Jacob Two-Two Meets the Hooded Fang

by Mordecai Richler

  Praise for Mordecai Richler’s

  Jacob Two-Two series:

  Jacob Two-Two Meets the Hooded Fang

  “Mordecai Richler is a funny man, a good writer, and everyone should go out tomorrow morning and beat his local bookseller into submission if he hasn’t got a nice plump display of books titled Jacob Two-Two Meets the Hooded Fang. … It is ghastly and funny … an unbelievably believable unbelievable place with no artificial sweeteners or preservatives.”

  – The New York Times Book Review

  Jacob Two-Two’s First Spy Case

  “ … the story combines zippy dialogue, clever magic tricks, and even a chapter in mirror writing, with opprobrious names and grossness galore. … It will undoubtedly be greeted with shrieks of joy and loud guffaws from children employing their all-too-natural baser instincts.”

  – The Horn Book Magazine

  Jacob Two-Two and the Dinosaur

  “There is a reckless momentum to Richler’s narrative, a rhythm of slap-dash invention that mimics the frantic pace of childhood fantasy. Yet Richler’s tale is well-ventilated with adult wit.”

  – Maclean’s

  For Daniel, Noah, Emma, Marfa, and Jacob

  From Jacob Two-Two Meets the Hooded Fang:

  “Standing inside the gates of the children’s prison, Jacob Two-Two stared up into the menacing face of the warden – the dreaded Hooded Fang.

  ‘Remove this prisoner to the lowest, dampest dungeon,’ growled The Hooded Fang. ‘And put him on a diet of stale bread and water.’”

  CHAPTER 1

  nce there was a boy called Jacob Two-Two. He was two plus two plus two years old. He had two ears and two eyes and two arms and two feet and two shoes. He also had two older sisters, Emma and Marfa, and two older brothers, Daniel and Noah. And they all lived in a rambling old house on Kingston Hill in England.

  Most days Jacob Two-Two was happy, but other days, bad days, he was very sad. On bad days, he saw that all the other children in the house were taller and much more capable than he was. His two older brothers, and even his two older sisters, could ride two-wheel bicycles, dial a telephone number, whistle, do joined-up writing, play checkers, and catch a ball.

  Mind you, life was becoming more tolerable. Once, Jacob Two-Two couldn’t even reach the front doorbell. Only two years ago, when he was a mere two times two years old, Jacob Two-Two didn’t even know what a day was, where yesterday had gone, and when tomorrow would come. Waking up one morning, he had asked his mother, “Is this tomorrow? Is this tomorrow?”

  “No, darling, it’s today.”

  “But when you tucked me in at night, you said when I got up this day would be tomorrow. You promised! You promised!”

  “That was yesterday.”

  “You said it was today.”

  “It was, and then this was going to be tomorrow.”

  “But you just said this day is today too. You just said …”

  “Oh, Jacob,” his mother had said, kissing him, “sometimes you’re too much.”

  Even though he was now two plus two plus two years old and knew more, plenty more, Jacob Two-Two was still not allowed to count sheets for the laundry or cross the street by himself; neither could he run errands for his mommy and daddy, like his older brothers and sisters. He could now pour milk into his cereal bowl without spilling some, but he still couldn’t cut a slice of bread that wasn’t a foot thick on one end and thin as a sheet of paper on the other. True, he was now allowed to sit in a big chair at the kitchen table, but what good was it when he could hardly see over his dinner plate and his feet didn’t touch the floor but dangled foolishly? And if he lost his temper over this or other injustices and threw a punch at Daniel or Emma, they didn’t even holler or hit back. They merely giggled.

  One day when everybody in the house had something absorbing to do, Jacob Two-Two wandered into his big brother’s bedroom.

  “Out,” shouted Daniel, “I’m doing my homework.”

  His sister Marfa was curled up on the sofa in the study watching wrestling on television.

  “You can’t stay in here,” she said.

  “Why?” asked Jacob Two-Two. “Why?”

  “Because the wrestlers are doing scary things and you’re still a baby and it will give you nightmares and you’ll wet your bed.”

  “I won’t,” said Jacob Two-Two. “I won’t.”

  “Look,” said Marfa, pointing at the wrestler on the screen, “that’s The Hooded Fang, and he’s going to jump out of the TV set any minute and chew you to bits.”

  “I’m not frightened,” said Jacob Two-Two, retreating.

  In the garden, under the shelter of the copper beech tree, he found his brother Noah and his sister Emma were at it again. Dressed up, disguised, they were playing their game of pretend. Noah was dangling from the tree. He had a plastic dagger between his teeth and a big towel draped over his shoulders like a cape. “Okay, Shapiro,” he shouted, “come out and fight!”

  Emma raced out of her tent waving a wooden sword. “Say your prayers, O’Toole,” she snarled, “because here I come!”

  As Noah swung to the ground and Emma charged, Jacob Two-Two jumped between them. “Can I play?” he asked. “Can I play?”

  “Oh, no,” moaned Noah. “Now you’ve gone and spoiled everything!”

  “Then I’ll be on your side,” said Jacob Two-Two to his sister. “I’ll help you. I’ll help you.”

  “Oh, Jacob,” she said, “you’re too little to help anybody.”

  “Our game’s too complicated for you.”

  “I want to play,” said Jacob Two-Two. “I want to play.”

  “Hey,” said Noah, pointing at the kitchen window, “listen, Mommy’s calling you.”

  Jacob Two-Two found his mother in the kitchen. “Did you call me?” he asked. “Did you call me?”

  “No, dear.”

  Jacob Two-Two didn’t ask if he could help cook the dinner. He knew his mother would smile and say he was too little, just as he was too little to go to a real school, like the one his brothers went to. And, more than anything, Jacob Two-Two longed to go to a real school, even though Noah had warned him they had punishment cells there, dark and gloomy, with double-locked doors, and that naughty boys ultimately had to appear before a judge. At a real school, Noah had also said, good boys were served chips with red wine for lunch, followed by ice cream and cigars.

  “Now you run off and play,” said Jacob Two-Two’s mother. “I’ll call you when dinner’s ready.”

  His brothers and sisters didn’t want him. His mother didn’t need him. So Jacob Two-Two went to find his father. He was lying on the living room sofa reading the newspaper.

  “I want to run an errand,” said Jacob Two-Two. “I want to run an errand.”

  “You’re still too small,” said his father.

  “No, I’m not. I’m not!” said Jacob Two-Two. And, suddenly, he burst into tears.

  “All right, then.” His father dug into his pocket for some coins. “Go to Mr. Cooper, the greengrocer, two doors down the street, and get me two pounds of firm, red tomatoes.”

  CHAPTER 2

  acob Two-Two ran off, just a little frightened because this was his first errand, and Emma had warned him that Mr. Cooper, the greengrocer, was two-faced. He was nice to children as long as their parents were with them. He pinched their cheeks and offered them grapes. But if a child came into his shop alone, he made him wait until all the big people had been served. Emma said Mr. Cooper was sour as a lemon.

  Jacob Two-Two clutched his coins as he entered Mr. Cooper’s shop. He saw that the greengrocer was pear-shaped, his brown hair cut short, like a coconut.His eyes were small as orange
seeds, but his ears big as cauliflower leaves. His nose was red and veined as a beet, and his stomach stuck out like a sack of potatoes.

  “What do you want?” asked Mr. Cooper.

  “I want two pounds of firm, red tomatoes. I want two pounds of firm, red tomatoes.”

  Mr. Cooper frowned. He was insulted. For he had no way of knowing that Jacob Two-Two said everything two times, because what with so many people in his house, two parents, two older brothers and two older sisters, nobody ever heard him the first time.

  “There’s no need to chew your cabbage twice in here,” said Mr. Cooper.

  “But I’m Jacob Two-Two. I’m two plus two plus two years old. And, if you please, I want two pounds of firm, red tomatoes. Two pounds of firm, red tomatoes.”

  “You stop making fun of me,” said Mr. Cooper, winking at his other customers, all of them big people, “or I’ll call the police.”

  And just then Mr. Cooper did in fact see thepoliceman passing on his rounds and summoned him inside.

  “What is it, Mr. Cooper?” asked the policeman.

  “I’m being mocked,” said Mr. Cooper. All the big people in the shop laughed. “By this one,” the greengrocer added, pointing a finger as long as a carrot at Jacob Two-Two.

  The policeman looked down at Jacob Two-Two. “What is it, boy?”

  Terrified, Jacob Two-Two replied: “All I want, if you please, is two pounds of firm, red tomatoes. All I want is two pounds of firm, red tomatoes.”

  Mr. Cooper stamped his foot. He beat his fist against his forehead. “I demand justice. This exasperating little boy,” he insisted, “must be charged with insulting behavior to a big person.”

  The policeman, holding back his laughter, took a step toward Jacob Two-Two. But Jacob Two-Two, his heart thumping, ducked and flew out of the shop.

  “Hey,” Mr. Cooper called after him, “come back here. We were only teasing you.”

  Jacob Two-Two had already cleared the corner and was racing down the hill and into Richmond Park, flying past the high iron gates that were shut after dark, like prison bars. He ran and ran, avoiding the pond, which Marfa had warned him was full of crocodiles and snakes. He ran with his head down, keeping a sharp eye out for poisonous snakes, a threat which Noah protected him against for only a penny a week.

  Finally, he sank to the grass, out of breath.

  Only then did he notice the fog beginning to settle, closing in on him. Shivering just a little, Jacob Two-Two rubbed his eyes.

  CHAPTER 3

  he very next thing he knew, Jacob Two-Two was double-locked into a gloomy dark cell beneath the towering court house. Suddenly, the cell door clanged open and a fat policeman thrust somebody toward him, saying, “Jacob Two-Two, it is my duty to inform you that you and your visitor are, according to the strict letter of the law, allowed one hour together … before facing the judge.”

  The visitor who had come tumbling into the cell was quite the scruffiest, skinniest, and most untidy man Jacob Two-Two had ever seen. With tangled gray hair and weepy blue eyes. His shirt collar was frayed, and his tie soup-stained. His suit was rumpled. His shoes were scuffed, the laces broken. Beaming at Jacob Two-Two, he declared: “Meet your barrister, Louis Loser.”

  “Oh, I’m very pleased to meet you, Mr. Loser,” said Jacob Two-Two two times.

  “Are you, really?” replied Louis Loser, astonished.

  “Yes. But what’s a barrister? What’s a barrister?”

  “Your protector in court.”

  “Oh, but I haven’t got any money, Mr. Loser. I couldn’t afford to pay you.”

  “Of course not,” said Louis Loser impatiently. “If you could afford it, you’d pay me to stay home in bed.”

  “Do people pay you not to protect them in court?” asked Jacob Two-Two twice.

  “Only if they can afford it.”

  “Oooo,” groaned Jacob Two-Two. “Oooo.”

  “You mustn’t worry, my boy. The truth is, I’ve never won a case in my life, and that can’t go on forever,” pleaded Louis Loser, tears rolling down his cheeks, “can it?”

  “No,” said Jacob Two-Two, “no.” Adding hopefully, “Maybe this could be your lucky day at last.”

  “Lucky day?” Louis Loser thrust out his puny chest. “My dear boy,” he said, obviously insulted, “don’t you realize that you are looking at the Louis Loser? When I set out on a picnic, it rains. If I’m invited to a party, I turn up on the wrong night. I can’t sharpen a pencil without breaking it or slice bread evenly.”

  “Oh,” said Jacob Two-Two, enormously pleased to discover that he wasn’t the only one. “And what happens when you turn on the television?”

  “The picture’s fuzzy. It flips, it flops. Or the screen is buried in snow.”

  “Me, too,” said Jacob Two-Two, enthralled, “me, too. I’m so pleased that you are going to protect me in court.”

  “Well, thank you!” said Louis Loser, and then he told Jacob Two-Two a story. “Once,” he began, “I very nearly had a lucky day. I went into court with what seemed like an air-tight case. Impossible to lose, even for Louis Loser. My client was out taking the air one evening when three ruffians attacked him. They took his wallet, they stole his watch, and beat him up very badly. Fortunately, a police car just happened to come along, and the ruffians were caught red-handed. In court, they confessed to everything. And my client, I must say, was a most touching sight, bandaged from head to toe and standing on crutches. All we claimed were damages.”

  “Did you win? Did you win?”

  “Certainly not.”

  “What happened?” asked Jacob Two-Two. “What happened?”

  “How was I to know,” said Louis Loser, sniffling, “that my client would turn out to be an internationally famous bank robber, Public Enemy Number One in ten countries. The ruffians who beat and robbed him were each given a ten thousand pound reward for their troubles. My client was sent to prison for life. And the judge booted me out of court, saying only a rotter would stoop to defend such a notorious criminal.”

  The policeman banged on the cell door, warning them they had only another five minutes together. A chill ran through Jacob Two-Two as he was suddenly reminded of his own impending trial. “How will you defend me?” asked Jacob Two-Two, terrified. “How will you defend me?”

  Louis Loser, deep in thought, paced the cell. “I will not plead extenuating circumstances; neither will I claim a mistrial. It wouldn’t do any good to ask for a change of venue or challenge the jury’s competence …”

  “Then what will you do?” asked Jacob Two-Two. “What will you do, Mr. Loser?”

  “I’ve got it!” exclaimed Louis Loser triumphantly. “I’ll cry.”

  “But that won’t help.”

  “Of course not. But, in my cases, nothing does,” said Louis Loser with immense pride. “Come on, my boy. It’s time to go.”

  Jacob Two-Two took Louis Loser’s hand. “I have faith in you, Mr. Loser,” he said, his voice wobbly.

  Even as tears streamed down his cheeks, Louis Loser beamed. “In that event,” he said, “we can’t lose.”

  “How come?” asked Jacob Two-Two, delighted. “How come?”

  “Because if you have faith in me, I’m going to plead insanity on your behalf. You’re nuts, my boy. Positively crackers.”

  CHAPTER 4

  ithin minutes, Jacob Two-Two stood before the judge in the children’s court.

  Nowhere among the jeering spectators, many of them customers of the greengrocer, could Jacob Two-Two see Daniel, Noah, Emma, Marfa, or his mother and father. But had he looked a little more carefully, he would have seen two mysterious little people. Midgets, maybe. Wearing beards, dark glasses, and trenchcoats, they were holding notebooks, pens poised.

  The children’s judge, Mr. Justice Rough, wore a white powdered wig and a long black gown. “I see here,” he growled, “that you are charged with insulting behavior, not to another brat – I mean, child – but, good heavens, to a big person. This is serious. Ext
remely serious. If you got away with it, it could only lead to more monstrous crimes, like hiding comics under your pillow or peeing without lifting the seat.” Here Mr. Justice Rough paused and knit his fierce brows. “Once and for all, children must be taught–”

  “–THAT BIG PEOPLE ARE NEVER, NEVER WRONG,” all the big people in the court shouted back.

  “If they punish you,” Mr. Justice Rough called out, “it’s–”

  “–FOR YOUR OWN GOOD,” the big people called back.

  “And it hurts them–” Mr. Justice Rough continued.

  “–MORE THAN IT HURTS YOU,” the big people replied.

  Then the clerk of the court stepped up to Jacob Two-Two. “How do you plead, you little nit?” he asked.

  “Oh, what’s the difference,” the foreman of the jury hollered, “he’s guilty.”

  “I object,” said Louis Loser in a small voice.

  “You what?” bellowed Mr. Justice Rough.

  “I didn’t say a word,” said Louis Loser, shriveling.

  “Now, then,” said Mr. Justice Rough, banging his gavel, demanding silence. “I must remind all of you that we are here to see that this lad gets a fair trial. Jacob Two-Two,” he continued, turning to the accused, “I should warn you that in this court, as in life, little people are considered guilty, unless they can prove themselves innocent, which is just short of impossible.”

  The big people in court whistled. They roared with laughter. They stamped their feet and shouted, “Hear! Hear!”

  “Well, then,” said the clerk of the court, “let’s get on with it. How do you plead?”

  Jacob Two-Two turned to Louis Loser, looking for guidance. His protector was hiding under his desk, shaking with sobs. So taking a deep breath, Jacob Two-Two said, “Why with all respect, sir, I plead innocent. Why, with all respect, sir, I plead innocent.”

  “That’s abominable! It’s most inconsiderate,” said Mr. Justice Rough, “for I am the busiest of busy judges. In an average day here I deal with desperadoes, swindlers, bubblegum smugglers, chocolate bar addicts, boys who want a bigger allowance, and girls who grow out of their shoes too soon – the lot! – all of whom have one thing in common. They are rude to big people. Why, you wouldn’t even exist–” sang out Mr. Justice Rough, enraged.