Camp Pleasant

by Richard Matheson

  I stood there numbly watching Sid help Merv gather up the rest of his things—a duffle bag of clothes, a small suitcase, a portable typewriter and some books. I saw how he avoided Merv’s eyes, I saw how his mouth was as tight and thin as Merv’s. Then they were out of the cabin and, as Merv started up the path, Sid turned in the doorway.

  “Listen,” he told them in a quick, clipped voice, “I don’t want a word of this to get out, do you understand? Anyone who talks out of turn will have me on his tail the rest of the season. I’m not kidding.”

  He snapped off the lights and went down the steps quickly, then around the cabin and up the path toward the road.

  We didn’t say anything or plan anything but, as if it were prearranged, Bob and I moved off and started along the patch of woods that sides the path. Before we reached the road, I heard a loud, crunching sound and knew that it was Ed tossing down the trunk on the pavement.

  “Awright,” we heard him say, “now get outta my camp and stay out.”

  “What about my s-salary?” Merv asked.

  “You’ll get your check when the time comes,” Ed said disgustedly. “Now clear out.” His voice became sickeningly cute. “Or maybe you want t’kiss your boy friends good-bye first.”

  Merv’s long face turned to stone.

  “You muck-minded swine,” he said slowly and clearly, the words dripping like acid. “Is there anything but utter filth in that mind of—”

  He broke off nervously and backed away as Ed started forward.

  “I’d take that back,” he said, “queer.”

  “Why should I?” Merv asked, his scorn weakened. “I don’t work for you any more, remember?”

  “Ya gonna apologize?” The sound in Ed Nolan’s voice was terrifying.

  “No, I’m not!” Merv backed off more.

  It happened too quickly for Sid to prevent it. One second Merv was edging away from Ed, the next second Ed had him by the right arm and was driving a bunched fist into his face. A stunned gasp of pain burst from Merv as he went flailing back, fell over his trunk and landed on the pavement heavily. Ed moved at him again but Sid caught his arm.

  “Ed, for God’s sake!”

  “Let go my arm!” Ed cried in a mindless, croaking voice. “No goddam queer’s gonna talk t’me like that!”

  “Ed, you’ll kill him!”

  “I said—let go!” He flung off Sid and lunged forward again toward Merv who was trying to struggle to his feet.

  “Ed!” Sid yelled.

  But Ed was already dragging up Merv by the arm again. Merv cried out in fright, then the cry changed to a choking gasp as Ed drove a fist into his stomach. He doubled over with a retching gag but Ed jerked up his head by the hair.

  “Apologize!” he said in a voice no longer human. “Apologize, queer, or I’ll break every bone in your damn body!”

  I didn’t know what was holding me back until I felt Bob’s hand clutching at my shirt. The pounding in my ears fell enough for me to hear him whispering feverishly, “Don’t be a fool! You can’t do any good! He’ll just throw you out too!”

  I think I would have torn loose except that Sid had Ed by the arm again now and was pulling him away from the slumped-over Merv. “Come on, Ed! For God’s sake!”

  Ed, not even listening, was talking to Merv in a gutteral, animal-like voice, saying, “You stay away from my camp, ya hear me, ya goddam queer?” You come back here, I’ll kill ya. I’ll kill ya.” “Come on, Ed.” Sid tugging on his beefy arm. “Not gonna have any damn pervert in my camp. Not my camp. My job is to take care o’ my boys, that’s my job.”

  “All right, Ed, all right. He’s going. He’s going.” We stood there silently until the sound and sight of them had disappeared into the night. Then we moved out to where Merv was sitting on his trunk, bent over, gasping for air.

  I remember how the moonlight came out just as we reached him. I remember how he looked up in terror at the sound of our footsteps, I remember the cold light bathing his contorted face, revealing the dark thread of blood dribbling down from his right nostril, the tense parting of his lips around gritted teeth, the almost deranged look in his eyes.

  “It’s all right, Merv,” I said. “It’s just us.”

  He stared at us a long moment, then, as I put my hand on his shoulder, a sob broke in his throat, a sob of wretched, broken will.

  “Did you see it?” he asked, brokenly. “Did you see what he did to me? The filthy swine!”

  “Take it easy, Merv,” I said. “He’s insane.”

  “Insane.” He muttered it after me. “He is insane. He should be p- put away.”

  We helped him up and Bob handed him his glasses which were cracked on the right lens. “You should make him pay for this,” Bob said in a thin, strengthless voice.

  “He’ll pay for it,” Merv said, but I don’t think he was talking about the glasses. He was still sucking in air fitfully, one hand pressed to his stomach.

  “Take it easy, Merv.” I said again. “It’s all right.”

  “The swine. The swine.” Another sob he couldn’t hold.

  “Do you have any place to go, Merv?” I asked.

  He stood on the moon-white road, his thin chest rising and falling jerkily, his dazed eyes staring at the camp.

  “He should be put away,” he said in a hollow voice. “The dirty, filthy-minded—”

  He broke off with a liquid coughing, then closed his eyes and gasped as a spasm of pain struck his stomach. I caught his arm and braced him as he bent over, making pitiful little sounds of pain.

  “It’s all right, Merv,” I said, “all right.”

  Finally he straightened up, white-faced, breathing heavily.

  “All right,” he said hoarsely, “I’m all right. Thank you. Thank you.”

  “Merv, what about it?” I asked. “Have you any place to go?”

  He stared at me, his lips still trembling. He sniffed to stop the bleeding from his nose.

  Then he said, “I’ll be all right,” and turned away.

  I started after him and caught his arm. “Merv, where are you going?

  “I’m quite all right, thank you. Leave me alone.” His voice was as even as he could make it. “I’ll be all right.”

  “But where are you going?”

  “I don’t know. Back to the city, I guess. I don’t know. I’ll be all right. Just leave me alone.”

  “Merv, maybe Jackie will help you,” I heard myself blurting.

  He stopped short and glanced over his shoulder. I sensed the questions in his mind. But he didn’t ask them. He turned away and started walking again.

  “Merv, what about your things?”

  He broke stride again, halted. “I’ll … well, will you … will you put them somewhere?” he asked. “I … anywhere, anywhere. I’ll have someone pick them up. I’ll—”

  He broke off and started walking quickly up the road, drawing out a handkerchief and dabbing at his nose. Bob came up beside me and we stood there watching him go. I didn’t know whether to run after him or not. He sounded as if he knew what he were doing yet, moments before, he’d been sobbing. We watched his long, ungainly form dwindle down the road that ran like a silvered ribbon between the black woods on either side. The black woods of Camp Pleasant.

  1.

  Breakfast babble sank to a chatter, a hum, then died out completely. I looked up from my scrambled eggs and saw Ed Nolan standing at his table, across his face the expression he wore on occasions of gravity.

  “This won’t take long,” he began. “I’m just gettin’ up t’tell ya there’s not gonna be any more hikes for a while.”

  A rumbling of disappointed complaints from the cabins whose hike days were coming up. Big Ed lifted beefy arms.

  “Awright, aright,” he ordered. “Quiet down.” They quieted. “The reason is because the hiking leader quit on us last night.”

  A surprised buzzing. Scrambled eggs turning to scrambled lead in my stomach. My slapped-down fork made a loud clinking nois
e in the momentary silence that followed Ed’s raised arms but no one seemed to notice it. I pushed my plate away and glanced over at Bob. His face was a mask of unrepressed disgust.

  “Him quittin’ came as a surprise t’me,” claimed Ed Nolan. “But that’s the way it goes with jokers like that. Y’can’t never trust ‘em.”

  I looked at Sid. His head was bent forward a little and he was staring at his plate.

  Big Ed threw on the mantle of good-fellowship.

  “Anyway—” he said as though pushing aside all uncharitable thoughts as unworthy of himself—”that’s not here or there. When ya run a camp, ya take the good with the bad. So I guessed wrong. Okay. I’m the first one to admit it when I make a mistake. But that’s not important. The important thing is I’m here t’look after you boys—” exorbitantly gestured finger—”and that’s just what I’m gonna do. Now. I’ve sent a wire t’the board asking them t’send up a new hike counselor right away. In the meantime, though, we’ll try t’find someone to take over the hikes soon as we can. Is that fair enough?” Magnamimous raising of voice and arms.

  “Yeah, Ed.” “Sure, Ed!” Applause.

  In three days, Mick Curlerman was to be assigned to hikes with Sammy Wrazalowsky taking over the Craft Shop. Then, following the Counselor Takeoffs, Sammy Wrazalowsky (fresh from his triumph as the belly-bulging Big Ed) was to be found wanting in managerial know- how and demoted to ring-making again with Bill Beuchre (wood crafts) taking over the shop. No wire was ever sent to the board requesting a new counselor. I learned it from Doc Rainey some time later.

  2.

  Tony was sitting on the edge of his cot looking at a comic book.

  “Howdy, lowlife,” I greeted him.

  He looked up. “Hi- ya, Matt!” That wide, face-halving smile I like so much. “I been waitin’.”

  “Wait no more,” I said. “Let’s go.”

  He grabbed his bat from the cot and got up. “Oh, boy, am I gonna have a game o’ball t’day!“

  I placed the restraint of a weary hand on his shoulder. I removed the monstrous bat from his hand. “Now, look,” I said, “there is to be no ball playing, no lake ducking, no fishing, no hiking, no strenuous activity of any sort until your stitches heal. You understand me?”

  “Awww, Matt.”

  “Look,” I said, “either you promise me you’ll take it easy or you’re staying right here in the dispensary. I mean it now.”

  Hangdog expression Number 7-b. “Awww, Matt.” A tired, a sadly-patient Awww Matt.

  “Look, Tony.” I lifted his chin with a finger. “You’re my friend, aren’t you?”

  “Sure, Matt, but—”

  “Well then. I don’t want to see anything more happen to you. Will you promise me you’ll do as I say?”

  “Aww….”

  “For me, Tony?”

  “ Awww … o-kay.”

  I nudged a friendly fist against his jaw. “Good,” I said. “Come on, we’ll play some checkers.”

  “I don’t know how.”

  “I’ll teach you.”

  We returned to our cabin where I taught Tony the intricacies of jumping, kinging and such. I let him win two games and the edges of his grin touched both ears. This lasted about an hour or so. Then Tony read comic books while I worked out a program of easy, almost monotonal songs for Wednesday might’s movie intermissions. I padded time as much as possible but then I knew I had to go and gather up the scattered pieces of my glee club to rehearse them for the Sunday service.

  “Now, look, Tony,” I said, explaining the situation, “I’d like to stay with you but I’ve got work to do.”

  “Aw, I don’t wanna just stick around here, Matt,” he said, having finished all available comic books and lying on his bunk, chafing at invisible bit.

  “ Well….” I wracked my brain for a solution; which came even though it was a risky one.

  “Now, listen to me,” I said, sitting on his bunk. “If I let you go to the ball field will you—”

  “Oh, boy!”

  “Now, listen!” He closed his eager mouth. “You’ve got to promise me you’ll just sit on the bench and watch.”

  “Awww, M—”

  “Tony.” I put my hand on his shoulder. “Look, if you don’t do that, I get into trouble. I’ll get bawled out for not taking care of you, don’t you see that? I might even lose my job. You wouldn’t like that, would you?”

  He shook his head. “No, Matt.”

  “Well then?”

  “Okay.” He shrugged. “I promise. I’ll just watch ‘em.”

  “All right,” I said. “I believe you.” As I said it, I got the distinct feeling that it might have been the first time in Tony Rocca’s young life that anyone said to him—I believe you.

  As an indication of purpose, he left his beloved Louisville Slugger behind and walked off politely to the ball diamond, wounded hand in pocket. I got together my music and started for the dining hall. It was while I was crossing the log bridge that the tan coupe pulled up in front of the office and braked. Out of it came Jackie dressed in tight denims and a snug black gaucho shirt. I started forward and called him but he didn’t hear and went into the office. A sinking sensation crowded my stomach. I trudged across the clearing, bracing myself for what I hoped was not to follow.

  As I came up to the screen door of the office, I heard Ed talking to Jackie as he might address a backward child.

  “Told him t’take his junk with him,” said Ed. “Nothin’ left around here’s far as I know.”

  “But I was told,” insisted a dulcet-voiced Jackie.

  “Sorry, boy. Don’t know a thing about it.”

  “Well. I certainly don’t understand this.”

  I stood out by the car until Jackie came out, his face a mild summer storm. When he saw me, he smiled.

  “Well, hello there,” he said. “Maybe you can—”

  “Listen,” I said hastily, “Merv’s things are on the porch of the grocery and drug store up the road.”

  He looked surprised. “Oh, are you the one who—”

  “Look,” I said, “I’m in a hurry. Do you know which store I’m talking about?” “Well, I—”

  “As you go up to the road, turn right,” I said. “It’s just a little ways down the road on the left-hand side.”

  “Oh.” He nodded his head once.

  “Where’s Merv?” I asked, glancing nervously at the office.

  Jackie smacked his lips in disgust. “Gone back to the city. He left on the bus this morning.”

  “Oh. You know where to go now?”

  “Yes. But, tell me….” He twined lax fingers around my arm. “Who is that great oaf of a man in there?”

  “He’s our leader,” I said and started away from Jackie.

  To feel a stiffening of momentary shock as Ed Nolan came out of the office door, his face filled with displeased curiosity.

  “What’s goin’ on here, Harper?” he asked. “What’re you talkin’t ‘him for?”

  A moment’s reprieve saved me as Jackie gunned his motor too much, then geared it badly and started up the slight incline that led to the road. When the noise of the motor had faded, I said that I’d told him where to find Merv’s belongings.

  “What’ve you got t’do with his belongings?” came the inevitable question.

  “We met him on the road last night,” I said.

  “Who’s we?”

  “Dalrymple and I,” I lied on. “We were coming back to camp when we met Loomis.”

  “What time?” he asked.

  “About ten-thirty, I guess.” I allowed time for Merv’s discovery on the dock, his packing, his beating and then his starting up the road.

  “What’d he tell ya?” Ed asked, looking very suspicious.

  “Said he was fired,” I told him, calmly. “Asked us to put his stuff somewhere for him.”

  “That’s all he said?” asked Ed and, for one muscle-tensing moment, I heard that same crawling undertone of irrational violence in h
is voice.

  “That’s all,” I said. “Why do you ask, Mister Nolan?”

  “Never mind that,” Ed said grumpily. “What the hell are you doin’?”

  “Getting ready to rehearse the glee club,” I said, feeling a slight measure of enjoyment in the realization that, although Ed despised the very thought of taking boys off a ball diamond and into the world of melody, he couldn’t do anything about it short of giving me carte blanche to loaf.

  “Oh,” he said. “How’s it goin’?”

  “Fine,” I said. “Very good.”

  “They were kind o’ flat last Sunday.”

  “Oh? I didn’t notice.” I knew he hadn’t either.

  “Well….” He looked vaguely disconcerted. “Get on with your work.” Turning, he trudged back to the office.

  I watched him a moment, then, dumping my music in the dining hall, I began the great trek about camp to gather up the unwilling complement of my club of glee.

  It was about an hour later amidst struggles with a wounded and dying Onward Christian Soldiers that the screen door of the dining hall wailed open and heavy, sneakered footfalls intruded. I glanced over and saw Big Ed approaching. About the same time, the boys saw him too and, in piecemeal fashion, stopped singing.

  There was a vengeful look in Ed Nolan’s eyes as he came up to me.

  “You were told t’take care o Rocca,” was the first thing he said.

  A spasm of fear contracted my stomach muscles; not fear of Ed’s displeasure but fear for Tony. “What happened?” I asked quickly.

  “I found him up at the ball field,” he said testily. “That how you take care of him?”

  “You mean he—”

  “He’s s’posed t’be in his cabin!”

  “Is there anything wrong with him?”

  “Anything wrong? Naw, naw, not a thing. He’s only got a bandaged foot and a bandaged hand!”

  “I don’t mean that,” I said. “I mean have his stitches opened or anything like—”

  “Never mind,” said Big Ed.

  I realized suddenly that little pitchers with grandiose ears were absorbing the entire scene. “All right,” I asided to them, “all of you wait outside till—”