Thomas Tryon - The Night of the Moonbow

– he was the one who put the guys up to making you climb the ladder. He said you’d never jump, so you were bound to get paddled.”

Leo buttoned up, then stepped away from the trough, looking Wally up and down. “So why are you telling me now? You never liked me.”

“No, I never. Only-” A fierce scowl knit his brows and his voice was a hoarse rasp as he again looked out the window, checking for eavesdroppers. “It’s because of Tiger,” he said earnestly.

“What do you mean?”

“He was the best guy in camp, Tiger,” Wally said. “And he didn’t have to die. It was Reece.”

“How do you know?”

“I was there," he declared forcefully. “I was just coming in when Reece dropped the needle. I saw it too.”

Leo shook his head in disbelief. “You saw it? And you didn’t say anything? Everybody blames me.”

Wally spoke urgently. “I know. That’s why you’ve got to get out.” He looked around before going on. “They don’t want you leaving camp without getting back at you. If you’re smart, you’ll scram while you still can get away.”

Leo squinted hard at him, trying to see the truth. Wally was about to say more when the dinner bell rang. There was no more time; Wally would leave first, then Leo.

“Be careful,” Wally cautioned as he started out. “They’re watching you.”

He slipped through the doorway; in a moment Leo followed him.

The camp seemed eerily quiet. A light breeze drifted from among the trees on his right, carrying with it the faintly recognizable calls of baseball players on the upper playing field, their voices distorted by distance. The gradually fading light produced a milky iridescence, uncommon greens tinged with blue, blue with violet, purple shadows flecked with gold, and over all an opalescent glaze, like the mother-of-pearl in seashells. As Leo headed away from the Dewdrop, strains of music reached his ears. Someone was playing a violin – badly. He broke into a run. When he reached Jeremiah he was confronted by the sight of Billy Bosey, perched on Reece’s footlocker, Leo’s instrument clamped under his chin as he sawed away on the strings. The Bomber, sitting crosslegged in Eddie’s bunk, was grinning hugely, while Peewee Oliphant peered down from Tiger’s empty bunk.

“What do you think you’re doing?” Leo cried, outraged. “You don’t know how to play that!”

“Hell I don’t. Give a listen, kiddo.”

He sawed some more, while Leo stood by, not knowing what to do. If there was a scuffle, the violin might get damaged.

Bosey grinned. “Some hot stuff, huh?”

Leo tried to seize the instrument, but Bosey held it out of reach. “Hold your water, Wacko, I’m not finished,” he said, then passed the violin behind him to Dump. Leo ran around, the cot and tried to take it from Dump, only to see it handed to Monkey, who handed it down to Eddie, who slipped it back to Bosey. Each time Leo tried to grab it, he ended up empty-handed. Furious, he stormed at Bosey again, who this time handed it up to Peewee, who in turn slipped it to Blackjack, who began strumming it like a ukulele, singing “Sweet Leilani” through his nose.

Then the Bomber let out one of his blasts, causing further ribaldry and the usual chorus of “Bomber did it! Bomber did it!” The Bomber heaved himself up and began fanning his rear end.

“Pee-you!” Peewee shouted, holding his nose.

Just as the Bomber went to reseat himself in the bunk, Ratner inserted the violin under his rear end. The Bomber fell heavily into the bunk, and there was an ugly sound of splintering wood.

A silence fell. He reached under himself, and sheepishly extracted the mutilated instrument, which he gripped by its neck and held up.

“Jeez, it broke!” he exclaimed with mock surprise. There was a chorus of oohs and Leo felt the sting of tears as he took the pieces, several of which dangled from the strings.

“Cripes,” said Bosey, “look at him, willya, he’s going to cry. A lousy violin and he’s going to cry over it.”

“I am not.”

“Sure you are – look at you, you got tears in your eyes already. Go ahead and cry. You’re nothing but a sissy anyway. Cry all you want.”

Leo squeezed his eyes shut; when he opened them again he was staring accusingly at the Bomber.

“Don’t look at me like that, Wacko,” he said. “You seen it was an accident.”

“You’re a liar! You did it on purpose, you know you did.” He glared around at the others. “All of you, you planned it!”

“Aw, you’re crazy. Why would we do a thing like that, Wacko?”

“B-because – because you’re – you’re all a bunch of shits.”

Bosey got up and squared off at Leo. “Hey, wait a sec, Wacko, who you calling names?”

“You! The whole bunch of you-”

He had more to say, but he was silenced by the sound of cheers, coming from the playing field. A few minutes later Phil jumped onto the porch, clutching something in his upraised hand.

“Look at what Reece knocked off,” he declared proudly. Hanging by its feet, like a Christmas goose, head down, eyes glazed, was the owl, an arrow still piercing its breast. Blood dripped on the warped floorboards.

Leo turned and bolted. Outside the sun had slipped behind the clouds. And it seemed to him to have taken with it all the warmth of the world; all the sweetness and goodness of it, leaving behind only a dusky bleakness and changing ordinary objects – the archery butts, the Dewdrop Inn, the cottage ruins, the Green Hornet – into ribbony shadows, as if the edge of the playing field were the edge of the world and beyond that lay terra incognita.

Evening saw the farewell banquet in the dining hall, with the tables decorated with ferns and flowers in token of the camp’s last big night of the summer. Ma and Willa-Sue were in evidence at the staff table, along with Doc Oliphant and Maryann, Honey, too, everyone eager to learn who the winners of the Hartsig Memorial Trophy were going to be.

When the meal ended Leo watched as Pa rose to offer some choice parting words – the usual Friend-Indeed talk, which Leo only half heeded; he was still thinking about Icarus, felled by Reece’s arrow, never to fly again. And the violin. What, if he had lived, would Tiger have thought of the destruction of Emily’s violin, the treasure that to Leo had been such a potent talisman, not only of the past but of. the future that Dagmar had spoken of?

A stir among the campers marked the end of Pa’s speech, as he turned to the presentation of the initial awards: Bibles and felt badges for various camp competitions. He was followed by Hap, making the athletic awards, then Rex, who handled the aquatic awards in a like fashion, and Oats, who bestowed certificates of merit for nature studies and, in Fritz’s absence, for crafts. As each camper received his prize there were cheers and applause, until Leo’s name was announced – to be greeted with silence, not a jeer or a knock, only a titter or two from the back of the room. Leo cursed the spider collection that made it necessary now for him to exhibit himself before the camp and, blushing furiously, he all but snatched the paper from Oats and regained his seat.

Finally it was time for the awarding of the Trophy. The winning cabin’s name did not come immediately to Pa’s lips, however, for some fulsome words of general commendation were required to lay the carpet, so to speak, before the grand announcement could be made. During these remarks Hap stood by, exhibiting the silver cup for all to see. And, finally, the winner was – Jeremiah! Reece strode to where Pa stood, to accept the cup “in the name of all Jeremians, past, present, and future,” with special thanks to Tiger Abernathy, who had contributed so much toward winning it.