Summer of the Monkeys (3 page)

After what seemed like an hour to me, he chuckled and said, “Why, that explains it. Sure, that’s it. It has to be.”

“What explains what, Papa?” I asked.

“That monkey,” Papa said, still chuckling. “You know all those rich people that come up here in the summer to fish on the river. Well, the way I see it, one of them had a pet monkey and it got away from him.”

I was just about to go along with what Papa had said when I remembered all those strange noises I had heard.

“Papa,” I said, “I believe there was something else down there. I heard a lot of different noises. Do you reckon it could have been more monkeys?”

“Aw,” Papa said, turning to pour seed corn into the hopper of the planter, “you probably got scared and just thought you heard something. Besides, if there were monkeys all over the country, I couldn’t do anything about it. I have to get this corn planted. We can do without monkeys, but we can’t do without bread corn.”

I was aching all over to have Papa go with me to look for the monkey, but I knew it wouldn’t do any good to ask him. He
thought so much of that little old farm of ours, he wouldn’t have stopped working to watch a herd of elephants march down the road.

Just as Papa was putting the check lines over his shoulders, he said, “Oh, by the way, did you find Sally Gooden?”

“Yes, sir,” I said. “She’s down by that old slough. I guess when I saw the monkey I got so excited I forgot all about her. I’m sorry. I’ll go get her.”

Papa smiled and said, “No, now that I know where she is, I’ll look after her. Your mother needs some things from the store; and I think she has a little job she wants you to do.”

“Yes, sir,” I said and started at a trot for the house.

I didn’t have the least bit of trouble getting Mama to believe in my monkey. She already believed that the bottoms were full of things that could gobble me up.

“Monkey!” Mama said, looking all worried. “I don’t doubt it. There could be anything down in those bottoms. Monkey! Why, I never heard of anything like it. I don’t know. I just don’t know.”

I saw right away that if I didn’t say something to ease Mama’s mind she was liable to start laying down the law about my going to the bottoms.

“Aw, now, Mama,” I said, “I can’t see why you have to get all worked up like that just because I saw a monkey. Papa said it was probably a pet that belonged to a fisherman, and it got away from him.”

“Jay Berry,” Mama said, “your father doesn’t know everything, but I hope he’s right. I certainly do. All we need around here now are some lions and tigers, and a few more wild things. We may as well be living in the jungles. I wish more people would move into the country. It’s not safe the way it is. It’s too wild and untamed.”

To get Mama’s mind off all those wild things, I changed the conversation.

“Papa said you wanted me to go to the store,” I said.

“I do,” Mama said, “but I expect I’d better get a piece of paper
and write down the things I want. With that monkey running around in your head, you’d probably forget half the things I need.”

I waited while Mama got pencil and paper and made a list of the things she needed.

Cramming the list down in one of my overall pockets, she said, “Now you hurry back from the store. I intend to set some hens today and I need you to put fresh straw in the nests.”

“I will, Mama,” I said and bolted for the door.

I
t was about three miles to the store and I nearly ran Rowdy’s legs off getting there. I was pretty sure that when I told my grandpa about the 

monkey, he’d know what to do about it. My grandpa was one of those old, slow-moving, boy-loving kind of grandpas. We had been pals for as long as I could remember. He’d do anything he could for me, and I’d do anything I could for him.

If you were looking at the outside of my grandpa, you wouldn’t see very much. He was just about as big around the middle as he was tall. He didn’t have much hair either, just a little around the edges; and it was as grey and stiff as a wild hog’s whiskers. He wore glasses, chewed Star tobacco, and needed a shave about three hundred and sixty days a year. It was the inside of my grandpa that really counted. He had a heart as big as a number four washtub; and inside that wrinkled old hide of his was enough boy-understanding for all the boys in the world.

On entering the store, I saw Grandpa over behind the counter, setting canned goods on a shelf. He didn’t hear me when I came in. Of course, I was barefooted and didn’t make any more noise than a lizard walking on a rail fence.

I eased right up behind him and said in a voice much too loud, “Grandpa, Rowdy treed a monkey.”

I saw my old grandpa flinch—just about like I always did when
a wasp dabbed his fiery little dagger in me. He took his time about turning around. Ducking his head, he looked at me over his glasses; then he looked at Rowdy.

Rowdy was just sitting there on his rear, looking at Grandpa. His long ears were sticking straight up and his tongue was hanging out about a foot.

Grandpa must have liked what he saw. He grinned a little and said, “Now, let’s do that all over again—only this time don’t talk so loud.”

“You mean you want me to go back outside, Grandpa, and come in again, just like I did?” I asked.

“No, no,” Grandpa said, waving his hand. “You don’t have to go back outside. Just say that all over again.”

“Oh,” I said. I swallowed a couple of times and tried hard to control my voice. “Rowdy treed a monkey.”

Grandpa nodded his head and said, “Uh-huh, that’s what I thought you said. I wanted to be sure though. Are you sure it was a monkey?”

“Sure as I need a haircut, Grandpa,” I said. “It was a monkey all right. It had a skinny tail, four long legs, a baby-looking face, and hair all over it. Papa thinks it was a pet monkey that belonged to a fisherman and it got away from him.”

Grandpa thought a second, then shaking his head, he said, “No, I don’t think it belonged to a fisherman. Is one monkey all Rowdy treed?”

“That’s all I saw, Grandpa,” I said, “but I believe there was something else around there. I heard a lot of noises.”

Grandpa’s bushy eyebrows jumped straight up.

“Noises?” he asked. “What kind of noises?”

“I don’t know what kind of noises they were, Grandpa,” I said. “I’ve heard all kinds of noises in the bottoms and I usually know what’s making them, but I’ve never heard anything like that before. It sounded like cries and squeals, barks and grunts, and everything else. It scared me into a running fit.”

Grandpa got all excited. He took off his glasses and I saw a twinkle in his friendly old eyes.

Then very seriously he said, “I’m pretty sure those noises you heard were more monkeys. It sure sounds like it. From what I understand, there were probably about thirty of them.”

My eyes got as big as bur oak acorns.

“Thirty!” I exclaimed. “Boy, that’s a lot of monkeys, Grandpa. Are you sure?”

“I can’t be positive,” Grandpa said, “but I’d be willing to bet my last bucket of sorghum molasses on it.”

“Grandpa, do you know something about those monkeys?” I asked.

Rearing back and looking as important as Rowdy did when he had treed something, Grandpa said, “Sure I know something about those monkeys. That’s what grandpas are for, isn’t it? To know things for boys.”

I grinned and said, “Yes, sir. I guess so.”

It didn’t surprise me too much to find out that my grandpa knew something about the monkeys. I was firmly convinced that he was the smartest man in those Ozark hills anyhow. He knew a little bit about everything. He knew where all the best fishing holes were, and the right kind of bait to use. He knew the best places to hunt, and the right time to go hunting. It did seem though that all the good things my grandpa knew about were things that I liked.

Pointing to the counter, Grandpa said, “Sit down and I’ll tell you about it. Believe me, this monkey business is a good thing. It’s a real good thing for you.”

“Good for me,” I said, as I climbed up on the counter. “What’s good about it, Grandpa?”

Shoving his hands in his pockets and looking down at the floor, Grandpa said, “Well, let’s see now. To begin with, you’ve been wanting a pony and a .22, haven’t you?”

“I sure have,” I said. “I’ve been wanting a pony and a .22 ever since the day I was born. Every boy in the hills has a pony and a
gun, but me. But things like that cost so much money, it doesn’t look like I’ll ever have them.”

“Oh, I wouldn’t say that,” Grandpa said. “If things go right, you could be riding and shooting before you know it.”

“Aw, Grandpa,” I said, feeling sorry for myself, “how am I ever going to get enough money to buy a pony and a .22?”

“By catching those monkeys,” Grandpa said, “that’s how you’re going to get it. They’re worth a lot of money.”

“You mean their skins, Grandpa!” I said. “Are monkey skins worth anything?”

“No! No!” Grandpa said. “Don’t even think about skinning them. No, sir, that’s the last thing in the world you want to do. They’ll have to be taken alive, and not harmed in any way.”

“Taken alive!” I said. “Why, Grandpa, how in the world am I going to do that? I don’t know anything about catching monkeys. I’ve caught coons and possums and skunks and everything else, but not monkeys.”

Sticking out his chin, Grandpa said, “Well, I’m no expert monkey catcher either, but we’re going to catch them just the same. There’s a big reward being offered for those monkeys.”

When I heard Grandpa mention the reward, I flew completely out of gear.

“Reward!” I said, jumping down from the counter. “How much is it?”

“Now, wait a minute,” Grandpa said, holding up his hand, “and don’t rush me.”

He paused before going on.

“About a week ago, two men stopped here at the store,” he said. “Those fellows belonged to a circus train that was wrecked over on the railroad. From what they told me, it must have been a pretty bad wreck. One of the cars jumped the track and busted wide open. There were some valuable monkeys in that car, and a lot of them got away.”

Grandpa caught his breath, and said, “A few of the little fellows
were killed in the wreck, but not many. The ones that lived were scared to death and they took off through the hills. Now that circus was just coming out of winter quarters, and had a pretty tight schedule laid out for the season. They didn’t have much time between stops, but the crew did manage to lay over for a few days. They caught all but about thirty of the monkeys; and I’m pretty sure those were the ones you and Rowdy ran into.”

“Grandpa,” I said, “if those monkeys are the ones that got away from the circus train, how do you suppose they got way over here? It’s eight miles from our place over to the railroad.”

“I’ve been thinking about that,” Grandpa said. “You know, this time of the year it’s hot and dry in the hills. I expect that the monkeys were having a tough time finding food and water. Now all animals have an instinct that tells them where they can find food and water. Those monkeys probably just kept going until they wound up over here in these Cherokee bottoms. There’s food of all kinds for them over here—wild grapes, berries, nuts, acorns, roots, and all kinds of green stuff.”

“I’ll bet you’re right, Grandpa,” I said.

Rubbing his hands together and looking as pleased as a fox in a henhouse, Grandpa said, “Just wait until you hear about the reward. All of those monkeys but one are worth two dollars apiece. How does that sound to you?”

“Two dollars apiece!” I cried. “Boy, Grandpa, that’s a lot of money. How come they’re offering such a big reward for a bunch of little old monkeys?”

“They’re not just little old monkeys,” Grandpa said. “They’ve been trained for acts in the circus; that’s why they’re so valuable. It takes a long time to train a monkey, but you haven’t heard the half of it yet. You’re overlooking something very important.”

“Overlooking something?” I said. “What am I overlooking, Grandpa?”

As if he were put out with me, Grandpa snorted and said,
“Well, use your head and think a little. Remember everything I told you about those monkeys and do a little figuring.”

Grandpa knew that I wasn’t too good with figures, and he was all the time making up some kind of an old arithmetic problem for me to work on. It always made me feel bad when he did this because I never intended to be anything but a hunter or an explorer; and I couldn’t see where arithmetic had anything to do with that.

“Grandpa,” I said, “with all of this talk about monkeys and money, I can’t even see good; much less do any thinking. What is it that I’m overlooking?”

Grandpa snorted like Sally Gooden did when she had seen a booger.

“That last monkey,” he said. “I told you they were offering a two dollar reward for all of the monkeys, but one.”

“Oh,” I said, looking sheepish. “I forgot all about that monkey. Why is it so important?”

“Important!” Grandpa said. “That’s the most important monkey of the whole works. He’s worth his weight in gold. They’re offering a hundred dollar reward for him.”

When I heard Grandpa mention that hundred dollar reward, I lost my breath completely. My throat got as dry as the ashes under Mama’s old washpot, and I had a heck of a time swallowing.

I finally got hold of myself and said in a loud whisper, “A hundred dollars for one monkey! Suffering cornmeal Johnnie! Grandpa, that must be some monkey!”

Grandpa chuckled and said, “From what those fellows said, that monkey is so smart he’s almost human. He’s different than the other monkeys. Let’s see now, what kind of a monkey did that fellow say he was? Oh, yes, he’s a chimpanzee, or something like that. Anyhow, they’re offering a hundred dollar reward for him.”

I couldn’t get over it.

“A hundred dollars!” I exclaimed. “A hundred dollars for one
monkey! Why, if I could catch all of them, I’d have more money than the United States bank has in it.”

“Just about,” Grandpa said, chuckling. “And I think we’d better keep this monkey business to ourselves. If word gets out, every farmer in these hills will quit farming and start hunting monkeys. We can’t have that at all.”

“We sure can’t,” I agreed. “I won’t say a word to anybody. This is the first time in my life that I’ve had a chance to earn any money; but what’s bothering me is catching those monkeys. How am I going to do that?”