My Never-never Land

THE BRASS MONKEY

 

The door chime sings 'Happy Days Are Here Again', and as usual, I cringe. Chas, I call my husband Chas instead of Charles because he doesn't intend fitting the everyday mold of 1975. At 11 a.m. he casually strolls to the front door and without the slightest clue as to who is outside, flings it open. He calls me. 'Darla, we have company.' 'Who is it, Chas?' I ask and he snips, 'Don't ask questions, just come see.'

 

This is usually my special personal day and this one is my turn to bake the pies for this evening's Ladies' Bridge Tournament. There is no way to get out of either, baking or meeting the stranger. For the now my hands to the wrists are covered with flour. What can I do but water them down, scrape off the paste I have made, and go to the door?

 

I have no idea at all of who the stranger is that Chas has already made comfortable on our sofa. The tall, very dark skinned man is almost bald, has a small grey goatee and a briefcase from which he has strewn on the carpet magazines, pamphlets, brochures. 'Darla, this is Mort. I can't pronounce his last name so Mort will be fine with him.' Mort looks me up and down, winks, and makes me cringe. He takes the initiative and asks if he may call me Darla. 'I'd rather you not, Mort. You may call me Ms. Bierfeld for now.'

 

'Well, Ms. Bierfeld, your husband already has an idea of why I am here but I don't mind repeating it. I am the general manager of Travel Extra Ordinaire and have a fabulous collection of trips for you that I doubt anyone you know has taken. I stop him dead in his speech. 'Please don't waste our time or yours, Mort. We aren't going anywhere in the near future.' 'It will cost you nothing to listen, explore, what we can offer you. Prices are not negotiable but, if you want to check, you will find Travel Extraordinaire so unique, so exciting, you will be glad forever that you didn't rush me away.' I try again to get him out of my hair and our door but Chas is almost ready to jump into the fire. He suggests Tom leave the brochures so we can study them and discuss any possibilities over the week-end.

 

Saturday morning, really early, 6:30, I hear him making coffee, putting cups and cereal bowls on the table. I don't connect that with what else he has ready for me. The first thing I can't help but see is a large map of Indonesia, Asia, and Russia taped to the pantry door. He has a loose leaf notebook, colored pens and our check book on the counter. My gut warns me Chas and I may end up divorced if he pushes me too hard.

 

'Darla, dear. I have already searched the web for Travel Extraordinaire and they have an A++ rating. I also have searched for information on Indonesia and am going to burst if you don't keep an open mind. That land has more active volcanoes than any place on earth. In 1882 Krakatoa erupted and almost destroyed the world. Scientists work deep in the earth day and night to learn what the future may hold, and Honey, it ain't so good. I want to see the island and go down into the depths of hell before I go for real and never come back.'

 

I am stunned, almost mute, ready to put Chas in an institution. All I can manage to say is, 'You are nuts, out of your mind. I'm not going there or any place else with you.' He sits down, eats a full bowl of Cheerios with blueberries, doesn't even put his bowl in the sink.

 

Mort shows up at noon and gets a strong handshake from Chas and a snub from me. I don't bother looking at his offerings or listening to his spiels. There is no doubt in my mind my husband will go without me. Within an hour Mort has a check in his hand for a deposit for one. He isn't fooling and neither am I. I make sure Chas hears me call our attorney for an appointment to discuss a divorce. Both of our plans begin to take shape.

 

While he is probably burning his feet to a crisp on the lower level of Krakatau, I am making my own arrangements. I keep the house and he can go to hell or move in with Mort. I close out our checking account and hope he gets stuck on the barren island with no funds to get off.
But get off he does. The dumb door chime I have had disconnected and a normal one installed rings exactly one month after Chas flew away. Stunned, angry, upset, I barely acknowledge his presence. He walks in and I tell him forcibly to get out. The house is mine and he had better find a new place. That's when he puts down a large box that  he had been holding, puts his arms around me, his lips to mine and I melt.

 

As soon as we each catch our breath he hands me the box. 'Open it, open it now, Darla.' I refuse but that doesn't hold Chas back. He sits down on the floor and rips off the tape, pulls out something shiny and weird looking. 'Look, Sweetheart. I brought you a gift nobody else you know will ever get.' I'm not too sure of what it is but it looks like a monkey, a golden monkey. 'Darla, it is brass, solid brass, surely made a thousand years ago from the magna of Krakatoa. Isn't it gorgeous?'

 

It isn't gorgeous at all but its eyes sparkle at me. Maybe the brass is a cover-up of gold. I put it on the middle etegere shelf where it does have a certain charm.

 

In the morning I find the brass monkey lying on the floor, a small crack down its back. I put it back on the shelf three days in a row. Then I put it in the cellar.