Summer of the Monkeys

by Wilson Rawls

  Just then Grandma came out on the porch of the house.

  “Jay Berry,” she hollered, “is that the pony you’re going to buy?”

  “It sure is, Grandma,” I hollered back. “What do you think of her?”

  “She’s a beauty,” Grandma said, “but I thought I saw her limping.”

  “She has a cut on her leg,” I said. “Grandpa says it’ll be all right in a few weeks.”

  “You let your little sister doctor that crippled leg,” Grandma said. “She’ll have her well in no time.”

  Before I could say anything, Grandpa said, “By golly, your grandma’s right. Daisy probably knows more about crippled legs than anyone in these hills. She’s been walking around on one all of her life.”

  “If I know Daisy,” I said, “I won’t have to ask her to doctor my pony’s leg. She’ll put on that Red Cross uniform and take over. She always does.”

  “Maybe I should have another look at that leg,” Grandpa said.

  He came over, knelt down, and fingered the cut with his gentle old hands. Clicking his tongue and shaking his head, he said, “That is a nasty cut but the tendon hasn’t been hurt at all. I hate to see anything crippled like that. It’s pitiful.”

  On hearing a rumbling noise, I looked down the road and saw a wagon coming. There were five Cherokee Indians in it.

  “Grandpa,” I said, “it looks like you have some people coming to the store.”

  Grandpa stood up, looked down the road, and said, “That’s John Comingdeer and his family.”

  Then Grandpa turned to me and said, “Maybe you should go home and think more about buying this pony. Talk it over with your mother and father, and your sister. You might want to change your mind.”

  I could hardly believe what Grandpa was saying.

  “Change my mind!” I said. “Oh, no, Grandpa, I wouldn’t ever do that. I want this little mare more than anything. I won’t ever change my mind about that.”

  “I know how much you want that pony,” he said. “I went through the same thing when I was a boy. But sometimes a fellow can want something so bad he will overlook things that are more important. When that happens it can really hurt a fellow. I know. I’ve had it happen to me.”

  Knowing my old grandpa as I did, I had the feeling that he was trying to tell me something but I couldn’t figure out what it was. He knew how much I wanted a pony and a .22.

  “Grandpa,” I said, “I couldn’t be overlooking anything. Owning my own pony and a .22 are the most important things in my life. That’s all I’ve ever wanted. I don’t want anything else.”

  “All right,” Grandpa said. “I guess your mind is made up. If a pony is what you want, a pony is what you’ll have. You’ve earned that right. I won’t say any more.”

  Just then the wagon pulled up in front of the store and the Indians started getting out of it.

  “Oh, yeah,” Grandpa said, “I almost forgot. You’ll need a saddle. I know a fellow down the river has a good used one he wants to sell. I think we can get a pretty good buy on it.”

  “I’ll take it,” I said before I thought. “That is, if I have enough money. If I have to, I can do without that .22 for a while.”

  “You won’t have to do without anything,” Grandpa said. “You have a hundred and fifty-six dollars, don’t you? That’s more than enough to get the pony, saddle, and gun.”

  “Grandpa, I gave Daisy six dollars,” I said. “I just had to. She’s always doing things for me. She even fed the monkeys for me.”

  “That’s all right,” Grandpa said. “You still have enough, and you should have some left over.”

  I ran my hand down in my pocket, pulled out my money, and handed it to Grandpa.

  “Grandpa,” I said, “will you take care of my money, and pay Indian Tom for the pony? If I have any left after I buy that saddle and gun, I’ll give it to Mama.”

  “I’ll take care of it,” he said. “Don’t worry about a thing.”

  I was untying the halter rope from the hitching rail when Grandpa said, “On your way home, I’d take it easy with that mare. Don’t walk her too fast. In a few weeks, you’ll have one of the finest little ponies in these hills.”

  “Grandpa,” I said, “without you, I don’t know what I’d do. I really don’t. You’re always helping me.”

  Grandpa grinned. “That’s what grandpas are for, isn’t it?” he said.

  I thanked Grandpa and, with my heart singing, I started for home.

  As I walked along the country road leading my pony, no boy on earth could have been happier. All my dreams had finally come true. I had my own pony.

  I couldn’t remember a day when the sky looked so clear and blue, or the sunshine so bright. Every bush seemed to have a bird singing its head off. From down in the bottoms I heard the shrill call of a bobwhite and the clammering cry of a kingfisher in flight.

  At the top of an old dead tree close to the road, a mockingbird started singing. I stopped to listen. He mocked every bird in the Ozark hills; from a redheaded woodpecker to a screaming blue jay.

  On that walk, my old hound wouldn’t get a foot from my side. He never had done that before. About every ten feet, I would feel his warm tongue lick my hand. He acted like he was jealous of the little mare.

  I stopped, knelt down, and put my arm around him. “Aw, Rowdy,” I said, “you don’t have to be jealous of my pony. I’ll always love you. You know that. Why, I couldn’t live without you.”

  Rowdy was so pleased he went all to pieces. He started running circles around us. He found an old corn cob lying by the side of the road and started playing with it. Holding it in his mouth and slinging his head, he bounded down the road. He dropped the corn cob in the middle of the road and started to growl and dig at it.

  I laughed out loud at his playful actions.

  As I walked along, I decided I’d try something. I threw the halter rope over my pony’s neck and kept walking without looking back. I hadn’t gone twenty feet when I heard the clopping of her hoofs. She was following me. I was so proud of her my old heart came close to jumping right through the bib of my overalls.

  As I neared our farm, I saw Papa plowing way down in one of our fields. He stopped his team, jerked his battered old hat from his head, and waved it at me. I waved back—feeling as proud as I ever had in my life.

  About fifty yards from our house, I stopped. With my fingers, I combed my pony’s mane and straightened out the long hair in her beautiful tail. I rubbed the dust from her coat with my handkerchief. I wanted her to look pretty before Mama and Daisy saw her.

  Just as I took hold of the halter rope to be on my way again, I heard Daisy humming. She was in her playhouse up on the hillside.

  I wasn’t too surprised when she started singing. I stopped and listened. She was singing my favorite song—a song I had heard my mother sing many, many times, “The Old Master Painter from the Far Away Hills.”

  As I stood there listening to her clear voice ring out over the valley, I happened to glance down to the raw, red wound in my pony’s leg. Like a bolt of lightning, it hit me. I knew then what my old grandpa had been trying to tell me.

  I was so shook up, I dropped the halter rope. Closing my eyes and shaking my head, I said, “Oh, Grandpa, how could I have been so dumb? Dear God, how could I have been so stupid?”

  In a daze, I stumbled to the side of the road. I sat down on a rock and buried my face in my arms. I remembered everything my old grandpa had said; from the time I got to the store until I left.

  “Don’t be in too big a hurry about buying this pony. Talk it over with your mother and father. Be sure of what you are doing. I don’t want you to do something you’ll be sorry for later on.”

  Rowdy must have sensed that something was wrong. He came to me and tried to push his head up under my arms so he could lick my face. I put my arms around him.

  In a voice choked with emotion, I said, “Rowdy, I can’t buy this pony. I just can’t. If I did buy her, I could never ride h
er. Every time I got on her back, I’d think of my little sister and that old crippled leg of hers. That’s what Grandpa was trying to tell me. He wanted me to give the money to her so she could go to the hospital and get it straightened out. How could I have been so dumb? I guess I just couldn’t think of anything but the pony.”

  I got up, took the halter rope in my hand, and started back to the store.

  I saw Papa stop his plowing. He didn’t wave his hat at me that time. He just stood with his hands on the plow handles, watching me as I walked back up the road.

  That was a long, long walk for me. The longest walk I had ever taken in my life. I didn’t see any blue sky or hear any birds singing. My mind was numb. I couldn’t think. I felt like I was lost in deep, dark timber and didn’t know which way to go or what to do.

  As I came in sight of the store, I saw my old grandpa sitting in his rocker on the porch. As usual, he was just sitting there looking off across the country; with a fly swatter in his hand and rocking away.

  With my head bowed, and not even looking at him, I walked by within ten feet of him. He never said a word. I didn’t either.

  When I heard the squeaking of his old rocker stop, I knew he was watching me. I opened the gate, led my little mare into the barn lot, and took the halter from her head.

  With tears in my eyes, I patted her on the neck and said, “Good-bye, little girl. I guess we can’t have everything we’d like to have. We have to give up a few things now and then. I’ll never forget you, and I’ll always love you.”

  I was hanging the halter on the gate post when something way down inside me busted wide open. Placing my hands on the post, I buried my face in my arms and cried.

  If tear drops could have made a fence post sprout roots and grow, that post would have grown twenty feet tall.

  After I had had a good cry, I felt a little better—but not very much. With my handkerchief, I dried my face the best I could, walked over, and sat down on the porch by my grandpa.

  He was just sitting there with a pleased look on his friendly old face; rocking away. Neither of us said a word.

  I thought that the slow squeaking of Grandpa’s old rocker was going to make me bawl again. It would have, too, if Grandpa hadn’t started talking.

  He coughed and squirmed around in his chair. In a low, soft voice, he said, “What’s the matter? Have you changed your mind? You going to take the roan this time?”

  “I’m not going to take either one of the ponies, Grandpa,” I said. “I can’t.”

  “Neither one of them?” Grandpa said. “I don’t understand. What happened?”

  “I can’t buy a pony, Grandpa,” I said. “If I do, I’d always feel guilty. Every time I climbed on its back to go riding, I’d think of my little sister and that old crippled leg of hers. I’m going to give my money to her so she can go the hospital and get it fixed up.

  “I think you were trying to tell me that all the time. That’s why you brought the crippled mare home with you, so I could see it and maybe it would wake me up. But I was so blind I couldn’t see anything but the pony.”

  Not saying a word, Grandpa ran his hand down in his pocket, pulled out the money I had given him, and handed it to me.

  In a voice that quivered with emotion, he said, “Son, I’ve always been proud of you, but right now, no grandpa on this earth could be as proud as I am—though I’m not very proud of myself.”

  “Why, Grandpa?” I said. “You haven’t done anything.”

  “Oh, I don’t know,” he said. “I think there’s a passage in the Bible that could explain it better than I could; where it says ‘O ye of little faith.’ ”

  On hearing a door slam, I turned and saw Grandma coming over from the house. She was carrying a small cloth sack in her hand. She walked up to us.

  Holding the sack out to me, she said, “Here, Jay Berry, take this to your mother.”

  “What is it, Grandma?” I asked as I took the sack.

  “It’s the money your grandpa and I have been saving for Daisy’s doctor bill,” she said. “That’s what you’re going to do with your money, isn’t it?”

  “Sure, Grandma,” I said, very surprised, “but how did you know?”

  Grandma smiled and said, “Oh, I knew. Us old grandmas know a lot more than you boys give us credit for.”

  “Aw, Grandma,” I said, “I should have known. You always could read my mind.”

  “Say,” Grandpa said, all excited, “I just thought of something. Your grandma’s been wanting to go to town. Tomorrow is a good day for it. Now—if you and your father can come up and take care of the store for me, your mother and Daisy could ride in with us. The train that runs from Tahlequah to Oklahoma City doesn’t leave until the middle of the afternoon. We’d get them there in plenty of time to catch it.”

  “I’ll tell Mama as quick as I get home,” I said.

  “It’s getting late,” Grandma said. “You’d better be on your way. Tell your mother, if she wants to ride in with us, to be ready first thing in the morning.”

  I thanked Grandma and Grandpa and lit out for home.

  Mama, Papa, and Daisy were just sitting down at the supper table when I came flying into the house.

  I walked up to Mama, handed her the sack of money, and said, “Here, Mama, this is for you.”

  “What is it?” Mama asked.

  “It’s the money I got for catching the monkeys—and all that Grandpa and Grandma have saved. We want you to have it so you can take Daisy to the hospital and get her crippled leg fixed.”

  I saw Mama’s face slowly turn grayish-white. Her mouth opened but no words came out. She looked at the sack and then across the table at Daisy. She looked again at the sack and then at Papa.

  It was so still in our kitchen you could have heard a dream walking. The only sound I heard was the slow hissing of the tea kettle on the cook stove.

  Mama closed her eyes. I saw the tears when they squeezed out of her eyes and ran slowly down her cheeks.

  In a low whisper, Mama said, “Oh, thank you, dear Lord. Oh, thank you. I’ll be forever grateful.”

  Daisy went over to Mama and put her arms around her. She started crying. Something that felt like a big old wasp’s nest got all wadded up in my throat and darned if I didn’t bawl a little, too.

  Papa got up from the table and walked into the front room. When he came back, he had what little money he and Mama had saved.

  Daisy hurried to her room and got her money.

  I never saw so much money. There was money all over the place.

  “Papa,” I said, “Grandpa and Grandma are going into town tomorrow. He said if you and I would take care of the store, Mama and Daisy could ride in with them and catch the train.”

  Papa looked at Mama and said, “As long as we have waited for this day, I can’t see any reason to put it off. What do you think?”

  “What do I think?” Mama said, all excited. “Why, I’d go this very minute if I could.”

  “Then start packing,” Papa said. “Don’t worry about Jay Berry and me. We’ll make out all right.”

  Mama and Daisy were off in another room packing their clothes when Papa said, in a low voice, “Son, I wanted to say this before but I didn’t want your mother and Daisy to hear. I didn’t want them to know that you had almost gotten home with your pony. You grew ten feet tall today. I’m proud of you. I’d like to shake your hand.”

  I shook hands with Papa for the first time in my life. It felt like all his strength came right up my arm and spread through my body.

  eighteen

  For the first time in a long time, I slept all night without waking up. I was still asleep the next morning when Grandpa and Grandma drove up to our house.

  That was a very busy morning around our place. Both Mama and Grandma were giving me orders at the same time. “Don’t forget that. Bring this. Hurry now, we don’t want to miss that train.” I never saw anything like it.

  The last part was the worst. Mama, Daisy, and Gra
ndma were all bawling at the same time. I didn’t think Mama would ever turn loose of Papa.

  Daisy was bawling and kissing everything that got close to her. She kissed Papa four or five times. She tried to kiss me but I got away from her. She caught Rowdy and kissed him right between the eyes.

  The last thing I put in the buckboard was Daisy’s old crutch. I cried a little when I saw them disappear down the road.

  Papa and I took care of Grandpa’s store that day and I made myself sick—I ate so much candy. By late evening, I was the sickest boy in those Ozark hills. I was still sick when I went to bed that night.

  The next morning while we were having breakfast, Papa said, “Now that Mama and Daisy are gone, things are going to be a little different. You and I will have to take care of everything. If you can do the cooking and take care of things around the house, I’ll take care of the fields. How does that sound to you?”

  “It sounds fine to me, Papa,” I said.

  “Do you think you can do it?” Papa asked.

  “Oh, sure, Papa,” I said. “I won’t have any trouble with the cooking. I’ve watched Mama do that a thousand times.”

  Papa laughed. “I don’t know,” he said. “You may find there’s more to cooking than you think.”

  “Naw, Papa,” I said. “I won’t have any trouble with it. Every time you come in from the field, I’ll have some food on the table just like Mama does.”

  To have a little company, I propped the kitchen door open so Rowdy could come and go. This pleased him very much because only on special occasions was he allowed in the house. I figured that this was a very special occasion.

  With Mama’s apron tied around me and humming a happy tune, I got started. The first thing I tried to cook was some beans. I got a pot and filled it about two thirds full with beans. I poured in a little water, dropped in a chunk of salt pork, and set it on the stove.

  Then I peeled three potatoes and sliced them. I set a skillet on the stove, waited until it was hot enough to fry nails, and dropped the potatoes and a scoop of hog lard in it.