A “Spirited” Box
The native boy raced across the open compound toward the group of low
buildings where the servants slept. Jack and Biff ran side by side, ten
feet behind the boy.
“What is it, Chuba? What is it?” Jack called. But the boy didn’t answer
until he reached the door of one of the small white cabins. There he
stopped, gasping for breath, and turned to Jack and Biff. His face was
contorted with fear; his eyes were opened wide and filled with terror.
“Now get hold of yourself, Chuba. Steady. We’re right here. What’s
inside your cabin that’s so frightening?”
Chuba’s voice trembled as he spoke. “The evil ones. They come. They come
to punish Chuba and the father of Chuba.”
“The evil ones? What are you talking about?” Jack’s voice was firm, but
his tone was kind. He had to quiet this boy’s fears.
“It has been spoken,” Chuba said, his voice trembling. “Many, many years
ago, the gods spoke to the ancestors of my father. They said”—and here
the boy’s voice almost broke—“they said that evil will befall any member
of the House of Chin Fu who leaves his land to become a slave of the
white man.”
Biff watched the boy. He felt sympathy toward him, yet it was hard for
Biff to believe that such superstitious beliefs could still cast their
spell in these modern days.
“That’s nonsense, Chuba. You and your father are not slaves. You are
honorable workers. Without your help, we could not live here. You are
well paid, and you hold positions of responsibility and dignity. Enough
of this. Just what is inside your cabin?”
“Chuba not know. But is bad. Very bad. It is voices of the evil ones,
casting spell on Chuba and his honorable father.”
“All right. Come on and show us what it is.”
“Please, Sahib Jack. You to go first.”
“Okay. Come on, Biff.”
Jack and Biff entered the one-room cabin. It was small, but comfortably
furnished. Beds stood against the walls on either side of the room. At
the rear there was a small, compact kitchen. Biff and Jack inspected the
room quickly. They saw nothing unusual.
Chuba stood behind them, standing on tiptoes.
“There!” he said. “Watch, and you shall hear evil spirits.” He pointed
to a small box on the floor by one of the beds.
As they watched, a low growl came from the box. The growl grew louder.
It became a wail. Then it turned into the high, piercing scream of a
siren. It held this chilling, blood-curdling pitch for about ten
seconds. Then the lid of the box slowly raised. A yellowish hand
emerged. It bent over the front of the box. One finger touched a small
button. The high scream dropped down to a wail, then to a growl, then
stopped. The hand withdrew into the box. The lid closed. All was silent
again.
Biff put a restraining hand on Chuba, keeping the boy from fleeing in
terror. On Biff’s face a slow grin was spreading. He wanted to laugh,
but one glance at Chuba’s stricken face stopped him. This was a serious
thing to Chuba. Chuba would feel Biff was laughing at him, insulting
him.
Jack stared at the box in amazement. “Now just what on earth is that
thing?” He scratched his head. Biff started across the room toward the
box.
“Hold it, Biff. We don’t know what that gadget might be. Might be a
bomb.”
Now Biff did laugh. Even Jack was concerned. Not terror-stricken like
Chuba, but the weird performance of the box had undoubtedly alarmed
Jack.
Biff reached for the box, bent over, and picked it up. Chuba cowered
behind Jack. But the native boy’s curiosity got the better of him. He
watched Biff’s every move, his eyes wide.
“It’s only a toy, Jack,” Biff said. “My kid brother got one last
Christmas. It was the newest thing out. Caused a sensation.”
“Let me take a look at it,” Jack said, and Biff handed it to him.
A great feeling of relief had come over Biff. When Chuba had come
rushing in, crying out in a voice filled with fright, Biff had figured
that another in the series of strange happenings had taken place. To
discover that all the excitement was only about a toy relaxed Biff
completely for the first time since he had arrived in the Orient.
Jack inspected the toy somewhat gingerly. “How does it work?”
Biff took the box back. “Look. I’ll show you.” He raised the lid of the
box, and as he did so, Chuba took a step back. He was taking no chances
with evil spirits even if the Americans did. Jack’s and Biff’s heads
were together inspecting the box. This was too much for Chuba. He had to
see, too. He cautiously poked his head forward for a closer look.
“See this small siren? That’s where the noises come from. The toy has
two small batteries, like the ones used in a transistor radio. They
power this small motor, and it does the rest. Raises the lid and makes
this hand snake out.”
Biff looked at Chuba and smiled. A shy, friendly grin lit up the native
boy’s face. “Want to see it work with the lid open?”
Chuba nodded his head rapidly.
Biff set the toy in motion. The siren reached its high pitch. The hand,
attached to the end of a small iron rod, snaked out, flopped over the
front side of the box, and touched the cut-off button.
“That’s all there is to it. Some gadget, isn’t it?”
Jack laughed. “I can see how it must have been the toy sensation of last
Christmas. I can also see why it scared the daylights out of Chuba. It
would scare me, too, if it woke me from a sound sleep.”
“That’s what happen, Sahib Jack. I sleep deep. This thing start
screaming. Chuba jump, run fast, plenty scared, for help.”
“I suppose once it’s turned on, it keeps operating until the batteries
run out.”
“That’s right,” Biff said. “Its action is set so it goes off once about
every three minutes. You turn it off here.” Biff pointed to a switch on
the bottom of the box.
“But how it get in my father’s house this morning?” Chuba demanded.
“I can answer that one.” Jack’s shoulders started shaking with laughter.
Biff started laughing, too, partly from relief, and partly because when
Jack laughed everyone joined in. Chuba, his eyes darting from Jack to
Biff, decided his worries had passed. He giggled shyly at first, then
added his high laugh to the chorus. The little white cabin shook with
their hilarity.
“The ‘evil’ one, Chuba,” Jack said, “is a certain red-headed maintenance
mechanic called Muscles.”
“Muscles! Him play another joke on Chuba. He much cool fellow. Him way
in.”
“What’s this?” Biff thought. “Jive talk from a native boy? This kid’s
all right.”
“You mean this Muscles is real cool; he’s way out, don’t you, Chuba?”
Biff asked.
“That’s what Chuba say. He here, man, here.”
Biff slapped his thighs and doubled up again with glee. Chuba’s mixed-up
talk was so far “gone,” it had come back to “here.”
“How old are you, Chuba?” Jack asked.
Chuba drew himself fully erect. He puffed out his chest. “Chuba soon be
sixteen.”
“Aren’t you about the same, Biff?” Biff nodded his head. “Chuba, shake
hands with Biff Brewster. Biff’s Sahib Charlie’s nephew.”
The boys shook hands. There was no doubt but that they took to one
another right off.
“Chuba, you show Biff around. I’ve got to get back and see if Mike’s
been able to—”
“I get it, Jack,” Biff said.
The two boys watched Jack stride back to Headquarters House.
“Come, Sahib Biff, I show you many things.”
Biff didn’t reply at once. A plan was beginning to shape up in his head.
It would work, too, with the help of Chuba.
“Okay, Chuba. But first off—cut out that sahib stuff. To you, I’m just
plain Biff.”