Summer of the Monkeys

by Wilson Rawls

  Pointing to the counter, Grandpa said, “Sit down and I’ll tell you about it. Believe me, this monkey business is a good thing. It’s a real good thing for you.”

  “Good for me,” I said, as I climbed up on the counter. “What’s good about it, Grandpa?”

  Shoving his hands in his pockets and looking down at the floor, Grandpa said, “Well, let’s see now. To begin with, you’ve been wanting a pony and a .22, haven’t you?”

  “I sure have,” I said. “I’ve been wanting a pony and a .22 ever since the day I was born. Every boy in the hills has a pony and a gun, but me. But things like that cost so much money, it doesn’t look like I’ll ever have them.”

  “Oh, I wouldn’t say that,” Grandpa said. “If things go right, you could be riding and shooting before you know it.”

  “Aw, Grandpa,” I said, feeling sorry for myself, “how am I ever going to get enough money to buy a pony and a .22?”

  “By catching those monkeys,” Grandpa said, “that’s how you’re going to get it. They’re worth a lot of money.”

  “You mean their skins, Grandpa!” I said. “Are monkey skins worth anything?”

  “No! No!” Grandpa said. “Don’t even think about skinning them. No, sir, that’s the last thing in the world you want to do. They’ll have to be taken alive, and not harmed in any way.”

  “Taken alive!” I said. “Why, Grandpa, how in the world am I going to do that? I don’t know anything about catching monkeys. I’ve caught coons and possums and skunks and everything else, but not monkeys.”

  Sticking out his chin, Grandpa said, “Well, I’m no expert monkey catcher either, but we’re going to catch them just the same. There’s a big reward being offered for those monkeys.”

  When I heard Grandpa mention the reward, I flew completely out of gear.

  “Reward!” I said, jumping down from the counter. “How much is it?”

  “Now, wait a minute,” Grandpa said, holding up his hand, “and don’t rush me.”

  He paused before going on.

  “About a week ago, two men stopped here at the store,” he said. “Those fellows belonged to a circus train that was wrecked over on the railroad. From what they told me, it must have been a pretty bad wreck. One of the cars jumped the track and busted wide open. There were some valuable monkeys in that car, and a lot of them got away.”

  Grandpa caught his breath, and said, “A few of the little fellows were killed in the wreck, but not many. The ones that lived were scared to death and they took off through the hills. Now that circus was just coming out of winter quarters, and had a pretty tight schedule laid out for the season. They didn’t have much time between stops, but the crew did manage to lay over for a few days. They caught all but about thirty of the monkeys; and I’m pretty sure those were the ones you and Rowdy ran into.”

  “Grandpa,” I said, “if those monkeys are the ones that got away from the circus train, how do you suppose they got way over here? It’s eight miles from our place over to the railroad.”

  “I’ve been thinking about that,” Grandpa said. “You know, this time of the year it’s hot and dry in the hills. I expect that the monkeys were having a tough time finding food and water. Now all animals have an instinct that tells them where they can find food and water. Those monkeys probably just kept going until they wound up over here in these Cherokee bottoms. There’s food of all kinds for them over here—wild grapes, berries, nuts, acorns, roots, and all kinds of green stuff.”

  “I’ll bet you’re right, Grandpa,” I said.

  Rubbing his hands together and looking as pleased as a fox in a henhouse, Grandpa said, “Just wait until you hear about the reward. All of those monkeys but one are worth two dollars apiece. How does that sound to you?”

  “Two dollars apiece!” I cried. “Boy, Grandpa, that’s a lot of money. How come they’re offering such a big reward for a bunch of little old monkeys?”

  “They’re not just little old monkeys,” Grandpa said. “They’ve been trained for acts in the circus; that’s why they’re so valuable. It takes a long time to train a monkey, but you haven’t heard the half of it yet. You’re overlooking something very important.”

  “Overlooking something?” I said. “What am I overlooking, Grandpa?”

  As if he were put out with me, Grandpa snorted and said, “Well, use your head and think a little. Remember everything I told you about those monkeys and do a little figuring.”

  Grandpa knew that I wasn’t too good with figures, and he was all the time making up some kind of an old arithmetic problem for me to work on. It always made me feel bad when he did this because I never intended to be anything but a hunter or an explorer; and I couldn’t see where arithmetic had anything to do with that.

  “Grandpa,” I said, “with all of this talk about monkeys and money, I can’t even see good; much less do any thinking. What is it that I’m overlooking?”

  Grandpa snorted like Sally Gooden did when she had seen a booger.

  “That last monkey,” he said. “I told you they were offering a two dollar reward for all of the monkeys, but one.”

  “Oh,” I said, looking sheepish. “I forgot all about that monkey. Why is it so important?”

  “Important!” Grandpa said. “That’s the most important monkey of the whole works. He’s worth his weight in gold. They’re offering a hundred dollar reward for him.”

  When I heard Grandpa mention that hundred dollar reward, I lost my breath completely. My throat got as dry as the ashes under Mama’s old washpot, and I had a heck of a time swallowing.

  I finally got hold of myself and said in a loud whisper, “A hundred dollars for one monkey! Suffering cornmeal Johnnie! Grandpa, that must be some monkey!”

  Grandpa chuckled and said, “From what those fellows said, that monkey is so smart he’s almost human. He’s different than the other monkeys. Let’s see now, what kind of a monkey did that fellow say he was? Oh, yes, he’s a chimpanzee, or something like that. Anyhow, they’re offering a hundred dollar reward for him.”

  I couldn’t get over it.

  “A hundred dollars!” I exclaimed. “A hundred dollars for one monkey! Why, if I could catch all of them, I’d have more money than the United States bank has in it.”

  “Just about,” Grandpa said, chuckling. “And I think we’d better keep this monkey business to ourselves. If word gets out, every farmer in these hills will quit farming and start hunting monkeys. We can’t have that at all.”

  “We sure can’t,” I agreed. “I won’t say a word to anybody. This is the first time in my life that I’ve had a chance to earn any money; but what’s bothering me is catching those monkeys. How am I going to do that?”

  “Right now I don’t know,” Grandpa said, “but we’re going to catch them just the same. There never was an animal that couldn’t be caught. All we have to do is figure out a way.”

  Grandpa put his thinking cap on and started mumbling and grumbling. I couldn’t understand one word he was saying.

  It always tickled me when Grandpa got something heavy like that on his mind. He did all sorts of things. Sometimes he’d start walking up and back, then again he might start shuffling around in a little circle. He had a habit of pulling at the lobe of his right ear, rubbing his nose, or digging at the wiry whiskers on his chin.

  I had learned a long time ago that when my grandpa had his thinking cap on, the best thing for me to do was to be patient, and above all, not to say anything. So I just stood there with monkeys, dollars, ponies, and .22s running around in my head, and waited while Grandpa cut all kinds of didos.

  I could almost feel the idea when it hit Grandpa. Looking very pleased with himself, he smiled and said, “I think I’ve got it figured out. You know you can always figure things out if you use your head a little bit.”

  I didn’t like the way Grandpa looked at me when he said “use your head a little bit” but I didn’t say anything.

  Walking over to the hardware part of the
store, Grandpa picked up six small steel traps and a piece of baling wire.

  Coming back, he looked at me and said, “I’ve got some old meal sacks in the storeroom. Go back there and get one of them.”

  I flew to the storeroom and got the sack, wondering what in the world Grandpa was going to do. Spreading the sack out on the counter, Grandpa took a pair of scissors and started cutting long strips, about two inches wide, from the soft material. Taking one of the traps, he mashed the spring down with his hands.

  “Now take that wire and wrap it around the spring, good and tight, so it’ll hold the spring down,” he said.

  Taking the wire in both hands, I started wrapping the spring as Grandpa had told me. I was so excited and nervous I couldn’t do anything right. Once I almost wrapped one of Grandpa’s fingers to the spring.

  “Take it easy,” Grandpa barked. “I don’t want my fingers cut off with that wire. We’ve got plenty of time. Those monkeys won’t run away.”

  “I’m sorry, Grandpa,” I said, rubbing his work-callused finger with my hand. “Thinking about all those monkeys, and all that money, has got me so worked up I can’t do anything right. Why, if I could catch all of them, I’d have more money than that Rockerfellow man.”

  Grandpa laughed and said, “I don’t know about that. I understand he has an awful lot of money.”

  Once the spring was securely wired, the jaws of the trap were free and useless. Taking one of the cloth strips, Grandpa started wrapping the jaws.

  I saw right away what his idea was. With all that soft padding on the jaws of the trap, it probably wouldn’t hurt a monkey’s paw at all.

  Just to let Grandpa know that I was using my head a little bit, I said, “Boy, Grandpa, that sure is a good idea. Why, with the jaws of the trap wrapped like that, a monkey wouldn’t even know it was on his foot.”

  “I think he’d know it was on his foot all right,” Grandpa said, “but once he gets in it, I don’t think there’s much he can do about it.”

  After the jaws of the trap had been wrapped, Grandpa unwound the wire from the spring and released it.

  Holding the trap in his hands and inspecting his work, he grunted and said, “It looks like a pretty good job to me. What do you think about it?”

  “It looks all right to me, Grandpa,” I said. “I don’t see how it could ever hurt a monkey’s foot.”

  Laying the trap down on the floor, Grandpa mashed the spring down with his foot and set the trigger.

  Stepping back, he stood for several seconds looking at it; then he grinned and said, “Just to be sure that it won’t hurt a monkey’s paw, I think it should be tested out, don’t you?”

  “Tested out?” I said. “How are we going to do that, Grandpa?”

  With a twinkle in his eyes and a silly little grin on his face, Grandpa said, “The only way I can think of is for you to poke your finger in it.”

  I didn’t even answer Grandpa. I didn’t have to. My actions spoke for me. Closing both hands, I put them behind me and stepped back.

  Grandpa grunted and said, “What’s the matter? Don’t you think I know what I’m doing?”

  “Sure, Grandpa,” I said, “I think you know what you’re doing all right; but I had my finger in a trap once, and believe me, it hurt. Why couldn’t we just poke a stick in it?”

  “No,” Grandpa said, eying the trap and rubbing his nose, “it wouldn’t do any good to poke a stick in it. We wouldn’t know any more then than we do now.”

  For several seconds we both stood there in silence, looking at the trap. Rowdy knew that something was going on and got curious. He eased over and took a look at the trap himself. One look was all he wanted. He started backing up like a crawdad. Then, sticking his tail between his legs, he disappeared behind some boxes.

  I couldn’t help smiling at Old Rowdy’s actions. He had gotten a paw in a trap once, and had never forgotten it.

  Grandpa broke the silence by saying, “Well, we’re not getting anywhere just standing here. It still has to be tested out. Now I’m going to poke my finger in it, but if that thing hurts, you might have to help me get it off my finger. Do you understand?”

  I nodded my head to let him know that I understood, but I didn’t like it at all.

  “Well, here goes,” Grandpa said.

  Closing both eyes, he reached over and tripped the trigger with his finger. The trap snapped and Grandpa jumped. I closed both eyes and gritted my teeth. I didn’t open my eyes again until I heard Grandpa chuckling.

  “That’s just about the best monkey-catching trap I’ve ever seen,” he said. “It didn’t hurt a bit. I hardly felt it.”

  All excited, I helped Grandpa get the trap off his finger. Then, working together, we wrapped the jaws of the other five traps.

  Handing the traps to me, Grandpa said, “Well, it looks like you’re in the monkey-catching business. Let me know how you come out.”

  I told him I would, and thanked him with all my heart for helping me.

  Calling to Rowdy, I started for home.

  Just as I reached the door, Grandpa said, “Hey, are you sure your mother didn’t want something from the store?”

  My heart almost stopped beating.

  Digging Mama’s list from my pocket, I said, “Boy, Grandpa, I sure am glad you reminded me. If I had gone home without the things Mama wanted, she’d have made me wear a girl’s bonnet for a week. That’s what she usually does when I forget something.”

  Taking the list, Grandpa smiled and said, “Well, that’s what grandpas are for, isn’t it; to look out for boys?”

  I didn’t say anything—I didn’t have to—my old grandpa knew how I felt about him.

  While Grandpa was putting the things Mama wanted into a gunny sack, I thought of something.

  “Grandpa,” I asked, “where am I going to set my traps?”

  “I believe I’d go right back to where you saw the monkey,” he said. “If they’re not in that bur oak tree, they’re around there somewhere. Rowdy will find them.”

  On hearing Grandpa say his name, Rowdy whined and his tail started fanning the air.

  Grandpa looked at him, grinned, and said, “Say that again, pardner, I didn’t understand you. Do you want something?”

  Rowdy really told Grandpa that he wanted something. His deep voice made the tin cans dance on the shelves.

  Grandpa grunted, and walked to the rear of the store. When he came back, he had a meat rind in his hand.

  Handing it to Rowdy, he smiled and said, “Here you are, old fellow. That’ll be one monkey you owe me.”

  Rowdy pranced out of the store, looking as proud as he did when he had treed a possum.

  “Grandpa,” I asked, “do you think I should use bait when I set my traps?”

  “Bait?” Grandpa said. “Now, I hadn’t thought of that. Yes, I believe I would.”

  “I don’t know what monkeys like to eat,” I said. “What kind of bait would you use?”

  “Well, let’s see,” Grandpa said. “I’m not much of an authority on monkeys, but I think I’ve read where they’ll eat most anything. Do you have any apples?”

  “We have a whole barrel of apples,” I said. “Papa got them from an Arkansas peddler.”

  “Fine,” Grandpa said. “Just set your traps in the dirt at the foot of the tree, and hang an apple above each one. I think that’ll do the job.”

  Just before Grandpa handed me Mama’s groceries, I saw him slip something into the sack. I let on like I hadn’t seen this because I knew what it was. It was a sack of candy for Daisy and me; and was one item that would never find its way to Papa’s bill.

  “Here you are,” Grandpa said, handing me the groceries. “The next time you’re up this way I hope to see a sack full of monkeys.”

  Putting my traps in the gunny sack, I said, “You will, Grandpa, and one of them will be that hundred dollar monkey. He’s the jasper I want to catch.”

  three

  On my way home, I whistled and sang. I was so happy I
made up a little song. It went something like this:

  “There are monkeys in the bottoms

  In those tall white sycamores.

  There are monkeys in the bottoms,

  Worth a million or more.

  “So come along, Old Rowdy,

  And let’s get on the trail

  Of a hundred dollar monkey.

  We’ll catch him by the tail.”

  Rowdy didn’t seem to like my singing at all. He wouldn’t even look at me. He just jogged along with his head down as if I wasn’t even there.

  I was the happiest boy in those Ozark hills; and I figured I was pretty close to being the richest boy, too. All I had to do was catch those monkeys. Right then that didn’t seem like any chore at all.

  Several times I stopped and tried to do a little arithmetic in the dust of the country road. Smoothing out a place with my hand, and using my finger as a pencil, I tried hard to figure out how much money the monkeys were worth. I didn’t have too much trouble adding up a column of two dollar monkeys. It was that hundred dollar monkey I had trouble with. Every time I added him to the pot, something went wrong. I’d get so rich and excited I couldn’t figure anything right.

  Rowdy didn’t help the situation in the least. He couldn’t understand what I was doing down on my knees in the middle of the road, fiddling around in the dust. He would get curious and come sniffing around to see what was going on. All he did was walk around in my figures and mess things up until I couldn’t tell what the monkeys were worth. I finally gave up and decided I’d let Daisy figure it out for me. She was good with arithmetic.

  The road from Grandpa’s store ran by our farm. As I came walking along, singing my head off, Papa called to me from the field where he was planting corn. I climbed the rail fence and walked over to him.

  Papa smiled and said, “Say, it looks like you were right about those monkeys. Right after you left for the store, I went to get Sally Gooden, and I think I saw a monkey in every sycamore tree down there. I can’t understand it. As far as I know, we’ve never had any wild monkeys around here.”