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Solomon and the Cheese Arm

Eli S. Evans

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An adaptation of a story from Le Petit Nicolas series, by René Gosciny, with input from Eli Evans’s son

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We didn’t have school this morning, but that wasn’t any fun because instead we had to we had to go to a special laboratory so that scientists could determine whether our arms were made out of flesh or cheese. At school, we’d each been given a piece of paper to take home to our parents explaining that there was a rumor going around that certain students’ arms may have actually been made out of cheese, and teachers had to figure out if it was true because if it was, they needed to make sure it didn’t get so hot at school that the poor student’s limb melted. Our teacher told us that the scientists were going take a small bite out of each of us and assess the taste and texture to determine whether they had eaten flesh or cheese.

When my dad and I got to the laboratory, we were met by Jeff, Tom, Frank, Tyler, Francisco, and Mike, and they weren’t having much fun. Personally, I never enjoy getting bit, and I know for a fact that Tyler also dislikes it very much. I know this because once he was bit at school and he yowled out in pain and was in a bad mood for the rest of the day. Maybe that’s why he was whimpering fearfully. A very nice lady dressed in a mouse costume asked to see all the parents and collect our birth certificates, and said that the scientists would see us soon and to please not be impatient. That was okay, because we weren’t a bit impatient – especially Tyler! While we waited, our parents chatted and patted us on the heads and complimented us on our courage.

“I’m certain my son’s arm is not made of Cheese,” said Francisco’s mom. “After all, he’s been drinking a lot of milk recently, and somebody made partially of cheese drinking milk would practically be like cannibalism. Believe me, he’s no cannibal!”

“On the other hand,” said Frank and Tyler’s dad, “maybe he drank so much milk that it curdled and turned his arm into cheese.”

“I don’t know about that,” said my dad. “Solomon has been eating a ton of cheese recently and he hasn’t turned into milk. Just look at him. He’s solid as can be!”

“He may not be milk,” said Jeff and Tom’s mom, “but he could turn into yogurt.”

“Well,” said my dad, “at least he wouldn’t have to worry about any melting, in that case, unlike someone in this room.” He looked at Jeff and Tom suspiciously.

Jeff and Tom’s mom didn’t look as if she liked what my dad had implied, but before she could reply, the lady in the mouse costume came in and said we could begin rolling up our sleeves in preparation for the bites.

Tyler shrieked, and that got the rest of us shrieking too, just like the way one howling wolf can get the hole pack whooping at the moon.

At that, the scientists appeared.

“What is all this,” asked the scientist. “Really, what a trial these school cheese examinations are. Now stop shrieking, fellows, or I’ll tell your teacher to yell at you until your eardrums bust. Come on and roll up those sleeves.”

We rolled up our sleeves and began comparing biceps.

“Check out my muscle,” said Mike. “It’s bulging out against the skin like an angry anaconda.”

“That’s not very impressive,” said Jeff. “You’re just flexing. Look, I can do it, too.”

Jeff flexed his arm and a little muscle popped out, just like Mike’s.

“Hmm,” said my dad. “Are you sure that’s a muscle, because from here it looks like a little lump of cheese.”

Jeff and Tom’s mom looked at him like she was smelling a fart and suspected him of having dealt it.

“Okay, children,” said the lady in the mouse costume. “Go into the next room and the scientists will chomp you.”

“I want my dad to go with me!” yelled Tyler, who was starting to smell a lot like cheddar.

“All right, all right,” said the lady in the mouse costume to Tyler’s dad. “You can go in with him, but please try to calm him down.”

“Excuse me, please,” said Mike’s dad. “If that gentleman can go in with his son, I don’t see why I can’t go in with mine. After all, I’m quite hungry.”

“I want my mom to come, too!” shouted Francisco.

“Stop copying my brother,” said Frank, and punched him right in the snout.

“Ouch! Ouch! Ouch!” shouted Francisco, and one of the scientists came racing in from the chomping room.

“Boy oh boy,” said the scientist. “Five minutes ago, everyone was so confident they weren’t made out of cheese, and now look at what’s seeping out of this boy’s injured nose. That’s sour cream or my name isn’t Dr. Monger!”

“Look here, mister,” said Francisco’s mom. “I’m responsible for this child regardless of what comes out of his nose, and I plan to definitely not put whatever it is on my burrito!”

The scientist looked angry, but he took a deep breath and simply told us go into the chomping room without further delay. He started sniffing us one by one.

“Hmm,” he said, pausing after taking a big whiff of Mike. “You first.” He opened his big mouth.

“Hold on,” protested Mike. “I probably smell like cheese because I had cheese on my sandwich for lunch today!”

“Just let him take his chomp,” said Mike’s dad. “And if you do, I promise I’ll give you a brand new phonk record as a reward.”

“Hey,” I called out. “It’s okay. You can chomp me first.”

The scientist paused. “First, let me have a whiff of you. I haven’t smelt you once yet.”

He approached me with his nose moving back and forth in the air like a dog’s. After one deep sniff, he reared back, opened his mouth, and took a big bite out of my bicep.

“Yum yum,” he said.

I peered into the wound – and that was when I knew the rumor was true.

“Dad,” I cried. “How could this have happened?”

He shrugged. “I always said cheese was my favorite food. I guess some of it got into my genes.”

Anyway, everything worked out fine, because in this northern climate there’s really no risk of melting, and most importantly, whenever I get hungry, I have a free snack close at hand – now if only that lady in the mouse costume would stop following me around everywhere!

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Eli S. Evans publishes his absurdist fictions and other oddities all around the internet. Two books of stories, Obscure & Irregular and Various Stories About Specific Individuals in Particular Situations, have been published by Moon Rabbit Books & Ephemera. His son Solomon, who collaborated with Eli on this story, is in the fourth grade (for now).

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