Thomas Tryon - The Night of the Moonbow

Reece wasn’t about to let him pass. “That kid’s not really hurt. Why don’t you just stay out of this, Fritzy? I’m in charge here.”

Fritz stared. “What kind of man are you, to allow such a thing to be done to a boy? What kind of place is Friend-Indeed that it would permit this to happen?” Reece was at his most condescending. “Look, Fritzy, you’re new around here. This happens to be a camp tradition, it’s been going on for years – right, boys?” He glanced around, from Phil to Moriarity to Ratner to Bosey, all of whom exchanged sheepish looks but had nothing to say.

“Then it is time it stopped,” Fritz replied forcefully. “Such childishness. Now, step aside, please; otherwise I shall be obliged to knock you down.”

Everybody stood silently by while Reece reconsidered matters, and when he finally gave way Fritz pushed past him, carrying Leo’s limp form from the dock, passing along the waterfront in the direction of Three Corner Cove.

By siesta time, after lunch, the waterfront lay tranquil and serene, the lake lapping the shore with its meekest touch, boats docked, canoes beached in squads, the punishment paddle hung on its hook. It was as if the camp could stand only so much of violent activity, of clamorous voices and hypertense confusion, before it must retreat again into order and serenity, to catch its breath before the next upheaval should occur.

Whatever Fritz Auerbach (a foreigner, after all, and not privy to Moonbow traditions) might have to say about it, the paddling of a camper who had failed to go off the tower after having climbed it was a tradition, and even though everyone had witnessed the way Moriarity had boldly goosed Leo up the ladder, that fact was already being overlooked. Notice had been served that this kind of “differentness” would not be tolerated at Camp Friend-Indeed, and Wacko Wackeem had better shape up or else. Nor did the fact that Fritz had opposed Reece in the matter do Fritz’s own case much good. Taking public issue with the counselor universally regarded as the best Friend-Indeed ever had, had only served to place him together with Leo in the same camp, so to speak.

Fritz did have two allies in the matter, however. At the infirmary, to which he had conveyed the sufferer, Wanda Koslowski, the camp nurse, had been outraged. Leo’s “baganza,” she declared, looked like “an Italian sunset,” and in short order she had popped him into a fresh, clean-smelling white bed, applied soothing lotions, given him a pill to relieve the pain, and positioned a pillow to jack up his hips and an ice pack to cradle his backside. Indeed, so tenderly did she treat his wounded posterior (without further injury to his dignity) that the grateful beneficiary of her ministrations decided he was considerably better off than Emerson Bean, who had acquired a case of poison ivy during the Snipe Hunt and lay four feet away in the adjoining bed, looking wretched and uncomfortable under a chalky pink coating of calamine lotion.

Fritz’s other ally was Doc Oliphant, whose arrival at the infirmary just as Leo was getting settled required that the ice pack be removed. “Good God, man,” he muttered to Fritz, “what have they done to this boy?”

“Paddled him,” came Fritz’s flat reponse.

“I should say they did! Blast those savages!” snapped the doctor. “Why didn’t Rex stop it?”

“Rex wasn’t there, I’m afraid. He had to take a phone call.”

“Then who had charge of the waterfront?”

"Reece Hartsig was on the bench. He said it was the tradition.”

“So it is.” The doctor sighed. “But they went too far this time. You’d better keep the lad here overnight, give him a good shoring up, then send him back. Slip him a little mickey, so he’ll rest. Here’s Honey; she’ll cheer him up.” He smiled at his daughter, who had just appeared in the doorway. She kissed him, then came into the room, looking down at Leo, who turned red to his ears at being viewed (by Honey Oliphant!) in such an ignominious position.

“Goodness,” she said, “that looks awfully sore. And Emerson – you poor thing-”

She clucked sympathetically and made the sort of mothering sounds that went straight to Leo’s heart. Having Honey Oliphant in the same room with him was almost worth getting paddled for. Of course he couldn’t really talk to her; he wasn’t given to conversing with goddesses, or maybe not a goddess, maybe just an angel with a halo -all that bright-yellow hair that reminded him of Emily’s.

But, then, he didn’t have to talk, because she did, chattering gaily in a way that made him forget his stinging backside, joking about “Tillie,” the skeleton that stood on a metal stand in the corner – a former camper, she said, who hadn’t got enough to eat during his stay at Friend-Indeed, which reminded Leo that he had missed lunch. Honey smiled. She and her mother were going to make strawberry ice cream for supper and she’d bring over some for the patients. Meanwhile – here was Wanda with the trays.

After Honey left the room, it seemed to dim, and nothing happened to brighten things much, since next to arrive was Heartless himself. He came striding through the door accompanied by-Fritz and Wanda, who had had their heads together in the dispensary, to “check on his camper.” Having lifted the ice pack and tugged down Leo’s shorts, Reece humorously voiced the opinion that the Italian sunset didn’t look so bad to him. “If you knew you weren’t going to jump,” he said to Leo, “why did you go up the tower in the first place?”

“He didn’t go up of his own accord,” Fritz put in quickly. “He was forced. You were there – surely you must have seen.”

Reece’s teeth clenched and the muscles in his jaws pulsed as he half-turned to reply. “This is my camper, Fritz. I’m sure he’s perfectly capable of speaking for himself.”

“You talk about him as if he were a possession, something you own.”

Reece gave an angry snort. “He’s a Jeremian, isn’t he? He may not be the best one, but he’s still a Jeremian. Which makes him my camper.”

“Not now it doesn’t. Since he’s in this infirmary, if he’s anybody’s camper he’s Wanda’s. Besides, if you’d been looking after him properly, he wouldn’t be here.” He frowned. Reece was staring at him from under a cocked eyebrow. “Excuse me, please,” Fritz said stiffly, “but is there something about me that offends you?”

Reece’s eye was on Fritz’s chest: the Star of David he always wore on a chain around his neck was hanging outside his shirt.

“What do you wear that thing for, anyway?”

Fritz glanced down. “Why should I not?”

Reece scowled. “Maybe you didn’t know it, Fritzy, but we don’t wear stuff like that around here.”

“You do.”

“What are you talking about?”

“I mean the cedar heart you wear – and your Seneca knot as well.”

Reece’s hand went to his throat. “That’s different. The Seneca knot’s a badge of honor. Members of the Lodge have always worn it. It’s something we believe in.”

“As I believe in this,” Fritz replied calmly. “Really, I don’t see that there’s a great deal of difference. Is there?” Reece gave him an exasperated look. “Okay, Katzenjammer, don’t make a big thing out of it.”

Fritz’s eyes flashed. “Please don’t call me that.”

“Why not?”

“I don’t like it. It is the name of a pack of low German comics in the funny papers, and, to tell the truth, I don’t happen to think Germans are very funny folk these days.” He turned to Wanda. “Now, if you will all excuse me, I have things to do. I’m sure Leo is in good hands with you.”

With a nod to Leo and Emerson, he left the room. “Gee,” Reece said to Wanda, “I didn’t know your boyfriend was such a prima donna.” He gave Leo’s elastic waistband a brisk snap, then dropped the ice pack on the table with a bang. “Okay, kiddo, hop out of there, we’ve got things to do.”