Summer of the Monkeys

by Wilson Rawls

  As I walked up, Papa frowned and said, “What were you running from, Jay Berry? And look at your clothes. Why, they’re torn all to pieces. What happened anyway?”

  I couldn’t even look at Papa.

  Poking a finger in one of the holes in my britches, I said, “I was running from those monkeys, Papa. I guess I got hung up in the bushes and tore my clothes a little.”

  “Running from the monkeys?” Papa said. “Were they after you?”

  “I think they were, Papa,” I said. “I didn’t look back to see if they were chasing me, but I’m pretty sure they were after me all right.”

  “Aw,” Papa said, chuckling, “monkeys aren’t dangerous. You probably just thought they were chasing you.”

  “I don’t know, Papa,” I said. “I wouldn’t put anything past those monkeys. They’re the smartest things I’ve ever seen. They sure made a fool out of me.”

  “Made a fool out of you?” Papa said. “How did they do that?”

  “The little devils stole everything I had,” I said, “my traps, my gunny sack, apples, lunch, and all. I guess they’ve even got my beanshooter by now. When I ran off, I dropped it, too.”

  “I was afraid something like this was going to happen,” Papa said. “I think I’ve read where monkeys can be pretty smart; especially, if they’ve been trained.”

  “It’s not the little monkeys, Papa,” I said. “They don’t seem to have any sense at all. I believe I could catch every one of them. It’s that hundred dollar monkey that I’m having trouble with.”

  “I thought all monkeys looked alike,” Papa said. “How can you tell that hundred dollar monkey from the others?”

  “Oh, that’s easy, Papa,” I said. “He doesn’t even look like the little monkeys. He’s much bigger, and looks just like a little boy when he’s standing up; and is he ever smart. I don’t believe anyone could catch him in a trap.”

  “If he’s that smart,” Papa laughed, “301 why don’t you just forget about catching him, and try to catch the little ones? If you could catch all of them, you’d still have a lot of money.”

  “It’s not that simple, Papa,” I said. “That big monkey is the leader of the pack. He tells the little monkeys what to do, and they mind him. He won’t let one of them get close to a trap.”

  Papa frowned and looked at me like he couldn’t believe what I had said.

  “Are you trying to tell me that those monkeys can talk to each other?” he asked.

  “They sure can,” I said. “As sure as I’m standing here, they can talk to each other. Why, that big monkey even laughed at me. He can turn flips and somersaults, and do things that you wouldn’t believe he could do.”

  “Aw, Jay Berry,” Papa said, “you’re just imagining things. Monkeys can’t talk to each other. Whatever gave you that idea anyway?”

  It was getting harder and harder to explain things to Papa. It seemed that the more I talked, the crazier everything sounded; but I wanted him to believe me, so there wasn’t but one thing I could do. Starting at the very beginning, I told him everything that had happened, from my first go-around with the monkeys until I had sailed over the rail fence.

  Papa listened to me, but I could see a lot of doubt in his eyes. He just stood there with a frown on his face, looking at me, and then at Rowdy. Now and then he would turn and stare off toward the bottoms. Finally, as if he had made up his mind about something, he shook his head, pursed his lips, and blew out a lot of air.

  Taking the check lines from his shoulders, he wrapped them around the handles of the corn planter and said, “Well, corn or no corn, I’d like to see an animal that’s as smart as all of that. Come on. Let’s go and have a look at this educated monkey.”

  If I had found a pony and a .22 lying in the middle of the road, I wouldn’t have been more pleased. As long as my papa was with me, I wouldn’t have been scared of the devil himself if he’d had horns on both ends. Besides, Papa was as stout as a grizzly bear, and I just knew that if he ever got his hands on that big monkey we would sack him up.

  Just as we entered the thick timber of the bottoms, Papa reached down and picked up a club. “I don’t think those monkeys will jump on us,” he said, “but just in case they do, I think I’ll be ready for them.”

  “That’s a good idea, Papa,” I said. “I think I’ll get one, too.” I walked over to an old high-water drift and picked up a club twice as big as the one Papa had.

  Papa laughed and said, “What are you going to do with that? Stick it in the ground and climb it in case that big monkey gets after us?”

  “That wouldn’t do any good, Papa,” I said. “It wouldn’t do any good to climb anything. Those monkeys can climb better than squirrels can. You ought to see how fast they can get around in the timber.”

  When we reached the sycamore where I had last seen the monkeys, I got another surprise. My gunny sack was gone again. We walked all around the big tree and really looked it over. There wasn’t a monkey or a gunny sack in it.

  “Are you sure this is the tree?” Papa asked.

  “Oh, I know it’s the tree, Papa,” I said. “See that limb way up there? That’s where my gunny sack and traps were. Now they’re gone. I guess that big monkey took them with him.”

  “Oh, I don’t think he could do anything like that,” Papa said, “but if he did, he couldn’t get very far carrying a sack with steel traps in it. Come on, let’s look around a little.”

  Papa didn’t know that hundred dollar monkey like I did, or he wouldn’t have said anything like that. I was pretty well convinced that the big monkey could do anything a human being could do.

  We walked all around through the bottoms, looking up into the trees for a monkey. We looked and we looked. Even Old Rowdy looked and sniffed, but we didn’t see hair nor hide of a monkey.

  About thirty minutes later, Papa wiped the sweat from his brow and said, “It looks like those monkeys flew the coop, doesn’t it?”

  “They’re around here somewhere, Papa,” I said. “I know they are. I’ll bet right now they’re watching every move we make. They’re smart, I tell you. They’re the smartest things you’ve ever seen.”

  “Maybe if we made some noise it would stir them up a little,” Papa said. “It’s worth a try anyway. You go over there and beat on that old hollow snag with your club, and I’ll do some whooping.”

  I walked over to the snag, spit on my hands, and started whacking away with my club. It sounded like a war drum. Papa started whooping. Rowdy didn’t know what was going on, but figured that as long as we were making some noise, he might as well make some, too. He started bawling for all he was worth.

  We made enough racket to scare the hoot owls out of the bottoms, but we sure didn’t stir up any monkeys. We listened and listened, but all we could hear was the droning tones of the noise we had made die away in the thick timber.

  “Well,” Papa said, looking at me, “it sure looks like those monkeys have left the country. What are you going to do now?”

  “There’s not but one thing I can do, Papa,” I said. “I’ll just have to go and have another talk with Grandpa. Maybe he can tell me what to do. I still believe those monkeys are around here somewhere.”

  “That’s not a bad idea,” Papa said. “If I know your grandpa, he’s not going to let a bunch of monkeys get the best of him—not your grandpa.”

  All the way back to Papa’s corn planter I was feeling terrible. What if those monkeys had left the country. There just wouldn’t be any pony or a .22, and that’s all there was to it.

  Papa must have realized how I felt. “I wouldn’t feel too bad about this if I were you,” Papa said. “If you think those monkeys are still around here, I don’t think you have anything to worry about. I’m pretty sure that your grandpa will come up with something.”

  “I sure hope he does, Papa,” I said. “It makes me sick to think how close I came to making all of that money and then to wind up without a nickel. If it hadn’t been for that smart-aleck monkey, I would
probably be worth a million dollars by now.”

  Papa laughed and said, “I’ll tell you what I’ll do. If you haven’t located those monkeys by the time I get this field planted, I’ll take a couple of days off and we’ll both look for them. I’d still like to see that smart monkey.”

  When Papa said that, it was just like lighting the lamps in a dark room for me. I began to feel better and everything started looking good again.

  Just as Papa unwrapped the check lines from the handles of the corn planter, he said, “As long as you’re going to the store, I think you should tell your mother where you’re going. She won’t worry so much if she knows you’re not down in the bottoms.”

  “Yes, sir,” I said, and started for the house.

  I didn’t think I’d have to do any explaining to Mama and Daisy about my monkey trouble, but I should have known better. After all, they were women folks.

  They were both sitting out on the well curb, shelling early peas, when Rowdy and I came walking up. Mama looked at me, dropped the peas she had in her hand, and you would have thought that it was the first time in her life that she had ever laid eyes on me.

  “For heaven’s sake, Jay Berry!” Mama exclaimed. “What on earth happened? How did your clothes get torn like that?”

  “Why nothing happened, Mama,” I said, trying to look as surprised as she was. “I was just running and got my clothes hung up in the bushes and tore them—that’s all.”

  Before Mama could say anything else, Daisy had to put in her nickel’s worth. She giggled and said, “Jay Berry, you look just like my old rag doll did the time Rowdy got hold of her.”

  It had been a terrible day for me. To have a monkey laugh at me was bad enough; but to have a girl laugh at me, even though it was my little sister, was a little too much.

  “Mama,” I wailed, “you’d better make her stop giggling like that. It’s not funny.”

  Mama was so interested in my torn clothes she ignored my plea altogether.

  “Jay Berry, why were you running?” she asked. “Was something after you?”

  I decided right then that if I could get out of it, I wouldn’t tell Mama everything that had happened down in the bottoms. I was afraid she might put a stop to my monkey hunting, and that was the last thing in the world I wanted.

  “Aw, Mama,” I said, “what makes you think something was after me. You’re all the time thinking things like that. Every time I go to the bottoms you think something’s going to eat me up. You don’t see any blood on me, do you?”

  The scared look vanished from Mama’s face, and everything would have been all right if it hadn’t been for Daisy. She just couldn’t leave well enough alone.

  “Did you catch any monkeys, Jay Berry?” Daisy asked.

  “No,” I growled, glaring at her. “I didn’t catch any monkeys. But I’m going to.”

  “Where are your traps and gunny sack?” Daisy asked.

  Boy! Boy! Boy! I loved my little sister very much, but she sure could ask some silly questions. I decided that I’d act like I didn’t even hear what she had asked me.

  “Mama,” I said, “it looks like I can’t catch those monkeys with traps so I’m going back to the store and have another talk with Grandpa. Maybe he can tell me another way I can catch them. Do you need anything from the store?”

  “No,” Mama said. “I don’t need anything today, but what did happen to your gunny sack and traps? Did you lose them?”

  I never did lie to my mama, but right then I sure wanted to tell her one, but I didn’t.

  “The monkeys got away with them,” I said as if it were something that didn’t amount to anything. “Well, I’d better be on my way to the store. I’d like to get back before dark.”

  Daisy didn’t give me a chance to get started to the store. She popped up and said, “Did you say the monkeys got away with your traps and gunny sack, Jay Berry? How did they do that?”

  “They stole them,” I said, almost shouting. “That’s how they did it. They stole everything I had. Now are you satisfied?”

  Daisy laughed so loud it scared our old hens and they all started cackling. She grabbed up her crutch and headed for the house, squealing with laughter.

  “Now, Mama,” I cried, “there she goes again, and you won’t say a word to her. You better make her stop. If I laughed at her, you’d jump all over me.”

  “Jay Berry,” Mama said, looking at me real hard, “I think you’d better go on to the store before you get into it; but first you go in the house and change clothes. I wouldn’t want people to see you looking like that. They’d think we were starving to death.”

  “Aw, Mama,” I said, “people aren’t going to think we’re starving to death just because I have a few holes in my britches. Every boy in the hills tears holes in his britches.”

  “Now look, young man,” Mama said, “I’m in no mood for an argument. If you want to go to the store, you’d better change your clothes, or you’re not going.”

  Grumbling to myself, I went in the house and changed my clothes.

  Grandpa was sitting on the porch of the store when Rowdy and I came walking up the road. He was just sitting there in his old rocking chair, with a fly swatter in his hand, looking off across the country.

  As I walked up, Grandpa peered at me over the tops of his glasses and smiled. “You can take those monkeys out to the barn and put them in the corn crib,” he said. “They’ll be safe there.”

  I grinned a little, but I didn’t want to.

  “Aw, Grandpa,” I said, as I sat down beside him, “you know I don’t have any monkeys. I didn’t catch a one.”

  “Didn’t catch any!” Grandpa said, trying to look surprised. “Why, I figured that you’d have a sack full of monkeys by now. What happened? Couldn’t you find them?”

  “Oh, I found them all right,” I said. “It’s just like you figured it was. The bottoms are full of monkeys. All kinds of monkeys.”

  “That’s fine,” Grandpa said. “That’s what I wanted to hear. Did you see that hundred dollar monkey?”

  “See him!” I said. “I’ll say I saw him. I saw so much of that monkey I don’t care if I never lay eyes on him again. He’s the smartest thing that ever climbed a tree. I believe he’s smarter than the President.”

  Grandpa laughed and said, “Oh, I don’t think he’s that smart, is he? For the good of the country, I hope he isn’t. What happened anyway?”

  Taking a deep breath, I told Grandpa everything that had happened down in the bottoms. I didn’t leave out a thing.

  Grandpa started fidgeting in his chair like something was biting him. He jerked out his old red handkerchief and made a big to-do about blowing his nose. I couldn’t see very much of his face for the handkerchief, but what little I could see was as red as a busted watermelon. Grandpa was having a hard time holding back a good laugh. It always made me feel good to see my grandpa laugh because he laughed all over. But right then, I wouldn’t have enjoyed hearing Santa Claus laugh. I was miserable.

  Grandpa finally got hold of himself and said, “I figured that monkey was smart, but I didn’t think he was that smart.”

  “I didn’t either, Grandpa,” I said. “It’s a cinch that I’ll never catch him in a trap; and as long as he’s around, it doesn’t look like I’ll be able to catch any of the little monkeys either. I don’t know what to do now.”

  Grandpa got that serious look in his eyes. “You know, it’s always a good idea to have more than one iron in the fire,” he said. “You watch the store for a few minutes. I’ll be right back.”

  “Do you have another plan, Grandpa?” I asked.

  “Sure, I have another plan,” Grandpa said. “That’s what grandpas are for, isn’t it? Don’t worry about catching those monkeys. Before you know it, we’ll have every one of them in the sack.”

  Grandpa was the best boy perker-upper in the world. The way he was talking had me feeling like I was already sitting in the saddle and shooting at everything that moved. I watched Gran
dpa shuffle off toward the barn and disappear inside. He wasn’t gone long before I saw him coming back, carrying the oddest-looking outfit I’d ever laid eyes on. It was a long pole with a net on one end.

  As Grandpa walked up, I said, “Grandpa, what in the world is that thing?”

  Hefting the long pole in his hand, Grandpa chuckled and said, “To be truthful, I don’t know what it is. I don’t think it has a name. I guess right now is as good a time as any to give it a name. Let’s just call it a monkey-catching net.”

  “A monkey-catching net!” I said, big-eyed. “Aw, Grandpa, you couldn’t catch a monkey with that thing, could you?”

  “Well,” Grandpa said, still chuckling, “you’ll have to admit one thing, if you ever got a monkey in this outfit, he would sure be a caught monkey.”

  On taking a closer look at the odd contraption, I could see that the pole part had eyes on it like the guides on a fishing rod, and two strings ran down from the loop of the net through the eyelets almost to the end of the pole. On the end of each string was a good-size celluloid ring—one was blue and the other was yellow.

  “Grandpa,” I said, “what are all of those strings and rings for?”

  “That’s what works the outfit,” Grandpa said. “Watch now.”

  Poking the pole out in front of him, Grandpa pulled the yellow ring and the net opened. “Now let’s say there’s a monkey out there and you want to catch him,” he said, making a long swipe at an imaginary monkey. “Now he’s in the net. Watch closely. Here comes the good part.”

  He pulled the blue ring and the net closed.

  “See how it works,” he said. “What do you think of it?”

  Once I had seen how the net worked, I was so pleased I couldn’t say a word. I just stood there staring at that wonderful monkey-catching net.

  “Well,” Grandpa said, rather impatiently, “what do you think of it?”

  “I think it’s a dandy, Grandpa,” I said. “That’s the slickest working thing I’ve ever seen. You’re right. If I ever get a monkey in it, he would sure be a caught monkey, wouldn’t he?”