by Jon Scieszka
Frank rummages behind his workbench. “Why do we need a plan? We are giving people free electricity.”
“But what about . . . you know who?” Watson bends his head toward Klink and Klank.
Frank finds what he was looking for—an old purple-velvet-lined saxophone case. “Klink and Klank? Oh, absolutely. They have to help us, too.”
“No, I mean—” Watson starts.
“Hooray!” booms Klank. He picks up Klink. He hugs Watson with one big metal arm. He squeezes Frank with another big metal arm. Klank spins everyone in circles, blasting his ROCK2 beat.
Klink beeps, “Blleeeeeeehhhhhhh!”
Frank and Watson spin around, yelling, “Ahhhhhhh-hhhhhhhhhhhhhhh!”
Klank beats and spins and booms his crazy noises that sound like a washing machine screaming and a garbage disposal destroying a rocket engine.
Which is exactly why Frank and Watson’s classmate and pal Janegoodall, on her way home from baseball practice, busts into the lab and starts smashing Klank all over his steel body, wiry legs, and metal-strainer head with perfect, sharp, fast strikes of her aluminum bat to save her friends.
LET GO OF MY FRIENDS, YOU METAL MONSTER!” JANEGOODALL SWINGS three more fast strikes.
WHAM! PING! DOINK!
“OOH! AHH! OWW!”
“Janegoodall! Janegoodall!”
“I am very delicate! Do not break my glass dome!”
BAM! BING! BOINK!
“OOO! OOO! OOO!”
Klank drops Klink, Frank, and Watson in a heap. He hops around on one bent leg, covers his dented head with his twisted duct-hose arms, and dives under the workbench to save himself from the wild human smacking him with an aluminum bat.
Janegoodall cocks her bat for one more home-run swing.
“Wait!” yells Watson. “Don’t hit him. That’s Klank!”
“He’s a robot,” adds Frank. “Not a monster.”
Janegoodall stops and looks over her shoulder.
Klink ducks behind Watson. “I am also not a monster. So you do not need to hit me, either.”
Janegoodall lowers her bat, leans on it, and looks more closely at Klink and Klank. “Are you kidding me?”
Klink shakes and whirrs. “It is not possible for me to kid you.”
Klank peeks out from under the workbench. “I would hug you.”
“Well, I’ll be . . .” says Janegoodall. “I was walking by, and it sounded like the world was ending in here. When I shoved in the side door, I thought you guys were getting mugged by that metal monster—I mean, Klank. So I thought I’d better take him down.”
“Thanks for saving us,” says Watson. “Even if we didn’t need saving.”
“Klank was just celebrating our newest invention,” explains Frank.
Klank crawls out from under the workbench, nervously making sure the bench is between him and the new human.
Janegoodall nods. “Funny how celebrating and playing can look a lot like fighting. I’ve observed that in other species.”
Watson notices that Klink and Klank are staying as far away from Janegoodall as possible. “These guys are amazing,” he says. “Artificial intelligence, but they teach themselves. And they are constantly learning more and more.”
“Really . . .” says Janegoodall.
“Most certainly,” says Klink.
“Huh?” says Klank.
“Klink and Klank,” says Frank Einstein, “meet our friend Janegoodall Jones. She is the best animal scientist and baseball player in all of Midville.”
“You are Dr. Goodall? The famous chimpanzee scientist?”
Janegoodall laughs. “No. But my parents love her work. And they did name me after her. Nice to meet you.”
Janegoodall reaches out and shakes Klink’s vacuum-hose clamp-hand. Klank clomps over and gives her a hug.
“Sorry I smacked you around so much,” says Janegoodall.
“Oh, do not be sorry,” says Klank. “Nothing can hurt me.”
Klink looks at the dents all over Klank. “It did not help your looks.”
Frank holds up the Electro-Finger. “We were just going to take the new invention out. Show the town of Midville that wireless power is possible with this.”
Frank aims the Electro-Finger at the Christmas lights and flashes them on again.
Janegoodall takes the Electro-Finger from Frank and tries it out on the giant lightbulb. “Wow! Robots . . . wireless power . . . What next?” She removes her Midville Mud Hens baseball hat and shakes her hair out. “Frank Einstein, you are the craziest genius.”
Frank smiles. He takes the Electro-Finger and packs it in the saxophone case. “We are going to show this to the world!”
“Uhhh, yes,” says Watson. “But without freaking people out, or making them mad at us.”
Janegoodall twists her hair, nodding and thinking. “Why don’t you start at the band shell tonight? It’s movie night. And everyone in Midville goes to movie night.”
“That’s perfect!” says Frank. “We can do a great demonstration by running the projector and the lights and everything electric . . . without wires. Who wouldn’t like that?”
“I don’t know,” worries Watson. “I’m sure someone will hate us for something.”
“I do not want people to hate me,” says Klank. “I will hug them.”
“You cannot care,” says Klink. “You are a robot. So please act like one.”
Janegoodall yanks her Mud Hens cap back onto her head. “Haters are gonna hate. You can’t live your life worried what people are going to think. Let’s go crash movie night. They’re showing one of those awful Tarzan movies. I’m adding it to my chimpanzee research project.”
“Tarzan movie chimpanzee named Cheeta,” says Klink, scanning online data. “Not one chimpanzee, but possibly as many as twelve different chimpanzees, and one boy human, over the course of filming, from the 1930s to the 1960s.”
“One chimp or twelve,” says Janegoodall, “that is just terrible that they had to perform in those movies. Chimps have families. They live almost as long as we do. They were prisoners.”
Frank snaps the saxophone case shut. “OK, let’s roll.”
“Oh boy,” sighs Watson.
“Beep-boop,” says Klink.
“Do-wacka-do,” beats Klank.
Janegoodall shoulders her bat. “Light the way, Einstein. This is gonna be good.”
TEDISON AND MR. CHIMP SIT QUIETLY ON A PICNIC BLANKET, perched on the ridge above the Midville Woods. A single cricket chirps in the fading light.
“Ahhhhh, Midville Wind Farm . . .”
T. Edison picks a daisy, sniffs it, then crushes it in one hand and throws it into the weeds above the line of shattered wind-turbine parts and broken blades.
“. . . done!”
T. Edison pulls out his notebook and makes his second black check mark of the day. “Just the Midville Solar Array left.”
T. Edison and Mr. Chimp look out over the motionless piles of Midville Wind Farm rubble.
The lone cricket rubs out one more weak chirp.
“Good work today, Mr. Chimp.”
“Oooh-ooh,” Mr. Chimp agrees.
“Let’s celebrate.”
T. Edison hands Mr. Chimp a brown paper bag with MR. CHIMP written on it. He opens the other bag, trying to hide the TOMMY written on the front.
“Mmm, let me see what we— Oh, yuck! Salami-and-banana sandwich? I hate salami and bananas!”
Mr. Chimp reaches into his bag and happily chomps his snack.
“What do you have?”
Mr. Chimp signs:
“Trade me,” says T. Edison.
Mr. Chimp shakes his head no.
“You have to trade me. I’m your boss.”
Mr. Chimp shakes his head again. He signs:
“Don’t tell me what I will like and won’t like. I. Am. The. Boss. Trade me now!”
Mr. Chimp looks at T. Edison. Mr. Chimp likes bananas and he likes salami. Mr. Chimp shrugs and trades snack bags.<
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Edison grabs a stalk of peanut butter and raisin–filled celery and stuffs it into his mouth. “MMMrrrr rrrrummm ahhh,” says T. Edison with his mouth full.
Mr. Chimp watches and waits.
T. Edison chews, stops, frowns, sticks his tongue out, and grabs something alive and wiggling in the half-chewed peanut butter and celery.
“BBBLLLAAAaaaaaaaaaaahhh!” screams T. Edison, jumping up and spitting everywhere.
“Bllaaaahh! Ptttwwaaaaa! Bluuuuhhh! What is that?!”
Mr. Chimp makes soft, short panting noises.
“Ahhhhhhh! Yuck, yuck, yuck!” T. Edison stomps around the picnic blanket, still spitting. “OK, celebration over. Pack this stuff up, and let’s get to movie night . . . for part two of our plan.”
Mr. Chimp finishes his salami-and-banana sandwich in one giant chimpanzee bite. He wipes his lips with a paper napkin, folds it neatly, and tucks it into his pants pocket.
Mr. Chimp signs:
“It’s always Tarzan.”
And this makes Mr. Chimp both happy and sad.
A PLEASANT NIGHT WIND COOLS THE CROWD OF MIDVILLE CITIZENS gathered at the Midville Park band shell, watching the end of the black-and-white movie Tarzan the Ape Man on the big screen.
Fake palm trees wave in the light of the full moon. The Midville electric model elephant, donated by a former mayor, a crazy Tarzan fan, nods its head and flaps its ears.
This all looks a little odd sitting next to the Fall Festival display of hay bales, pitchforks, funny-shaped gourds, torches, and pumpkins. But this is movie night. And, as always, it’s free.
On-screen, Tarzan swings through the jungle on a vine. Cheeta the chimpanzee grabs another vine and swings after him.
A small robot in the very back row of the band shell beeps quietly. “This makes no sense. Why is the human acting like an ape?”
“He’s Tarzan,” whispers Watson. “He was raised by apes.”
Klank’s antenna blinks in amazement. “So he has decided that he is most happy when he is swinging through the jungle with his ape friends? That is nice.”
“That is not true,” beeps Klink. “Humans do not live in trees.”
“I would love to live in a tree and study monkeys and apes all the time,” says Janegoodall. “And someday I will.”
“OK,” says Frank, “get ready. As soon as the movie ends, we jump onstage and give our Electro-Finger demonstration, just as we planned.”
Tarzan lands on a broad branch. He looks out over the tops of the jungle trees, cups his hands to his mouth, and—
The screen goes black.
The model elephant stops its electronic nodding and flapping.
The electric lights blink off, leaving the park lit only by moonlight.
“Hey!”
“What happened?”
“Check the power!”
But before the crowd completely freaks out, a small figure in an old-fashioned suit and a bad haircut walks to the middle of the stage, lit by a circle of light from the candle he carries in front of him.
“Nothing to worry about, good people of Midville,” says a familiar, creepy voice booming through a megaphone. “Just a friendly reminder from your power company that we all love electricity and we all need electricity.”
The figure blows out the candle.
“Lights!” booms the creepy voice.
The band shell lights pop back on and illuminate the last person Frank and Watson want to see.
Watson makes a face and says the kid’s name like he is spitting out a bad taste.
“Edison!”
WATSON IS RIGHT.
It is Edison. He stands in the middle of the stage, smiling. “Isn’t electricity wonderful? It gives us light. It gives us heat. It gives us . . .” Edison motions toward the screen.
Tarzan reappears on-screen. Hands cupped to his mouth, he yodels his long, loopy Tarzan yell. THE END scrolls up over the black-and-white jungle.
T. Edison smiles another crooked smile. “Wonderful. All of this brought to you by your friendly local power company. You are welcome, Midville.”
No one in the audience says thank you.
“It would be more wonderful if we didn’t have to pay such crazy prices,” calls Charlie the postman.
“We are working on energy prices every day,” says T. Edison, not exactly lying about what he and Mr. Chimp have been doing, but not exactly telling the truth, either.
“Hogwash!” yells Fireman Chad.
“We’re building our future,” says T. Edison, pointing to a banner that has somehow just appeared between two palm trees. Edison adds, “If we knew a cheaper way to produce electricity, we certainly would.”
This gives Frank Einstein a genius idea.
Frank weaves through the crowd, drags Watson up onstage with him, and announces, “And that is exactly what we have come to show you—a better, cheaper way to produce electricity.”
T. Edison is completely surprised but tries to act like he isn’t. “Heckle and Jeckle, what are you doing here?”
“We should ask you the same thing,” says Watson.
“I asked first.”
The crowd starts rumbling, getting restless.
Frank unlatches his saxophone case and turns to the crowd. “Midville! I have just the invention that can help us all.”
“A giant battery?” asks Ms. Priscilla, principal of Midville Academy.
“A new generator?” guesses Mr. Hacey, owner of the Give Me Pie! shop.
“Something even better,” says Frank Einstein. “My lab partners and I—”
“Oh, for goodness’ sake,” fumes Edison. “Stop blabbering on. This is my event, you know.”
“—we have used Nikola Tesla’s idea of harnessing the electromagnetic energy of the Earth—which is everywhere—to produce and deliver wireless electricity.”
“That is crazy,” says Edison. “And dangerous.”
“Not at all,” answers Frank. “Allow me to demonstrate. Watson?”
Watson pulls three balloons out of his pocket. He blows up one balloon, rubs it on his hair, and leaves it sticking to his head. He blows up another balloon, rubs it, and sticks it. He blows up the last balloon, rubs it, and stands with all three balloons sticking to his head.
The crowd laughs.
“Ladies and gentleman,” Frank announces, “electricity. Safe, wireless, and free.”
“That is stupid,” mutters Edison.
“But how can that help us?” Ms. Priscilla politely asks.
Frank smiles. “I have used the same idea of moving electrons”—Frank opens the saxophone case and fits his hand into the device tucked inside—“to make my newest invention . . .”
Frank raises his right hand, wearing a big metal glove with lights, buttons, an antenna, and one extended finger.
“. . . the Electro-Finger!”
“Whoa,” says Mr. Hacey.
“Oh my,” says Ms. Priscilla.
“Cool,” says Postman Charlie. “How does it work?”
Frank points the Electro-Finger at Watson.
Watson knocks the balloons off his head and pulls out a giant lightbulb.
“I will now use the Electro-Finger to gather magnetic energy from the Earth, change it to electricity, and deliver it wirelessly to light the bulb in Watson’s hand!”
“This is completely stupid and completely dangerous,” Edison announces to the crowd. “Do not believe this Frank Einstein garbage.”
“Ready, Watson?”
Watson holds the lightbulb out, suddenly having second thoughts about the electrical energy coming his way. What if Edison is right?
Frank answers for Watson. “Ready!”
He pushes the button at the base of the glove. The tip glows.
“Electro-Finger! Transmitting electricity . . .”
Frank pushes a second button.
“. . . now!”
Watson believes the Electro-Finger will safely transmit electricity, but he closes his eyes just
in case and holds the bulb as far away from himself as possible.
The thin wire filament inside the lightbulb glows a faint orange. It pulses. It flickers. It suddenly shines a brilliant white.
“Beautiful,” says Ms. Priscilla.
Watson opens his eyes and starts breathing again.
“Energy,” says Frank.
Frank points the Electro-Finger at an unplugged row of lights.
“Wireless!”
The lights flash on.
Frank’s Electro-Finger zaps the projector.
“Safe!”
The film restarts, and Tarzan yodels his Tarzan yell.
Frank waves the Electro-Finger. “And free for everyone!”
“Hooray for Frank Einstein!” Janegoodall starts cheering from the back.
The Midville Park free-movie crowd copies Janegoodall and begins cheering and clapping.
Frank Einstein holds up his genius invention and smiles.
But T. Edison does not cheer.
T. Edison looks at the electric model elephant and hatches his own genius plan.
THE CROWD KEEPS CLAPPING AND CHEERING.
T. Edison tries to smile, but it looks like it is hurting his face. He peeks backstage. While no one is looking, he signs instructions to Mr. Chimp, who is hidden in the shadows.
Mr. Chimp nods and gets to work, fiddling with something inside the electric elephant.
“Very impressive,” Edison’s voice booms through the movie speakers, drowning out the clapping and the cheering. “But I am still very concerned about safety.”
“You saw it for yourself. It works safely,” says Watson.
Edison nods. He checks to see Mr. Chimp crossing two particular wires, with no one noticing him, and signing back:
Now T. Edison smiles for real. “Yes, yes. Your Finger Thing lit one lightbulb. But what if it had to do more work? With more electricity? Wouldn’t it be more dangerous?”
“Not at all,” says Frank.
“Well,” says Edison, “if you’re so sure, it shouldn’t be a problem for you to power dear Topsy, our beloved Midville elephant.”