Finders Keepers

by Andrea Spalding

  Brett Gibson gleefully dropped the helicopter so it swung between the two boy’s faces.

  “Come on Brett, get that thing out of here,” yelled Michael over his shoulder. He turned back to Danny and lowered his voice. “Did you get a licking?”

  The helicopter hung between them, humming like a malevolent wasp.

  Danny shook his head. “Just a talking to.” He looked at Michael and debated whether to tell him about throwing up.

  The helicopter shot up in the air and then bounced lightly down on the top of Danny’s head.

  “Quit it Gibson,” yelled Danny.

  “Make me,” taunted Brett, laughing and doing it again.

  Angrily Danny grabbed his work book and flailed it around his head. The ’copter swung up to the ceiling out of reach.

  “Aw, give up Danny. You can never hit anything anyway,” laughed Brett, and buzzed Danny again.

  Danny leapt onto the desk and gave a wild swing with his book. The book connected with the string and the force jerked the stick out of Brett’s hand. The helicopter crashed onto a desk, drunkenly rolled over, then toppled to the floor, one blade sheared off.

  The class fell silent. All eyes watched as Brett leaped up onto the desktops and advanced threateningly towards Danny.

  Danny flushed. “It was his fault,” he mumbled to the class at large, but stood his ground.

  “Good morning Grade 5. Nice to find you quiet and ready for work.” Mr. Berg strode into the room and slammed a pile of books on his desk. He looked searchingly over his glasses at the boys. “If the two mountain climbers descend, we could take out our math books and start on time for once.”

  Embarrassed, Danny dropped down into his seat. He hated it when Mr. Berg was sarcastic.

  Brett Gibson swung down to the floor and swiftly scooped up the smashed helicopter. “I’ll get you for this,” he whispered as he passed Danny. “You’re dead at recess.” And he stomped on Danny’s toe for emphasis.

  “Great start to the week,” thought Danny trying not to wince.

  Mr. Berg launched into a geometry lesson. Danny tried to forget his other problems and concentrate on the board. To his surprise he caught on quite quickly.

  “As math lessons go, this isn’t too bad,” he whispered to Mike, but to his surprise Mike rolled his eyes and gave a thumbs-down sign.

  Heartened that he could find something easier than his friend, Danny enjoyed copying the shapes from the board onto his squared graph paper. He even managed to give the correct answer for the area of the rectangle they had drawn.

  “See Danny, multiplication is easy if you concentrate, isn’t it?” praised Mr. Berg, who thought Danny had multiplied the length by the width to get the answer. Danny basked in the unexpected approval, but didn’t dare explain he had counted all the squares individually while Mr. Berg was talking.

  Recess came far too quickly. There was an air of tension as the students streamed down the corridor. Everyone eyed Danny and Brett Gibson and waited to see who would make the first move.

  Danny shot into the washroom, found an empty cubicle and slid inside, bolting the door. Then he pulled his lucky lance point out of his pocket, sat down, and turned it over and over while surveyed his options. They weren’t great! He could hide in the washroom, but Brett would just wait and beat him up later. He could make an excuse to talk to Mr. Berg about the math class, but Brett would get him at lunchtime. He could try and avoid Brett Gibson, but that was almost impossible. Danny rubbed his point for luck and started on a new train of thought. When early hunters used spears they needed more than luck. They didn’t just fling spears and hope to hit something, they used tactics to place themselves in a good position first. That was what he needed—tactics —a position that would take the wind out of Brett’s sails. Yes, that’s what he would try. With a bit of luck he could avoid a fight altogether.

  Danny took a deep breath, pocketed the lance point and unbolted the cubicle door. Mike was hanging around looking anxious.

  “You ready for Brett?” he asked Danny.

  Danny looked unsure, but nodded. “I guess. Come on.”

  Danny strode across the playground, Mike close on his heels. Furtively, other class members watched as he crossed to the far side where Brett Gibson and his gang gathered in a threatening group.

  “Here comes Dummy Danny,” remarked one of the group. The rest snickered. The class members closed in to watch the action. As the crowd began to grow, so did Brett Gibson’s ego.

  “Come to have your face smashed in, runt?” Brett started to take off his jacket.

  “No. I’ve come to talk,” replied Danny clearly.

  “Then you’d better talk fast. You won’t be able to after I’ve finished with you. You’ll be cat’s meat.”

  The crowd giggled and pressed closer.

  “Look.” Danny took up his stance before Brett. “Sure, you can beat me to pulp. Then what? You’ll get suspended and your helicopter will still be wrecked. Right?”

  Brett Gibson nodded uncertainly. He wasn’t used to people facing him with reason.

  “So how about I get your helicopter blade fixed?”

  “Oh yeah… you and who else?”

  “Me and my dad.”

  Brett was silent for a moment. He and everyone else know that Mr. Budzynski was great at fixing models. Mr. Budzynski won the prize for model building almost every year at Fall Fair. What’s more, Danny was pretty good at fixing models himself.

  Danny held his breath.

  “Big deal. That helicopter was new. I only got it this weekend.” Brett stepped forward, fists raised. “You wrecked it Dummy. Now you pay.”

  A ripple of excitement spread through the crowd.

  “You’re the dummy for bringing it to school,” said a girl’s voice. Several other girls nodded agreement.

  Brett swung around angrily. “Shut your mouth Marylise, or I’ll shut it for you.”

  “Oh yeah,” taunted Marylise. “Got to beat up a girl to feel good?”

  The spectators laughed.

  Brett coloured angrily. This wasn’t working out the way he expected. “The Dummy broke it, now he pays,” he repeated.

  “He’s offered to fix it,” Mike said. “That’s fair.”

  “You were the one bugging him,” pointed out another voice. “You were bugging us all.”

  Brett shifted uncomfortably. He sensed the mood of the kids had shifted. Now they were on Danny’s side. He shot Danny a look of dislike. “And what if you can’t fix it. Huh? What then?”

  “Then we’ll talk again. But I bet I can,” said Danny confidently.

  It was obvious to the spectators that the fight wasn’t going to happen. They began to lose interest and drift away.

  Brett made one last bid for power. He grabbed Danny’s T-shirt, pulled it towards him and thrust his face into Danny’s. “You’d better,” he warned. “You’d better get it fixed real good or else…” he concentrated so hard he squinted. “Or else you won’t just be cat’s meat, you’ll be doggy doo!” And giving Danny a push, he walked rapidly away followed by his gang.

  Danny staggered back against the fence, and turned away, shoulders shaking.

  Mike came over concerned. “Hey. You OK? Did he hurt you?”

  Danny lifted a face creased with laughter. “No, I’m fine, I just didn’t want him to see me laughing.” The friends looked at each other and grinned with relief.

  “Doggy doo, huh,” said Mike. “We’d better watch our step.” And they laughed hysterically until the bell.

  Chapter Nine

  School had finished for the day, but the spring afternoon had turned bitterly cold.

  “Do you still want to come over?” Danny anxiously asked Mike as they sat together on the school bus. “The things I wanted to show you are outside.”

  “Sure.” Mike grinned lazily. “It’s not often you invite me to your place. I’m curious.”

  Danny looked at Mike uneasily. “It’s nothing that special. Just a d
en I made.” He shifted uncomfortably on the bus seat, wondering if he’d made a mistake. He almost wished he’d not offered to share his den with Mike. Mike liked games, ones with lots of body contact and excitement. Danny didn’t know what a hockey fan would think about his den and he didn’t want to be laughed at.

  After dumping their school books in Danny’s kitchen and grabbing a snack, Mike and Danny thrust their hands in their jacket pockets, hunched chins into their collars and set out across the farmyard. The sky was heavy and leaden and a few stray snowflakes drifted down. Danny stuck out his tongue to catch one.

  “Where are we going?” asked Mike as they turned behind the barn and struck out across the cow pasture.

  Danny grinned. “You’ll see, but don’t tell anyone, it’s a secret place.”

  “I hope it’s sheltered,” Mike grumbled. “I’m freezing.” He looked resentfully up at the sky but the sun was stubbornly hiding. He sighed and looked sideways at Danny.

  Danny seemed almost oblivious to the cold. He stepped out confidently, leaning into the biting wind and heading towards the distant river valley.

  Mike sighed again. He liked Danny but he was a little weird. Danny seemed to live in a world in his head that was more important than the real world. Danny made him feel uncomfortable sometimes.

  “This way, but watch out, it’s slippery,” called out Danny, stepping over the lip of a small coulee, onto a narrow muddy cattle trail.

  They carefully followed the trail down as it wound through clumps of sage and scrubby willows. Mike stopped for a moment and rubbed his aching ears. It felt good to be out of the wind.

  “Come on Mike,” Danny called impatiently, “or we won’t have any time there. It’ll be dusk soon and we’ll have to head back.”

  Mike obediently followed and they brushed through the scrub for another few minutes, startling small animals in the undergrowth who betrayed their presence by frightened rustles. Mike looked around uneasily. He’d rather be in town, playing hockey at the rink or hanging over the video games at the convenience store. He didn’t really like being out on the prairie on his own and couldn’t understand Danny’s fascination with it. “How much longer?” he asked impatiently.

  But Danny had disappeared. Mike looked around startled.

  “In here.” Danny’s arm shot out from a gloomy crack in the coulee wall and drew Mike through a narrow gap. “Just a minute, I’ll light a candle.”

  It was shadowy. Mike stood still and waited for his eyes to adjust so he could see what was going on. He could hear Danny scratching about, a sudden sputter and a tiny flame sprang to life. Carefully Danny shielded it with his hand and leaned over. The light grew as Danny lit two candles in pickle jars, placed one on a rock and held the other from a string handle attached to the jar’s rim. “Well, what do you think?” he asked, holding the light up.

  Mike looked around in amazement. They were standing in a dried up river channel, that widened in the middle and was blocked at the other end by a fall of rocks. The ancient river had cut deep into the bank so there was a large overhang. It was almost a cave and would be impossible to see from the fields above.

  “Neat-oh,” Mike breathed admiringly. “What’s that?” He pointed to a large conical pile of trimmed branches nestling into the base of the cliff.

  “My tipi,” replied Danny proudly and walked towards it. He carefully placed the homemade lantern on the ground, shifted some concealing brush, lifted aside an old towel hanging down as a door, dropped to his knees and crawled inside. His head reappeared, framed in the doorway. “Come inside,” he invited, and grabbing the lantern, disappeared from view.

  Mike hesitated. “What about snakes or spiders?” he called.

  “Oh for heavens sake,” replied Danny crossly, “don’t be chicken.”

  Mike pushed aside the towel and crawled through.

  The tipi was just big enough for two. Rough barn planks were laid for a floor and the sloping piles of branches forming the walls were draped with old horse blankets. A cut log made a table and the pickle jar lantern swung gently from a protruding branch at the apex of the roof. The candle light made it warm and inviting.

  Danny sat cross-legged and gazed anxiously at Mike. “Well, what do you think?”

  Mike settled himself. “It’s great. This whole place is a great secret. No one would ever find it,” he enthused. “You could hide out here for weeks if you had food, but…” he hesitated and looked curiously across at Danny. “What do you do here?”

  “Oh, stuff,” replied Danny vaguely. “Indian stuff mostly.”

  Mike teasingly punched Danny on the arm. “Yeah, I forgot, you want to be Indian.” He started a Hollywood style chant. “Pow pow wow wow. Pow wow wow wow,” he warbled, stamping his foot and waving an imaginary tomahawk. “Come on Danny. Let’s have a Sundance.”

  Danny froze. “It’s not like that,” he muttered. “And you shouldn’t joke about the Sundance. It’s sacred. It’s nothing to do with us.”

  “So what, we’re only having fun.” Puzzled, Mike looked at Danny. “Come on man, relax. Don’t be so weird. What kind of stuff do you do?”

  Danny reached behind him and brought out a small rag bundle. He untied the ends and spread it out on the log. Mike gazed with bemusement at a pile of rock chips.

  “See,” said Danny picking up a small rock flake and holding it out to Mike. “I’m trying to make a stone point, but I can’t get the shape right.” He fiddled in his pocket, brought out the wad of tissues and carefully unwrapped his lance point. “It should look something like this.”

  “Wow!” Mike eagerly grabbed the point.

  “Hey, careful,” Danny gasped. “Don’t break it!”

  “I won’t,” said Mike scornfully. “I’m not a klutz. Hey! How much?”

  Danny sat back on his haunches in dismay. “How much?” he faltered.

  “Yeah. I’ll buy this from you. How much?”

  Danny shook his head, wishing he’d never shown the point to Mike. He held out his hand. “Give it back, Mike. It’s mine. I’m not selling.”

  “Aw come on Danny, everything has a price. Two bucks, Five bucks?”

  Danny shook his head again. “Come on Mike. Give it back.” He leaned over the log and grabbed for it.

  Mike swung his hand back laughing and held the lance point just out of Danny’s reach. “Come on Danny, name your price… I know… I’ll swap you something.”

  “No way.” Danny’s voice sharpened. “I found that point myself. It’s special, real special. Give it back.”

  The changed note in Danny’s voice made Mike uncomfortable. There was something he didn’t understand here. It was almost like Danny thought the Indian stuff was holy or something.

  The two boys locked gazes in the candle light. Danny’s eyes were as bright and fierce as an eagle’s, his body ready to pounce and his hand curled into a claw. Mike shifted, ill at ease, and almost threw the point on the log. “OK, OK,” he muttered. “No need to get mad.”

  Silently Danny picked up the point, examined it for damage and carefully wrapped and replaced it in his jeans. “We’d better go,” he said abruptly, stood up and unhooked the jar from the roof, then held back the door curtain.

  Mike scrambled out into the gloom. The sun had set and the dull day had settled into enveloping grayness. Mike stumbled, disoriented by the shadows.

  Danny followed, carefully replacing the brush over the doorway to hide the towel. He lifted the lantern and guided Mike through the crack and out into the coulee.

  “Wait here,” Danny said. “I’ve got to put away the candles,” and he disappeared.

  Mike shivered, not just with the chill. The coulee was eerie, full of rustles and crackles. In the gaps between wind gusts Mike could hear the steady lap of the Oldman River, and the croak of frogs. He didn’t mind the noises he knew, but what else was out there? He wished Danny would hurry up.

  Danny reappeared silently. “Promise not to tell about my den.”

&nb
sp; “Cross my heart and hope to die,” replied Mike promptly, matching his words with the appropriate gesture.

  Danny led the way up the coulee trail. Mike followed, uneasily checking each shadow for wild animals and other things best unmentioned.

  Danny too was uneasy. His relationship with Mike had changed. Both boys were relieved when they arrived back at the farm and found Mike’s mother was waiting to drive him home.

  Danny lay in bed that night and thought things over. “Mike should have laid off the lance point. It’s mine. I found it, like I’d been meant to find it. Besides, it should be kept safe. Indian stuff’s important.”

  Danny felt under his pillow and gently fingered the lance point. Despite the dark, each dent and chip under his fingertip painted a picture in his imagination, each flake vividly told him part of its story. As his fingers followed the shape, his imagination wove a dream.

  A young hunter sat in the shade of a shallow coulee, painstakingly and lovingly knapping the point. It was a long job. The hunter wasn’t an expert, he worked slowly and carefully, feeling his way a flake at a time, till the delicate shape emerged, sharp and beautiful, born out of stone. The hunter stood up and triumphantly held the lance point in the air and watched the sunbeams glance off the translucent edges. Then when it seemed to glow and absorb the sunlight, the hunter knelt down and bound it firmly onto a long straight stick. Grasping the stick he swiftly walked up the coulee. As he reached the coulee rim, the hunter paused for a moment, silhouetted against the sky. He had one eagle feather in his head band.

  Smiling happily at the image he’d created, Danny drifted off to sleep.

  Chapter Ten

  The school week settled into its usual routine and Danny muddled through. Stoically, he accepted difficult situations, and dealt with them the best way he could, by losing himself in daydreams.

  His favourite daydream lasted right through one Socials period.

  Barenaked Ladies’ touring bus broke down outside the school. Danny helped them fix the engine. The Barenaked Ladies were so grateful they did a free concert in the school gym. All the students loved the music and danced and rocked for hours. The teachers hated it and tried to get the speakers turned down. Eventually the roof couldn’t take the blast from the speakers and started to crack and all the roof beams bent out of shape. School was closed for good. Danny was a hero. “You don’t need school anyway,” said the Barenaked Ladies, “but we need a ’Mr. Fix-It’. Come on the road with us and fix our equipment.” So he did and became rich and famous.