The Comic Book War: The Comic Book War Read online

  Robert cringed at the insulting nicknames.

  Laughing maniacally, the evil scourge of the universe sauntered off.

  _____

  It was nearing dinner on Thursday when there was a knock at the front door.

  “Robert, get that, dear. I’m busy with the cake,” his mother called up to him.

  Reluctantly, he put Ice back next to George’s picture and went to see who was interrupting their adventure. When he opened the door, Kathryn waited on the porch.

  Robert reached for her suitcase, then blurted out the one question he had to know the answer to. “So, were the generous people of River Falls able to help with my contest?”

  She laughed. “My, you are eager. Don’t worry; it’s in the car.” She hugged him. “How’s my favourite little cousin?”

  “Fine as frog’s hair and not so little.”

  They immediately shared all the juicy news: how much school stank (it stank bad), who got married and had a baby (not necessarily in that order), his mother’s Knit for Victory war effort (she was single-handedly defeating that Hitler with her dry socks), the biggest buck taken this season (twelve-point) and the hit of the whole conversation – his luckier-than-lucky find, the meteorite.

  Admiring the pendant, Kathryn was genuinely impressed. “Goodness, it’s a mini work of art, Robbie! How remarkable to have found it.” She inspected more closely. “My, it seems to have a sort of glow, doesn’t it?”

  Robert had thought this too, but hadn’t said anything in case he sounded like a lunatic. “Yeah, and it always feels warm. Weird, huh?”

  Kathryn agreed. “Yes, definitely weird!”

  “I’ll take your suitcase to the spare room.” He hoisted the bag and started up the stairs.

  “If you’re going to be a gallant gentleman and haul my bag, the least I can do is trail behind and act all swoony and ever so grateful.” She laughed and pretended to fan herself, Southern belle-style.

  Kathryn followed him to the back bedroom where Robert set the little suitcase onto a waiting chair. “Mum’s put out towels for you on the bed and water in that carafe.” He pointed out the linens and drinking water. “I’ll let you unpack. See you downstairs.”

  “Actually, Robbie, can I talk to you for a minute?”

  Robert heard something in her voice and stopped. “Sure, what’s up?”

  “This is between you and me, cousin to cousin. Agreed?”

  Her tone was so serious he wondered if something was wrong back at River Falls. Maybe she needed his help. “You bet.” He tried to sound caring. “You know I’d walk on hot coals for you, cuz. Well, at least warm water.”

  She smiled. “Thanks for that, Robbie.” Kathryn took his hand and led him to the small alcove with the window seat. “When I spoke to your mother on Tuesday, she mentioned you might be having a tough go of it with your brothers all being away fighting. She said you spend a lot of time alone in your room with your comics.”

  This surprised Robert. He didn’t think his mother noticed anything. “Yeah, so?” For some reason he felt defensive about his mother’s monitoring what he did.

  “Sweetheart, I understand how frightening the war must be for you. All three of your brothers are in constant danger. That’s a lot of stress for anyone to handle and sometimes we need a friend to lean on.”

  Robert felt a lump spring into his throat.

  “I want you to know that I’m here for you. We’re family, and I think you and I are best friends, too. We stick together.” She tipped her head. “Do you know why your mother had that telephone put in? She knew sooner or later, her little herd of boys would leave home and she wanted you to be able to call her whenever you needed to. I’m offering you the same deal – I’m here for you, day or night. If you’re having a problem, I’m only a phone call away.”

  He nodded, understanding this offer came from love. “I might take you up on that sometime, if things with mum get too much!”

  She patted his hands, then stood. “Good. And speaking of your mum...not a word to her about my spilling the beans. Okay?”

  “Okay,” he agreed as he followed her down stairs. Kathryn knew him well and she was very clever, yet he couldn’t help wondering if he’d been set up for this little heart-to-heart.

  _____

  Dinner was a complete success with everyone raving over his mother’s Shipwreck and asking for seconds. The cake was delicious too, despite its lack of eggs and the watery frosting.

  Over their second pot of tea, Kathryn explained why she had come. “Aunt Belle and I are sure Patrick,” she emphasized the name for Robert’s benefit, “would like this.” She reached into her carpet bag and withdrew a worn Red River sash. “It belonged to his namesake, my father Patrice, who also went by Patrick. This will help him remember where he comes from, and will also remind him we love him and are thinking of him. It’s only an old sash and its real value is in the connection it has to family. This’s why we think Patrick, fighting so far from home, needs something tangible to remind him he is not alone on the battlefield.”

  Taking the sash, Robert’s father touched the faded arrowhead pattern with his calloused fingers. “I remember hearing stories of the old days when I was growing up. It was a hard life on the road allowances and many didn’t survive for long. They were brave, smart and a lot tougher than most today.”

  Robert saw memories of those long ago tales cloud his father’s face and it made him want to know more. He wished his dad would tell him those stories. He’d heard small pieces of how the road allowance settlers were on their own and at the mercy of unscrupulous thieves, farmers and merchants with no help from the law. The hunger and sickness, family triumphs and brutal losses: these tales were Metis history but were not written down anywhere. It made it all the more important to hear them so they wouldn’t be forgotten entirely.

  “Robbie,” Kathryn interrupted his thoughts, “you and your brother have always been particularly close.” She went on persuasively, “You could send the sash along with your next letter. He’d appreciate it coming from you.”

  Robert knew no was not an option with his cousin. “Sure, Katy, I’d be happy to.”

  He didn’t think his brother would be thrilled to receive this particular gift, even with the attached loving sentiment.

  CHAPTER TEN

  AND THE WINNER IS

  The visit went long into the night and it was hard to get up for school the next morning. When Robert did finally drag himself out of bed, the first item on his agenda was to ask Kathryn about the grease. Today was Fat Day – the totals would be tallied and the winner announced.

  Robert felt the weight of the chain around his neck and was sure Kathryn had come through.

  When he came into the kitchen, his cousin was already finishing her breakfast. “Morning, cuz. So, the grease? How’d we do?”

  “Oh, yes, Robbie. The messy stuff is in my car. Eat first, and then I’ll show you.” Kathryn sipped her tea. She was immaculately dressed in a perfectly tailored teal suit and looking very much the way he imagined a lady lawyer should.

  Robert wolfed down his porridge and hurried to get his book bag. This was it. If his cousin had been successful with her collection, he was a winner in waiting.

  Walking outside, Robert was aware of his special talisman tucked safely under his shirt. The big question was had she brought enough to win?

  Kathryn went around the car, opening first the trunk, then the back doors. “You were lucky. Everyone had oodles of the stuff.”

  “Wham! Kablam!” Robert goggled. The car was jammed with big metal milk cans, at least seven of them! “Wow, thank you people of River Falls!”

  “Jars wouldn’t do it, so my clever husband used these. It started with two, then word spread and voila! I hope this helps.” Kathryn scrutinized the cargo. “I think I should give you and all this grease a ride to school, or you won’t get them weighed in time. You did say the contest closes this morning?”

  “Yes, cut-off is the
first bell. And yes again to the offer of hauling this freight for me, but I’ll ride my bike, so I’ll have it for the way home. Thanks, cuz. You’re a peach.”

  He was feeling elated as he biked to school, leading his cousin behind him in her car like a drum major in a parade. He was sure the huge amount he was bringing would secure his win.

  “Thanks again, Katy,” Robert said for the millionth time as he lifted the heavy cans out of the trunk.

  “Anything for my favourite little cousin.” She tried to ruffle his extra-short hair. “Now, go empty the cans so I can bring them home with me.”

  Robert struggled into the school, a milk can dangling from each arm. They were truly heavy. Miss Pettigrew’s carmine-coated mouth formed a perfect O when she saw him.

  “My, my, my! Someone’s been busy.” She put the big scale on the floor and went to the storage room. Seconds later, she rolled out an enormous tub that must have come from an old washing machine and placed it on the scales. “I’ll weigh the tub, then put your fat in and do the subtraction to calculate the total pounds of grease goodies. What a haul!” She was like a kid at Christmas as she transferred the contents of the milk cans.

  “Hang on to your bonnet, Miss Pettigrew, ’cause this ride ain’t over!” His teacher’s giddiness was contagious and Robert hurried out with the empty cans, eager to bring in more.

  He busily ferried in another set and his teacher squealed with delight. “We’re going to kick the hiney of every school in the district. Wait till the next teachers’ development day. Those harpies from Western Canada High School will have to find someone else to lord it over. We’ll see who gets stuck with the title of School Least Likely this year.”

  As Robert was bringing in more cans, he passed Charlie Donnelly at the school doors, her book bag tied on her back so she could run more easily. He couldn’t resist taunting her. “Hey, check out the fat bomb I found hanging around the house. This should help with the war effort.” He felt like an air ace, returning home from an overwhelming victory – if he could have, he would have waggled his wings at her.

  Charlie gaped, then a scowl darkened her face. “Those have fat in them?”

  “You bet your skinny...ah, yah, they sure do.” Robert continued down the hallway with his load of grease, trying not to sweat too hard in front of his competition. “You know, a little here, a little there, every ounce helps.” This time he couldn’t help it, he gave her a full-on victory roll, spinning around with the cans outstretched from his sides.

  Too late, he felt his arms pulling in opposite directions, the heavy cans acting like shot-put hammers as he spun faster and faster, out of control. With a mortifying bang, Robert smashed open the home ec doors, still whirling toward his teacher, who gave a terrified squeak, then fell back in shock.

  The last thing Robert saw was Crazy Charlie Donnelly storming away.

  He had no time to enjoy his enemy’s retreat. His arms were being pulled out of their sockets and he had to save the grease. Dropping to his knees, Robert managed to slow his forward momentum and, with his last ounce of strength, he drew the cans toward him, sliding into an ancient cooking stove like a base runner into home plate. Safe!

  Once order was restored, Miss Pettigrew gathered all of Robert’s fat, including previous contributions, and dumped everything into the tub. And then she launched into a running commentary: “And the long shot, Rocket Robert, surges from behind! The track favourite, Charming Charlene, can hear hoof beats closing. We’re down to the final furlongs now, folks, and it’s Charming Charlene, Charming Charlene. Wait a second! Here comes our dark horse Rocket Robert. And as they cross the finish line, it’s...” She eyed the brimming vat. “Stay tuned for the thrilling conclusion of our race.”

  Robert was astounded. Could it be? Did Miss Pettigrew bet the ponies?

  “I want the winner to be a surprise, even to me. I will do the final weigh-in of my two highest competitors at the assembly.” His teacher scraped the last of Robert’s jars with a pencil, deftly flicking the grease into the tub. “Then we’ll see which horse ends up in the winner’s circle.”

  Robert caught a quick look at the number on the scale and surreptitiously checked the chart on the wall for Charlie’s last drop off. You could always tell which was hers as there would be a big solid-coloured section on the carefully calculated paper thermometer.

  Since he’d seen Charlie coming into the school without her infamous red wagon, and now that he had his total, he already knew who the winner was. He started figuring out how many comic books he could buy once he cashed in all those stamps. With this single win, he would keep his heroes happy and his brothers safe for months.

  As Robert strolled down the hallway, he stood a little taller, felt a little more confident and, when he passed a gaggle of cheerleader types, he touched the brim of an imaginary fedora. “Morning, ladies.” This left them busily whispering and pointing after him.

  As the clang of the class bell ricocheted off the corridor walls, Robert decided life was indeed sweet. His superhero buddies were going to pat him on the back when they found out what a “super” job he’d done in securing the funds to keep their lifeline strong.

  _____

  The gymnasium buzzed with excitement. The winner of the Great Grease Roundup was about to be announced. Robert walked in exuding confidence, which was not what he usually exuded in the gymnasium. On the stage, Miss Pettigrew fussed with a wide sheet of canvas covering something lumpy.

  As he scanned the room, Robert spied Crazy Charlie, sitting by herself at the edge of the crowd. He went to join her.

  “Come to see me win?” It was hard not to gloat a tiny bit as he sank down in the chair next to hers.

  “I think that’s my line.” She shot back.

  “Numbers don’t lie, Charlie.” He’d done the math; the win was his.

  Miss Pettigrew moved to the front of the stage and the crowd stilled. His teacher’s idea of sprucing up for the big reveal meant she’d stuck a dozen of her coloured pencils into her hair at all angles, nailing the haystack to the top of her head and making her appear like a Barnum and Bailey human pincushion.

  Robert took his pendant out and held it. Now he understood how the comic books worked, today’s victory was incredibly important.

  “I want to thank all the students who participated,” she began.

  “You’ve made our school proud. In fact, I believe this is the most successful drive in the whole district! There were two competitors who managed to put us way over the target. Fabulous work, really...”

  Robert was tempted to give the crowd a royal wave.

  She brandished a piece of paper. “Here, I have the totals for the students in the contest.” She proceeded to read out the names and amounts contributed by every student who had taken part, starting with a kid who brought in less than a cup full. Finally Miss Pettigrew reached the end of her list and neither Charlie nor Robert’s totals had been read out.

  “I must admit, I have kept the best for the last. Right up until this morning, I thought we had a clear winner. Nothing so easy. It turned into a very exciting sprint to the finish, boys and girls.”

  She must be talking about the Great Milk Can Delivery he’d pulled off. Robert felt the corners of his mouth inching upward. He did nothing to dissuade them.

  “To add a little drama, I will do a public weighing of the top two contestants here in front of you all! This number will be final!” She walked over to the sheet shrouded display and tugged the cover off. There stood a tall upright weigh scale and, on either side, an enormous wash tub of fat. “May I have my assistants, please?”

  Two burly students from the wrestling team climbed the steps and stood flanking the scale. “We shall now weigh the final two entries.” She nodded to a kid sitting at the side of the stage and a loud drum roll filled the auditorium.

  The muscle-bound assistants lifted one of the tubs and set it on the scale. Miss Pettigrew adjusted the slide, patiently watching the teetering
balance, waiting for it to still, then marked a number on her clipboard.

  “The official total for Robert Tourond is a staggering...”

  Everyone held their collective breath.

  “...sixty-three pounds!”

  That wasn’t quite what Robert had come up with this morning, but he was still sure he had the win. Like he’d said, numbers don’t lie, and he had Charlie’s number. The audience applauded this mammoth amount and he dropped his hold on the meteorite to give the V for Victory sign to his cheering fans.

  The two students removed Robert’s vat of fat and replaced it with Charlie’s offering. Miss Pettigrew withdrew a fresh pencil from her hair and proceeded to fiddle with the scale.

  Charlie turned to him, all nasty and no nice. “You think you’re pretty smart.”

  Robert was about to say something when she spotted his pendant. “What’s this?” She reached out and grabbed the meteorite. Peering closely, she scrutinized it.

  “And for Charlene, the total is...” Their teacher adjusted the balance on the scale, wiggled the vat a little and rechecked the number before writing it down. “Oh, my! This is remarkable...and a bit of a surprise. Charlene Donnelly has sixty-three...no, sixty-four pounds!”

  Charlie dropped the meteorite as the crowd burst into excited chatter.

  Robert sat in shocked silence. Sixty-four pounds? She’d beaten him by one whole pound? Impossible! He was sure of his numbers and he knew his was the last delivery. He’d seen Charlie in the hall, and there was no way she would have had enough time to run out for more fat before the morning bell rang.

  Charlie’s mouth slid into a rock-hard line as she sat rigidly in her chair.

  “Can both these students come up here, please?” Their teacher motioned expectantly at them.

  Robert was numb. He couldn’t believe he’d lost. Slowly, he rose to his feet and as he did, his necklace flashed. It hit him then. Charlie had been holding the talisman when they’d announced the winner! Had that somehow changed things? Had she stolen his good luck? Anger rose like bile. That was it! She had snatched the win from him as surely as she had snatched the pendant. He tucked the charm back inside his shirt, anger making him fumble with the chain.