Summer of the Monkeys (5 page)

“I’ll catch them,” I said, very determinedly. “You just wait and see. By tomorrow night, I’ll have a sack full of them; and one of them will be that hundred dollar monkey. He’s the jasper I’ll be looking for.”

“We’ll see,” Papa said, laughing.

Glancing up at the sun, he said, “Now, you’d better get to the house and help your mother set those hens. I’d like to finish planting this field before sundown.”

I thanked Papa for going along with me on my monkey-catching business, and strutted off toward the house.

So far everything was working out fine, but there was one more stump in the way. That was Mama. I was well prepared for her though. After all, I’d been living around Mama for fourteen years; and a boy can learn a lot about his mama in that length of time. I knew just what to do, and just what to say to wear her down.

Papa had already told Mama about seeing the monkeys; but when I told her about the reward and that I intended to catch them, she did just what I had expected her to do. She flew straight up.

“Jay Berry,” she said, in a hard voice, “you’re not going down in those bottoms to catch any monkeys. Now, that’s all there is to it. I won’t have it at all. Why, I’d go crazy.”

Putting one of my half-dead, broken-leg looks on my face, I got ready for one of those Mama and boy go-arounds.

“But, Mama,” I argued, “just think how much money those monkeys are worth, and you know that I never get a chance to make any money—just ten or fifteen cents now and then for an old possum hide or something. Why, if I could catch all of them, I could get myself the pony and .22 I’ve been wanting so long. You wouldn’t keep me from doing that would you?”

I saw a hurt look spread over Mama’s face. This made me feel bad, but I had been wanting a pony and a .22 so long I didn’t want to give up.

Mama came over to me and started straightening my suspenders.

It seemed like my old suspenders were always twisted. Grandpa said I got into my britches too fast.

“Jay Berry,” Mama said, “I know how you’ve been wanting a pony and a gun, but I worry so much when you’re down in the bottoms—just you and that old hound dog. Why, I never know what’s liable to happen. Besides, it would be practically impossible to catch a monkey in those bottoms. Monkeys like to climb, and some of those sycamore trees are a hundred feet tall. You’d probably fall out of one and break every bone in your body.”

Reaching for my traps, I said, “Mama, I’m not going to do any tree climbing. I’m going to trap the monkeys.”

Mama frowned and took one of the traps. She looked it over and said, “This is some of your grandpa’s work, isn’t it?”

“Uh-huh,” I said. “He fixed them for me.”

Shaking her head, Mama said, “I don’t know. Sometimes I wonder who the boy is, you or your grandpa. Have you talked to your father about this monkey-catching idea of yours?”

Seeing that Mama was giving in a little, I started talking a hundred miles a minute.

“He said it was all right with him, Mama,” I said. “There’s not much to do around the farm right now—just planting—and he said that he could take care of that.”

Handing the trap back to me, Mama sighed and said, “Well, between your father and your grandpa, it looks like I can’t say ‘No.’ But, Jay Berry, there’s one thing I want understood. You are not going to those bottoms, monkey hunting, unless your father is close by in the fields. If something did happen to you, maybe between him and Rowdy, we could at least find your body.”

Mama could take a little bit of something like that and make it sound like the funeral had already started. She was good at things like that.

“Mama,” I said, very seriously, “do all mamas worry like you do? I’m fourteen years old, almost a grown man, and you’ve been worrying about me ever since I was born. It makes me feel no bigger than a jumped-up minute.”

Mama smiled and said, “I’m pretty sure that all mothers worry about their boys. Right now you’re a little too young to understand, but someday you’ll be married and probably have a boy of your own; then, I think you will understand.”

“Oh, no, I won’t, Mama,” I said, shaking my head. “I’ll never get married. I can’t understand women.”

Mama got kind of mad when I said that.

“Don’t be silly,” she snapped. “That wasn’t a very nice thing to say. Now, you go get that straw. I want to set those hens.”

Feeling as good as if I had just waded the Mississippi River, I breathed a sigh of relief and lit out for the barn to get some straw.

Besides Sally Gooden, there was one other thing we had around our farm that I thought we could surely do without—that was setting hens. Mama and Daisy could do anything in the world with the hateful old things, but I couldn’t. Every time I got close
to one of the cranky old sisters, she puffed up ten times bigger than she actually was and started squawking and pecking. By the time we had the old gals taken care of, my hands were hurting all over.

Mama and I were back in the house and I was rubbing some Raleigh salve on my henpecked hands when I thought of my little sister.

“Mama, where’s Daisy?” I asked. “I want to tell her about the monkeys.”

“I think she’s up in her playhouse,” Mama said. “I saw her going up the trail a while ago.”

Taking the sack of candy that Grandpa had given me, I started up to Daisy’s playhouse. I was almost there when I heard her laughing and talking. Leaving the trail, I eased around and peeked through the bushes to see what was going on. A small sunbeam had bored its way down through the overhead green, and the playhouse was bathed in a warm radiant glow.

Daisy was sitting on the ground with her back against the trunk of the huge red oak. Her crutch was lying beside her. As usual, her little friends were all around. Chipmunks were scampering and birds were singing. A churring squirrel was perched on an arm of the cross. His flicking tail was keeping perfect time to the music of the hills. A big fat bunny was curled up in Daisy’s lap just as though he belonged there.

As I watched, a tiny little wren dropped down from the branches of the red oak and lit on Daisy’s crippled leg. She smiled and started cooing to it. Everything looked so peaceful and happy that I hated to disturb them. Just before stepping out of the bushes, I coughed to let them know I was coming.

The instant I showed my face, you’d have thought a booger man had shown up. The bunny hopped and the squirrel jumped. The birds flew and the chipmunks faded into the ground. It always made me mad when the silly things did that. I would never have
harmed one of Daisy’s little friends. Old Rowdy wouldn’t have hurt any of them either, and that was saying something.

Feeling hurt all over but letting on that I hadn’t noticed anything, I handed the sack of candy to Daisy and said, “Guess what’s happened?”

Daisy always seemed to be about one jump ahead of me.

Smiling, she said, “I already know about the monkeys, Jay Berry. Papa told Mama and me about them when he brought Sally Gooden in from the bottoms.”

Trying to act very important, I shoved my hands down in my pockets and said, “Those monkeys are worth quite a bit of money. I’m going to catch them and get myself that pony and gun I’ve been wanting.”

Every time I mentioned catching something to Daisy, she naturally figured that I intended to kill and skin it.

Frowning, she said, “Jay Berry, I know how you’ve been wanting a pony and gun, but isn’t there some other way you could get them? I’ve seen pictures of monkeys and they’re the cutest little things. I just couldn’t stand to think of one being skinned. How would you like it if someone caught you and peeled your skin off. You wouldn’t like it, would you?”

“Aw, Daisy,” I said, “you girls sure do think funny. Whoever heard of anyone skinning a boy. I’m not going to skin the monkeys. I’m going to catch them alive. They won’t be hurt in any way.”

Daisy sighed her relief and said, “I’m glad you’re not going to hurt them. Every time I walk by the smokehouse and see all those little skins you have stretched there, I just shiver all over.”

“Well, you can stop shivering,” I said. “I promise that I won’t harm one hair on those monkeys.”

“How do you know so much about the monkeys anyway?” Daisy asked. “Papa said he couldn’t remember any wild monkeys being around here before.”

“They’re not exactly wild monkeys,” I said. “They got away from a circus train that had a wreck over on the railroad. Grandpa told me all about it. He even fixed some traps for me so I could catch them.”

“That’s just like Grandpa,” Daisy exclaimed. “He’s always telling you how to catch the little animals. Surely, Jay Berry, you don’t get any fun out of it, do you?”

“Aw, Daisy,” I said, “what do you think animals are for anyway. Just to look at? They’re supposed to be hunted. How else would a boy have any fun in these hills?”

Shaking her head and looking very disgusted with me, Daisy said, “Jay Berry, you should have a talk with the Old Man of the Mountains. I think maybe he could tell you a few things. Being a boy though, I doubt if you would understand a word he said.”

There it was again—the Old Man of the Mountains. Daisy had mentioned him several times and I hadn’t paid much attention to her. After all, she lived in one of those girl kind of worlds and it was chuck full of strange old men, fairies, angels, spirits, knights in shining armor, and everything else you could think of. I just figured that all girls were like that and it wasn’t anything to get excited about. But Daisy had a way of making things sound so real that sometimes I didn’t know whether to believe her or not.

Daisy did this by telling stories. She was the best storyteller in those Ozark hills. It wasn’t only the stories she told, it was the way she told them. She would get real serious and her eyes would get big and starry-looking. She would talk in a whisper, and go through all kinds of motions. By the time she was finished with her story, my hair would be standing straight up and I wouldn’t know what to believe.

“Daisy,” I said, “you’ve been telling me about this Old Man of the Mountains for a long time now. Who is he anyway?”

“Oh, he’s just a friendly old man,” she said very pertly. “He comes around every once in a while and visits with me.”

“He does?” I said. “When was the last time you saw him?”

“Why just this morning,” she said, “right here in my playhouse.”

“You did?” I said. “What’s the old man’s name?”

“I don’t know what his name is,” Daisy said. “I never have asked him. I just call him the ‘Old Man of the Mountains.’ ”

“Where does he live?” I asked.

“Way back in the mountains somewhere,” Daisy said.

“Is he a farmer?” I asked.

“Oh, no,” Daisy said, “he doesn’t do any farming. He doesn’t have time.”

“Doesn’t have time!” I said. “What does he do?”

“He takes care of the hills,” Daisy said.

“Takes care of the hills!” I exclaimed. “Why, the hills don’t need taking care of. Whoever heard of anything like that.”

“That’s all you know,” Daisy said. “There are a lot of things in the hills that need taking care of. What would happen to all of the little animals, the birds, and the flowers if someone didn’t look out for them. That’s what the Old Man of the Mountains does. He just walks through the hills looking out for everything.”

I laughed out loud.

“Aw, Daisy,” I said, “you’re just making this up. I don’t believe there is an old man of the mountains.”

A frightened look flashed in Daisy’s eyes. Placing a finger over her lips, she looked all around.

“Sh-sh-sh, don’t say things like that, Jay Berry,” she said. “Don’t ever say you don’t believe in the Old Man of the Mountains. He hears everything that’s said in these hills, and he’ll cause you to have bad luck.”

At that moment, Daisy couldn’t have said anything that would have more effect on me. With all those monkeys around and a chance to make some money, I sure didn’t want to have any bad luck. Besides, there were a few bad luck things that I believed in—things
like hearing a screech owl at midnight, tripping over a broom, or dropping the water bucket in the well. Those were sure signs of bad luck.

Now, maybe, there was an old man of the mountains, maybe he could cast a “bad luck” spell, and maybe he would get all fired up if I said I didn’t believe in him. Anyhow, I wasn’t taking any chances.

“Daisy,” I said, “is there really an old man of the mountains, and can he cause people to have bad luck?”

Looking at me as if I didn’t have any sense at all, Daisy said, “Why certainly, Jay Berry, there’s an old man of the mountains. Everyone knows that.”

“Well, I didn’t,” I said.

With all of that bad luck talk, Daisy saw that she had me worried and she took advantage of it. Getting very serious, she took another look around and started talking in a whisper.

“Sit down, Jay Berry,” she said, “and I’ll tell you about the Old Man of the Mountains.”

I didn’t want to, but I sat down by her side and listened while she went into her story.

“Jay Berry,” she said, “the Old Man of the Mountains is very, very old. He’s as old as these hills. His hair is snow white and hangs way down over his shoulders. He wears a long, white robe, and sandals on his feet. Every time I see him, he has a crooked stick in his hand. He can just point that stick at something and it will disappear.”

“Daisy,” I interrupted in a low voice, “is this old man a ghost or something?”

“Oh, no, Jay Berry,” she whispered, “he doesn’t even look like a ghost. He has a kind, gentle face. He looks sad though—like maybe he feels sorry about something. I think he feels sorry for the little animals.”

“I thought girls were the only ones that felt sorry for animals,” I said. “How come this old man feels sorry for them?”

“Because it’s his job to look out for them,” Daisy said. “You see, Jay Berry, when God made these hills he needed someone to take care of the animals and birds and flowers. So he gave the job to the Old Man of the Mountains. All he does now is walk around through the hills and take care of things.”

“What does this old man do in the wintertime when the snows come and everything goes to sleep?” I asked. “What does he do then?”