Those intemperate words made every one of us on the road that night freeze. Petey could be played with, but only up to a point. I was sure Curly had reached that point and gone far beyond.
I tried changing the subject. “You get many night crawlers, Curly?”
An object in motion tends to stay in motion, and the same can be said of many an argument. Curly was determined to start something and wasn’t waylaid by any of my distractions. He swung and hit Petey in the chest. It wasn’t a light punch like he’d given me; he put all of his weight behind it.
Petey staggered a little, then looked hard at Curly.
Hickman said, “Ha-ha, what are you doing, Curly? That’s Petey.”
It wasn’t clear if Hickman intended that to mean this was Petey our friend or this was Petey who, at only sixteen years old, was the second-most brutal brawler in all of Chatham, but either way, the meaning was obvious: Curly was treading a dangerous path.
Petey and Curly were the only two of us who’d ever spent any time inside of the jail. Father told me he’d put Curly behind bars to put the fear of God in him and try to stop what seemed inevitable, and all of Chatham knew Petey had been jailed for beating two grown men near to death. At the same time!
I didn’t know which was more shocking, when Petey began walking back toward Chatham without doing anything or when Curly started after him.
To stop this before it became tragic, Hickman and the Baylis boys grabbed Curly.
Hickman said, “Curly, what is wrong with you? Go apologize.”
Curly breathed heavily from his mouth and slapped their hands away.
I said, “Curly …”
He ran toward Petey and swung as hard as he could at the back of Petey’s head.
I immediately wished I’d warned Petey.
What followed was the sickening sound of bone crashing into bone.
Petey stumbled forward and fell.
Buster Baylis said, “Oh, dear! That proves it; Curly Bennett has lost his mind!”
The time it took Petey to sit up and wipe the dirt from his face was when I finally put it all together and reached the only sensible conclusion: Curly had not lost his mind at all; this made perfect sense. He knew if he showed up at school again bruised and beaten by his drunken father, Miss Jacobs would notify the constable.
It was indisputable; the variables were all there. The hat, the not coming out on the porch, the not being in school, his mother’s shop shuttered, his wanting to make sure Petey came fishing, his need to be certain there were witnesses to what he wanted to happen. All led to the same conclusion: His father must have beaten Curly and his mother so severely that the only way Curly could show his battered face without getting his father tossed in jail was if he very publicly lost a fight to someone tougher than he.
If he had asked me, I would have pointed out that there were many less painful ways to do this than taking a thumping from Petey Demers. But he had thought it out carefully; fighting Petey guaranteed both a loss and a badly battered face and body.
“Curly!” Hickman yelled. “This is madness!”
Curly stood over Petey with his hands balled and his chest heaving.
Petey slowly pulled himself up. Curly raised his fists and squatted into a defensive posture.
Petey spit blood from his mouth, and then, in a beautifully righteous turning of the other cheek, started back down the road to Chatham.
“What?” Curly yelled at Petey. “You ain’t gonna do nothing? You’re just a yellow-bellied coward!”
Hickman grabbed Curly again to try to bring this nonsense to an end.
Curly yelled, “You’re as worthless as your ma! She didn’t even have the decency to stick with her own kind! She couldn’t even get a white man to marry her!”
Petey’s father was Cree and his mother was Irish. This was a constant source of problems for him. He had beaten those two men so ferociously because they had made rude, unflattering comments about his mother.
I found it hard to imagine their remarks were anywhere near as rude as this!
Hickman turned Curly loose as if he had metamorphosed into a ball of fire and said, “Ooh! You’re on your own, chum.”
Curly’s words caused Petey to freeze in his tracks.
No one breathed.
But instead of coming back and beating Curly to within an inch of his life, Petey continued walking toward Chatham.
Hickman said, “I’d leave town if I were you; once he realizes what you said, he’ll be back. I don’t think this is over yet.”
Curly turned on him. “You think I give a care what a low-down black fool like you has to say? You’re the one who needs to leave town and go back to Africa or America, slave boy. Who wants your kind here in Canada anyway?”
Whatever sense of forgiveness had prevented Petey from attacking Curly did not extend to Hickman. His fists flew fast and accurately, and the wounds Curly’s father had given him were soon reopened and fresh.
They fought long and hard, battling until they were tired enough that neither resisted when we pulled them apart.
Thus ended the strangest night of fishing I ever hope to be involved with. If I wasn’t such a student of science, I would’ve blamed the shenanigans on the full moon.
Spencer Alexander and I were standing in the exact same spot we’d stood four and a half days before, and just like then, our heads were thrown back, looking up. The difference was now me and Spence were bruised, cut, sore, and barely speaking to each other. We both looked like we’d fought a tiger.
My left thumbnail was gone and the thumb was probably broken from when I’d hit it with a hammer while trying to put shingles back on upside down. My left shoulder had been wrenched something terrible when the mule bolted and I didn’t let go of the reins in time.
Spencer wasn’t much better off. He sported a fresh black eye from where he’d been hit by a board, and had seven stitches closing a gash on his leg where the saw had slipped.
We’d worked hard for four and a half days and, even though it looked kind of shaky, the tree house was finally up just as I’d planned, upside down. The ladder now let you into the house through the upside-down roof, where I’d made a trapdoor in some of the shingles.
Making trapdoors looks easy, but take my word, it isn’t.
I’d even nailed the chairs back on the porch upside down.
It was a lot of work, and while most times if you work hard at something, you feel a sense of pride when you’re done, all I felt was embarrassed.
Spencer didn’t look real pleased with himself either.
We’d been avoiding each other’s eyes.
He said, “I have to tell you, Benji, this was a lot of work just to make your brother and sister cry and hurt their feelings. Instead of going through all of this … this …”
He waved one hand at the upside-down tree house. For once the great debater was having trouble finding the right word.
“… this folderol, it would have been a lot less painful if we had just walked up to Patience and Stubby, punched each of them in their noses, then taken our punishments.”
What could I say? The whole adventure was ridiculous. We both knew it, but Spencer couldn’t stop himself from beating the dead horse even more.
“It reminds me of that old proverb that says the mountain laboured mightily and brought forth a mouse. That’s what’s happened, Benji. You and I just worked our tails off and gave birth to an upside-down mouse.”
He started limping toward the road home. He wasn’t through; he had to add, “I used to be sad that I don’t have brothers and sisters, but after seeing how strangely siblings act with each other, I see I’ve actually been blessed.”
And even though he now understood how lucky he was to be an only child, his words stung. There had to be more, there had to be a way to make all of our work something more than a mean, pitiful way to make those spoiled brats cry. There must be something to make a phoenix arise from the ashes of my envy.
&nbs
p; A smile slowly crept across my face. I had it! Flipping their tree house over might only make Patience and Stubby cry, but if this new plan worked, I’d scare them so much they’d stay out of these woods forever! All of this trouble might be worthwhile after all.
There were silly stories that some of the old folks in Buxton made up about someone they called the Madman of Piney Woods. Even though they talked about him like he was a boogeyman and used him to scare us into doing some things and not doing others, what really made him real to me and the other children was that the original settlers of Buxton wanted to make certain we didn’t plague him in any way.
I remember once, Mrs. Solomon had got wind of me and Spencer sneaking off into the woods late at night. She’d told us the Madman had put a spell on rabbits and turned them into vicious killers who hunted when it was dark and ate any children who weren’t in bed where they were supposed to be.
Spence had told Mrs. Solomon, “My father’s taught me to hunt, and when I go out, I’m taking the shotgun and if I see him, I’m going to put an end to this Madman.”
Mrs. Solomon is old and sits mostly in a wheelchair, but right after those words passed Spence’s lips, she’d moved like a cat and used her cane to whack him hard in the stomach. He fell over, clutching onto his belly.
She’d stood over him and said, “If you even thank ’bout harming one hair on that man head, you’ll be dealing wit’ me, boy. Just stay out them woods at night, ’cause if he don’t get you when you out there, then I’m-a get you when you gets back.”
The stories about him just wouldn’t stop, and we’d asked, “Shouldn’t the constable be notified about what he’s doing?”
Every question like that led to the answer, “He don’t bother you and you best not bother him.” And they meant it. We weren’t sure if he was real or not, but with the old folks getting so upset, it seemed like there had to be something to the stories. Where there’s smoke, there’s fire.
Stubby was more scared of him than anyone else, and I was going to use that to my advantage!
I ran home to save the four and a half days of hard work me and Spence had put in from the scrap heap.
It’s about time the Madman of Piney Woods did some work for young folks!
* * *
I’d sold myself short. The looks on Stubby’s and Patience’s faces made the whole prank worthwhile! And they hadn’t even reached the scary part of my plan; that was going to be like the painting of the lily.
They were standing in the same spot where Spencer and I had stood, their mouths open and their eyes locked on their topsy-turvy tree house.
Patience’s hand slowly came up to cover her mouth. Stubby’s legs gave way and he plopped to the ground, the expression on his face never changing. Pay’s hand reached down to him at the same time his hand reached up to her. She stood and he sat, holding hands with the most ridiculous looks on their faces!
Stubby said, “Oh, Patience, what a terrible nightmare this is! It can’t be true and yet it seems so real.”
In a dead voice, Patience said, “It is real. Charming Little Chalet in the Woods has been turned upside down.”
I fought not to bust a gut; they’d even given the ridiculous tree house a ridiculous name!
Stubby said, “I know we had it braced up the proper way. How could this be?”
Patience said, “I don’t know. There’s something more to this.”
Stubby said, “Do you suppose someone’s placed some sort of spell or curse on it?”
I couldn’t have asked for anything more! It was as though Stubby was setting everything up just as I wanted.
Patience said, “Spells are just superstitious nonsense.”
Stubby said, “How else to explain that?”
He pointed at Charming Little Chalet in the Woods.
“Should we go tell Mother and Father?”
Pay said, “We can’t; this is supposed to be our secret. Besides, they’d ask too many questions about where we got the money for the lumber and nails.”
“What about Benji? Maybe he’d know what we should do.”
Her answer cut me to the quick and made me wish I’d followed my first instinct and smashed their tree house into a million splinters.
Patience snorted and said, “Benji is just a blowhard. I trust that boy as far as I can throw him.”
Digging the dagger even deeper into my back, Stubby didn’t offer one word on my behalf.
Patience said, “Our tools! We’ve got to go up and see if they are still there. I don’t care about ghosts. I need my tools.”
She slowly climbed the ladder. When she got to the trapdoor in the cedar shingles, she called down to Stubby, “It didn’t just flip over in the wind; someone has cut a door into the shingles. It looks as though a child did it.”
Another knife in my back. It was while working on that trapdoor that I’d broken my thumb.
Patience disappeared into the roof and after a moment called out, “The toolboxes are here!”
Her head popped out of the trapdoor and she yelled, “Someone’s left a note in my toolbox!”
Stubby said, “A note? Is it just to you or is it to both of us? What does it say?”
“It’s too dark in here to read. I’ll lower the boxes.”
Stubby’s toolbox dangled out of the trapdoor from the end of a thick rope as Patience slowly lowered it to the ground. He untied it, and the rope went back up, then her tools came down.
She clambered down the ladder, holding my note.
Now the real fun and confusion were about to begin!
Patience read my letter aloud.
“I am watching you! I know where you live! I will put the same upside-down spell on you that I put on this tree house! You will go through the rest of your life walking upside down! Your hands and arms are going to get very tired! This is your only warning! These are my new woods and you must leave and never come back! Play only in your own backyard! Or else!!!
Sincerely Yours,
The Madman Of Piney Woods”
They looked around the woods, sensing they were being watched. But I’d hidden myself so well in a tree that I could’ve lit myself on fire and, except for noticing where the smoke was coming from and my screams, they probably never would find me!
Patience said, “Let’s go home; we can figure out what to do there. I don’t feel good being around here anymore; it’s kind of spooky.”
They lugged their tools down the path, occasionally throwing worried looks over their shoulders at the tree house until they were out of sight.
I was redeemed! Not only had I given them a fright, but they no longer felt comfortable in my neck of the woods! My only regret was that Spencer hadn’t been more mature and wouldn’t come with me to watch them discover our work.
* * *
Patience and Stubby didn’t say a word about the upside-down tree house at supper that night nor for the next week. If I’d built a Charming Little Chalet in the Woods and it got flipped over, I’d’ve been bursting to tell everybody, but my brother and sister kept their secret like it was hidden gold.
I checked the woods a couple of times and they hadn’t been back. The rains had washed away the mule’s tracks and the drag marks from the travois they’d used to bring everything in. The wood chips and slivers Spencer and I had made with our work were being slowly carried away by birds or squirrels or ants. The woods were bit by bit healing themselves.
I knew the battle was over and I was victorious when Pay and Stubby started working on some different harebrained project! This one was kept a secret too. Not that I’d want to see it anyway; as long as they stayed away from the woods in the north fifty, all would be peaceful.
Today’s headline would read:
THE BEST-LAID PLANS OF MICE AND MEN MIGHT GO WRONG, BUT A WELL-THOUGHT-OUT SCHEME NEVER DOES.
The fight between Curly Bennett and Hickman Holmely was the talk of the school the next day.
“Did you see his face afterward? He prob
ably won’t come back to classes at all after taking a pounding as severe as that one.”
“He beat him to a bloody pulp!”
“Wait,” someone asked, “you mean to say Curly Bennett beat Hickman Holmely?”
Bucky Baylis said, “No! Hickman delivered a great proper thumping to Curly!”
“No!”
Since Hickman and I were considered to be the most intelligent boys in the school, most people believed us to be both unwilling and incapable of fighting. Particularly fighting someone as tough as Curly Bennett.
Buster said, “It’s true; ask Red!”
All eyes fell on me.
“Yes,” I said, “it was as though Curly’s heart was not in the matter at all.”
“Why’d they fight?”
“Curly sneaked up behind Petey Demers and …”
“Wait. Oh, I see, it was Petey Demers who whipped Curly! That makes a whole lot more sense.”
“No!” the Baylis boys and I shouted at the same time.
“Then how was Petey Demers involved?”
“If you’d listen quietly, I could explain,” Buster said. “Curly punched Petey, and Petey just walked away, so Curly mentioned to Petey that Petey’s mother wasn’t good enough to get a white man to marry her and …”
“Oh, poppycock! Curly said that about Petey’s mother and we aren’t at Curly’s funeral today? Nonsense. There’s no way even someone as ill-bred as Curly Bennett would say that.”
The Baylis boys and I said, “He did!”
We were standing at the side of the school, waiting for the bell, when the whispering suddenly stopped and all eyes went to the bend in the road. Hickman Holmely and Curly Bennett were walking side by side. They were laughing and in such a cheery mood that they might as well have been holding hands!
No one said a word as the odd pair approached.
If one were to look beyond the laughing and high spirits, their physical appearance suggested they had been caught in the pounding surf at Lake Erie during a gale. Hickman’s right eye was swollen shut; a trail of four parallel scratches started on his right cheek and ran over to the left, interrupted only by his nostrils. A plum-sized lump protruded from the centre of his forehead as if he were attempting to become a unicorn.