The Binkle and the Catawampus Compass (Binkles and Magic) (16 page)

“That’s all I want. That blasted Country and Western music gets me depressed.”

“Everything else is OK with you? What about food? Anything else you’d rather have?”

“Now that you ask—I’d rather eat Livermore Parrot Treats.”

“I’ll see what I can do—but you’ve got to stop this nonsense. Deal?”

“Deal.”

For the first time, Rubens took a good look at Jeep. “Who are you, anyway? Dr. Doolittle making a house call?”

Just then, Mr. Slade returned, bearing a large round magnifying glass”

Jeep used it to look the parrot over up close—peering into its eyes, feet, and feathers. He tried to act like he actually was a doctor in the process of making his diagnosis.

“Mr. Slade, we’re lucky we got to Rubens in time—a very serious case, indeed. The worst I’ve encountered. I know what’s troubling your bird. With your help we can soon have him healthy again.”

“Well, out with it, then.”

 “It’s about parrot psychology. Birds are very sensitive and I’m afraid Rubens’ will to live has been weakened. He requires healing surroundings to rebuild his enthusiasm for life. In my experience, music can help to speed up recovery. Certain music increases their vibration level, and that’s a key to health. Animals respond well to the classics. So I recommend that you play a steady diet of Beethoven, Chopin, and Mozart for him.”

“You think that’s it?” Mr. Slade asked scornfully.

“Certainly not! There’s a psychological factor as well, which I’ve taken into account. However, if you follow my advice, I’m sure Rubens can be a healthy bird again very soon.”

“I doubt that music can make much difference. But I’ll play the classics, for a while, anyway. This better work, young man.”

They talked further about Ruben’s health, the changes in diet, and importance of soothing sounds for healing.

Jeep was smart enough to know it’s best to leave on a high note. He gave a wave to the bird, “Goodbye, Rubens.”

As he walked out, his final words hung in the air, “Think about the zoo property. I’ll be back.”

Since Jeep was already gone, he didn’t see Mr. Slade’s stunned look when the parrot responded, “Goodbye, Jeep—Be seeing you.”

~~~

When Jeep phoned the office three days later, Miss Kublic treated him with respect. “Mr. Slade was most insistent. He needs to see you right away. Can you come at

four o’clock today?”  

 “This afternoon will do fine.”

“Very good, Mr. Parker. He needs to know what you did to his parrot.”

When Jeep arrived, Miss Kublic smiled a friendly smile at him. “Mr. Slade can see you now, Mr. Parker.”

As Jeep stepped into the inner office, Rubens called out, “Hey, Jeep, what’s new?”

The parrot hadn’t grown any new feathers yet, but it stood tall and alert. The cheerful strains of a Mozart symphony filled the room. Although the bird looked much better, the man looked far worse. Mr. Slade’s clothes were rumpled and his weary face betrayed his lack of sleep.

Mr. Slade was impatient to take charge. “What have you done to Rubens? He’s driving me nuts.”

“What do you mean?”

“I’m trying to tend to business here. It requires all my brain power, but he’s messing with my mind. How can I get any work done with his non-stop interruptions?”

“What’s he doing?”

“He hasn’t stopped yakking since you left. I suppose it’s good that he’s bouncing back. But the darned bird refuses to give me a moment’s peace or quiet.”

Jeep shifted into his doctor mode, “What has he been saying? And more importantly, why does it bother you so much?” He turned and winked at Rubens.    

“He keeps repeating that I should just give the land to the zoo. You put him up to it, didn’t you?”

 “Of course not! How could I? He must have overheard what I said to you. I’m as surprised by all this as you are,” though Jeep was secretly pleased.

“Like I’d believe you,” the man said with sarcasm.

“Still, Mr. Slade, there must be more to it than that. If you don’t like what Rubens says why not just ignore him?”

“Ignore him! Ignore him! You think I wouldn’t ignore him if I could?” Mr. Slade certainly didn’t seem confident like he was at their first meeting. In the battle of nerves, he had come in second to a bird.

“If you must know, Rubens was my father’s bird. My father raised him and trained him. Rubens sounds just like my father. You expect me to ignore my own father?”

Mr. Slade collapsed back into his chair. His worked-up emotions had drained the last of his energy.

“I see.” Jeep nodded and tapped his chin as though in deep thought.

“Rubens hasn’t been talking much for a long time, but now he won’t stop. It almost seems like Dad is speaking to me from the grave.” A haunted expression clouded his eyes, and it seemed like his logic had slipped a bit, too.

Jeep took his time, nodding wisely, “So you really think your own father is talking to you... through Rubens?”

“It seems that way, doesn’t it?”

Jeep made a shrewd guess. “Tell me, do you think your father would want you to give that land to the zoo if he were here?” From the man’s reaction Jeep could tell he’d hit a nerve.

“Wasn’t that your father’s land in the first place? You inherited it from him, right?”

“Sure, that land was part of what he left me. If he were alive he’d probably let you have it.”

Rubens squawked, “Give the land to the zoo,” like he’d been saying all along.

The man jumped in alarm. “Make him stop! Please, oh please! Make him stop.”

Jeep’s eyes held Mr. Slade’s gaze for a long minute. “You know there is a way
to get Rubens to stop saying that, don’t you?”

“There is? Can you make him stop?”

“No, Mr. Slade, I can’t. Only you can make him stop.”

“But I don’t know how! You’ve got to make him stop,” the man wailed.

Jeep spoke with the kind of soothing voice one uses with an upset child. “Of course you do, Mr. Slade. Just – do – what – he – says,” as though it were the only intelligent solution.

“Yes, I suppose you’re right. That’s reasonable. Why didn’t I think of that?”

“Give the land to the zoo,” Rubens squawked once more.

“OK, OK! The land goes to the zoo..., if I never have to hear that again! Now make him stop.”

Some decisive action is required, but I’m not sure Mr. Slade is up to it at the moment
. Jeep pointed at the phone, “Why not call your lawyer and tell him to draw up the papers?”      

Mr. Slade’s instructions to his lawyer were firm as they nailed down detail after detail. He ended the phone call with, “Get those papers over here for my signature right away.”

Jeep whispered his thanks to Rubens while Mr. Slade was talking on the phone.

The bird answered, “Any time¼. Just listen to that Mozart, will you—heavenly.”

After he hung up, Mr. Slade sat aback and stared at Jeep a long time. “Young man, maybe you and old Rubens outfoxed me. But I’m starting to feel better about this. What’s all my money for if I can’t be foolish with it now and then? Let’s just call this ‘Be Kind to Animals Day, alright?”

Jeep opened his mouth to say something, but nothing came out. So he just grinned. He couldn’t wait to tell Grikkl.

And in due time Mr. Slade was as good as his word. He didn’t stop with donating the ravine to the zoo. He brought together engineers and zoo experts to design a first-rate wildlife habitat for the animals that could live together without cages in a natural setting. His team even figured out an observation area built into the rocky side of the ravine, where visitors could watch the animals close up without disturbing them at all. Everyone agreed the whole thing was marvelous. Even better, Mr. Slade figured out how to pay for the whole thing.

When the plans were complete, Mr. Slade held a press conference to announce what was in store for the zoo. His impressive design made the local newspapers, radio and TV. Politicians tried to take credit for it, but Mr. Slade praised Jeep as the person who masterminded the whole thing.

Jeep’s picture appeared on the front page of the newspaper above the words, “Local Boy Expands Truman Zoo.”

As part of the dedication ceremony zoo officials announced Jeep’s appointment to the Zoo Board as the official Animal Spokesman. Little did they realize his special qualification for the job.     

 
Chapter 14—

THE TRUFFLE DISASTER   

Jeep worked until twilight in the park nearly every day collecting truffle data. Because of the need for secrecy, he couldn’t do his work when other people were near enough to watch him. He happened to be there one day when a woman walking her dog sat on a bench nearby. She unhooked the dog’s leash to let him run free. Then she tossed a ball, which was fetched and returned to her.

One of her throws was wide, and the dog lost sight of it. He chased around, then started to dig at the base of a tree. What the dog found wasn’t the ball, but he fetched it anyway. What happened next froze Jeep’s blood. The woman did the worst thing he could have imagined!

“Wow! Truffles! Right here in our park!” she yelled with excitement. The woman ran to the hole where her dog had found it and dug around until she found more. To anyone who came along, she called out, “Hey, look what I found! Truffles!”

       She might just as well have yelled, “Gold!” The secret was out—and what came next resembled a gold rush. Jeep called Chris with the horrible news. He left work so they could watch what happened next. Jeep and Chris could only sit by helplessly.

Rumors spread fast. Within hours the park was crawling with truffle hunters, eager for their share of the find. The discovery made the news. That attracted even more truffle hunters. Over the next several days, their years of work got destroyed or enjoyed by strangers.

Jeep couldn’t be sure which of their patches might have survived undisturbed. But if he checked any time soon, he’d call attention to where they were. Chris and Jeep knew that despite their careful secrecy their scheme had failed. Their ship came in—but not for them.

They would have to start over again—probably somewhere else. That is, if they had the heart to face so much hard work again.

       The truffle disaster brought another form of gloom down on them full force. Their cherished dreams of financial relief were dead. Worse yet, Chris lost his nerve. Until that happened, neither of them had realized how totally Chris counted on truffles to save Helen and his finances.

During the days that followed, Chris looked empty and emotionally haunted. He called in sick as often as he bothered to show up for work. For, indeed, he was sick—sick in heart. And if he couldn’t get past his depression, physical ailments would surely follow.

Jeep looked after him like a parent cares for a sick child.
One good thing, I don’t have to do any more truffle chores. Now my afternoons are free to go to Elkhorn.

~~~

Jeep’s mind sometimes wandered to fret about the bullies when it should have been on his schoolwork. He felt he needed to do something—not to be such a wimp. Yet Grikkl’s warning about inviting in evil left him few choices.
How can I deal with bad guys without playing by their rules
?

Jeep even used Adah’s mirror to see if Merve set it off. Whatever the mirror detected, apparently Merve didn’t have it.

Maybe he isn’t so bad. If only I could get him to talk to me without being so nasty. We just make each other sore.

After weeks of pondering on the puzzle, Jeep thought of something.
Mom used to say, “I can’t be upset while I’m eating.” How about Merve and me eating together? Maybe then he won’t be so mean.

He raided his savings, but figured it was for a good cause. On Saturday Jeep phoned Merve, “I need to talk to you. Meet me at the Ice Cream Palace at 4:00 today. I’ll pay.” A puzzled but reluctant Merve agreed to come. He knew that at least there’d be ice cream.

Jeep was seated in a booth waiting when Merve arrived. “I’ve already ordered.”

“What’s this all about, Jeep the Creep?”

Before Jeep could answer the ice cream arrived. He had ordered The Gold Digger, which was dramatic and huge. The super-duper $17 sundae had ten scoops of ice cream plus four gooey toppings, nuts, whipped cream, and, of course, cherries (five of them) on the top.

Their waitress delivered The Gold Digger with the drama usually reserved for a Thanksgiving turkey (and it was nearly as big). She proudly fussed over her grand showpiece. Though he wouldn’t let on, Merve was impressed—and eager to dig in.

“Gosh, if I’d known it was this big, I’d have told you to bring your friends along. Mind if we eat before we talk?” Jeep asked.

What could Merve say but OK? Besides, that much ice cream would melt if they didn’t get busy eating right away. Each boy dug in, doing his best to demolish the tasty mountain.

Jeep broke the silence. “This chocolate-chip mint, mmmmm... I’ll bet it’s the best flavor here,” as he waived around a half-eaten spoonful.

“Can’t be,” said Merve with his mouth full. “It’s the peach.”

“Could be..., I’d better check,” said Jeep, as he dramatically scooped a bite of the peach ice cream and popped it into his mouth. He didn’t swallow it though. Instead, he made a great show of swishing it around in his mouth, like he’d seen a wine taster do. Unlike the wine taster, however, he did swallow it in the end.

Finally, his verdict—“You’re right, peach is better.”

Merve had watched this over-dramatic taste test so closely he’d forgotten to keep eating. “Peach is best—I won.” he crowed.

“Oh, we don’t know that yet,” said Jeep. “We’ve got to compare scoop by scoop, flavor by flavor. We can’t be sure peach is the winner ’til we check them all.”

“I suppose,” said Merve with his mouth full. “Maybe if we both eat the same flavor at the same time?”

So they each took a bite of the cinnamon-raisin. “Not bad,” said Jeep.

“I don’t like it,” said Merve.

They got into a rhythm. Lemon custard rated two “pretty goods.”

They each scooped butter pecan, then said, “Naw!” at the same time. They burst out laughing.