’t ever forget it.”

“What’s the monkey’s name, Grandpa?” I asked.

“According to what this trainer said in his letter, they call him Jimbo,” Grandpa said.

“Jimbo!” I said, laughing out loud. “Whoever heard of a name like that?”

“Anyhow,” Grandpa said, “that’s his name.”

“Grandpa,” I asked, “what good’s it going to do us, knowing his name?”

“It might do a lot of good,” Grandpa said. “This trainer says that if you could make friends with that monkey he would probably do anything you wanted him to do.”

“Make friends with him!” I said. “Grandpa, I don’t think that trainer knows what he’s talking about. Why, you couldn’t make friends with that monkey in a hundred years.”

“I don’t know,” Grandpa said. “The trainer seems to think you could and he should know. He says to offer him something to eat, call him by name, and talk to him. It might be worth a try. After all, you have everything to gain and nothing to lose.”

“Nothing to lose!” I said. “Grandpa, if I got close enough to that monkey to offer him something to eat I could lose my arm. He’s got teeth like a pitchfork.”

“Oh, I don’t think you have to worry about that,” Grandpa said. “From what you’ve told me, he’s about the only monkey in the bunch that hasn’t tried to bite you.”

Thinking back to everything that had happened, I realized that Grandpa was right.

“By golly, Grandpa, you’re right,” I said. “That Jimbo monkey hasn’t tried to bite either Rowdy or me; but he sure doesn’t mind sicking those little monkeys onto a fellow.”

“Do you still think that this Jimbo monkey is the leader of the pack?” Grandpa asked.

“Oh, I know he is, Grandpa,” I said. “Those little monkeys won’t do a thing until he tells them to.”

“That’s fine,” Grandpa said. “If you could make friends with Jimbo and get him to follow you, the little monkeys would probably follow him and you might be able to lead the whole caboodle right into the corn crib.”

Grandpa made everything sound so simple and I was feeling so good I would have been willing to try to make friends with a grizzly bear. But there were a few things in my mind that I needed to get straightened out.

“Grandpa,” I said, “I know that Jimbo monkey hasn’t tried to bite me, but I still can’t believe he’s looking for any friends. In fact, I believe he’s got it in for Rowdy and me. He sure acts like it.”

“Naw,” Grandpa said, “I don’t think Jimbo has it in for anybody. His trainer says he likes people—especially youngsters. He probably thinks you’ve been playing games with him.”

“Another thing, Grandpa,” I said, “what could I say to that monkey to make friends with him? I don’t know how to talk to a monkey.”

“You might try talking to him like you do to Rowdy,” Grandpa said. “Offer him an apple and call him by his name. Don’t act like you’re trying to catch him. Just act like you’re trying to be friends with him.”

“Do you really think it’ll work, Grandpa?” I asked.

“You can’t ever tell,” Grandpa said. “I think it’s worth a try.”

I thought a second and said, “Okay, Grandpa, I’ll give it a try. If I thought I could catch those monkeys, I’d be willing to try anything. I sure want that pony and .22 and this is the only chance I’ll ever have to make enough money to get them.”

Looking up at the sun, Grandpa said, “It’s early yet. I think you have time to try it out today.”

“I’m going to, Grandpa,” I said, “just as soon as I get home.”

As I turned to be on my way, I thought of something.

“Grandpa,” I asked, “how come that animal trainer wrote to you?”

Grandpa grinned and said, “That’s one of those extra irons I was telling you about. I wrote a letter to those circus people and got an answer from the animal trainer.”

I smiled and said, “I figured it was something like that,
Grandpa. I don’t know how I can ever pay you back for all you’ve done for me.”

“I’ll tell you how you can pay me back,” Grandpa said. “Just catch those monkeys and I’ll be well paid. Now if you can’t make friends with that monkey, don’t let it bother you too much. If this doesn’t work, we’ll try something else.”

“Grandpa,” I said, “if I can’t make friends with that monkey it won’t be my fault because I’ll sure be trying. I just hope no one sees me down in those bottoms talking to a monkey. Why, they would put me in the crazy house sure as shootin’.”

Grandpa laughed and said, “Oh, I don’t think anything like that’s going to happen. You wouldn’t sound half as bad talking to a monkey as some of these farmers do talking to their mules.”

I laughed and said, “I know what you mean, Grandpa. Sometimes I listen to Papa talking to our mules while he’s working them. If I was a mule and somebody yelled ‘Gee’ and ‘Haw’ at me all day long, I wouldn’t do anything. I’d have a runaway every fifteen minutes.”

Grandpa said, “You have to let animals know who the boss is, or they’ll take advantage of you.”

“Well,” I said, “I’d better be on my way. I’m anxious to see if I can make friends with that monkey.”

“I am, too,” Grandpa said. “Let me know how you come out.”

I 
was so anxious to try out this friend-making idea, I trotted all the way home. Instead of going into the house, I went straight to the cellar and filled my pockets with apples. As I was shutting the cellar door, Daisy showed up.

Looking very concerned, she said, “Jay Berry, if you don’t stop feeding our apples to those monkeys, we’re not going to have any apples left. I was looking at the barrel this morning and it’s sure going down.”