Jimmy, The Glue Factory and Mad Mr Viscous

by Gerrard Wllson

up!”

  Although he was choking, Jimmy reached up to the railing. Feeling the touch of cold metal in his hand, he gurgled, “I’ve got it. Lift me up!” Pulling Jimmy up, Eric prayed to his god that he saved him before he choked him to death.

  Watching with an amused interest, the factory owner twirled his wand some more. The rickety staircase and the small landing atop it, wobbled about so much it had more in common with a plate of quivering jelly than a stairway. Tiring of the boys’ antics, trying to stop themselves from falling over the railing and into the munching machine, Mr Viscous, twirling his wand, allowed the staircase to settle.

  “Is it over?” Eric whispered to Jimmy.

  “Who knows, with a loony such as him?” he replied, rubbing his sore neck.

  Smiling serenely, staring light-heartedly up at them, Mr Viscous said, “Loony? You think I am mad! How could you say such a terrible thing?” Twirling his wand slowly, deliberately, he caused the staircase wobble and shiver about even more than before. Yawning, the factory owner said, “I grow tired of your presence, away with you.” With that, the staircase began shaking and shuddering violently, sending Jimmy and Eric crashing back and forth across the small landing.

  “Jim,” said Eric, “what are we going to do?”

  Jimmy, however, having banged his head hard against the handrail was in no condition to answer.

  “Thus it ends,” Mr Viscous said smugly, “two interfering children, meeting their match, their doom.”

  Beguiling Tactics

  Shaking his head, trying to pull himself together although it hurt so much, Jimmy, thinking fast, said, “If you kill us, you will not see it.”

  “See it?” the factory owner asked, beguiled. “What do you mean, see it?”

  “Pointing to the duffle bag slung over his friend’s shoulder, Jimmy replied, “The item we brought, the last thing we put into the bag. It’s was supposed to be a secret...”

  “What is it, this secret?” Mr Viscous asked, curiosity getting the better of him.

  “Stop the staircase,” Jimmy demanded. “Let us stand steady upon it, and then I will show you.”

  For a while, the factory owner said nothing, as Jimmy and Eric continued to crash back and forth upon the landing. Then, with a twirl of his wand, stopping the staircase dead in its tracks, he said, “Alright, it is stopped – but I warn you, if this is a trick, you will feel my wrath, so you will! Now show it to me, your secret item.”

  “Pass me the duffle bag,” Jimmy said, holding his hand out, towards Eric.

  Realising that Jimmy was up to something, Eric, winking cunningly, said, “Are you sure you want to do it, to show it to him?”

  “Yes,” he answered. “Give it to me, lest we fall into disrepair!” Handing the bag over, Eric watched his friend with an acute interest.

  Pointing at the bolt cutter sticking out of the bag, Mr Viscous asked, “Is that it?”

  “No, that isn’t it,” Jimmy replied, removing the said item.

  “Well, what are you waiting for, boy?” Mr Viscous barked. “Delve a hand into the bag, and show it to me.” Loosening the cord at its top, Jimmy opened the duffle bag and peered inside it.

  “Do it!” the factory owner barked impatiently. “Stick a hand in; show me what you have secreted within!”

  Delving a hand into the bag, knowing that only a jar of pickled onions and a prismatic viewer remained there, Jimmy wished he had said nothing. You see, he thought the factory owner would have asked them to come down, to safety, before having to show him what they had inside it, thus affording them a chance to run away, first. However, this had not happened. Perched atop the rickety old staircase he felt more vulnerable than at any time previous during his entire life. Stalling for time (it was all he could think of), Jimmy said, “When I have reached in, all the way down to the bottom of the bag, I will have it, and I will show you the wonderful item it really is.”

  “If you don’t do it soon,” Mr Viscous warned, waving his wand threateningly, “I will lose interest, then you’ll be in for the chop, and rightly so.”

  As Jimmy pretended to search for the mysterious item, in the deepest, darkest recesses of the duffle bag, his hand repeatedly touched the prismatic viewer. Pushing his hand past it for the umpteenth time, he groaned, “Anyone might think you want me to touch you.” His fingers touching the catch to unlock the focusing mechanism, remembering, he said, “That’s it! You want me to touch you, to use you!” Withdrawing his hand, clutching the prismatic viewer, showing it quickly to Eric, he said, “Eric, this is it!”

  “It is?” Eric asked, struggling to keep up with him.

  “Yes, yes!” he replied excitedly. “Look! Look at it, will you?”

  Inspecting the viewer, all that Eric could see was the same item they had used earlier. “It’s the prismatic viewer,” he said. “I purchased it from that old woman at the jumble sale.” Then it dropped, the penny dropped, and he realised it was same woman who had asked them to do the penny errand. “Why didn’t I realise it before?” he asked, scratching his head, dumbfounded.

  “I am still waiting!” the factory owner warned, tapping a foot impatiently.

  After passing the duffle bag to Eric, Jimmy held the prismatic viewer over the side of the handrail. “Here it is,” he said, showing it to the factory owner.

  “What is it?” Mr Viscous asked, gawking awkwardly up at it.

  “It’s a prismatic viewer,” he replied.

  “Never heard of such a thing,” he answered, losing interest.

  Going on the offensive, tempting the factory owner some more, Jimmy said, “It’s special – and powerful!”

  On hearing those words, the factory owner’s ears cocked. “Powerful, you say?”

  “Yes, incredibly powerful, in the right hands...”

  “Where did you get it?” he asked suspiciously.

  “I got it at a jumble sale,” Eric proudly informed him.

  “A jumble sale?” the factory owner asked incredulously. “Is this some sort of a trick? I warned you, so I did!”

  “But it was at a jumble sale!” Eric protested. “The old woman was there, the same one we thought was a witch, later!”

  On hearing this, the factory owner’s ears cocked again. “Hold on,” he said, “I am coming up.” On reaching the landing, Mr Viscous asked to see the prismatic viewer. “Show it to me,” he ordered.

  Showing it to him, but still holding tightly onto it, Jimmy said, “This viewer is something special.”

  “Yes, yes, you have already told me that,” he snapped. “I want to hold it, to look through it – to use it! Let me have it! I want it! Give it to me!”

  Pulling away from the factory owner, jealously guarding the prismatic viewer, Jimmy said, “If I give this to you what will I – we get in return?”

  Answering sharply, fastly, Mr Viscous said, “Your lives. I will spare your lives, now hand it to me or feel my wrath!”

  “Okay,” Jimmy answered, seemingly happy with the arrangement. Handing the prismatic viewer to the factory owner, he said, “Though, I should warn you-,”

  The factory owner, however, cutting him off, laughed, “Hah, I have it, the prismatic viewer! And it mine, all mine!”

  “You have it alright,” Jimmy whispered, “you certainly have.”

  No sooner had the factory owner grabbed hold of the viewer, he lifted it to his eyes. Turning the dial, trying to focus, to see through it, he grumbled, “I cannot see anything, it’s too blurry.” Lowering the viewer, his eyes narrowing, he said, “Is this some kind of a trick? You said it was powerful!”

  “It is! It is!” Jimmy insisted. “Without it, we would never have got anyway near your factory. We used it on a number of occasions,” he lied, “getting here.”

  “Well,” Mr Viscous answered, “if it’s not a trick, pray tell me how it actually works?”

  Smiling, relaxing, Jimmy said, “Hand it to me, and I will show you.”

  “No!” Mr Viscous answered, hold
ing the viewer tightly to his chest. “Just tell me; explain how I can see through it, to see how powerful it really is!”

  “Okay, if that’s how you want it,” said Jimmy, “I will tell you.”

  “What must I do in order to see through it?” Mr Viscous pressed, pointing his wand threateningly at him again.

  “There’s no need for that,” Jimmy answered, eyeballing the wand, with concern. “Why are you so impatient, anyhow?” he asked. “You have all the aces, you know!”

  “Aces?”

  “Yes, your wand and the viewer,” he replied, pointing at them.

  Admiring the said items, Mr Viscous concurred, “So I have. No sudden moves, though,” he warned.

  “All that you have to do,” Jimmy lied, “in order to see through the viewer, is to gaze at the image.”

  “Gaze?” he asked, inspecting the Bakelite casing of the viewer, with renewed interest.

  “Yes! No matter how blurred it appears, you must continue to gaze at the image,” Jimmy insisted. “Then, before you can say Jack Robinson, you will be off.”

  “Off? What do you mean, off?” he asked, holding the wand at attention.

  “It was a slip of the tongue,” Jimmy replied. “I meant to say you will be on course, to seeing how powerful it really is.” Feeling the factory owner’s piggy eyes burning into him, Jimmy wondered if he had blown it, with his gaff.

  Returning his attention to the viewer, while at the same time depositing his wand carefully into one of his trouser pockets, Mr Viscous lifted it to his eyes. Staring eagerly into it, he said, “Yes, I think I can see something. It’s still blurred, mind you,