The Devil Delivered and Other Tales (40 page)

“Right. Well, that shootin star’s jus a big lightbulb, know what I mean?”

I sat back up. “You mean it was somebody’s idea? Who?”

And she winked. “Alla us, Tyke. Me’n Lunker an the Major an One Armed Trapper an Leap Year an a whole million other stor’ tellers all o’er the wide world! You’n me, Tyke, that’s who thought up that shootin star!”

“Then who is Satan Himself?” I demanded.

“Truth is, Tyke, he’s somethin diff’rent fer everyone! He’s jus a fancy name, is all.”

“But Grandma Matchie—”

“Got im!” she screamed, rearing back in the rocking chair and driving the hook home. The line hummed, then the drag shrilled, throwing out sparks as Grandma Matchie set the hook again and again. Driving the butt of the fishing pole into the belt socket she bared her teeth. “I got im! I got im!”

She began pumpening, reeling up slack, pumpening and pumpening as she rocked in the old creaking chair. The river began churning, burbbling purbling and frothing. I could hear a roar and all the dragonfly nymphs scalampered for cover.

“Ere he comes! My God! I furgot the gaff! Tyke! Go get the gaff! Quick! Up in the cabin!” Satan Himself made a run, and the thin line whined and the drag whirnelled.

Leaping to my feet I scampered down the rocks, hit the flat clearing and tore across it. Screaming all the way, I flew down the trail. All the trees went by in a blur, but I could see every bump and root on the ground and I didn’t stumble once. I never ran so fast in my life, and it was so easy I bet I didn’t even touch the ground half the time.

Then I saw the cabin and then I was tearing up the porch, flying through the kitchen and into the living room. Everyone was screaming, Mom pulling Dad’s arms as he stood in the Jacuzzi roaring at the video screen, where a thousand million twenty hundred nine Indians were riding down on us.

“Yeaagggh!” roared Dad.

“Jock Junior!” Mom shrieked over her shoulder. “Come quick! Dad’s got his foot caught in the drain! He’s being sucked down!”

“Where’s the gaff?”

“
NO!
” Dad screamed.

“Jock Junior! I won’t let you use the gaff! This is your father! Help me! Oh my!”

“I’m being sucked down! Yeaaaggghhh!”

I jumped to Mom’s side, grabbed one of Dad’s arms and pulled. “Sis! Get a rope!” I looked over my shoulder. She stood by the kitchen, her eyes wide and her hair green with leaves growing out of it. “Look at her hair! It’s green!”

Sis clenched her fists and brought them to her temples. “
I CAN’T HELP IT!
” she bawled. “
IT’S NOT ME!
It’s just happening! I’m not
DOING
anything!” Acorns fell from her head and bounced on the wooden floor. “Waaa!”

“Get a rope!”

Still crying, she stumbled away. Dad’s whole leg from the knee down had disappeared into the drain, and the foaming water was up to his chest. Me and Mom pulled and pulled. The knotted end of a heavy rope hit me in the head and I grabbed it with one hand. “Tie this round your waist, Dad!” I yelled, throwing it at him. “Mom, you gotta hold on while I tie the other end to somethin!” Nodding, she gripped the rope while Dad looped it around himself and made a knot. I picked up the other end and looked around for something to tie it to. The closest thing was the big refrigerator, where Dad kept all his beer. Wrapping the rope three times I tied a knot and cinched it up until it was tight.

“Yeaaggghh!”

In the closet hung the gaff. Taking it down, I turned and looked around. Everything seemed under control, so I plowed through the door and leapt off the porch and raced down the trail. Then I skidded to a stop, because the trail was full of rats, plodding two abreast, with grain sacks on their backs and canoes too, the smallest aluminum canoes I’d ever seen. And they were singing in squeaky high voices some funny French song.

But I had no time to waste, so I edged to one side of the trail and ran past them. I heard their squeaks of surprise, then little cheers. Running and running, I came to a clearing and crossed it. I went up the rocks like a spider and reached Grandma Matchie’s side.

She was still pumpening away, and the water boibled, full of bobbing beer cans and video cassettes. Not even breathing hard, she hisspered, “I got im now, no doubts ’bout it, I got Satan Himself!” She cranked the reel and rocked back. “Get down t’the edge an get that gaff ready, Tyke! He’s gotta holda somethin an he won’t let go! Get that gaff ready!”

A huge hump rose from the water and a giant scaly head with a hook in its jaws reared up and glared at us. He was a dragon, with red and gold scales and flames for eyes, and he had giant crinkled-up wings and aluminum fangs, and giant ears that came to glowing red points. He was the biggest thing I’d ever seen and I screamed. Crouching at the edge, I lifted the gaff in both hands.

“He’s gotta holda somethin!” Grandma Matchie shrieked. “Give im a poke, Tyke! Give im a poke!” She roared with laughter, pumpening and reeling and rocking.

Staring into the black water, I could see Satan’s forearms clutching something pale and hairy and struggling. Then I recognized it. “Dad’s foot! He’s got Dad’s foot!”

“So that’s his game, eh! Give im a poke!”

Lifting the gaff skyward, I yelled and drove it home.

“That’s the way, Tyke!”

I hit him in the belly and the gaff sank in halfway then popped out again.

“
OOOOOF!
”

Satan thrashed and hissed and let go of Dad’s foot so he could clutch his belly. He gasped for a couple of seconds, then, wagging his head he raised his forearms and made fists and glared down at me. “
I WON’T TOLERATE THIS IMPERTINENCE
!”

“Oh you won’t, eh?” Grandma Matchie laughed, yanking on the fishing pole so that Satan’s head snapped forward and he almost lost his balance and began falling forward, but then his fists came down—thumpthump!

“
AAAGGGH
!” he roared, chomping at the hook that was snagged in his lower jaw. “
IT’S JUST NOT FAIR
!” he wailed, closing his eyes shut.

“Let this be a lesson t’ya, Satan!” Grandma Matchie was suddenly at my side, and in her hands she gripped the ax she had thrown in the lake earlier. “Never mess wi the likes a Grandma an Jock Junior! If’n y’know what’s good fer ya!” Grinning, she raised up the ax and with one slice cut the line. Satan Himself plunged backwards, throwing sheets of black water all over the place, and his wail turned into a gurgle as the river swallowed him.

“But we had him!” I shouted.

But Grandma Matchie just chackled. “We sure did, Tyke, but I’m in it fur the sport, an that’s all. Jus in it fur the sport. Come on, let’s go have lunch.”

Walking across the clearing, I asked: “I thought you threw that ax away?”

“I did, because I didn’t need it then. But I needed it now, so ’ere it is. One thin you gotta remember, Tyke, an that’s when you throw somethin away, make sure y’can get it back if’n ya need it.”

The trail was empty. “Grandma Matchie! You shoulda seen all the rats! All over the place!”

“Course, this is Rat Portage Lake, ain’t it?”

Understanding the importance of telling the truth:

Now they had some kind of doctor in the office too, and it was getting crowded. He was completely round, with his big wide tie all spotted with blueberry yogurt. And his face was round too, and so was his mustache and his glasses and his red-veined cheeks.

He puffed right up to the desk and started crowding its surface with all kinds of crazy things. “Now,” he wheezed, “if you’ll just have a seat here, Jock Junior,” and he pulled a chair up to the edge of the desk, “we can get started.”

I don’t think the doctor was very smart, because he had me do all kinds of stupid things—puzzles and stuff that I suppose had him stumped so he wanted my help. And he had a watch that he kept looking at as if he forgot what time it was every few seconds or so. I felt sorry for him, so I finished all those puzzles as fast as I could.

“That’s not possible!” the doctor exclaimed, looking up from his watch and goggling at the principal. “That’s just not possible!”

“Why?” I asked. “What time is it? Maybe your watch is wrong.”

“No, no, it’s not—” He frowned at me, and I put on that innocent dumb expression on my face, looking up at him and making my eyes as wide as possible. “I mean,” he muttered, “you don’t understand—”

I smiled blankly, and he stopped, and his frown grew deeper the longer he stared at me. After a moment he started rummaging in his briefcase. “I have a test here, Jock Junior. And I’d like you to try it. Don’t worry if you can’t answer most of the questions—they’re designed for older people.…” He found it and placed it on the desktop in front of me and gave me a brand-new pencil which I started chewing right away because that’s what I do with all new pencils and pens and erasers and stuff.

“So, are you ready to start, Jock Junior?”

I examined the pencil critically, then said, “Okay.”

“Right. Ready? Go!”

A couple minutes later I was finished. Those were the easiest questions I’d ever answered. And the geography section was a snap.

The doctor peered closely at the sheets when I gave them to him. He checked his watch again and then started reading. After a minute he looked up and gaped at me. “But, but—” His round face was all sweaty so I found an old Kleenex in my pocket and gave it to him. Mopping his face, he stopped suddenly and stared down at the Kleenex.

“Sorry, there’s some chewing gum in it,” I said. “I forgot.”

“Who told you all the answers to these questions?” he asked, all fatherly now that he’d recovered. “Because, I must tell you, they’re all wrong.”

I made my eyes even wider. “They are? But Grandma Matchie told me! She tells me everything!”

“Well, she’s wrong, I’m afraid.”

“You mean the Rockies didn’t come from buffalo droppings?” I demanded, a scrunch starting on my face.

“No, of course not!” the doctor said.

“Now, young man,” the principal said grimly. “You know that Grandma Matchie doesn’t really exist, don’t you. I mean, there’s no record of you ever having had a Grandma Matchie and—”

The doctor shook his head quickly, beetling his busy brows. Leaning toward me he gazed into my eyes. “This invisible friend of yours, this ‘Grandma Matchie,’ she’s—”

“She’s not invisible!” I exclaimed. With a helpless, pleading look on my face I turned to Dad and Mom. “Tell them! Tell them about Grandma Matchie!”

Mom looked at Dad and Dad looked at Mom. “Well, uh,” Dad muttered. “I don’t … really … think we can, uh, say for sure … really … that is—”

“Liars!” I screamed.

“Now, son,” the doctor said, “I’m sure you know the importance of telling the truth.” He cleared his throat and leaned back. “Don’t you?”

I bit my lip. “I have,” I said weakly. “I have told the truth!”

“Now, son, it’s obvious that you’re a very imaginative child, but—”

I scrunched my face until tears came out and I balled my fists. “It’s the truth!” I wailed, squeezing my eyes shut. “You don’t know what’s the truth! You don’t know!”

“Now, we are much older than you, you’ll agree.…”

Opening my eyes reluctantly, I nodded, staring down at the desk.

“And you’ll agree also that we have a better idea of the truth than you do—”

“No!”

“Yes, we have, son. So you just tell your Grandma Matchie friend that she shouldn’t go around telling you things that aren’t true, because then she’d be lying, and—”

And that’s just what I was waiting for. “Tell her yourself!” I laughed, jumping to my feet. “
GRANDMA MATCHIE
!” I screamed. “
IT’S TIME! JUST LIKE YOU SAID
!”

“Jock Junior!” Mom was on her feet. “You didn’t!”

I let out a maniacal laugh like the ones I’ve heard in horror movies and ran to the window overlooking the playground.

“Gothic on a stick!”

“Oh my!”

After a moment the doctor smiled and said, “Now. You see? There’s no one—” Just then we heard a rumble, coming up from the floor, and everything began to shibble and shake. The pencil rolled off the desk and the doctor’s briefcase tipped over, spewling tests and answers all over the place. He stepped all over them as he ran with everyone else to the window.

And coming across the playground, busting down the wire fence, was Grandma Matchie, riding Bjugstad and holding a chain with its other end around Satan Himself’s neck, who was being dragged along on his belly, and Lunker, thrashing about and roaring in the air like it was water, with One Armed Trapper sitting on her head. And there was the Major, rowing like mad across the grass in his broke-in-half H.M.S.
Hood,
and there was Leap Year, and a thousand million two buffalo and demon fish and glowing lamp rays and rats singing French songs and all of them.

We jumped back as Grandma Matchie—Bjugstad making one giant leap—came sailing up at us. With a huge crash they burst through the window and most of the wall, and everyone scattered. And there stood Bjugstad, legs wide, snorting and humphing and grunting and shaking pieces of wall from his head (he had shrunk himself down so he could fit into the room); and Grandma Matchie jumped down from him and stood there with her fists on her hips. Glowering, her gaze fell on the doctor and the principal and Big Nose, all of them cowering in the far corner near the door.

“So, it’s finally come, has it?” she growled, her eyes all afire.

I stepped up and said: “They all want to be taught the importance of telling the truth, Grandma Matchie.”

“Oh, do they now? Well, Tyke, what should we show em first?”

I was feeling kindhearted, so I replied: “How to be sportin.”

“Sportin, eh? Well, that’s what we’ll tell em, Tyke.”

By this time Bjugstad had calmed down and was contentedly eating all the doctor’s tests and answers. And from outside we could see (it was easy with all the wall gone) the whole playground filled with rats and buffalo and everyone else, playing soccer. They had strings tied everywhere, and the rats had barricaded their goal with canoes and bags and stuff, but the Major went round from behind and scored easily, sending the ball flying back out into the field. Shouts and roars of laughter filled the air.