Thomas Tryon - The Night of the Moonbow
Здесь есть возможность читать онлайн «Thomas Tryon - The Night of the Moonbow» весь текст электронной книги совершенно бесплатно (целиком полную версию без сокращений). В некоторых случаях можно слушать аудио, скачать через торрент в формате fb2 и присутствует краткое содержание. Жанр: Триллер, на английском языке. Описание произведения, (предисловие) а так же отзывы посетителей доступны на портале библиотеки ЛибКат.
- Название:The Night of the Moonbow
- Автор:
- Жанр:
- Год:неизвестен
- ISBN:нет данных
- Рейтинг книги:3 / 5. Голосов: 1
-
Избранное:Добавить в избранное
- Отзывы:
-
Ваша оценка:
- 60
- 1
- 2
- 3
- 4
- 5
The Night of the Moonbow: краткое содержание, описание и аннотация
Предлагаем к чтению аннотацию, описание, краткое содержание или предисловие (зависит от того, что написал сам автор книги «The Night of the Moonbow»). Если вы не нашли необходимую информацию о книге — напишите в комментариях, мы постараемся отыскать её.
The Night of the Moonbow — читать онлайн бесплатно полную книгу (весь текст) целиком
Ниже представлен текст книги, разбитый по страницам. Система сохранения места последней прочитанной страницы, позволяет с удобством читать онлайн бесплатно книгу «The Night of the Moonbow», без необходимости каждый раз заново искать на чём Вы остановились. Поставьте закладку, и сможете в любой момент перейти на страницу, на которой закончили чтение.
Интервал:
Закладка:
He practiced diligently for a while, performing the intricate finger exercises the way he’d been taught, endlessly repeating scales and arpeggios, coaxing the notes from his instrument, whose rich wood warmed against his throat. Then, when this became tedious, he had a go at “Traumerei.” It felt sweet, the happy return to something both natural and deeply satisfying, the thing that signified to him he was someone, not just Wacko Wackeem, but Leo Joaquim, who played the violin. The melody grew, amplified by the empty spaces of the icehouse, and he could feel the pulse of the violin on the flesh of his cheek.
After that, he played a couple of other favorites -the “Meditation” from Thais, the Bach Solfeggio – then attempted the Paganini Caprice. Finally he lifted the bow; the vibration ceased, the notes faded int9 silence, and he took stock of his performance. He told himself it had gone well – and why not, when there was nobody around to make him nervous? For a time all was quiet.
Outside a light breeze caused the tree leaves to tremble and riffled the water in the cove t and the golden sunlight, sifting down through the branches, dappled the ground. Leaving his place, he went outside the icehouse and settled himself against the wall beside the door, where, contentedly devouring a Mr Goodbar square by square, he reflected on his unexpected visit with Dagmar. It had been just the thing he’d needed to get him practicing again. Was it her own love of music that had caused her to interest herself in him? Had Ma said something to her? If so, what? Was it possible that he might have a career – that Emily’s dream would one day come true? Happy as that prospect might make him, it hardly seemed likely; his destiny lay among the pimpled orphans at Pitt.
Somewhere hidden from sight a woodpecker rapped out its hollow tattoo, and cicadas sang their summer passions, their buzzing electrifying the torpid air. Now and then a small fish splashed in the water, a bright pip, a series of rings, and calm again. This was paradise, he thought, the Garden before the Fall, when Adam was banished and took Eve to live east of Eden in the Land of Nod. The high, bright, sultry heat of midsummer had come on, the gorgeous cloud-fleeced days, each one more perfect than the last, and reason enough for Leo to forget the trials he had endured. He lay back on his elbows and gazed up at the trembling blue sky and, drawing his deepest breath, held it. Then, shutting his eyes, he began to count – one two three four – out loud. He told himself that if he could count up to one hundred on the same breath he would never have to leave this place, he could stay here forever. No – forever. ind a day. (He liked the phrase: “forever and a day.” That was as long as anyone could think of, forever and one more day. The pxtra day made all the difference.) I le would never have to leave, never never, this place where the sky was ocean-blue, a huge bowl in which butterflies swam like the fishes in the deep blue sea – so many golden fishes waiting to be caught, trophies of his Moonbow summer.
He rolled over and pulled Fritz’s book from his knapsack. Between its dark, worn covers he had discovered a glorious world of words and rhymes and images. There was a poem by Macaulay that he particularly liked, “Horatius at the Bridge,” retelling the old Roman legend of three brave warriors defending the city of Rome against the Etruscan hordes. It had to do with something very much on Leo’s mind these days: friendship.
“ ’East and west and south and north,’ ” he read,
The Messengers ride fast,
And tower and town and cottage Have heard the trumpet’s blast.
Shame on the false Etruscan Who lingers in his home,
When Porsena of Clusium Is on the march for Rome.
He broke off as a warm, moist tongue licked the back of his neck.
“Harpo!”
He rolled around with the dog, then sat up to see Tiger come charging across the meadow. He threw himself down beside Leo and looked at him with excited eyes and a big smile, while Harpo panted between them both.
“Is it true?” he said. “You fixed it with Dagmar for the Castle?”
“You heard?”
“Sure. Everybody’s talking – you’re the hero of the hour. Dagmar usually means what she says; you really must have fast-talked her.”
Afraid to meet his friend’s eye, Leo looked out across the pond. “Yeah. Sort of.”
“Come on, what do you mean ‘sort of’? Did you or didn’t you?”
“Sure. I did. It’s fixed.”
“That’s swell. Only don’t look so unhappy about it.”
Leo felt trapped in his lie – he hadn’t fixed it, it had been all Dagmar’s doing – and he didn’t like being untruthful with Tiger. Still, he could say the invitation had been issued because of him.
Just then, from the far distance came the throb of Doc Oliphant’s Moonbow Maid. Leo recognized Reece’s trademark yachting cap, and the flutter of his Hawaiian shirt – and next to him a golden head that could only belong to Honey.
The two boys watched as the speedboat sped past the mouth of the China Garden and cut a wide arc north, heading for Turtle Bay.
“I guess you heard about the crazy stunt Reece pulled this morning,” Leo remarked. Tiger, having finished up the Indian belt he had been making for his father, had been getting in some extra batting practice during crafts. “Yeah, I heard about it.”
Leo could see Tiger was embarrassed by the incident, but it was obvious he would see any real criticism of the counselor as disloyal. He did concede that Reece’s display of temper had not been the most glowing demonstration of the behavior expected of the camp’s Moonbow Warrior. “Reece’s got a temper,” he explained. “He gets it from Big Rolfe.”
Leo was indignant. “But he’s a grown-up, not a kid.” “Grown-ups don’t always act grown-up. Besides, all Germans have tempers – look at Hitler.” He rolled over and looked at Leo. “Were you able to mend the doll?” Leo described the patchwork job he’d managed. “The left eye got lost, though. I looked everywhere.”
Tiger said he’d help in the search; a one-eyed doll wasn’t going to please Willa-Sue much.
“How was your meeting?” Leo asked.
“Fine.” Leo waited; Tiger fiddled with a new Krazy Kat puzzle he’d bought, trying to roll the eyes into their sockets. “If you were wondering about the red feather Saturday night, don’t.”
“Was I blackballed again?”
Tiger’s expression indicated the answer was yes. For Leo this was bad news. There wouldn’t be too many more chances for him to be taken into the Senecas. He shook his head in woeful frustration. “All because of putting on the bonnet. What a dumb thing. With Pa right there.” Tiger put up a hand. “Forget it. I know you didn’t mean any disrespect.”
Leo reflected for some moments, then:
“What about Fritz? Was he blackballed again too?” Tiger nodded. It was a matter of general camp knowledge that, though there was a party among the Senecas in favor of Fritz’s nomination to the honor society, an opposing faction, headed, it was whispered, by Reece himself, violently opposed awarding Fritz the red feather. And why?
Because no Jew had ever been a Seneca, seemed to be the answer, just as no Jew had ever been allowed inside the Tunxis Country Club, where Rolfe Hartsig headed the steering committee.
Leo was disappointed for Fritz. It wasn’t fair. He hadn’t done anything to deserve the snub. And if camp was all about friends and friendships, well, it was just wrong, that was all.
Out on the water the Chris-Craft made another slow, curving pass. Leo watched glumly; the sight of Honey boating with Heartless depressed him.
Tiger began again. “I want to ask you… I have a question to put, okay?”
Читать дальшеИнтервал:
Закладка:
Похожие книги на «The Night of the Moonbow»
Представляем Вашему вниманию похожие книги на «The Night of the Moonbow» списком для выбора. Мы отобрали схожую по названию и смыслу литературу в надежде предоставить читателям больше вариантов отыскать новые, интересные, ещё непрочитанные произведения.
Обсуждение, отзывы о книге «The Night of the Moonbow» и просто собственные мнения читателей. Оставьте ваши комментарии, напишите, что Вы думаете о произведении, его смысле или главных героях. Укажите что конкретно понравилось, а что нет, и почему Вы так считаете.