Читать книгу Mr. Fish & Other Fantasy Tales - David Ph.D Dicaire - Страница 5

Mike Belmont stood on the eighteenth hole with no chance of winning the tournament. In fact, he was in dead last place. However, there was a short seven-foot putt and making it would give him a par and salvage a very bad day. He lined up the shot and the ball rolled toward the hole, hit the corner of the cup and squirted left. He slugged over – defeated – and sunk it.

“I see you played your usual spectacular game.” J. R. Lockton smiled at Mike. He was a large, individual who wore loud colorful shirts that hurt the eyes.

“Nobody asked you.”

“Nobody has to. I guess I’ll go pick up my winning check. Why don’t you just give up and quit embarrassing yourself?”

“Shove it.”

Mike grabbed his clubs and left.

2

Mike arrived home and plucked the golf clubs from the trunk of his car. He turned around and Evelyn was waiting for him.

“Mike, where have you been?”

“We had a late start.”

“You are the most selfish person.”

“Evelyn don’t start on me now. I’ve had a really bad day on the course.”

“Oh, I see. So you had a crappy day while I was trying to make sure that our son had a good birthday and I should just leave you alone?

Mike walked into the house without saying a word.

Keith Belmont, an eight-year old handsome boy, sat alone at a chair looking very sad. The birthday banner sagged, most of the streamers had fallen down and one lone balloon touched the ceiling like it was trying to escape. There were only a few crumbs left on the cake platter.

“Hey, how’s my birthday boy?”

“Dad where were you?”

“Everyone is gone home. The party was over two hours ago.” Evelyn stood a few feet from Mike.

“Well the party isn’t over until I say it’s over.”

Mike picked up a party hat and put it on. He danced around and looked rather foolish. Keith didn’t say anything and just slumped away.

“Ray called. He says that you were supposed to work today and that you blew it off to play in that tournament.”

“I had booked the day off three weeks ago. I’ll smooth things out on Monday.”

“Don’t bother. He fired you. I hope your golf game was worth it.”

She stormed out of the room.

3

Mike sat on the edge of the grass overlooking the empty field that stretched before him as far as the eye could see. He looked at the point where the top of the trees touched the emerging sun like two lovers holding hands.

He squinted at the setting sun and decided to hit a few balls. He stood up and planted a tee into the ground and then placed his ‘lucky’ ball on it. He swung and watched the ball shoot off like a rocket before it started to hook and landed in a small patch of trees.

“Damn it.” He dropped the club and trudged over to find the ball. He picked up an errant tree branch to separate the tall weeds that served as a necklace around the small woods. With the stick he slowly and meticulously poked around for the ‘lucky’ ball.

Suddenly, he heard a voice. “Be gone with you vile creature.”

Mike peeked over a log and couldn’t believe his eyes. A small figure, about two feet tall with a red beard, black beady eyes and rather large nose was fighting off a squirrel with a cane. Suddenly, it disappeared and showed up behind the squirrel and whacked the animal a good one.

The squirrel made a very strange noise and fled.“Aye, that was a good shot.”

Mike burst forth. “Hey, what are you?”

The figure disappeared again only to reappear behind Mike and smack him a good one on the back of the leg.

‘Ouch, you little gremlin.” Mike turned around but the figure had disappeared again.

There was a strange, almost diabolical laughter. The little man appeared on a tree branch and let go of it smacking Mike right in the back of the head knocking him to the ground.

“That’ll teach you to invade my home.”

Mike got back up and twisted around looking for the fiend.

“I’m over here. No, I’m over there.”

Mike swung the tree branch around trying to hit the little fellow when his cell phone rang.

“Great.” Mike stopped and picked up his cell phone. “Hello? I’ll be home in about ten minutes. I’m really sorry, honey.” Mike turned around and the little fellow was looking at the cell phone with an intense gaze.

Mike took a picture and the little creature went absolutely crazy.

“What did you do?” He jumped up and down furiously.

“Gotcha ya.” Mike grabbed the little fellow by his legs and hung him upside down.

“Let go.”

“Okay, what and who are you?”

“Let go.”

“First you answer my questions.”

“I’m a brownie. Beezer MacLeary at your service.” He tipped his hat and smiled.

“What’s a brownie?”

“Agh, laddie don’t you know anything? What brings you to my woods?”

“I was out hitting golf balls and my ‘lucky’ ball landed in here.”

“Lucky ball? No such thing as luck in golf. Tis’ a game of skill and patience.”

“What do you know about golf?”

“My people invented it.”

“Oh. How can you make yourself disappear and reappear?”

“Agh, you ask a lot of questions. We brownies can do that. Now let go and give me back my soul.”

“On one condition. You help me win a golf tournament.”

“How?”

“With your ability to disappear you can guide my ball.”

“Ah, that’s cheating.”

“If you don’t, I won’t give you your soul back.”

The little figure stroked his chin and carefully calculated the situation.

“Okay. I’ll help you win one and you give me back my soul.”

“Deal. Now how do I know you won’t welch on your promise?”

“Cause we brownies are true to our word.”

“Okay, on Saturday, meet me at the Twin Oaks Golf Course at eight o’clock in the morning.”

“I’ll be there with my spurs on.”

“Great.”

Mike let Beezer go.

“Ever make a deal with a brownie?”

“No. Why do you ask?”

“Just askin’. See you on Saturday.”

Mike left.

4

It was a perfect day to play golf. Mike stood on the tenth hole and a crowd had gathered around him. He smiled because there had never been interest in his game before. Although the Twin Oaks Invitational was a big deal locally, it was not on the national spotlight.

Mike approached the tee and took a few practice swings before smacking the ball hard. It shot out straight and then started to curve disappearing into a small patch of trees.

“That’s more like it,” said J. R.

Suddenly the ball bounced back onto the green in line for the hole.

“That’s what I thought,” quipped Mike before standing aside for Lockton to hit the ball.

The rude player was next and hit a towering drive that threatened to hit the green, but when the ball fell it landed awkwardly then rolled down into the sand.

“That’s impossible.” Lockton took off his cap and could not believe it.

“That’s more like it,” smiled Mike.

Mike lined up his second shot and hit it too hard. The ball – which looked like it was going to bounce right past the flag – hit the flagpole, stopped abruptly, spun around, and squirted in the hole. Everyone clapped.

“That’s impossible.”

“That was an eagle,” chirped one of the other golfers.

Mike put his club away and tipped his hat at the crowd.

It took Lockton five more shots to finally sink the putt putting him seven strokes behind Mike.

They were on the fifteenth hole, a particular challenging one since the green was located on an island. A well-placed ball meant the different between par and disaster.

Mike was up first and hit the ball a little too far to the right. It plopped in the water and J. R. looked very happy. Suddenly, the ball popped out of the water like it had been shot from a cannon and rolled onto the green a few feet from the hole.

“How can that be?”

“Must of hit a log or something,” Mike assured everyone.

Lockton’s shot looked like it was going to go exactly on the green but bounced and never stopped.

“Stop, stop, stop you crazy ball.”

But the ball rolled down the hill like some unforeseen force was pushing it. It landed in the water.

“There’s something going on here,” protested J. R.

“I think that someone doesn’t like to lose.” Mike smiled.

“You’re cheating.”

“That’s a serious accusation. I could have you kicked out of the tournament for that, but I’d rather beat you fair and square.”

Mike walked away to line up his next shot.

On the eighteenth hole there was no doubt that Mike was going to win the tournament. He lined up his last putt and drained it. Everyone cheered and the tournament organizer arrived with the check and trophy.

A local reporter waved Mike over and he obliged.

“That was some fantastic shooting. How do you explain all of those seemingly impossible shots you made today?”

“I guess you could say that I was just really pumped for this tournament.”

“I see. Well congratulations on the win.”

“Thanks.”

Later that night, the whole family was gathered around the TV to watch Mike’s short interview.

“I can’t believe you won. I mean, you’ve never won a tournament before and today you beat that Lockton creep by fifteen strokes.”

“I just had it going today.”

“I guess so.”

“And the money is really going to come in handy.”

“It is. Because I won today, I’ve been invited to the Michigan Amateur Tournament. If I can win that, I might have a shot at the pros.”

“You mean the PGA tour?”

“That’s right. Green dreams, here I come.”

5

Mike entered the small patch of trees and looked around.

“Hey, Beezer, are you there?”

The brownie appeared behind him sitting on a log.

“Aye, laddie, I’m here. Did you bring my soul?”

“I did.” Mike showed the brownie his picture and then pressed the delete button.

“Agh, where did it go?”

“It’s deleted. I have a proposition for you. How would you like to help me win another tournament?”

“The deal was for only one round. Besides it’s cheating and Beezer McLeary is no cheater. Don’t you want to win fairly?”

“Can I tell you a story?”

“Aye, I like stories.”

“When I was sixteen years old, I was the best amateur golfer in the entire state of Michigan. I had scouts watching my every swing and the scholarships were starting to pour in. I was a sure bet to win the Michigan Amateur Tournament, which would have sealed the deal.”

“So what happened?”

“J. R. Lockton happened. He was jealous of me because I beat him at every tournament. I was out one day at the driving range and he was there. He accused me of cheating and I confronted him. Words were exchanged and he slammed his club on my right arm shattering it.”

“Aye, I see.”

“Lockton won the Michigan Amateur Tournament. He ruined my shot at the pros. The arm never healed properly and I could never regain my old form. So I figure that I deserve some kind of compensation for what happened.”

“You make a good point.”

“So help me win this one tournament and gain some revenge. What do you say?”

“I’ll be there to help you out.”

“Great. How will I know you’re there?”

“I’ll give you a sign.”

“What kind of sign?”

“You’ll know I’m there.”

Mike walked away.

6

It was a perfect day for golf. Mike stood on the first hole and nervously looked around for a sign that Beezer was present. He couldn’t wait any longer and he lined up his first shot and hit the ball straight. It was a good one.

Mike smiled and gained some much needed confidence.

The second shot was not so great and looked like it was going into the water, when it hit something and squirted back onto the green.

There’s my sign.

By the sixth hole, Mike held a slight one-shot lead over J. R. Mike’s tee shot sailed straight before it started to curve and landed in a small clump of trees.

“That’s more like it,” said Lockton.

Mike ignored him.

Once he was in the clump of trees searching for the ball, he looked around for the brownie.

“Beezer where are you?”

The little one appeared and smiled up at Mike. “Right here.”

“How could you let the ball land in here?”

“I didn’t do anything.”

“What do you mean?”

“I just got here. You’ve been doing it all on your own.”

“That’s impossible.”

“No, it’s true.”

“Quit playing games, Beezer.”

“Remember it’s a game of skill and patience.”

“Right. With a little help from you.”

The brownie disappeared.

At the end of the first nine holes, Mike held a one-stroke lead over Stockton and Ned Lump. There had been no sign of the arrogant brownie for the last three rounds.

Maybe I don’t need him after all?

On the eleventh hole, he continued to golf just well enough to maintain a one-stroke lead. On the green, he made a twenty-five foot putt and drained it. Just when it looked like the ball was going to move to the right and miss the hole, it curved and dropped in.

On the thirteenth hole he managed to barely avoid the water hazard. With a strong approach shot that bounced on the green and looked like it was going to overshoot it’s destiny, the ball hit the flagpole after taking a strange bounce.

Good work Beezer.

On the fifteenth hole, he worked his way out of the sand trap. The ball shot out and amid a wall of crystals and landed on the green but didn’t look like it had the momentum to make it all the way. In fact, at one point it slowed right down and was about ready to stop when it fell.

On the seventeenth hole, Lump and Lockton were breathing down his neck. They were still each a stroke behind Mike who played with a certain level of confidence.

The tee shot was a good solid hit and raced down the fairway landing in a strategic position. Both golfers hit bad shots and just when it seemed that Mike held a distinct advantage, both golfers recovered nicely. His two rivals finished with one over par for the hole after Mike two-putt and registered a double bogey. The three combatants were now tied.

On the eighteenth hole, Mike hit a towering tee shot and it landed about fifty yards from the green. The other two players followed suit with strong drives of their own.

All three chipped onto the green. But Lockton’s attempted putt curved to the left. Lump missed.

Mike stood at the hole. He was one putt away from winning the Michigan Amateur Tournament. The ball was three feet from the cup on an even surface.

Mike took a deep breath and lined it up. He hit the ball and it rolled toward the hole but at the last minute curved and shot to the right.

Lump followed and sunk his ball to take a one-stroke lead. J. R. missed and the tournament was over.

Mike shook Ned’s hand and walked off the course.

7

The sun was almost setting when Mike entered the woods. “Okay, where are you?”

Beezer appeared behind Mike.

“Here.”

Mike turned around. “I thought we had a deal?”

“We did. I helped you win a tournament.”

“You double-crossed me. You said you were going to help me win the Michigan Amateur Tournament. What happened?”

“I’m a Brownie, not a magician. We are meant to help people out not help them cheat at golf tournaments.”

“But you promised.”

“I promised to help you out. And I think I did. It wasn’t meant to be, Mick. You’re a good golfer, but not good enough.”

“All I wanted to do is win that tournament.”

“And then it would have been another and another until you won them all.”

“What’s wrong with that?”

“Would you have been able to live with yourself?”

Mike looked down on the ground and shook his head.

“You’re right.”

“Aye, I know it hurts. But, it’s better than living a lie.”

“You did help me out.”

“I did. No hard feelings?”

“No.”

They shook hands.

“Thank you, Beezer McLeary.”

“Ah, laddie t’was nothin’.”

“If you ever need anything you know where to find me.”

“I do.”

“I have to go now. Thanks once again.”

Mike left. He arrived at his car and pulled away.

Beezer appeared on the rooftop and smiled. “This is going to be a fun time.”