The Night of the Moonbow

by Thomas Tryon

  “How do you like her, fellows?” Rolfe bawled heartily, flourishing his skimmer at the car, which was now surrounded by campers admiring their reflections in the glossy black finish and the liberally applied chromium trim. Then, with his wife on his arm, he made his way up the porch steps to greet the parents of the Jeremians, most of whom were old friends, and regale them with the tale of how he’d come by his new two-hundred-dollar Swiss watch - “got it for cash off this little sheeny on a street corner. Hot goods,” he joshed, and they all laughed immoderately -while inside the cabin Joy sat herself down on Reece’s cot (she was the only person ever permitted such a trespass) and smiled brightly at Miss Meekum and Supervisor Poe, saying wasn’t Leo lucky to get into Jeremiah, where all the really tiptop campers were.

  By this time the crush inside the cabin had become considerable, and Leo, seeing that Miss Meekum and Mr Poe were in safe hands, ducked outside, where he found the Bomber leaning on the porch rail and observing the arrival of yet another vehicle, a Pierce-Arrow with black lacquered fenders and a dark-green cab taller than that of any of the other autos on the field. “It’s Dagmar,” the Bomber informed him as the chauffeur, a coloured man wearing a straw hat and no jacket (“His name’s Augie,” said the Bomber), got out and opened the rear door, and Leo recognized Ma’s friend from Major Bowes Night -witness to his humiliation. He had decided when he first saw her that in no way could Dagmar Kronborg be called conventional, and now, in close proximity, he found her both compelling and intimidating. Her blue eyes sparkled with such a bright blueness - keen eyes that missed nothing. He suspected she might be older than she looked: sixty-five? seventy, maybe? She had salt-and-pepper hair and leathery skin, tanned and wrinkled, and beyond a careless use of lipstick on her puckered lips she wore no makeup. He was intrigued by the husky timbre of her voice and the forceful energy behind it. Her English bore only traces of her Swedish origins, and when she laughed the sound was a rich, robust explosion of mirth.

  “Hello - hello, all,” she called, nodding to the lineup of boys and adults who now crowded the porch of Jeremiah for the express purpose, it seemed, of greeting her arrival.

  “Well, Dag, how are you?” Big Rolfe pushed his way through and enfolded her in a bear-like embrace, loudly kissing her.

  “I’m fine - but don’t call me Dag. I don’t like it.” She gave him a sock on his shoulder and put her cheek out for Joy to kiss. “And here’s Mr Jack-in-the-Box himself,” she added, as Reece sprang out the side of the cabin to land in front of her.

  “Hello, Auntie — How are you?” He threw his arms around her and, lifting her off her feet, bussed her roundly on both cheeks. “Come on up to the porch and take a load off. It’s time to catch Dad’s Sunday broadcast.”

  Nearly every Sunday afternoon around this time, Reece’s father tuned in to the weekly preachments of Father Coughlin, The “Radio Priest,” whose multitude of admirers were convinced he was America’s savior and would keep its people from falling victim to the Red Menace. Since this host of advocates included Pa Starbuck as well as Big Rolfe, not many at Friend-Indeed disparaged the prelate openly, though Fritz Auerbach had declared that the man was a rabble-rouser and demagogue, and should be silenced.

  Dagmar, evidently, was not a Coughlin admirer either. While the priest held forth on how Franklin Delano “Rosenfeld” was “selling America short” - Rolfe had thrown open every door of his car “so all could hear” -she excused herself and marched over to the fountain for a drink. Leo stepped up beside her and gallantly pushed the button, and as she straightened and blotted her lips, accepting his courtesy as a matter of course, she found his eyes studying her.

  “Eh? What’s this?” she demanded. “Do you think I’m funny-looking, then? You’ll see a lot funnier sights before you grow up, young man - and learn some manners!”

  Leo was speechless in the face of his outburst. He felt his face blazing scarlet, and mumbled an apology.

  "Gode Gud,” Dagmar exclaimed in Swedish, lifting her glass to her eye. “It’s the violinist. Now, why didn’t I recognize you? What a stupid old thing I am!” Leo was mortified - she had noticed him, then, at Major Bowes, and now recalled his shame - but she cocked her head at him and in a quicksilver change of course, she said, “You were very amusing in the skit the other evening, too - very funny. He was,” she assured the cluster of visitors who had been watching the exchange. “And he thought the whole thing up himself,” she added. “How do I know that? Because Ma told me.”

  Before any more could be said, the voice of Hap Holliday -- its stentorian tones enhanced by a megaphone -- was heard from the waterfront, inviting guests to come and be seated in the council ring. The afternoon’s events were about to begin. As Peewee Oliphant came pelting down the line-path, waving his arms to a fare-thee-well and hollering for all campers to get a wiggle on -- Coach wanted all boat-parade participants at the lodge in five minutes to get into costume -- a couple of shrill blasts from Reece’s whistle galvanized the Jeremians to heed the summons. Then Reece himself headed for the dock to confer with Rex and Hap on matters pertaining to the swim competition, while Dagmar rejoined the Hartsigs and the entire adult contingent connected with Jeremiah headed toward the council ring. Even Father Coughlin could offer no competition to the prospect ahead of them. The Abernathys, Leo observed, had Mr Poe and Miss Meekum in tow, and when the cabin was empty of visitors, he scrambled about, snatching up items of gear, and ran off to join the others, forgetting his humiliation, for the moment at least, in anticipation of things to come.

  All around the council ring, campers, counselors, and guests a-like were dispersed among the tiers, the overflow scattered along the waterfront, the ladies, wafting improvised fans (pleated programs), ensconced in folding chairs, the gentlemen seated on cushions on the ground beside them. And here was Pa Starbuck making his official progress through the assemblage of parents and guests, nodding and smiling and generally behaving as if all this - every glint of sunlight, every lap of the waves, every glittering splash and dive, every foot of cloudless sky, every joyful camper and approving parent - was the work of his own hand and no other’s - until, exhibiting enviable spryness for a man his age, he climbed onto the flat top of Tabernacle Rock to offer a welcoming address whose floweriness, embraced “the piney fragrance of the grove,” how happy he was “to gaze upon so many happy faces,” the “salubriousness of the day God hath wrought” for the proceedings, and the “one or two special guests of note”: Dr and Mrs Justiss Dunbar, the doctor being the “First Chairman of the Committee for the Endowment of Young Males by the Friends of Joshua Bible Society” (as he and his organization were formally known). Then, with a gracious wave of the hand, Pa brought on Fritz Auerbach (“our visitor from foreign lands, to whom Dr Dunbar and the Friends of Joshua have seen fit to offer sanctuary”), who, as arts-and-crafts director, was the guiding spirit behind the famous “Parade of Ships” that led off the afternoon’s program - the event that annually gave the broadest scope to the campers’ wit and ingenuity, requiring as it did the transformation of humble rowboats and scows into representations of the triremes and galleons of yore.

  Fritz, equally gracious, expressed his gratitude for the opportunity the Society had given him, and, his gently modulated voice amplified through the megaphone, proceeded to introduce the various entries as they traversed the five hundred yards from the boat dock to the swimming dock, where they were rated by a panel of judges (Pa, Doc Oliphant, and Henry Ives) on originality, execution, and presentation: Columbus’s famed Nina, Pinta, and Santa Maria (three for the price of one) - the Job entry; a Mississippi River paddle wheeler, with its smokestack puffing - Malachi; even the Titanic, Hosea’s entry, which, in full view of all, “struck” an “iceberg” and “went to the bottom”; and finally - this was ultimately awarded the first prize (twenty happy points and an extra helping of dessert all round) - Jeremiah’s entry, the old camp whale boat converted into a “Cleopatra’s barge” of remarkable configuration, her gunwa
les festooned with flowered swags and wreaths. A stern-visaged Marc Antony (Phil Dodge), complete with an approximation of a helmet and a scarlet cape, posed dramatically, sword in hand, on the foredeck, while a stalwart Roman centurion with a trumpet (Tiger Abernathy) and the queen’s own brother-husband, young Ptolemy (Leo Joaquim), exchanged murderous scowls just behind him. Astern, the plump and gaudy Egyptian queen lounged amid a bower of wild flowers, one hand trailing languidly in the water as its mate dangled a bunch of gilded grapes over a pair of bright-red lips: Mr Jerome Jackson, ludicrously lipsticked and rouged, bedecked in an outrageous wig and a tin brassiere cleverly wrought from a pair of kitchen funnels. An outsized “diamond” was ingeniously attached to his navel, and his husky physique was swathed in folds of gauzy fabric (dyed cheesecloth), yards of which drapery trailed prodigally in the barge’s wake.

  While everyone awaited the judges’ decision, and those entered in the swim competitions went off to change into trunks, Leo, having performed his part in the proceedings, headed toward the council ring, making his way through the boisterous throng now jamming the docks - campers of all sizes clad in swimming trunks, skinny young boys with bat ears and xylophone ribs, older boys exhibiting burgeoning musculature. As they pranced around, snapping towels and giving Indian rubs, waiting for the first event of the meet to start, their collective eye was fixed on Hap Holliday, who, as master of ceremonies, was huddled with Rex Kenniston over the list of contestants on his clipboard.

  “Where’s your bathing suit, Leo?” Miss Meekum asked as he joined her and Mr Poe and the rest of the Jeremiah “family.” “Why aren’t you with the other boys?” Leo flushed and ducked his head; the moment he had feared must come, had come. Unable to think up a good story, he was stuck with the truth, and he explained to them how he had come in a loser in the preliminary heats.

  “Well, that’s all right,” Miss Meekum said, patting his knee. “It means we’ll have you here with us, all to ourselves.” She leaned her spare form toward her neighbor, Mrs Abernathy, who smiled and nodded as if to affirm that to have Leo among them was to enjoy a special treat.

  Leo was relieved when Hap, taking up the megaphone again, announced the start of the first race, the “Tadpole Relay,” in which Peewee Oliphant was a top contender. As everyone sat up attentively, Rex’s whistle shredded the air, and a dozen small, brown, leggy bodies sprang like so many frogs into the water inside the crib rope.

  The first lap of the race was swum amid great thrashings and splashings, and cheered enthusiastically by the whole crowd. Peewee, who was his team’s anchorman, would be among the last to swim, and he stood, chewing on a thumb and hopping impatiently from one foot to the other, waiting his turn to enter the water. When it came he seized the baton and plunged headlong into his lane; he was in the lead as the last batch of boys surfaced, the baton clamped between his teeth and swimming hell-for-leather.

  “’Ray, Peewee! Come on, Peewee!”

  The Oliphants, seated down front with the Starbucks and their invited guests, rose cheering to their feet, and a burst of enthusiasm washed across the waterfront.

  “Come on, Peewee - kick it! Swim!”

  As first Peewee, then the others touched the canoe dock, flipped over, and headed down the home stretch, most of the crowd was on its feet. Peewee was flagging now, with Bouncer Williams, an older, bigger cadet, gaining on him. But at the finish it was Peewee who touched home first, and Reece Hartsig was there to lift him from the water and sling him onto his shoulders, parading him around to accept the acclaim of the crowd, then swing him down and turn him over to his own counselor.

  “Isn’t it exciting!” Miss Meekum gasped, pressing a palm to her breast. “And he’s such a little sprout, isn’t he?” Leo agreed that Peewee was indeed a “sprout.” He was feeling better about Miss Meekum and Supervisor Poe being there. Mr Poe was obviously enjoying himself, and Miss Meekum was acting gay as spring.

  One after another, the tadpole races were run, each succeeding heat exciting the audience’s collective blood and bringing them to their feet with louder, more encouraging shouts. Leo could hear Big Rolfe’s booming voice avowing that this was what Camp Friend-Indeed was all about, striving and winning, and as he looked down upon the array of campers on the dock, popping the bubbles from their ears and bulling around with each other while they awaited the next event, he racked his brain, trying to think of something he could do to shine: something that, after Major Bowes, might redeem him in the eyes of the camp (standing on the Cleopatra’s barge pretending to be Ptolemy certainly hadn’t done it). But nothing came to mind, and so he sat there like a bump on a log, a face in the crowd, while the tadpole events came to an end and the Harmonyites marched out onto the dock.

  As the fans of Jeremiah (Leo included) rose up to cheer, the Bomber did a Joe Louis handclasp over his head, jumped into Number 12, flung himself upon his oars, and proceeded to win the rowboat race hands down. Monkey Twitchell, who more aptly might have been nicknamed Fish, for that was how he swam, copped the 220-freestyle medley, while Tiger took the crawl. Watkins of Obadiah and the Smith brothers all won firsts in other events, but Phil Dodge won top honors in the breaststroke -husky arms and shoulders and a strong frog-kick made him a winner here. Eddie Fiske came in second in the hundred-meter, losing by a hair to Dusty Rhoades of Ezekial, and the Bomber took a first in the underwater race. Like some subaqueous leviathan, he remained submerged for two minutes and fifty seconds, traversing the crib four times, a new camp record. Wally, poor fellow, came in third in each of his events; still, Leo thought, it was better than nothing, and he watched enviously as Reece strode about the dock, beaming, congratulating his winners.

  “Isn’t this fun?” Miss Meekum said to him, hugging her knees and smiling. She leaned over to speak to Mrs

  Abernathy. “We were so happy that Leo was able to come to camp - and to be in Cabin Seven.”

  Mrs Abernathy agreed loyally that Jeremiah was the best cabin to be in.

  “Leo tells us your son is his friend,” Miss Meekum went on. “Everyone seems to think very highly of Tiger.”

  Mrs Abernathy was both modest and friendly. “Pat and I are glad Leo likes Tiger. We’re very proud of our Brewster, but of course we’re prejudiced. And don’t tell him I called him Brewster, he’ll kill me.” She turned to include Leo and Mr Poe in her next remark. “Perhaps when camp is over Leo might like to come and spend the weekend with us. We’ve plenty of room, haven’t we, Pat?”

  Pat Abernathy nodded amiably. “Yes, indeed, Tiger’s got the whole attic for a room, bunks and all. Leo would be most welcome.”

  The conversation was interrupted as, down at the lifeguard stand, Rex reached for his megaphone and addressed the crowd with mock solemnity.

  “Ladies and gentlemen, your attention, please. My colleague - I refer to the estimable Hap Holliday - has instructed me to announce that the scheduled proceedings will be delayed some fifteen minutes to allow the presentation of an extra added attraction to mark the final year of Friend-Indeed camping on the part of Reece Hartsig.

  “Yes, folks,” Rex went on, “the counselor of Jeremiah cabin has agreed to provide us with an exhibition of authentic athletic prowess by executing several spectacular dives from the high springboard.”

  Ardent sounds of approval rippled through the crowd; cheers, whistles, and applause rang out, as, with an unaccustomed display of modesty, Reece emerged from the crow'd and doffed his cap, then proffered it with exaggerated formality to Rex and dived off the dock. When he reached the float he once more saluted his enthusiastic fans, then mounted the ladder and trotted to the tip of the diving board, testing it with a controlled spring that flexed his heavy thigh muscles. Moving back, he meticulously aligned his feet, palms flat at his sides, rolled his shoulders, and then took a neat three-step approach and jump-struck the board, which catapulted him into the air. His sharp jackknife seemed to be over before it had begun as legs and feet slipped into the circle of water that his head, hands, and sho
ulders had already made.

  “’Ray, Big Chief!” the Bomber shouted, his voice carry- ' ing above the applause. “Yay - Heartless!” Other boys took up the cry, while their elders laughed indulgently at the epithet.

  More applause greeted the counselor as he surfaced, cleaved a neat, economic path through the water, and ran nimbly up the ladder for a second demonstration, this time an elegant swan dive, which was succeeded by a one-and-a-half-gainer, the dive he was best known for, then the more difficult double-gainer with a half-twist. When he came out of the water the last time, his tanned body glistening in the sun as if dripping with diamonds, it was on the dock, and the cheers of the crowd, which thought the display must be over, rose mightily. But Reece made no bow. Instead, he bounced on each foot to pop his ears, then marched over to Rex and spoke to him. The pair were subsequently joined by Hap, who attended with a grave expression. Was something wrong? As a murmur compounded of curiosity and excitement swept the crowd, the talk among the staffers went back and forth for a few moments more; then, while Hap went off in one direction and Reece dived once more into the water and headed toward the raft, Rex again resorted to his megaphone.

  “Ladies and gentlemen, your attention, please! Will Tiger Abernathy please come forward!”

  At this, the Bomber, who had been leaning against the lifeguard tower, dove into a knot of boys, from which he emerged in a moment, shoving Tiger into lull view.