The Return of Captain Conquer. Mel Gilden

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      “Well,” said Mr. Congruent as he hit his knees with the palms of his hands and stood up, “I think it’s time for a little celebration.”

      “What sort of celebration?” Watson asked innocently.

      Mr. Congruent opened a cupboard above his workbench and took a cake from it and displayed it before Watson. “It’s your birthday!” he said. The cake was really a package of Twinkies. Thirteen candles, each in a pink plastic candleholder, had been punched through the cellophane and into the yellow cakes.

      “Gee,” Watson said happily.

      Mr. Congruent lit the candles, and with one huge breath, Watson blew them out. They removed the candles and opened the package of Twinkies. Mr. Congruent said, “Let’s get outside that cake!” Mr. Congruent never “ate” anything. He always “got outside” it. He and Watson each had a Twinkie with vanilla ice cream on a little paper plate. They had big glasses of cold milk and Chocolatron to wash it down.

      As they got outside their cake, ice cream, and Chocolatron, Watson and his father joked and laughed. Mr. Congruent mentioned how proud his wife would have been of a fine young man such as Watson.

      When they were done eating, Mr. Congruent threw away the paper plates and plastic forks. Wat­son said, “Thanks for the birthday party, Dad. I enjoyed it a lot.” He stood up. “Well, I guess we’d better get back to work.”

      “The store will wait, Watson. We’ll hear the bell over the door tinkle if someone comes in. I have a little something for you on your birthday.” From a pocket, he pulled a small white box.

      “Jewelry?” Watson said. He and Mr. Congruent laughed and Mr. Congruent handed him the box. “I suppose it is jewelry of a sort. You’re old enough to use it properly now.”

      Trying to make the surprise last longer, Watson slowly pulled off the top of the box. Inside was a mound of cotton. Beneath the cotton was a bulbous hunk of plastic about the size of a walnut. It was connected to a plastic ring. On the surface of the hunk of plastic, Watson could see a tiny compass and a chip of mirror. The thing that Watson held in his hand was not something that he had expected. He didn’t know whether to laugh or cry.

      “It’s a Captain Conquer Signet Ring,” Watson said evenly.

      “Yes, indeed,” Mr. Congruent said proudly. “And it is not one of those replicas. It is a genuine metal­-tone styrene plastic Captain Conquer Signet Ring that I got for five inner seals from Chocolatron when I was about your age. Do you like it?”

      “It’s a real surprise,” Watson said.

      “Well, I figure that I won’t be around forever, and you’ll need something like that in case you ever get into some really big trouble. The ring has many secret features that might come in handy.” Mr. Con­gruent spent the next half hour explaining all the features of the ring. Watson smiled and nodded, though he’d been familiar with Captain Conquer rings since he could remember, and could have as easily demonstrated the ring to Mr. Congruent.

      “Here,” said Mr. Congruent, handing the ring back, “let’s see how it looks on you.”

      Watson took the ring, but he held it gingerly, as if he were holding a live stinging insect. “Uh, maybe later, Dad. I have to go back to work now.”

      “Don’t worry about that. We’ll hear the bell. Put it on.” When Watson still hesitated, Mr. Congruent said, “Is there something wrong?”

      Watson shrugged. “I don’t know.”

      “Tell me about it,” Mr. Congruent said.

      Watson looked at the toes of his shoes. “I...well...that is, you see, Dad, most of the kids in school don’t understand about Captain Conquer.”

      Mr. Congruent was genuinely puzzled. “What’s not to understand?” he said.

      Watson turned the ring over and over in his hand. “Well, most of them never heard of him. And the ones who have heard of him think he’s just for kids.”

      “Just for kids? The greatest Force for Good on Earth?”

      “Dad,” Watson said softly, “it’s comforting to know that the fans Captain Conquer does have all stick together and help each other. But aside from the good that comes from fandom being a way of life, Captain Conquer is not a force for anything, except maybe Chocolatron.”

      “I see.”

      “The kids already think I’m strange because my name is Watson and your name is Sherlock. I have Sherlock Holmes jokes coming out of my ears. I don’t know what some of the kids will do if I show up at school wearing this ring.”

      Except for the sound of the crew digging up the street outside, the back room of the Captain Conquer PX was silent. Watson and Mr. Congruent could not look at each other.

      Mr. Congruent sighed and said, “Are you ashamed of your old man?”

      Watson looked up suddenly. “What? Of course not. Don’t be silly.”

      “Then wear the ring. If anybody asks, tell ’em you’re a member of the Conquer Corps.”

      “You really think that’ll help?”

      “I’m sure of it.”

      Watson looked from the ring in his hand to his father’s expectant face. He saw that argument would lead only to bad feelings and frustration. His father would never understand that not everybody shared his enthusiasm for Captain Conquer. It was some­times futile to argue with adults.

      Watson decided that he would have to figure some­thing out for himself. Besides, it couldn’t hurt to wear the ring around the store. He could tell him­self that it was good for business.

      Watson slipped the ring onto his finger. Mr. Congruent smiled and clapped him on the shoulder. They each went back to work.

      * * * *

      On Monday morning, Watson walked out the front door of the private living quarters of the house, ready for school and wearing the Captain Conquer Signet Ring. There had been no way to avoid it.

      As Watson dawdled toward the bus stop, a plan took shape in his head. As he had expected, he was alone when he got to the bus stop. Feeling silly for feeling guilty, Watson slipped the ring off his finger, and slid it into his pocket. For a few minutes his finger felt cold and empty, as his legs might feel if he’d forgotten to wear his pants. But by the time the bus came, he felt a lot better and did not need to hide his hands.

      When he arrived at Casablanca Junior High School, he strolled through the crowded corridors to his locker as casually as he could, knowing what he carried in his pocket. He opened his locker, and like a magician attempting to show by his nonchalance how unimportant was the wave of his hand, Watson pulled the ring from his pocket and threw it into the locker.

      The ring rebounded from the back of the locker with a boom, bounced off his algebra book, and rolled across the floor of the corridor. Perhaps think­ing it was a mouse, students backed out of the way of the ring’s flight—some of them squealing with surprise—until it was picked up by a hulking foot­ball player that Watson shared an English class with. The fellow’s name was Pemberton, СКАЧАТЬ