Me & My Little Brain

by John D. Fitzgerald

  "Now you beat it back to Aunt Bertha," I ordered him.

  He just folded his arms on his chest and glared at me. I ran back into the barn. I climbed up the rope ladder as quickly as I could. Then I pulled the rope ladder up to the loft. I made it just in time. I looked over the edge. Frankie came into the barn and stood staring up at the loft.

  "You can't get at me now, you little monster," I shouted at him. "Maybe I'll just live up here until Papa takes you to Salt Lake City."

  I lay down on my back and stared up at the roof. It wasn't a bad idea at that. Mamma could give me a couple of blankets and a pillow. She could put my meals in a bucket and I could haul it up with Sweyn's lariat. I heard our milk cow start mooing. I looked over the edge of the loft again.

  Frankie had the barn door open. He was leading our milk cow out of the barn. That didn't worry me. I figured he was taking the cow to the water trough in the corral for a drink of water. In a couple of minutes he came back and led Sweyn's mustang, Dusty, out of the barn. Then he came back and led our team of horses out. I knew he'd been raised on a farm and thought he probably helped his brother water their livestock. And I knew our own livestock couldn't get out of the corral. So it didn't bother me.

  But I did become worried when I heard Brownie barking. It was an alarm bark. Any boy who owns a dog can tell the difference in the way his dog barks. It might be a happy bark like when you are playing with him. It might be an excited bark like when you are rabbit hunting and he sees a rabbit. It might be a thank you bark when you feed him. And there are many other kinds of barks a kid will recognize. I knew Brownie's bark was an alarm bark. He was telling me something was wrong. I climbed down the rope ladder and ran out of the barn. My dog was sure right. The corral gate was open. Our milk cow, the team of horses, and Dusty were all gone. We had a chicken run made from wire fence because Mamma didn't like chickens running all over our yard. The gate was open. Frankie was chasing all the chickens out of the chicken run.

  I knew I'd get the blame for all this even though Aunt Bertha was supposed to be watching Frankie. It would take me a long time to round up our livestock and all the chickens. I thought about this and all the things Frankie had done to me. Then I got a mental block of my own. I was so angry I could actually see red, and in the middle of that red was Frankie. I ran over and grabbed him by the wrist as he was coming out of the gate of the chicken run.

  "Now you are going to get it!" I said. "Papa and Mamma will give me the silent treatment for a month for letting the livestock and chickens get out. And they will take away my allowance for a year for what I'm going to do for you. But I don't care. It will be worth it to teach you a lesson, you little monster."

  He began to kick and fight. I dragged him into our woodshed. I picked up a flat piece of kindling wood to use as a paddle. I sat down on the chopping block and threw him over my knees. I let him have a hard whack on the behind with the paddle. "That was for hitting me on the head with my shoe," I said.

  I gave him another hard whack. "That was for kicking me on the shins," I said.

  I gave him another good whack. "That was for kicking me on the shins," I said.

  I gave him another whack. "That was for belting me on the head with the stick of firewood," I said.

  Then I gave him three hard whacks in a row. "That was for throwing rocks at me," I said.

  Frankie let out a scream. That made me feel good because I knew I was hurting the little monster.

  I gave him three more hard whacks while he screamed bloody murder. "That was for letting the livestock and chickens out," I said.

  He was really bawling as I gave him three more whacks just in case I'd forgotten anything. Then I let him go.

  He ran crying and yelling out of the woodshed. I walked out after him. Mamma and Aunt Bertha had heard him and were running toward the woodshed, Aunt Bertha in the lead.

  "John spanked me!" Frankie screamed.

  Aunt Bertha stooped over and held out her arms. Frankie ran right by her and into Mamma's arms, carrying on as if I'd tried to murder him.

  It took me more than an hour to round up the livestock and chickens. Then it was time to go inside and discover what my punishment would be for spanking Frankie.

  I walked to the back porch and into the kitchen. It was empty. I could hear Papa's voice in the parlor and I thought Mamma must not have been able to wait till suppertime for him to hand down his punishment. She must have telephoned him and told him I'd spanked Frankie. I squared my shoulders. I felt like a man going to face a firing squad as I walked into the parlor.

  Mamma was sitting in her maple rocker holding Frankie on her lap. Papa was sitting in his rocking chair. Aunt Bertha and Doctor LeRoy were sitting on the couch. Instead of hostile looks I was greeted by smiling faces. I couldn't figure it out. And I'll be a yellow blackbird if Papa didn't take out his purse and remove a silver dollar and hold it out toward me.

  "You did it, J.D.," Papa said.

  I was so stunned I couldn't think straight. "Did what?" I asked.

  "The spanking you gave Frankie made him cry," Papa said, "and that enabled him to let out all the grief and terror bottled up inside him. You broke his mental block and made him remember."

  I took the dollar from Papa and sat down.

  "Does he remember what happened in Red Rock Canyon?" I asked.

  "I remember," Frankie said.

  Mamma kissed Frankie on the top of the head. "He was hysterical for about half an hour," she said. "Just crying and screaming. And then he began to talk. He remembers everything now."

  I was so curious I thought I would burst. "Will somebody please tell me how Frankie escaped from the landslide?" I pleaded.

  Dr. LeRoy said, "Let him tell you himself, John. The more he talks about it the better."

  Frankie slid off Mamma's lap and walked over and stood in front of me. "You spanked me, John," he said, "but I'll tell you anyway."

  I watched his eyes, red from crying, grow wide and his lips begin to tremble.

  "Papa said we were going to town for supplies," he said. "Mamma didn't want to go because it was raining. Papa said we had to go. In the canyon was a big rock on the road so the wagon couldn't pass. Papa got the crowbar from the wagon. Papa always took a crowbar to move the big rocks when we went to town. Papa started to move the big rock. My brother Willie and me were standing in the road watching. There was a noise like a big thunder. Willie grabbed my hand and we began running up the road. Willie looked back. He said the slide was below the wagon and he was going back to help Papa unhitch the team because they couldn't turn the wagon around on the road. Willie told me to keep running up the road until I couldn't run any more."

  Frankie began to breathe heavily as he relived the terrible experience. "I kept running until I heard a big noise that hurt my ears," he continued, his face becoming very pale. "I stopped and turned around. Papa and Willie were unhitching the team and Mamma was waiting for them. Then the mountain fell down and they were all gone." Tears came into his eyes. "They are all deaded," he said softly.

  I wasn't aware I was crying until Frankie reached up and brushed my cheek with his fingers and I felt a wetness there.

  "Why are you crying, John?" he asked. "It is my Mamma and Papa and brother who are deaded and not yours."

  "I just feel like crying," I said.

  Papa said, "There is no doubt there were two slides, one below where they were and the bigger one right over them."

  Dr. LeRoy cleared his throat. "I didn't want to alarm your father or mother, John," he said, "but it is fortunate Frankie is very young. An older person seeing such a terrible thing happen to their family might not ever have recovered." I stood up. "I've got to go do my chores now," I said. "Can I help?" Frankie asked.

  I remembered Papa had often said that faith in the Lord, time, and keeping busy were the best medicine for grief. "You bet you can," I said.

  CHAPTER FIVE

  Frankie Takes Over

  I THOUGHT MY TROUBLES with
Frankie were over now that he was over his mental block. I was as mistaken as a farmer trying to milk a bull. Now that Frankie was normal, he turned out to be a real takeover kid. I started teaching him how to play checkers after supper. At eight o'clock Mamma announced it was time for us to take our baths and go to bed. It has always been a tradition in our house that the youngest has to take his Saturday night bath first.

  "Time for your bath, Frankie," Mamma said.

  He was sitting on the Oriental rug next to the fireplace with me. He folded his arms on his chest with a stubborn look on his face. "Make John go first," he said. "You are the youngest," I said. "That means you go first."

  "I ain't going to take a bath until you do," he said.

  "Please humor him," Mamma said. "Maybe he just wants to make sure you have to take a bath, too. Little boys are funny that way."

  "There isn't anything funny about making a nine year-old take a bath before a four-year-old," I said.

  Papa got into the argument. "Do as your mother says, J.D.," he said. "Just for tonight."

  What could I do? It was an order. I was in the tub taking my bath when I heard a knock on the door.

  "What now?" I hollered.

  "Frankie wants to see you taking your bath," Mamma called through the door.

  "Send him in," I shouted. "But tell him not to get too near the tub or I'll drown him." I didn't mean it, of course, but I was still smarting because I had to take my bath before a four-year-old.

  Mamma opened the door. "Now stop making such a big fuss over this," she reprimanded me.

  Frankie walked over and looked at me in the tub. He nodded his head and smiled.

  "Are you satisfied I'm taking a bath and not just sailing a boat in here?" I asked.

  "If I have to take a bath," he said, "I'm going to make sure you have to take a bath too."

  Boy, oh, boy, here was a kid who hated to take a bath even more than I did. He left the bathroom with Mamma. I finished bathing and washed out the tub. I put on a clean nightgown and robe. Then I went into the parlor to say good night. I started to leave the room as Mamma took Frankie by the hand and led him out of the parlor.

  "Just a minute, J.D.," Papa said. "Frankie has been through a terrible experience. I want you to humor him and give in to him for as long as he is in this house. Is that understood?"

  "Yes, Papa," I said.

  I usually fell asleep right away after taking a bath. But I didn't that night. I heard somebody coming up the stairs. Then Mamma came into the bedroom holding Frankie in her arms. She pulled the beaded chain that turned on the ceiling light.

  "Frankie wants to sleep with you instead of me," she said. "He has already said his prayers."

  I got out of bed so Mamma could put Frankie on the inside next to the wall after she had kissed him good night. She waited until I got back in bed and then turned off the light.

  "Good night, Frankie," I said after Mamma had left the room.

  "This is my bed," Frankie said, instead of saying good night.

  I sat up. "This was my bed before you were born," I said. "Now stop trying to be funny and go to sleep."

  He sat up in bed and folded his arms on his chest. "You get out of my bed," he said.

  I lay back down. "Stop being silly and go to sleep," I told him.

  Then I felt his hands on my back. And I'm darned if he didn't try to roll me out of the bed. I was about to really tell him off when I remembered what Papa had told me. I got out of bed and turned on the light. There was another bed m the room, where Tom had slept before he went away to school. But there weren't any sheets, blankets, and pillowcase on it. I put on my robe and went down to the parlor.

  "Why did you leave Frankie alone?" Mamma demanded. "And why aren't you in bed?"

  "Because he said it was his bed and told me to get out of it," I said. "Give me a couple of sheets and a blanket and pillowcase and I'll sleep in Tom's bed. Papa said I had to humor Frankie."

  Papa had evidently told Mamma what he had told me. She got up and went to the linen closet. She came back with the bedclothes in her arms.

  "Want me to make up the bed for you?" she asked.

  "No, thanks," I said as I took the armful of bedclothes. "I can do it."

  I went back up to my room. Frankie lay in my bed, smiling, as he watched me make up Tom's bed. He looked so darn smug about it that I decided to teach him a lesson. I turned out the light and stood by the window. He didn't say anything until I'd stood there for a couple of minutes.

  "Whatcha doing, John?" he asked.

  "There is a full moon tonight," I said, making my voice quiver a little.

  "You sound scared," he said. "Why are you afraid of the full moon?"

  "I'm not afraid for myself," I said, "because I'm too old for the ghost."

  He sat up in bed. "What ghost?" he asked, and I knew from the sound of his voice that he was frightened.

  "The ghost of Silverlode comes up from his grave every night there is a full moon," I said. "He goes from house to house in Adenville until he finds a little boy sleeping all alone. He takes the little boy back to his grave with him."

  I paused dramatically. "And the little boy is never seen or heard from again."

  Then I got into Tom's bed. I knew I'd thrown a good scare into Frankie because he was still sitting up in bed. I couldn't help laughing, smothering the sound in my pillow. It served him right for making me take a bath first and taking my bed.

  "John," he said softly.

  "Shut up and go to sleep," I said. "You got your bed all by yourself just like you wanted."

  "You can sleep in my bed with me if you want," he said.

  "I don't ever want to sleep in your bed," I said. "Go to sleep. Maybe the ghost won't come to our house tonight."

  "But maybe he will," Frankie cried softly.

  "I'll know in the morning," I said. "If you are missing, I'll know the ghost got you and took you back to his grave with him. I'm going to sleep now. Good night."

  I pretended to fall asleep by snoring. I heard Frankie begin to whimper. I opened one eye. I could see him still sitting up in bed. There was enough moonlight streaming through the window for me to see tears toppling down both his cheeks. It wasn't funny any more. The little fellow was scared to death. I watched him get out of bed. He came over and stood by my bed. Then he climbed into bed with me and put his arms around me and snuggled up close.

  "Please don't let the ghost get me, John," he cried.

  I couldn't take it any longer. I put my arm around him and hugged him. Then I thought of the consequences of what I had done. If Frankie told Papa and Mamma they would take away my allowance for months.

  "I won't let the ghost get you if you promise me something," I said.

  "I promise," he said eagerly.

  "The ghost can't get you unless you are sleeping alone," I said. "If you promise not to tell Papa and Mamma about the ghost, I'll let you sleep with me every time there is a full moon."

  He hugged me tight. "I promise," he said.

  Frankie went right to sleep but I didn't. My conscience was bothering me more than it had during my entire life. What I had done out of sheer spite was ten times worse than anything Frankie had ever done to me. Scaring a little kid was just about as low-down a trick as a fellow could pull. I asked God to please not let my little brain get any more crazy ideas like that.

  The next day was Sunday and Mamma always let everybody sleep a little later. I didn't wake up until she came into the bedroom. She had an old suit of mine and some other clothing she had washed and pressed for Frankie.

  "I see you changed your mind about sleeping alone," she said to Frankie as he sat up in bed.

  He started to open his mouth and then looked at me. My future allowance for an entire year was in his hands. And the strange part about it was that I knew I deserved to lose it for telling him the ghost story.

  "John and I will sleep in our bed from now on," he said to my great relief.

  Mamma smiled. "That i
s good," she said. "It means less washing and ironing of sheets and pillowcases. Do you want me to help you wash and get dressed?"

  "Frankie is big enough to wash and dress himself," I said. "Aren't you, Frankie?"

  He looked as pleased as if I'd just given him a new rocking horse. "You bet, John," he said proudly.

  It was raining when we got up and still raining when we all returned from the Community Church that morning. I knew it was raining too hard to go outside to play. I took Frankie up to my room. I thought I could keep him amused by showing him my box of treasures. What a big mistake that was. He watched me pull the box from under the bed and open it. I showed him my slingshot first. He took it in his hands and carefully examined it. Then he put it on the floor by his side.