part 28:
A Hamster Dance
by Matthew Atanian
©2006 by Matthew Atanian
A Hamster Dance
by Matthew Atanian
©2006 by Matthew Atanian
Mike and Luke were on their way to their first merit badge class of the morning when they overheard something that caught their attention. A small group of younger scouts from another troop were huddled together in a group, almost whispered words passing to and fro between them and the two lads from 192 caught the occasional word that passed between them.
“…puts poison in all the candy…”
“…and jumps kids and takes all their money…”
“…are all afraid to go anywhere near the Trading Post…”
Mike and Luke stopped and turned to each other. Then they approached the group of younger scouts.
“What’s all this, then?” Mike asked.
The young group of scouts parted, and Mike saw the oldest of the bunch (who was still a squirt to Mike) was holding a piece of paper. It was slightly tattered, and looked as if it had been pinned up somewhere and then pulled down.
Mike grabbed the piece of paper and looked at it. He turned to the kids, an unnaturally cold look in his face. “Where did you get this?” he demanded of them.
“They… they were tacked up all over the Trading Post,” one of them muttered.
Mike took off in a run towards the parade field.
“What?” Luke called, doing his best to follow. “What is it?”
“What time does the Trading Post open?” Mike asked.
With a bit of effort, Luke had caught up. “In about fifteen minutes, I think.”
“We must hurry,” Mike said, “and hope that Amanda isn’t there yet.”
“For the love of god, why?” Luke insisted.
Mike thrust the paper he had confiscated into Luke’s hands. Luke looked at it.
Atop the piece of paper, in large and alarming letters, was written, “Threat to Camp Exposed!” Below that was a crude drawing of Amanda. And below that was a list of atrocities she was alleged to be committing in her position of the Trading Post Manager.
“Come on,” Mike shouted to Luke even as he began to run faster. Luke struggled on after him in an effort to keep up. “We have to get these all down before Amanda can see them!”
Billy Gelinas and Aaron Abdowmassy were also on their way to their first merit badge class. They had not been far behind Mike and Luke, and in fact they had witnessed the preceding events.
“Hold on,” Billy said. “Mike’s like, this tall,” Billy knelt down and held his hand about an inch above the ground. “And Luke’s like, this tall.” Billy held his
hand up as high as he could, and he also leapt into the air for emphasis. “How come Luke has to struggle so hard to keep up with him?”
“Obviously,” Aaron said, “Mike has passion for secretly protecting the honor of the fair Trading Post Manager, while Luke is just… well… he’s Luke.”
“What are you saying?” Billy said.
“Well, I suppose Luke is being Sancho Panza to Mike’s Don Quixote.”
Billy gave Aaron one of the “death looks” he had been becoming quite adept at recently, usually in conversation with Mike. Alas, Mike was otherwise occupied at the moment, so Aaron was forced to substitute. “I still don’t get it, though. Luke never struck me as the kind of guy who would go along with something like that. Never one for the zany, madcap adventures. I suppose that’s why he wasn’t made a member of the Garden Snake Patrol.”
Aaron choked on something. “Are you saying,” he said after regaining his breath, “that you are the sort who does go in for zany and madcap?”
“I don’t know,” Gelinas said. “That’s been bugging me recently. I think perhaps I may be some sort of comic relief.”
“What are you talking about?” Aaron asked. “And what does this have to do with Luke?”
“Hmm?” Billy had obviously let his mind wander into aspects of greater multidimensional importance. “Oh, nothing. Where was I? Ah yes, Luke. Well, wouldn’t he just be the sort to go let one of the adults on staff know what is going on, or something?”
Aaron gave Billy a most stern look as he decreed, “Shut up, Bill.”
It had been a hot day, with the cicadas filling the air with a constant yet comforting buzzing. It had cooled only a little as evening had come, yet the old man lying on the futon did not suffer any discomfort. At this stage in his life he usually felt nothing but fatigue and he knew that it would not be long before he would rest forever.
He stirred as he thought he heard a noise. He opened his eyes and waited a moment, hoping they would focus.
“Here, my old friend,” a voice said. The Japanese was flawless, although it had a slight accent to it. Chinese, perhaps? Even before he put on the glasses that were being offered to him, he knew who it was.
He had been waiting.
“I was hoping to see you once more before the end,” he said.
“It gladdens me to be able to give you this opportunity to repay your debt to me before it is too late,” came the response. “You received my letter, then?”
“I did. I have made the arrangements with the school, and for housing.”
“Housing? That is an unexpected bonus, my old friend.”
The old man coughed slightly. His visitor poured him a glass of water from the pitcher atop the squat bedside table, and he sipped gladly from it. “It was no trouble. I do own a boarding house. And while it will undoubtedly soon be passing into my daughter’s ownership, she has agreed to my wishes on this matter.”
“You have more then repaid your debt to me, my old friend. I find I now wish I could do something more for you.”
“Your visit has brought me comfort. At this stage, I could not want for more.”
“Then it saddens me I cannot stay longer. I have to attend to things abroad very soon, and fear I must now take my leave of you.”
The old man smiled. “Very well. It was good to see you once more.”
“Indeed. Good bye, my old friend.”
The old man closed his eyes once more. “Good bye,” he said.
There was a slight jingling of bells, and then the sound of the fusuma sliding gently shut, and the old man was alone once more.
The Trading Post opened without incident. One of the first customers was Matthew Atanian, who took the time to admire the stuffed penguins and to chat with Amanda, reminiscing about his own days as the Trading Post Manager.
While he was eating his Silver Mint Bar (he had regaled Amanda with the tale of how he himself had added those to the Trading Post’s menu) Perry walked in. “You have patrol patches?” he asked.
“A small selection,” Amanda responded. “Which one are you looking for?”
“Garden Snake,” Perry answered.
“Um, there’s no such patch,” came the response.
Matt spoke up. “I believe your patrol uses the Rattlesnake patrol medallion,” he said to the Amazon.
“Ah, I do have some of those,” Amanda said. She bent below the counter to get one.
“What do you need a new one for, anyways?” Matt asked.
“Perry mishear when first assigned to patrol,” Perry said. “Get wrong patch.”
“Oh? I never noticed. What did you get?”
“Garden Steak,” Perry said. He turned so that Matt could see his sleeve, and the patch bearing the image of a nicely cooked sirloin.
“Where the hell did you get that?” Matt asked.
Perry shrugged. “Internet.”
After lunch, the Garden Snakes were having a patrol meeting. Shmuler was absent, for reasons of Albuquerque. Perry hadn’t been invited to the meeting. The boys were sure that someone else was missing, however, so Mike took attendance.
“I’m here,” he said. “Billy?”
“Here,” Gelinas responded.
He pointed to each person as he continued. “Kenny. Aaron. Swett. Becker.” Each person made an affirmative noise as his name was called. “I still think we’re missing someone,” Mike said.
“Did you get Bill?” Aaron asked.
“He did me first,” Gelinas offered.
“Oh, yes.”
“Now, our first order of business,” Mike said. “What are we going to do about Roy?”
“What?” Becker asked.
“Roy is trying to destroy Amanda!” Mike announced for the benefit of those who didn’t know.
“I don’t think we can do much other then try and foil him as he goes.”
“Speaking of foiling,” Gelinas said, “What’s Justy up to?”
Everyone commented that he didn’t seem to be up to much of anything.
“But he must be!” Gelinas insisted. “He must!”
“Moving back to reality...” Mike said.
(“Just you wait,” Gelinas commented.)
“…what’s the plan for the campfire?” concluded Mike.
As if on cue, Luke Walker came running over. “Guys! I’ve been looking for you!”
“What is it?” Mike asked him.
“I just informed my own patrol, and I knew you’d want to know as soon as possible, too.”
“What is it?” Swett asked.
“Mr. McGraw just got back from another meeting with Mrs. Balogna,” Luke said. “It’s too horrible to put into words…”
The collected members of the Garden Snake Patrol sighed in unison. “You’d better try to put it into words,” Aaron suggested, “or what will happen to you will be too horrible to put into words.”
“Our troop has been assigned a song for the campfire,” Luke said.
“Oh?” Mike said brightly. “So she changed her mind on the Clappy Song, then?”
“You’re right,” Swett quipped. “That is to horrible to put into words.”
Gelinas grinned at Swett, pulled out his notebook and scratched something off.
“No, you don’t understand! It’s worse then that!”
Now the Garden Snake Patrol gasped in unison. “Worse then the Clappy Song?” Becker exclaimed, pulling himself momentarily free from his headphones. “How is that possible?”
“Kumbyah.”
There was a deadly silence for a moment, the only sound being the Sri Lankan rap music emanating from Becker’s headphones and a helicopter flying overhead. Backer slipped his headphones back on.
“You cannot be serious!” Aaron finally said. “There is no way I am standing up in front of the entire camp and singing that song.”
“If we do, we’ll be lynched,” Swett felt compelled to add. “Everybody who is anybody is looking forward to ‘Matt Gets Wet.’ It’s an event of epic proportions. There are people who aren’t even at camp this week who are coming up Friday night just to see it! Heck, even some girl scouts are planning to come up to see the conclusion after seeing part two at the spring camporee!”
“Ha!” Gelinas shouted triumphantly, catching everyone’s attention as he turned to Mike. “The Porters will be up here!”
“I don’t know about that,” Aaron interrupted. “I know Nicole especially was keen to come and see it, but since their up at their own camp this week they weren’t sure they could get away.”
“We’ll see,” Gelinas said, still inexplicably addressing Mike. “We’ll see.”
“That’s not important right now,” Mike assured everyone, dismissing Gelinas as he did so. “I just have to have faith that we will find a way around this.”
“And will we find a way around the other fatal flaw in the implementation of this skit?” Aaron asked.
Mike turned to Kenny as he answered Aaron’s question. “As I said, have faith.”
Aaron shrugged and was about to say more when everyone was startled by a sudden scream from Becker. Becker ripped his headphones from his head and threw them away. He blinked a bit and looked around as if taking in his surroundings.
“You okay, Becker?” Swett asked.
Becker turned to him. “How do you know my name?” he asked.
“What are you on about?” Aaron asked. “Your name’s always been Becker.”
“Oh… Becker,” he said, emphasising the last syllable of the name. “Got it.” There was a pause, and then he added, “Oh boy.”
Proctor was walking across the parade field carrying a box. The box was cardboard, largish, and had air holes poked into it. He spoke cute nothings into it as he walked.
“Proctor!” a voice shouted out to him. He looked up from the box and saw his lord and master standing at the opposite side of the field.
“Yes, my captain!” Proctor replied as he hurried to Justy’s side.
“You are clear on what is to be done?” Justy asked of him.
“Well, we have to lure the Garden Snake patrol to the three hamsters, but I am a bit unclear on what happens after that.”
“Never you mind that, you idiot. You just do your part, and make sure nothing happens to that box until the time has come.”
“Yes, my captain!” Proctor repeated. Justy dismissed him and walked off.
Proctor continued on his way across the field until he came to the large multi-trunked tree that was not far from the Trading Post. He sat against it, lifted the lid of the box ever so slightly, and scritched the box’s contents contentedly.
Luke Walker, meanwhile, was just coming out of the Trading Post where he had run into Dan who had seemed unusually cheerful even for himself.
“What’s up?” Luke had asked him.
“It’s getting a bit closer,” was Dan’s response. “Not to worry, still not enough to pose any danger to us. But still, it is exciting just knowing it’s out there.”
Luke had been confused. “What are you going on about?” he had asked.
“The fire!” Dan exclaimed.
“You’re weird,” Luke had told him.
Now walking away from the Trading Post, Luke waved to Proctor as he passed him and then spotted Mike and Matt Atanian in the distance.
“You have got to be kidding,” Mike was saying. “That was an awful movie.”
“Look,” Matt responded, “I’m not saying that it was on the level of Citizen Kane or anything, but it was an enjoyable two hours. Bruce Willis saves the world. True, he doesn’t sing while he does so, so it doesn’t have the whole Hudson Hawk thing going for it, but Bruce Willis usually doesn’t disappoint. And it had Steve Buscemi in it. You can almost never go wrong with him.”
“Oh yeah?” Mike responded. “Tell me again what you thought of Fargo.”
“Worst four dollars I ever spent.”
“Oh? I thought Fargo was an excellent piece of cinema,” Mike rebutted. “Besides… it had Steve Buscemi in it.” He grinned.
“I said, ‘almost,’” Matt protested. “Hey, Luke.”
“Hi, Luke,” Mike said.
“Hi, guys. How’s it going?”
“Fine. Just coming from the Trading Post?” Mike asked.
“Yup. Nothing of importance to report,” Luke responded.
“Good. Maintain vigilance,” Mike commanded.
Luke shrugged. “Will do,” he said as he walked off.
“’Maintain vigilance’?” Matt asked a moment later.
“We must protect the Trading Post,” Mike simply responded.
“Ah, of course,” Matt said. After a moment’s thought he added, “I approve. Incidentally,” he asked, “what’s up with Becker?”
“What do you mean?” Mike asked.
“He’s not wearing his headphones, and I could have sworn I caught him talking to himself quite heatedly.”
“My guess is that the decibels finally snapped something in his head.”
“Ah, of course.”
“I do hope you’ll consider what I have told you. This whole situation has me feeling quite… irritable.”
“Yes,” Mrs. Balogna responded. “I can see that, Roy. Thank you for bringing this situation to my attention.”
The camp director dismissed Roy from her presence and settled down at her desk. A few minutes later, there was another knock at her door.
“Oh, it’s you,” she said upon looking up and seeing Mike Quadrozzi.
“Yes, I just wished to talk to you some more about our skit for Friday night.”
“Kumbyah?” Mrs. Balogna said sternly.
“No, the other one.”
“There is no other skit. Only Kumbyah.”
“This here,” Mike continued unheeded, “is a signed petition from a majority of the campers up here this week, including many camp staff members, as well as some of the camp commissioners, and the chief scout executive of the Pioneer Valley Council, all requesting to see the skit Matt Gets Wet, part 3.” Mike handed over a stack of papers.
“It’s hazing,” Mrs. Balogna said.
“Did you hear the part where I said the petition was signed by the chief council exec?” Mike asked.
“It’s not appropriate in scouting.”
“This,” Mike handed her a book, “is a biography of Lord Baden-Powell, which if you look at the highlighted sections, it details at least three different examples of similar incidents that occurred with boys he was leading, and the positive results that came from said experiences.”
“Times change. It’s hazing.”
“Well, this,” Mike handed over another paper, “is a signed waiver from the chief executive of the Boy Scouts of America stating that he approves of Matt Gets Wet and wishes us the best of luck in performing what he calls, ‘one of the most original and exciting new campfire skit ideas I have heard about in many years; two thumbs up.’”
Matt looked to Mike. “How did you…?” he began to ask.
Mrs. Balogna cut him off. “It’s hazing.”
“This,” Mike pointed to Matt, “is the alleged subject of said alleged hazing, here to tell you that he does not feel at all put out by this skit idea, and that he is in fact one of the planners of it. Since hazing is defined as,” Mike pulled out a dictionary and read from it, “’An initiation or behavior that involves humiliation, harassment or abuse,’ and Matt here has been in the program for a number of years (and hence cannot now be initiated) and did help come up with this idea himself (and unless one is a masochist, which cannot be true of Matt if he follows the Scout Oath and Law as I know he does, one cannot humiliate, harass, or abuse oneself) I submit to you that there is nothing in this skit that can come even close to the very definition of the word ‘hazing’!”
Mike took a few deep breaths as Mrs. Balogna stared at him for a moment, her eyes smoldering with a cold fire.
Mrs. Balogna took the dictionary from Mike. She read from it. She took a long few moments to skim through the petition. She looked over the letter from the chief scout executive of the whole of the Boy Scouts of America. She looked with great interest at the biography of the founder of the entire Scouting movement in the first place.
She looked up to Mike and Matt at long last. She inhaled, opened her mouth, and repeated two words as if she was a broken record. “It’s hazing.”
Not long afterwards, Matt and Mike were walking away from the Nunes building. “That could have gone better,” Matt commented.
“I am not doing Kumbyah,” Mike said. “No way.”
“What choice do we have?” Matt asked.
Mike was silent for a moment as they walked. “Hey, Matt, were you ever planning on being on camp staff again?”
“I hadn’t ruled out the possibility completely, but I have no immediate plans. Why?”
“Well, it wasn’t on my list of things to do,” Mike responded. “And that, I think, gives us all the choice in the world.”
Matt was walking across the parade field when he noticed something very odd in the direction of the archery range. He walked over to investigate and found a large crowd of scouts blocking his view. He tried to work his way through to see what was happening. At long last, the crowd parted before him. Revealed to his gaze was… a panda.
The panda was just sitting there while a gaggle of small Tenderfoot Scouts leapt excitedly in front of him, shouting, “Panda! Panda!” The panda, for its part, was just sitting there. Occasionally it reached into a large bucket full of popcorn and consumed some of the contents.
“Whaa?” Matt asked, for the moment unable to articulate his thoughts. He was aided by a passing member of Troop 180 by the name of Graziani who asked, “What’s with the panda?”
Matt looked back at the panda, who was inexplicably now holding up a sign. It was a simple wooden sign, a square of wood nailed to a plank which the panda was holding. On it was painted the words, “I know your secret.”
“Whaa?” Matt asked.
The panda lowered the sign and held up another. “I, too, have been to China,” it said.
Matt looked around, concerned. Fortunately, the only other people around were the aforementioned Tenderfoots who were still chanting excitedly and not paying much attention to the signs the object of their adulation were holding up. “Who are you?” Matt then asked of the Panda.
A new sign. “It’s me, Mark.”
“Gaaah!” Matt sat up in his sleeping bag in shock. He took a few breaths to calm himself down. “Well,” he said after a moment, “at least there were no penguins.”
It was still a bit early, but he got up and got dressed. A few other members of the troop were already up and about. Swett was clad in his bathing suit and dripping wet, headed towards his tent.
“Where the heck are you coming from?” Matt asked him.
“Polar Bear swim,” Swett responded.
“But... No lake…”
“Who said anything about the lake?” Swett asked, disappearing into his tent.
Matt shook his head and continued on. He paused by another tent when he heard a voice coming from inside.
“But do you know what I’m doing here yet, Al?” There was a pause. “Well, I’m sure it isn’t to save this kid from deafness, so get back to Ziggy and figure it out!”
Matt was pretty sure there was no one named Al in Troop 192. “You okay in there, Becker?” he asked.
“Yeah. Yeah, I’m fine,” was the reply. A moment later the tent’s flap was pushed open. Becker emerged, dressed in his full uniform, but still without his headphones. Matt observed that there was no one else in the tent.
“Okay,” Matt said, “moving on.” He saw most of the rest of the Garden Snakes assembled by one of the picnic tables. Perry wasn’t there. He was spending an unusual amount of time with Justy this week. Of course Swett wasn’t there as he was changing. Becker was just coming up behind him. For a moment, Matt was sure someone else was missing but he couldn’t quite place who.
“What have you got there, Kenny?” The Garden Snake’s most youthful member seemed to be fiddling with something that seemed vaguely reminiscent of an original GameBoy.
“I don’t know, Mr. Atanian,” Kenny said. “I’ve been getting some very strange readings since yesterday, almost like there was a quantum shift in the flow of time, but that can’t be possible.”
“Right,” Matt said. He sat down and took a deep breath of the morning air. “Ah, Moses.”
Later that morning Justy was pacing back and fourth inside his tent. Proctor sat on his cot (mattressless, so that Justy could have extra padding) cooing into a box. “Will you stop that?” Justy spat. “What exactly are we supposed to be doing with them, anyways?”
“Well, Captain,” Proctor responded, “Perry said to wait for his signal, and lure the Garden Snakes to them.” Proctor held up the box.
“Three hamsters?” Justy asked.
Proctor nodded happily.
“Three hamsters!?”
Without warning Perry burst into the tent. “Today at two. Three hamster.”
Mike was worried. It was quiet. Too quiet.
“It’s quiet,” he told Luke. “Too quiet.”
“Maybe Roy gave up?”
“Yeah, and maybe a simian will take flight from my rectal cavity.”
“You’re weird.”
“Thank you. I practice”
“Look, there he is,” Luke said, pointing.
Roy was headed towards the Trading Post. He had a determined look on his face and was carrying what appeared to be a can of gasoline.
Meanwhile, from the direction of the dining hall came Aaron, Gelinas, Matt Atanian, and Becker. Becker had been staying close to Matt pretty much all day, making excuses when they questioned why.
And in yet another meanwhile, Proctor was approaching from the direction of the Nunes building.
Mike didn’t notice the meanwhiles, as he was intent upon Roy. “Is that what I think it is?”
Luke shrugged. They approached Roy, unnoticed.
“What are you doing?” Mike asked him when they were close enough.
“You two again?” Roy spat. “Somehow you foiled my latest plan to get that witch out of the trading post!”
Luke turned to Mike. “I take it back. You’re not weird, he is.” Then of Roy he asked, “Um… maybe parents aren’t stupid enough to believe that there is a crazy woman working at camp poisoning the candy?”
“Ah, the obvious. Gelinas would be proud,” Mike commented.
Gelinas, now within earshot, complained with, “I heard that!”
“If I can’t have the trading post,” Roy said menacingly, “no one will!”
Mike suddenly grabbed Luke and threw him at Roy.
“Gaaah!” Luke exclaimed.
“Gaaah!” Roy agreed.
Luke impacted, sending the gas can flying.
Fortunately it was still closed, as it flew right at Proctor and being doused with gasoline was not on his list of things to do that day.
Unfortunately for Proctor, however, the gas can knocked the box he was carrying out of his hands. The box fell to the ground and burst open, and three little bundles of fur jumped out and ran off in the direction of the Training Lodge.
“My hamsters!” Proctor exclaimed. “Sirs,” he implored of everyone present, “please catch them! I need to take care of them!”
“Oh, yeah,” Gelinas huffed, “way to move the plot forward.”
“What are you going on about?” Mike asked him. “Come on, Proctor needs our help!” He ran off, shouting to Luke to take care of Roy.
Matt, Aaron, and Gelinas followed.
Becker started to follow as well, leaving Luke behind with the irritable bastard. “You think this is it, Al?” Luke heard Becker ask a tree as he was passing it.
Luke shrugged. “That is one weird patrol.” He grabbed the gasoline can from where it had fallen, grabbed Roy, and headed off towards the Nunes building. On his way there, he shouted to the heavens above, “Everybody’s weird!”
“…puts poison in all the candy…”
“…and jumps kids and takes all their money…”
“…are all afraid to go anywhere near the Trading Post…”
Mike and Luke stopped and turned to each other. Then they approached the group of younger scouts.
“What’s all this, then?” Mike asked.
The young group of scouts parted, and Mike saw the oldest of the bunch (who was still a squirt to Mike) was holding a piece of paper. It was slightly tattered, and looked as if it had been pinned up somewhere and then pulled down.
Mike grabbed the piece of paper and looked at it. He turned to the kids, an unnaturally cold look in his face. “Where did you get this?” he demanded of them.
“They… they were tacked up all over the Trading Post,” one of them muttered.
Mike took off in a run towards the parade field.
“What?” Luke called, doing his best to follow. “What is it?”
“What time does the Trading Post open?” Mike asked.
With a bit of effort, Luke had caught up. “In about fifteen minutes, I think.”
“We must hurry,” Mike said, “and hope that Amanda isn’t there yet.”
“For the love of god, why?” Luke insisted.
Mike thrust the paper he had confiscated into Luke’s hands. Luke looked at it.
Atop the piece of paper, in large and alarming letters, was written, “Threat to Camp Exposed!” Below that was a crude drawing of Amanda. And below that was a list of atrocities she was alleged to be committing in her position of the Trading Post Manager.
“Come on,” Mike shouted to Luke even as he began to run faster. Luke struggled on after him in an effort to keep up. “We have to get these all down before Amanda can see them!”
Billy Gelinas and Aaron Abdowmassy were also on their way to their first merit badge class. They had not been far behind Mike and Luke, and in fact they had witnessed the preceding events.
“Hold on,” Billy said. “Mike’s like, this tall,” Billy knelt down and held his hand about an inch above the ground. “And Luke’s like, this tall.” Billy held his
hand up as high as he could, and he also leapt into the air for emphasis. “How come Luke has to struggle so hard to keep up with him?”
“Obviously,” Aaron said, “Mike has passion for secretly protecting the honor of the fair Trading Post Manager, while Luke is just… well… he’s Luke.”
“What are you saying?” Billy said.
“Well, I suppose Luke is being Sancho Panza to Mike’s Don Quixote.”
Billy gave Aaron one of the “death looks” he had been becoming quite adept at recently, usually in conversation with Mike. Alas, Mike was otherwise occupied at the moment, so Aaron was forced to substitute. “I still don’t get it, though. Luke never struck me as the kind of guy who would go along with something like that. Never one for the zany, madcap adventures. I suppose that’s why he wasn’t made a member of the Garden Snake Patrol.”
Aaron choked on something. “Are you saying,” he said after regaining his breath, “that you are the sort who does go in for zany and madcap?”
“I don’t know,” Gelinas said. “That’s been bugging me recently. I think perhaps I may be some sort of comic relief.”
“What are you talking about?” Aaron asked. “And what does this have to do with Luke?”
“Hmm?” Billy had obviously let his mind wander into aspects of greater multidimensional importance. “Oh, nothing. Where was I? Ah yes, Luke. Well, wouldn’t he just be the sort to go let one of the adults on staff know what is going on, or something?”
Aaron gave Billy a most stern look as he decreed, “Shut up, Bill.”
It had been a hot day, with the cicadas filling the air with a constant yet comforting buzzing. It had cooled only a little as evening had come, yet the old man lying on the futon did not suffer any discomfort. At this stage in his life he usually felt nothing but fatigue and he knew that it would not be long before he would rest forever.
He stirred as he thought he heard a noise. He opened his eyes and waited a moment, hoping they would focus.
“Here, my old friend,” a voice said. The Japanese was flawless, although it had a slight accent to it. Chinese, perhaps? Even before he put on the glasses that were being offered to him, he knew who it was.
He had been waiting.
“I was hoping to see you once more before the end,” he said.
“It gladdens me to be able to give you this opportunity to repay your debt to me before it is too late,” came the response. “You received my letter, then?”
“I did. I have made the arrangements with the school, and for housing.”
“Housing? That is an unexpected bonus, my old friend.”
The old man coughed slightly. His visitor poured him a glass of water from the pitcher atop the squat bedside table, and he sipped gladly from it. “It was no trouble. I do own a boarding house. And while it will undoubtedly soon be passing into my daughter’s ownership, she has agreed to my wishes on this matter.”
“You have more then repaid your debt to me, my old friend. I find I now wish I could do something more for you.”
“Your visit has brought me comfort. At this stage, I could not want for more.”
“Then it saddens me I cannot stay longer. I have to attend to things abroad very soon, and fear I must now take my leave of you.”
The old man smiled. “Very well. It was good to see you once more.”
“Indeed. Good bye, my old friend.”
The old man closed his eyes once more. “Good bye,” he said.
There was a slight jingling of bells, and then the sound of the fusuma sliding gently shut, and the old man was alone once more.
The Trading Post opened without incident. One of the first customers was Matthew Atanian, who took the time to admire the stuffed penguins and to chat with Amanda, reminiscing about his own days as the Trading Post Manager.
While he was eating his Silver Mint Bar (he had regaled Amanda with the tale of how he himself had added those to the Trading Post’s menu) Perry walked in. “You have patrol patches?” he asked.
“A small selection,” Amanda responded. “Which one are you looking for?”
“Garden Snake,” Perry answered.
“Um, there’s no such patch,” came the response.
Matt spoke up. “I believe your patrol uses the Rattlesnake patrol medallion,” he said to the Amazon.
“Ah, I do have some of those,” Amanda said. She bent below the counter to get one.
“What do you need a new one for, anyways?” Matt asked.
“Perry mishear when first assigned to patrol,” Perry said. “Get wrong patch.”
“Oh? I never noticed. What did you get?”
“Garden Steak,” Perry said. He turned so that Matt could see his sleeve, and the patch bearing the image of a nicely cooked sirloin.
“Where the hell did you get that?” Matt asked.
Perry shrugged. “Internet.”
After lunch, the Garden Snakes were having a patrol meeting. Shmuler was absent, for reasons of Albuquerque. Perry hadn’t been invited to the meeting. The boys were sure that someone else was missing, however, so Mike took attendance.
“I’m here,” he said. “Billy?”
“Here,” Gelinas responded.
He pointed to each person as he continued. “Kenny. Aaron. Swett. Becker.” Each person made an affirmative noise as his name was called. “I still think we’re missing someone,” Mike said.
“Did you get Bill?” Aaron asked.
“He did me first,” Gelinas offered.
“Oh, yes.”
“Now, our first order of business,” Mike said. “What are we going to do about Roy?”
“What?” Becker asked.
“Roy is trying to destroy Amanda!” Mike announced for the benefit of those who didn’t know.
“I don’t think we can do much other then try and foil him as he goes.”
“Speaking of foiling,” Gelinas said, “What’s Justy up to?”
Everyone commented that he didn’t seem to be up to much of anything.
“But he must be!” Gelinas insisted. “He must!”
“Moving back to reality...” Mike said.
(“Just you wait,” Gelinas commented.)
“…what’s the plan for the campfire?” concluded Mike.
As if on cue, Luke Walker came running over. “Guys! I’ve been looking for you!”
“What is it?” Mike asked him.
“I just informed my own patrol, and I knew you’d want to know as soon as possible, too.”
“What is it?” Swett asked.
“Mr. McGraw just got back from another meeting with Mrs. Balogna,” Luke said. “It’s too horrible to put into words…”
The collected members of the Garden Snake Patrol sighed in unison. “You’d better try to put it into words,” Aaron suggested, “or what will happen to you will be too horrible to put into words.”
“Our troop has been assigned a song for the campfire,” Luke said.
“Oh?” Mike said brightly. “So she changed her mind on the Clappy Song, then?”
“You’re right,” Swett quipped. “That is to horrible to put into words.”
Gelinas grinned at Swett, pulled out his notebook and scratched something off.
“No, you don’t understand! It’s worse then that!”
Now the Garden Snake Patrol gasped in unison. “Worse then the Clappy Song?” Becker exclaimed, pulling himself momentarily free from his headphones. “How is that possible?”
“Kumbyah.”
There was a deadly silence for a moment, the only sound being the Sri Lankan rap music emanating from Becker’s headphones and a helicopter flying overhead. Backer slipped his headphones back on.
“You cannot be serious!” Aaron finally said. “There is no way I am standing up in front of the entire camp and singing that song.”
“If we do, we’ll be lynched,” Swett felt compelled to add. “Everybody who is anybody is looking forward to ‘Matt Gets Wet.’ It’s an event of epic proportions. There are people who aren’t even at camp this week who are coming up Friday night just to see it! Heck, even some girl scouts are planning to come up to see the conclusion after seeing part two at the spring camporee!”
“Ha!” Gelinas shouted triumphantly, catching everyone’s attention as he turned to Mike. “The Porters will be up here!”
“I don’t know about that,” Aaron interrupted. “I know Nicole especially was keen to come and see it, but since their up at their own camp this week they weren’t sure they could get away.”
“We’ll see,” Gelinas said, still inexplicably addressing Mike. “We’ll see.”
“That’s not important right now,” Mike assured everyone, dismissing Gelinas as he did so. “I just have to have faith that we will find a way around this.”
“And will we find a way around the other fatal flaw in the implementation of this skit?” Aaron asked.
Mike turned to Kenny as he answered Aaron’s question. “As I said, have faith.”
Aaron shrugged and was about to say more when everyone was startled by a sudden scream from Becker. Becker ripped his headphones from his head and threw them away. He blinked a bit and looked around as if taking in his surroundings.
“You okay, Becker?” Swett asked.
Becker turned to him. “How do you know my name?” he asked.
“What are you on about?” Aaron asked. “Your name’s always been Becker.”
“Oh… Becker,” he said, emphasising the last syllable of the name. “Got it.” There was a pause, and then he added, “Oh boy.”
Proctor was walking across the parade field carrying a box. The box was cardboard, largish, and had air holes poked into it. He spoke cute nothings into it as he walked.
“Proctor!” a voice shouted out to him. He looked up from the box and saw his lord and master standing at the opposite side of the field.
“Yes, my captain!” Proctor replied as he hurried to Justy’s side.
“You are clear on what is to be done?” Justy asked of him.
“Well, we have to lure the Garden Snake patrol to the three hamsters, but I am a bit unclear on what happens after that.”
“Never you mind that, you idiot. You just do your part, and make sure nothing happens to that box until the time has come.”
“Yes, my captain!” Proctor repeated. Justy dismissed him and walked off.
Proctor continued on his way across the field until he came to the large multi-trunked tree that was not far from the Trading Post. He sat against it, lifted the lid of the box ever so slightly, and scritched the box’s contents contentedly.
Luke Walker, meanwhile, was just coming out of the Trading Post where he had run into Dan who had seemed unusually cheerful even for himself.
“What’s up?” Luke had asked him.
“It’s getting a bit closer,” was Dan’s response. “Not to worry, still not enough to pose any danger to us. But still, it is exciting just knowing it’s out there.”
Luke had been confused. “What are you going on about?” he had asked.
“The fire!” Dan exclaimed.
“You’re weird,” Luke had told him.
Now walking away from the Trading Post, Luke waved to Proctor as he passed him and then spotted Mike and Matt Atanian in the distance.
“You have got to be kidding,” Mike was saying. “That was an awful movie.”
“Look,” Matt responded, “I’m not saying that it was on the level of Citizen Kane or anything, but it was an enjoyable two hours. Bruce Willis saves the world. True, he doesn’t sing while he does so, so it doesn’t have the whole Hudson Hawk thing going for it, but Bruce Willis usually doesn’t disappoint. And it had Steve Buscemi in it. You can almost never go wrong with him.”
“Oh yeah?” Mike responded. “Tell me again what you thought of Fargo.”
“Worst four dollars I ever spent.”
“Oh? I thought Fargo was an excellent piece of cinema,” Mike rebutted. “Besides… it had Steve Buscemi in it.” He grinned.
“I said, ‘almost,’” Matt protested. “Hey, Luke.”
“Hi, Luke,” Mike said.
“Hi, guys. How’s it going?”
“Fine. Just coming from the Trading Post?” Mike asked.
“Yup. Nothing of importance to report,” Luke responded.
“Good. Maintain vigilance,” Mike commanded.
Luke shrugged. “Will do,” he said as he walked off.
“’Maintain vigilance’?” Matt asked a moment later.
“We must protect the Trading Post,” Mike simply responded.
“Ah, of course,” Matt said. After a moment’s thought he added, “I approve. Incidentally,” he asked, “what’s up with Becker?”
“What do you mean?” Mike asked.
“He’s not wearing his headphones, and I could have sworn I caught him talking to himself quite heatedly.”
“My guess is that the decibels finally snapped something in his head.”
“Ah, of course.”
“I do hope you’ll consider what I have told you. This whole situation has me feeling quite… irritable.”
“Yes,” Mrs. Balogna responded. “I can see that, Roy. Thank you for bringing this situation to my attention.”
The camp director dismissed Roy from her presence and settled down at her desk. A few minutes later, there was another knock at her door.
“Oh, it’s you,” she said upon looking up and seeing Mike Quadrozzi.
“Yes, I just wished to talk to you some more about our skit for Friday night.”
“Kumbyah?” Mrs. Balogna said sternly.
“No, the other one.”
“There is no other skit. Only Kumbyah.”
“This here,” Mike continued unheeded, “is a signed petition from a majority of the campers up here this week, including many camp staff members, as well as some of the camp commissioners, and the chief scout executive of the Pioneer Valley Council, all requesting to see the skit Matt Gets Wet, part 3.” Mike handed over a stack of papers.
“It’s hazing,” Mrs. Balogna said.
“Did you hear the part where I said the petition was signed by the chief council exec?” Mike asked.
“It’s not appropriate in scouting.”
“This,” Mike handed her a book, “is a biography of Lord Baden-Powell, which if you look at the highlighted sections, it details at least three different examples of similar incidents that occurred with boys he was leading, and the positive results that came from said experiences.”
“Times change. It’s hazing.”
“Well, this,” Mike handed over another paper, “is a signed waiver from the chief executive of the Boy Scouts of America stating that he approves of Matt Gets Wet and wishes us the best of luck in performing what he calls, ‘one of the most original and exciting new campfire skit ideas I have heard about in many years; two thumbs up.’”
Matt looked to Mike. “How did you…?” he began to ask.
Mrs. Balogna cut him off. “It’s hazing.”
“This,” Mike pointed to Matt, “is the alleged subject of said alleged hazing, here to tell you that he does not feel at all put out by this skit idea, and that he is in fact one of the planners of it. Since hazing is defined as,” Mike pulled out a dictionary and read from it, “’An initiation or behavior that involves humiliation, harassment or abuse,’ and Matt here has been in the program for a number of years (and hence cannot now be initiated) and did help come up with this idea himself (and unless one is a masochist, which cannot be true of Matt if he follows the Scout Oath and Law as I know he does, one cannot humiliate, harass, or abuse oneself) I submit to you that there is nothing in this skit that can come even close to the very definition of the word ‘hazing’!”
Mike took a few deep breaths as Mrs. Balogna stared at him for a moment, her eyes smoldering with a cold fire.
Mrs. Balogna took the dictionary from Mike. She read from it. She took a long few moments to skim through the petition. She looked over the letter from the chief scout executive of the whole of the Boy Scouts of America. She looked with great interest at the biography of the founder of the entire Scouting movement in the first place.
She looked up to Mike and Matt at long last. She inhaled, opened her mouth, and repeated two words as if she was a broken record. “It’s hazing.”
Not long afterwards, Matt and Mike were walking away from the Nunes building. “That could have gone better,” Matt commented.
“I am not doing Kumbyah,” Mike said. “No way.”
“What choice do we have?” Matt asked.
Mike was silent for a moment as they walked. “Hey, Matt, were you ever planning on being on camp staff again?”
“I hadn’t ruled out the possibility completely, but I have no immediate plans. Why?”
“Well, it wasn’t on my list of things to do,” Mike responded. “And that, I think, gives us all the choice in the world.”
Matt was walking across the parade field when he noticed something very odd in the direction of the archery range. He walked over to investigate and found a large crowd of scouts blocking his view. He tried to work his way through to see what was happening. At long last, the crowd parted before him. Revealed to his gaze was… a panda.
The panda was just sitting there while a gaggle of small Tenderfoot Scouts leapt excitedly in front of him, shouting, “Panda! Panda!” The panda, for its part, was just sitting there. Occasionally it reached into a large bucket full of popcorn and consumed some of the contents.
“Whaa?” Matt asked, for the moment unable to articulate his thoughts. He was aided by a passing member of Troop 180 by the name of Graziani who asked, “What’s with the panda?”
Matt looked back at the panda, who was inexplicably now holding up a sign. It was a simple wooden sign, a square of wood nailed to a plank which the panda was holding. On it was painted the words, “I know your secret.”
“Whaa?” Matt asked.
The panda lowered the sign and held up another. “I, too, have been to China,” it said.
Matt looked around, concerned. Fortunately, the only other people around were the aforementioned Tenderfoots who were still chanting excitedly and not paying much attention to the signs the object of their adulation were holding up. “Who are you?” Matt then asked of the Panda.
A new sign. “It’s me, Mark.”
“Gaaah!” Matt sat up in his sleeping bag in shock. He took a few breaths to calm himself down. “Well,” he said after a moment, “at least there were no penguins.”
It was still a bit early, but he got up and got dressed. A few other members of the troop were already up and about. Swett was clad in his bathing suit and dripping wet, headed towards his tent.
“Where the heck are you coming from?” Matt asked him.
“Polar Bear swim,” Swett responded.
“But... No lake…”
“Who said anything about the lake?” Swett asked, disappearing into his tent.
Matt shook his head and continued on. He paused by another tent when he heard a voice coming from inside.
“But do you know what I’m doing here yet, Al?” There was a pause. “Well, I’m sure it isn’t to save this kid from deafness, so get back to Ziggy and figure it out!”
Matt was pretty sure there was no one named Al in Troop 192. “You okay in there, Becker?” he asked.
“Yeah. Yeah, I’m fine,” was the reply. A moment later the tent’s flap was pushed open. Becker emerged, dressed in his full uniform, but still without his headphones. Matt observed that there was no one else in the tent.
“Okay,” Matt said, “moving on.” He saw most of the rest of the Garden Snakes assembled by one of the picnic tables. Perry wasn’t there. He was spending an unusual amount of time with Justy this week. Of course Swett wasn’t there as he was changing. Becker was just coming up behind him. For a moment, Matt was sure someone else was missing but he couldn’t quite place who.
“What have you got there, Kenny?” The Garden Snake’s most youthful member seemed to be fiddling with something that seemed vaguely reminiscent of an original GameBoy.
“I don’t know, Mr. Atanian,” Kenny said. “I’ve been getting some very strange readings since yesterday, almost like there was a quantum shift in the flow of time, but that can’t be possible.”
“Right,” Matt said. He sat down and took a deep breath of the morning air. “Ah, Moses.”
Later that morning Justy was pacing back and fourth inside his tent. Proctor sat on his cot (mattressless, so that Justy could have extra padding) cooing into a box. “Will you stop that?” Justy spat. “What exactly are we supposed to be doing with them, anyways?”
“Well, Captain,” Proctor responded, “Perry said to wait for his signal, and lure the Garden Snakes to them.” Proctor held up the box.
“Three hamsters?” Justy asked.
Proctor nodded happily.
“Three hamsters!?”
Without warning Perry burst into the tent. “Today at two. Three hamster.”
Mike was worried. It was quiet. Too quiet.
“It’s quiet,” he told Luke. “Too quiet.”
“Maybe Roy gave up?”
“Yeah, and maybe a simian will take flight from my rectal cavity.”
“You’re weird.”
“Thank you. I practice”
“Look, there he is,” Luke said, pointing.
Roy was headed towards the Trading Post. He had a determined look on his face and was carrying what appeared to be a can of gasoline.
Meanwhile, from the direction of the dining hall came Aaron, Gelinas, Matt Atanian, and Becker. Becker had been staying close to Matt pretty much all day, making excuses when they questioned why.
And in yet another meanwhile, Proctor was approaching from the direction of the Nunes building.
Mike didn’t notice the meanwhiles, as he was intent upon Roy. “Is that what I think it is?”
Luke shrugged. They approached Roy, unnoticed.
“What are you doing?” Mike asked him when they were close enough.
“You two again?” Roy spat. “Somehow you foiled my latest plan to get that witch out of the trading post!”
Luke turned to Mike. “I take it back. You’re not weird, he is.” Then of Roy he asked, “Um… maybe parents aren’t stupid enough to believe that there is a crazy woman working at camp poisoning the candy?”
“Ah, the obvious. Gelinas would be proud,” Mike commented.
Gelinas, now within earshot, complained with, “I heard that!”
“If I can’t have the trading post,” Roy said menacingly, “no one will!”
Mike suddenly grabbed Luke and threw him at Roy.
“Gaaah!” Luke exclaimed.
“Gaaah!” Roy agreed.
Luke impacted, sending the gas can flying.
Fortunately it was still closed, as it flew right at Proctor and being doused with gasoline was not on his list of things to do that day.
Unfortunately for Proctor, however, the gas can knocked the box he was carrying out of his hands. The box fell to the ground and burst open, and three little bundles of fur jumped out and ran off in the direction of the Training Lodge.
“My hamsters!” Proctor exclaimed. “Sirs,” he implored of everyone present, “please catch them! I need to take care of them!”
“Oh, yeah,” Gelinas huffed, “way to move the plot forward.”
“What are you going on about?” Mike asked him. “Come on, Proctor needs our help!” He ran off, shouting to Luke to take care of Roy.
Matt, Aaron, and Gelinas followed.
Becker started to follow as well, leaving Luke behind with the irritable bastard. “You think this is it, Al?” Luke heard Becker ask a tree as he was passing it.
Luke shrugged. “That is one weird patrol.” He grabbed the gasoline can from where it had fallen, grabbed Roy, and headed off towards the Nunes building. On his way there, he shouted to the heavens above, “Everybody’s weird!”
Author's Notes & Disclaimers
Hello, Matt here. Finally done with part 28. First a couple of belated notes.
Not that I admit that the character of Mrs. Balogna is based on a real person, but if she was, then Mark Abert pointed out to me that in actuality she was the Program Director and not the Camp Director. Now, there is one of two possibilities to explain this discrepancy.
First, in an effort to simplify things for the readers and not have too many new minor characters to add to the already extensive cast list, I decided to combine the two positions (Program Director and Camp Director) into one character. Kind of like when the lawyer and the PR guy in Jurassic Park the book were combined into one character (the lawyer) for the film version. So I am just as great as Spielberg. Hooray me.
Second. I made a mistake, she should have been the Program Director. But it wasn’t an important mistake and didn’t affect the story at all, so I left well enough alone.
The second is more likely true, but I shall go with the first. Hooray me.
Additionally, Mark recalled the name of the lady who was in reality the Trading Post manager. (I mentioned in my notes last time around that I had forgotten her name.) He told me, and I wanted to make mention of it here. But I kind of forgot again. I’m sure he’ll let me know. (I think it was Paula Something.)
Now… On for notes concerning this story. Well, Summer Camp continues. Only one more to go of actual story, and then one past that to wrap things up, and we shall have reached the end! Who would have thought this day would ever come? After about eight and a half years, Boy Scouts ½ is almost at an end! (Or is it? Mwa ha ha ha ha…)
Now the usual. Boy Scouts ½ is inspired by Takahashi Rumiko’s Ranma ½. Also, Boy Scouts ½ is not meant to reflect the values of the Pioneer Valley Council or the Boy Scouts of America. Although I would hope that should he ever read it, which would be impressive what with him being dead and all, Lord Baden-Powell would only have positive results from the experience.
As far as what’s up with Becker, for the benefit of the dim witted, the exceptionally slow, or people who never watched TV, I shan’t say exactly what it is so as not to spoil it. I shall just credit a Mr. Donald P. Bellisario.
Thank you, and good night.
Not that I admit that the character of Mrs. Balogna is based on a real person, but if she was, then Mark Abert pointed out to me that in actuality she was the Program Director and not the Camp Director. Now, there is one of two possibilities to explain this discrepancy.
First, in an effort to simplify things for the readers and not have too many new minor characters to add to the already extensive cast list, I decided to combine the two positions (Program Director and Camp Director) into one character. Kind of like when the lawyer and the PR guy in Jurassic Park the book were combined into one character (the lawyer) for the film version. So I am just as great as Spielberg. Hooray me.
Second. I made a mistake, she should have been the Program Director. But it wasn’t an important mistake and didn’t affect the story at all, so I left well enough alone.
The second is more likely true, but I shall go with the first. Hooray me.
Additionally, Mark recalled the name of the lady who was in reality the Trading Post manager. (I mentioned in my notes last time around that I had forgotten her name.) He told me, and I wanted to make mention of it here. But I kind of forgot again. I’m sure he’ll let me know. (I think it was Paula Something.)
Now… On for notes concerning this story. Well, Summer Camp continues. Only one more to go of actual story, and then one past that to wrap things up, and we shall have reached the end! Who would have thought this day would ever come? After about eight and a half years, Boy Scouts ½ is almost at an end! (Or is it? Mwa ha ha ha ha…)
Now the usual. Boy Scouts ½ is inspired by Takahashi Rumiko’s Ranma ½. Also, Boy Scouts ½ is not meant to reflect the values of the Pioneer Valley Council or the Boy Scouts of America. Although I would hope that should he ever read it, which would be impressive what with him being dead and all, Lord Baden-Powell would only have positive results from the experience.
As far as what’s up with Becker, for the benefit of the dim witted, the exceptionally slow, or people who never watched TV, I shan’t say exactly what it is so as not to spoil it. I shall just credit a Mr. Donald P. Bellisario.
Thank you, and good night.
For those keeping track,
Billy predicted the following:
Billy predicted the following:
Kenny will do something smart
Swett will be sarcastic
Perry will try to kill them
The Porters will show up
Matt will swoon over Sarah
Matty will resist the advances of Kuntz
Kiwi/Mocha Fruit Juice
Everything will work out in the end.