The Purpose

The Purpose

Everyone had his pet reason why Hermie was such a grouch.

"He has a tapeworm," said his brother.

"I KNOW he has pinworms," stated his sister.

"Perhaps he has ulcers," suggested his aunt.

"Could be painless migraines," proposed his uncle.

"I think he just gets out on the wrong side of the bed," mothered Mother.

"Hormones," concluded his father.

But no one knew the REAL reason except Hermie himself. He summed it up with, "I've been there and done that and now I'm here doing this."

But unless you know where he was and what he did, this is meaningless.

"Herman Stock-Man, lad that ya be," bellowed the saltiest wharf-rat any ocean of any time has ever produced, "I have a tale to tell. And don't be tell'n me ya can't remember yarns or I'll string you up on the yardarm for sure. Now, lad, here she blows."

The aged sailor, eye-patched, wooden-legged, and hook-handed, snarled through his grisly beard and tobacco-stained teeth. But little Hermie, who was so scared he couldn't do anything but stare, noticed that in spite of all the gruffness, old Captain Sharkey had a definite twinkle in his eye. That eased the boy somewhat.

"So lookie here, lad," gnarled the old man. "I've sailed the seas, fought the pirates, done battle with sharks and whales and giant squids. Aye, I've done it all and then some, but in the end I have noth'n to leave but memories and the flavor of me spirit." He untwinkled his working eye and added, "Except ... the Secret."

"The Secret?" dared the little boy. At that word he didn't care how scary or crazy the old coot was, secret meant treasure or magic or something just s good. "You have a secret, Captain?"

"Aye, and you're a brave lad for ask'n, wee Herman Stock-Man. 'Tis the very reason I've chose you for this tell'n. Now, here's the scuttlebutt."

When the old man leaned his rancid, cadaverous body toward the boy, Hermie didn't even wince. Secrets transcend the worst B.O. And at that moment Captain Sharkey handed young master Stockman a magic talisman. It was the last magic talisman that existed in the non-magical present that Hermie came from.

"Now listen carefully, lad. When ya want something so bad ya can taste it or see it in your dreams, then wave this in the air and say Hooba Hooba. And if that won't do it, nothing will."

"Do what?" asked Hermie, staring at the ivory.

"Do what?" roared the old salt. "Why, bring before your very eye, or eyes if ya have two, what you're crave'n so bad for. That's right. Wave it, Hooba Hooba, and the world's yours."

Now Hermie was impressionable but he wasn't dumb. "This sounds like something from a comic book or Saturday Cartoons," he ventured.

"Aye," answered the Captain, "but neither of the likes is real. They're on paper and the silly tellyvision. This talisman here, feel it, it's real, eh? It and the magic incantation..."

"Incantation?"

"Aye, tis what they call Hooba Hooba. That and the wave'n, and most important, your crave'n, they'll bring to life exactly what ya want. That's as real as real gets, eh, lad?"

Hermie fingered the piece of curves carved into the ivory.

"Well, then," snapped the impatient Captain. "If you're a-doubt'n me, I've told the Secret to the wrong lad," and he snatched the talisman from Hermie's hand.

'"Oh, no, sir," pleaded the ten year-old. "I...I..."

"Ya what, now? Spit it out. Come on, lad."

"I just wondered what I want the most."

"Well then, you're on the right track. But don't think too hard there. Like I say, she works best when yourcraven'sstrongest. Don't use your mind too much, lad, use your feel'n."

"Well, then it's easy," said the boy, relieved. And he waved the talisman. "Hooba Hooba, or whatever."

"NO, LAD!" yelled the captain fit to deafen the clams at the bottom of the sea. "Tisn't a joke now. Do it for real or she'll backfire. That 'whatever' isn't and never has been part of the incantation. I tell ya, lad, do it right or she'll backfire for sure."

Just as Hermie was about to ask what backfire meant, he was hit in the

face by a four-dip, strawberry ice-cream cone.

"There ya have it, lad, she backfired just as I said she would."

Hermie had mixed emotions. He enjoyed licking the dessert off his face, but he disliked the sting from the direct hit.

"So," snarled Captain Sharkey, scraping his grisly beard with his hooked hand, "ya craved the likes of ice-cream so ya got it, but ya done it with disrespect. Now ya know the rules and the consequences." He stared at the boy with the intensity that only one eye can deliver, then said sternly, "Imagine now if ya'd craved for a mountain. Can't ya see the power of the backfire? Can't ya see the foolishness of disrespect? Now give her another try so I knows ya got the hang of it."

Hermie thought deeply. And seriously. But he thought so much he forgot something.

"Hooba Hooba," reminded the Captain. "And don't forget to wave."

Hermie followed the instructions and before his very eyes there stood the grandest remote control race car ever manufactured.

"By the depths, I've never seen the likes!" barked Sharkey.

On a roll, Hermie added, "Hooba Hooba," and a jet skier appeared. Then a twenty-thousand piece Lego set and a motorbike and...

"Ya've mastered it, ya have," said Sharkey, grinning from hair-tufted ear to gold-ringed lobe. "So now it's time to tell ya the conditions."

"Conditions?" asked Hermie absently. He was too enamored by the stockpile of toys to listen.

"Aye," snapped Sharkey, grabbing the talisman. There was definitely no twinkle in his eye now.

"Condition,. What limits the whole rigging."

"What do you mean?" asked Hermie sadly. It's one thing to take candy from a baby, but far worse to take a magic talisman from a ten year-old.

I mean this," gnarled Sharkey as he adjusted his eye patch, fidgeted with his hook, and tapped his wooden leg to see if it was still in place. "We let ya play around with ice-cream and the likes so's ya'd get the hang of her, but now that ya do, tis time for the Conditions. I should say Condition, 'cause there's but one."

Hermie sensed things were going to take a serious turn.

"Aye, Herman Stock-Man, there," growled the salt. "I'm pass'n the Secret onto ya for a PURPOSE."

"Aye, and a right heavy purpose too." Then the sailor paused. Hermie

felt the old man was wondering if he could handle this."

"Please," pleaded Hermie, "what is the Purpose?"

The grizzly man one-eyed the boy as only a laser can its target.

Finally the sailor made up his mind. He said, "The condition is, ya get ta use the talisman and Hooba Hooba only ONCE."

Hermie almost cried. He'd hoped the magic would never end.

"Aye, and that ain't all," wheezed the Captain. "The very PURPOSE of all this is," and he leaned toward the boy and whispered into his ear, "ta bring the one ya love most what'll make him the most."

And with that, as with all things magic, the eye-patched, hook-handed, wooden-legged, salty old captain vanished.

Poor Hermie. He didn't know what to think or what to do. It had all happened so fast that he forgot the incantation and the wording of the PURPOSE which he didn't understand anyway. All he knew was the crazy old coot was no longer in front of him, he was holding a carved stick, one he could only use once. Then he remembered the warning: if he goofed, the whole thing would backfire.

Hermie looked down. He noticed that the toys he'd materialized no longer existed: no sign of melted ice-cream, race care, jet skier, Lego set, motorbike, or any of the others. But he did sense the faintest echo.

"Fear not, Herman Stock-Man, ya'll know..."

"I'll know," Hermie repeated sarcastically. "I'd better, because right now I don't know diddly."

Nor did he through elementary school, junior high, high school, college, graduate school, and seven years into his marriage. All that time, whether during the bright light of day or the nebulous dreams of night, he didn't remember the old sailor and his story, the magical incantation, condition or purpose, nor did he remember the old geezer's final, echo-like words. The whole affair vanished from his mind all those years.

Everything except the talisman. Herman didn't really know why he kept the strange stick, but that he did keep it. That and a small tool set his father had given him on his eleventh birthday, the day before Marc Stockman died.

Now in his thirty-seventh year, with his wife in the throes of terminal cancer, his life having lost all meaning, Herman M. Stockman sat in the attic fingering that strange piece of ivory he'd discarded so long before.

"I wonder what it's good for?" he asked himself. And fragments of a conversation passed through his mind. The sound was so real.

"Tapeworm,...pinworms...ulcers...migraines...wrong side of the bed...hormones...and finallygrouch.

Herman waved his hands in despair.

I've been a grouch all my life," he said out loud. "I've been a worthless, rotten grouch. And because of it, my life's been one long nightmare."

Herman barely heard the rustling noises downstairs as his son searched the rickety workbench where he spent as much time as his friends did on the computer.

No wonder everything's gone to hell all my life. You can't be a grouch and expect things to go right

"Dad, do you know where the screw driver is?"

But why has my life been such a nightmare? What's going on?

"Dad, are you home? I need the pliers."

I've been there and done that...

"I could use the hammer, too. I sure wish we had somerealtools!"

Now I'm here doing this...

"You know Dad, I wish we had a whole shop. Every tool we'd ever need and we knew how to use them. That's what I wish Grandpa had left you instead of this little kiddie set."

Grouch....Something from long ago was coming through.

"Well, I have this Industrial Arts project due tomorrow and I guess I'll just have to do the best I can with what we have."

God, how I love that boy!the father thought instinctively.After Ester's gone I won't have a thing left. God, but he's a boy you could die for!

"What's going on?" Herman asked. But the sound in his head kept on.

Ya'll know the very PURPOSE, Herman Stock-Man, ya'll know...

"I don't believe this. Where's that sound coming from?"

The Condition...

"My God, I'm going mad!"

And don't forget the respect,insisted the inner voice. Cause if'n ya don't show respect, lad, she'll backfire on ya for sure!

Herman's head thudded. Downstairs the pounding of a hammer reverberated the cadenced sound.

Ya can only use her once...It wouldn't stop.

Thud thud thud.

Ta bring the one ya love most what'll make him the most...What is this?

"Dad, I wish we had a shop. Then we could make real stuff any time we wanted!"

Then, as if programmed, Hermie blurted, "Hooba Hooba."

"Well heusedto be a grouch. But one day whatever was bugging him cleared out like clouds after a gale."

"I've heard that. Wonder what happened?"

"I don't know, but his son's the happiest fellow you'll ever meet. Got a wood shop in his basement and makes the greatest sea stuff ever."

"Yeah. Ship models, creaky ole wharves complete with miniature lobster traps and net-drying racks, carvings of old sea captains. Yeah, that fellow'll knock off a whole fishing village for you in less than a week."

"Pretty handy with tools then, I guess."

"Handy? You'd think he had magical fingers or something."

"I think I'll drop in. What's the name of his shop?"

"Hooba Hooba."

"Strange name."

"Yeah, but he sure can make salty ole sea captains look real!"