Seriously, Norman!, page 25
“Eeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeyaaaaaaaaaaaaaa!”
Norman barely heard a faint “Eeeeeeyaaaa” answer from the beach as the spray flew from the bow of the board, which chattered and bounced across the choppy water.
Norman tried to take a breath and relax into the thundering speed, but it was impossible. Instead, he narrowed his eyes and let every last bit of instinct and knowledge help him stay in control of his watery Pegasus. He looked at his feet for a moment and cautiously began to carve gentle turns in the water rushing beneath him by pushing on his toes or heels. He sliced a slightly larger arc and sent up a magnificent spray.
“Yaaaaaaheeee!” he shouted.
Feeling confident now, he looked ahead and around him. There were a number of boats cruising and playing in the strait between the mainland and the island. It was difficult to focus on anything other than his whistling kite and the board, clattering against the waves like a castanet. But he was just able to spot the Alfurnians in their motorboat, thanks to their hats, which stood out like two short smokestacks.
“I bet they’re bald under those hairy things,” Norman said aloud.
Norman heard a roar and snapped his eyes around to see the large wake of a passing powerboat rolling at him, but in an instant he was sent fully airborne. Naturally, he clutched the bar for dear life, which only sent him soaring higher, higher than a house, higher than two houses, higher than two houses and a pup tent, and then down slowly, then faster, until with a huge wham he splashed into the waves.
The sudden jolt spilled most of the air from the kite, which began to crumple and fall. Norman heaved back on his bar. The kite seemed to shake itself sober, then to re-form itself into its proper wing shape, at last standing, as if expectant, on edge on the water.
Norman took an internal roll call. “Foot bone still connected to the ankle bone, ankle bone still connected to the leg bone, leg bone still . . .”
He leaned back again, the kite rose into the air, and with a splash he was back up on his horse.
“Giddy-yap!” he shouted, skimming after the Alfurnians like a cowboy of the sea.
Five more life-altering minutes later, during which Norman kept a watchful eye on his kite and any unusual waves, he was approaching the island. He could see Nigel and Reg slow their boat and then idle it into the marina. Norman aimed his kite for the white sand beach next to this.
“Attaboy, big fella, time to head for the corral.”
* * *
Landing the kite proved to be the most challenging part of the whole affair; this flying horse just did not want to return to the barn.
Getting onto the beach had not been a problem. Norman managed to slow down and stop by letting wind out of the kite, thereby reducing its tremendous lift. He then let himself lie back in the shallow water, slid his feet out of the straps, and, grabbing hold of his board, carefully walked out onto the beach, mindful to keep the kite directly above him, catching only enough wind to keep it up. But how was he to bring the kite down without being dragged through the possibly thorny boscage? The answer appeared in the shape of two friendly locals—kiteboarders, too—who, just as in any good Western, took the reins of the bucking bronco and let the gunslinger, in this case Norman, dismount. They grabbed the lines and expertly brought the kite down to the beach, where it lay folded and limp, its energy gone.
“Dude!” said the first local. “You were righteously rippin’! Rippin’ righteously-la!”
“How long ya been kiteboarding?” said the second.
“Feels like a lifetime,” said Norman truthfully, with a grin.
“Yoo-hoo-la-la. I hear you,” said the first.
“Killer-diller,” said the second.
“Um, could I just leave the kite here on the beach for a bit?” said Norman.
“Sure, dude, we’ll watch it for you,” said local number one.
“No worries!” said local number two. “Lim Robinson, the shop owner, is one of our best mates.”
“Thanks! I mean, righteous!” said Norman.
As he passed his sleeping steed, he gave it a quick pat. “Righteous thanks to you, Pegasus,” he murmured, then nipped up the beach.
now or nothing
for the karma
Norman looked around to see if he could spot the two Alfurnians. Once again, their infundibular helmets bobbed like harbor buoys, leading Norman along. They were just leaving the marina and entering what appeared to be a sprawling resort, dominated by a large hotel.
Norman hurried forward, hoping his soaking-wet clothes would draw no attention. He walked in among the various outbuildings unquestioned.
Hanging back a little, he waited to see where the spies would lead him. They were headed for a patio bar. Aha, thought Norman. Maybe while we’ve been looking for them at the Tall Bar, all this time they’ve been at this bar. Maybe it’s the Short Bar. Or the Medium High Bar, or the . . .
Norman followed them, crossing an open courtyard cautiously and as inconspicuously as possible.
He slipped behind the spidery boughs of a frangipani tree and peered past its scented petals. Trying to keep his teeth from chattering, Norman watched as Nigel and Reg climbed onto high bamboo barstools. After setting their furry hats down on the bar (not bald after all!), they leaned forward and called for service.
The scrape of a gate and a voice—its timbre one Norman had tried to forget—sounded behind him.
“Zounds! Narmin Narminn! Ye doog! Wot be ye a-dooin’ here?”
All the fine hairs on the back of Norman’s scarlet neck stood straight up, only to be flattened by the boisterous slap of an epollicate hand.
“Narmin Narminn, ye wee rapscallion. Ah’m nae sure if ye mayn’t be oop tae nae gud, but naerteliss Ah’m pleased tae see ye, dinnae wurry yersilf aboot tat. An’ soo will yer fadder be, when he sees ye. Coom alang noo, he’s nae far.”
Norman could only gasp for breath, no words were available, as No Thumbs McSweeney’s thumbless hand, still upon his prickly neck, guided him along a pebbled path. No words were available, but questions chased one another pell-mell through his mind. Was No Thumbs one of the kidnappers? Or was he kidnapped, too? Where were the guards? Did they have guns? Why was No Thumbs so happy? Would he be tortured? Where was the Quadrumvirate? Had he just peed in his pants?
Norman could answer that one. Yes, he had peed in his pants, but only a little, and since his pants were soaking wet already, he trusted that no one could tell. This calmed him. Then a thought so horrible that his neck hairs tried to stand up again, even against No Thumbs’s gnarly hand: What if they cut off his, Norman’s, thumbs, too? He would be epollicate. For the rest of his life. Never able to give the thumbs-up sign again. Not that, not that, not that, thought Norman. Not that.
“We’ll just coot off”—Norman peed into his pants a wee bit more—“the carner here,” said No Thumbs. “The pool’s aroond tis tree.”
What would Mr. B. advise? Reading the dictionary was out. Balance. Norman’s mind raced again. That’s it. Find the balance between imagination and observation. Norman’s imagination was in hyperdrive—he realized that. Got to slow down the imagination. Now observe, observe!
The pebbles crunched beneath Norman’s feet. Palm trees stretched up and out, toward the sea behind him. From beyond a hedge of white bougainvillea came a splash.
No Thumbs guided Norman past the hedge and onto wide flagstones beside an oval swimming pool. They stopped, and Norman looked up at No Thumbs expectantly. Birds whistled and a woman laughed somewhere, and then from across the water a voice shouted, “Norman! Norman!”
Again it was a familiar voice. Norman stiffened, turned his head slowly, and then stood there, his mouth falling agape. On the opposite side of the turquoise pool, beneath gently waving palms, stretched out on a white chaise longue, in a fuschia-and-puce Hawaiian shirt, cargo shorts, flip-flops, and pith helmet, lay his father, a tall, pink drink in his large pink hand.
“Norman! Well, I’ll be jiminy-jiggered!” he cried. “Come here, son! This must be some kind of Santa surprise!” He struggled to sit up without spilling his drink, chortling and purpling in his cheeks.
“Dad!” shouted Norman, pulling himself from No Thumbs’s grasp. “Dad!” Norman ran helter-skelter across the flagstones and around the end of the pool, finally throwing his arms around his father, who now sat with his legs astraddle the chaise longue.
“Daddy!” Norman said gleefully.
“Whoa, whoa, my drink, son, my Singapore sling, ha-ha!”
“Dad, are you all right?” Norman held his father’s face in his hands. “You look all right. Are you okay? How about psychologically? You haven’t been brainwashed, have you? You still remember your name and everything? Let me see your thumbs.” Norman felt for his father’s hands. “Tell me, who is the president of the United States? How are your palms? Moist? Dry? What?”
“Haven’t been brainwashed? Remember my name? What in Katmandu, Oklahoma, are you talking about, son?” Orman Normann put his drink down and swung his legs over to one side.
“The Alfurnians! Your kidnappers! Them!” said Norman, suddenly cringing as the Alfurnian spies themselves sauntered toward them, tall glasses in hand.
“Avtahnun, Meestir O. Avtahnun, Meestir Meckess,” they said as they passed.
“Afternoon, fellas,” said Orman Normann.
No Thumbs clapped one of the Alfurnians on the back, saying, “Wot ye drinkin’, boyos? I could use sommat mesilf,” and he followed them off toward the hotel.
“Them, Dad, them!” whispered Norman.
“Nigel and Reg? Kidnappers? Ha! Ha! That’s richer than Houston, Ohio!”
“Then who kidnapped you?” Norman sat down next to his father and looked into his eyes.
“But I haven’t been kidnapped!”
“Dad, what are you saying? Your e-mails, we read the e-mails, they weren’t from you at all!”
“But didn’t the e-mails say I wasn’t kidnapped?”
“Yeah, but . . .”
“I specifically told Nigel and Reg to tell you and Mom that I wasn’t kidnapped.” Orman Normann puckered his lips to the straw, slurped, and burped. “How is Mom, by the way?”
“But why didn’t you write?!”
“Son, it’s a long story.” Orman Normann put down his glass and, leaning toward Norman, spoke softly: “Son, I’m onto something big here.”
“You mean, you haven’t been kidnapped?”
“Norm, that’s what I keep trying to tell you! Now listen.” Again his voice grew quiet. “I’m onto something truly colossal. Bigger than big. This could put the goo back in good and the doll back in dollar. I’ve got the Alfurnian foreign minister, Mr. Pajakbaru, in a bidding war with the Katong Luangan foreign minister, Mr. Bg Kabong, and when this deal finally goes through, hoooooeeeeeeeee, it’s gonna be the biggest bomber bamboozle I’ve ever brought in.” In spite of his wish to keep quiet, he whistled and slapped his knee. “See, first Mr. Bg Kabong nibbled, and then Mr. Pajakbaru bit, and then the thing started to get a little sticky, with all the special meetings and so forth, and that’s why I couldn’t write to you, see? They both started to get nervous about me cutting a deal with the other one on the side, so they wouldn’t let me use my e-mail, which is why I had Nigel and Reg send you those letters for me. I made sure they sent one every day just so you wouldn’t worry. Really, a couple of nicer guys you couldn’t meet—”
“Dad . . .” said Norman, who had himself been slowly pinking as his father talked and was now a pretty light purple color.
“A couple of nicer guys you could never meet, and Mr. Pajakbaru—”
“Dad.”
“And Mr. Kabong—”
“Dad!”
“What is it, Norman?”
“Dad, listen to me very carefully.” A steely note had entered Norman’s voice. “Put that stupid drink down. Thank you. Have you got a good grip on your flip-flops? Good. Because we are now going to stand up and walk quietly and calmly away from the pool and then out of this hotel, and then as quickly and carefully as we can, we will return to the Pan Specific Hotel, where your wife, my mother—remember her?—awaits us.”
Norman stood, satisfied with his speech, feeling his father’s karma safely within his grasp.
“But, son, haven’t you been listening to a word I said? I’m maybe an hour away from the biggest bomber deal of my life. We can’t leave now!”
Norman felt his father’s karma slipping.
“Dad, have you got any idea—”
“Or maybe two hours.”
“. . . any idea at all—”
“Or maybe half a day, or maybe two at the most, honest.”
“. . . how worried we were about you? I nearly broke my neck three times to get here!”
“Well now, I see that, but that couldn’t be helped, and I knew you’d understand once you realized how much this could mean for all of us.”
Norman looked down at his father. It was now all or nothing for the karma.
“Dad, I understand one thing. You can either have the biggest bomber deal of your life, or you can have me and Mom. You can’t have both.”
“But, son, really.”
“Dad,” said Norman, beginning to turn away.
He looked back at his father. “What’s it going to be, Dad. Me and Mom, or your bombers?”
There was a small commotion under the palm trees, and then a larger one, as Leonard, Anna, and Emma came running, vaulting, and, of course, “Eeeeeeeyaaaa!”ing over chairs and towels.
“We watched you the whole way, from the ferry,” shouted Leonard. “It was überawesome! Hey, Mr. Normann. Long time no see.”
Norman said, “Mr. Normann here was just making up his mind whether he’d like to see you or Anna or Emma or Mom or me ever again in his quickly shortening life. Because if he doesn’t get up out of this deck chair and come with us right now, I will never let him in our door again!”
Norman glared as the others stared large-eyed at Norman’s large father.
“Oh, all right, all right, all right! I’m coming, I’m coming, I’m coming!” Orman Normann swung himself around on his chaise and clapped his hands on his knees. “Cheese, I’m sunburned! I’ll just go get my things from my room.”
“No time, Dad!” Norman couldn’t take any more karmic chances. “The hotel can send you your things. We’re going before Nigel and Reg come back. Anna, toss me my sandals, quick.”
Just then, wearing nothing but furry bathing trunks, Nigel and Reg came back.
“Nigel, Reg,” said Orman Normann, “meet my son and his friends.”
“How do zyou do?” said Nigel.
“Ve’ve heard zo much about zyou,” said Reg.
“Pleased to vinally meet zyou,” said Norman.
“How come you aren’t wearing your hats?” said Leonard.
“Oh, ve don’t alvays vear dem, zyou know,” said Nigel with a smile that made his mustache wiggle.
“Say, Nigel,” said Leonard, “you remember last summer in Vienna?”
“Gosh, Leonard, I wish we could stay and chat, but my dad was just saying he’d love to show us around the hotel, weren’t you, Dad?”
“No, son—I mean, why yes, son, I was,” he said. “Reg, Nigel, see you later.”
“Allighator!” said Nigel.
The Quadrumvirate plus one father walked slowly around the pool, then around the corner of the changing cabana, and then a little more quickly toward the marina.
“You know, Nigel and Reg aren’t going to like it when they notice that we’re gone,” said Mr. Normann. “They might start to wonder what I’m up to. And No Thumbs would truly not be pleased if he thought I was cutting him off. He’s awful sensitive about cutting off anything.”
“I know, I know,” said Norman. “That’s why we’ve got to get out of here as quickly as possible.”
At the marina they checked the schedule for the next ferry back to the city.
“Six-thirty,” read Anna.
“That’s an hour from now,” said Emma.
“Isn’t there any other way?” said Norman.
“Well, we could take the cable car,” said Mr. Normann, looking up.
Four heads tilted back. Sure enough, off to their left, beyond the roofline of the hotel, a tramway of red and blue cable cars could be seen rising gracefully out over the island and, by means of many tall pylons, reaching all the way to the mainland.
“Come on,” said Norman.
Hurrying away, they passed over a broad promenade beneath more palms. They mingled with the people there, hoping to blend in with other tourists and Singaporeans out for a bike ride or a holiday stroll. After half a mile, they came to the tramway station and quickly bought tickets.
Mr. Normann said to no one in particular, in the voice of a mourner, “Money isn’t everything, right, heh, heh?”
“Give it up, Mr. Normann,” said Emma.
“Maybe, if I just went back for a minute, I could give them an ultimatum.”
“Get in the cable car, Mr. Normann,” said Leonard.
The cable car was otherwise empty, and for the first time in four hours Norman was able to take an unhurried, deep breath of air.
“Whoo!” he said.
The five were quiet for a moment, staring out the window as the cable car rose smoothly from the station.
“The kiteboarders are still out,” said Emma.
“The motorboats are, too,” said Anna.
“Say,” said Leonard, “is that—”
“Eeeeeeyaaa! It is!” said Norman. He yanked his monocular from his backpack and scanned the water through it. The Alfurnians, along with No Thumbs McSweeney, were in their motorboat, pointing and, by the look of it, shouting. In the back of the boat were two very small men in midnight-blue suits wearing dark wraparound sunglasses. Norman passed the monocular to Anna.
“Who are those guys?” said Anna.
