Thomas Tryon - The Night of the Moonbow

“Do I get another pill?” Leo asked in a small voice, looking as pathetic as he knew how.

“Is your baganza hurtin’ again?” She brushed his hair back. “I’ll go get one for you,” she said, and went out; her pharmacopoeia was in Doc Oliphant’s keeping at Three Corner Cove.

No sooner had she gone than Tiger’s crewcut head reappeared at the windowsill. He leaned over and tossed a pillow onto Leo’s bed, following it with a small cardboard box that rattled. The pillow was Albert, the box contained Black Crows.

“In case you get hungry,” Tiger explained. “Don’t say anything to Wanda.”

“Thanks,” Leo said.

“Anytime. Listen…” Tiger’s voice sank to a whisper. “I’m really sorry – about what happened, I mean. It wasn’t fair of Reece to let it go on that way. You shouldn’t have been paddled. Sometimes things just go too far, that’s all. It won’t happen again. Friend-Indeeders don’t act that way.”

He said it with such assurance that Leo got the feeling Tiger was making himself personally responsible for seeing to it.

“ ‘Never say die,’ ” Tiger added, then was gone.

Emerson took a drink and gave Leo a curious look. “What was that about?”

“Nothing, Emmy, something between us Jeremians, that’s all. Have a Black Crow,” he added. “Just don’t get licorice on your sheets.”

Hearing a footstep, he tucked the candy under his pillow and swallowed as Wanda returned to dole out his pill, give the boys another drink of water, and turn out the light. When she’d gone again Emerson corked right ‘off; he was a good sleeper. Ten minutes later, however, Leo was still awake, and, lying there, he turned his head and stared out the window into the velvety summer dark, where gleaming fireflies hung in luminous clusters, and the thick air hummed with the persistent twang of night peepers.

It was such sights and sounds that reminded him of earlier, childhood days, when Emily was still alive, when he and she would sit sipping lemonade on the back porch, watching the nightpeepers at the bottom of the yard. Before… well, just “before.”

His last living memory of her was on the evening of the big storm, when he was alone with Rudy in the Gallop Street house, anxiously waiting for her to come home. He would never forget the storm raging outside, the wind that banged the shutters against the clapboards and threatened to loosen the chimney bricks – and the river rising hourly, the Cat River that threatened to carry the whole bridge away. The L Street Bridge that would bring her home on the trolley – the bridge everyone feared would wash out.

It had rained so hard all day that Rudy hadn’t opened the shop – few customers would have come – and the streets ran with water. At the south end of town the river flooded the dike, and the torrent rushed under the L Street Bridge. Schools were closed; Leo stayed in his room, praying that Emily would come home: there had been a telephone call and she had hurried away right after lunch, telling Leo only that she had to go see somebody. As the hours passed he became panicky. Where had she disappeared to in all this awful weather? If she was going upstreet she would have to cross the L Street Bridge; it was the only way. What if – No, he wouldn’t think it, he mustn’t! Suddenly he wanted to go and shout at Rudy, tell him to do something to save her.

Rudy was downstairs in the front room, drinking whisky from a glass, his ear glued to the radio for the latest bulletins, and from time to time Leo would go lean over the stair railing and listen to the announcer giving further details: roads were being washed out; more volunteers were manning what remained of the levees, and a special crew had stayed all afternoon sandbagging the supports of the bridge.

Around four Leo lay down on his bed and dozed; the storm seemed far away; the rattle of the rain in the tin drains lulled him. He was awakened by the sound of another trolley car coming down the street; he tiptoed to the front window. Yes! There she was! He watched with relief as a man helped her down. He recognized John Burroughs. John was coming to their house! Something wonderful was going to happen, Leo felt sure of it. Something that would change his life. He was going to the music school after all! He was sure of it! He ran into the hallway and leaned over the banister, saw them coming into the vestibule. Glimpsing him from below, Emily motioned for him to stay upstairs and wait. The doors to the front room closed behind them.

To calm himself, Leo found his violin and began to play. The song was “Poor Butterfly.” But then had come Rudy’s footsteps on the stairs. The door was flung open. “No rhapsodies in this house,” he shouted, and Leo put the violin away. When he heard the parlor doors slam shut again, he crept to the head of the stairs and listened, he heard their voices, Emily’s, Rudy’s, John’s.

“Didn’t I say? No rhapsodies in this house?!” came the angry roar from below.

When John spoke in a reasonable tone Rudy only shouted more angrily. Then Emily was crying out, and John was saying he would take Emily away, Leo too. “You don’t love her, Matuchek,” John went on. “You use her badly. She is a good woman and doesn’t deserve such treatment.”

“You call her a good woman? When you have her in your bed? What kind of man are you?” Rudy ranted. “To run off with another man’s wife!”

From that moment Leo’s memories remained a blur; he recalled a series of images, yet all occurring at the same time, frozen, as in a tableau, and illuminated by blinding flashes of lighting, while the storm raged outside:

“You can’t take her!” Rudy is shouting. “She’ll never go with you. If you want the kid so much, go ahead – take him.”

“I’m taking him with me-” That is Emily’s voice.

“Shut your mouth, you whore.”

Rudy must have struck her then, for she cries out in pain; Leo can bear it no longer; he starts down the stairs, then stops, cowering against the wall as the doors slide open and Emily comes hurrying through, John behind her, then Rudy. Rudy grabs John by the shoulder and swings him around, and the two men struggle.

Catching sight of Leo on the staircase, Emily reaches out to him. He wants to rush down, to fly to her and throw his arms around her, hide his eyes so he can’t see. But at that moment the combatants break apart. John stands disheveled, breathing heavily, while Rudy pulls away and with another curse runs into the shop. Emily entreats John to leave quickly, before there is more trouble. “He’ll do something terrible, I know it.” But John refuses. “Not without you. Come with me, now. Leo too. We’ll all go.”

Leo starts down the stairs. Quickly – quickly – Mother, let’s go before – before the bridge – we must get across the river… All around, the thunder crashes. A livid streak of lightning turns everything silver. He trips on the stair, stumbles, sees, in another flash of lightning, Emily’s white face twisted in an agony of pain and despair – “Mother!” -he reaches out to her – “Mother! MOTHER!”and then he is falling… falling… falling…

He awakes. Where is he? In a white world, pristine in its brightness. A white room, in a white bed with white sheets and coverlet; white, everything is white. In the corner someone sits, a nurse: she wears a white uniform and cap. Is he in a hospital, then? Shortly afterward a doctor comes in;

Leo is sure he’s a doctor because of the stethoscope around his neck. He talks in a coaxing sort of voice, asking lots of questions. Later the nurse talks to him. Her name is Miss Holmes. He doesn’t like her much. She is determined to amuse him. She lays out cards for a game: Authors. Right off Leo draws four Longfellows and a pair of Hawthornes; it’s not hard to beat someone as dumb as Miss Holmes. She has a mustache like the bearded lady in Barnum amp; Bailey’s.