by Thomas Tryon
“’Ray, Tiger! ’Ray, Tiger!” The eager shout was taken up all across the waterfront as Tiger trotted out onto the dock for a quick conference with Rex, which was followed by a second announcement.
“Ladies and gentlemen, Mr Brewster Abernathy - ’scuse me, folks, Mr Tiger Abernathy - has consented to perform for us today, in tandem with Mr Hartsig, a piggyback swan dive.”
Yet another rumble of excitement sounded among the spectators, and the enthusiastic cheers and applause of his pals sent Tiger pelting off the dock into the water for a quick sprint out to the raft. On the high platform Reece hoisted him onto his shoulders, then, supporting him by his hands, with perfect ease and coordination he stepped onto the board and moved to the end where he paused, adjusted his hands to clasp Tiger’s ankles, and, breaking his knees slightly, straightening them with a snap, he sent a forceful jolt into the board, whose limber spring propelled the pair into space. The two melded forms soared forward, each with arms outflung; they remained in tandem for another beat, then gracefully parted, the single figure dividing as their heads went down and they dropped headfirst into the water, four feet apart, with hardly a splash. The crowd went wild.
Returning to the tower, the two divers encored with a half-gainer, followed by a standing back dive; then, graciously abstaining, Reece dispatched Tiger up the ladder for a trio of beautifully executed solo dives before joining him in the swim to shore.
From the edge of his seat atop the council ring, Leo observed it all, awed by Tiger’s performance, admiring his agile, compact body and envying his natural athleticism, his grace of movement; envying, too, the adulation from the crowd, and the modest way Tiger accepted it. He caught the glow of pleasure in Mrs Abernathy’s eyes, the quiet pride in her husband’s, and he itched to jump up and show himself off to advantage as well, to make people look that way because of some feat he had performed. But how? What could he do? How could he ever hope to rival Tiger’s stellar performance?
He sat back as the two divers came dripping onto the swim dock and disappeared among the huddle of contestants. The applause died down, but the scheduled proceedings were further delayed when, instead of the Endeavorites, the white-clad figure of Pa Starbuck appeared suddenly upon the dock. Waving his hands about his head, he gestured for Rex’s megaphone.
“I wish to pause a moment more in this afternoon’s program,” he declared through the varnished mouthpiece, “to say before this gathering how privileged we of Camp Friend-Indeed have been to have known Reece Hartsig, a young man of rare qualities, who began here at Moonbow Lake at an age not much more advanced than our Peewee Oliphant is today” - appreciative laughter and applause greeted this sally — “and I know my own good wife and helpmeet, my Mary” - he pronounced it “May-ree” -“concurs in these sentiments, for she has been ‘Ma’ to Reece as she has been to all the others boys. I say to you that no camper, staffer, or counselor who has passed up the line-path has brought more honor to our blessed camp. This is his last summer of Moonbowing, and I say that when he departs our shores, a Glad Man made from a Happy Boy, he shall be sorely missed.”
“Don’t worry, he’ll he back,” Big Rolfe called out through cupped hands. “You haven’t seen the last of our boy, Gar. He’ll plunk that plane of his down on the playing field, he’ll give the fellows a spin.”
“Hear! Hear!” Louder cheers and more enthusiastic shouts among the adults greeted these sentiments, while the boys went crazy.
“’Ray, Big Chief!” they shouted, after which Pa gave Reece a warm handshake and returned to his chair. Left alone, Reece spoke a few words of thanks, then, modest lo a fault, retired into the crowd of congratulating admirers as the senior events got under way.
Watching his counselor, who stood beside Tiger now, taking in the senior freestyle race, Leo brooded on the image of the pair flying off the tower, hearing again the tumultuous applause and cheering, his heart pounding with excitement at the memory. No matter how many races Jeremiah won, or how many happy points they earned today, in Leo’s mind nothing would match the sight of those glorious dives. And over and over again the burning thought: What could he do to shine? Then, suddenly, he knew! He jumped up and pushed his way along the row to race up the aisle, leaving a perplexed Miss Meekum staring at his sudden departure.
He was still absent when the contests among the High Endeavorites came to an end, with Malachi the leader in unit points. Since Jeremiah had come out ahead in Harmony’s swim events, as well as taken first prize in the Parade of ships, the two cabins were running neck and neck in overall camp point score as the popular and dramatic canoe-tilting contest began, and the excitement was intense when, after several elimination rounds, the two finalists paddled to “center stage” - Tiger and the Bomber up for Jeremiah, Blackjack Ratner and Moon Mullens for Malachi: the winning team stood to put its cabin in the lead for the Hartsig Trophy. Given that Tiger was an expert canoer, while the Bomber was noted for his balance and deadly aim, the contest was expected to be an easy win for Jeremiah. Still, the audience was tense as they watched the Jeremian, spraddle-legged and precariously balanced in the bow of the canoe, the tip of his long bamboo lance inserted into the neck of a rubber toilet plunger, face his challengers, Ratner in the bow, Mullens paddling. Like two knights in a medieval tourney, the rivals began jousting with each other, each warrior trying to knock the other into the water.
Wearing the Joe Louis frown of concentration that had earned him his nickname, the Bomber skillfully parried and thrust, and the outcome seemed assured when an unexpected distraction from onshore caught his attention, enabling Blackjack to catch him off balance and smack him alongside the head, toppling him into the lake; over went the canoe as well, tossing Tiger into the water too, while the Bomber, surfacing, hollered, “We wuz robbed!”
But no one was attending; something of livelier interest was taking place at the top of the council ring, where a fantastic figure had appeared, with a grotesquely made-up clown’s face and, slung about his shoulders, a red cape, which, as he tore down the path to the lakefront, rippled out behind him like Superman’s. Then, as the spectators laughed and began to applaud his antics, he pranced to the end of the dock, where, shedding the cape, he executed a burlesque dive into the water and stroked energetically toward the raft.
Reaching it, he hauled himself aboard, ran for the tower ladder, and clambered upward. At the top, he threw his head back and beat on his chest while uttering a savage Tarzan yell, then, without missing a beat, rushed to the platform edge, launched his body into space, and went plummeting downward; his victorious cry seemed to hang in the air for a moment after he had struck the water and sunk from sight.
The crowd sat now in a hush, waiting for the diver to surface. Where was he? Who was he? they whispered. Having righted his canoe, Tiger paddled toward shore, peering into the water; but there was no sign of the daredevil until, moments later, came the cry “There he is!” and a pale, frog-like form appeared at the foot of the dock, where it slowly surfaced, and a rousing cheer went up as Wacko Wackeem climbed onto the dock and stood in full view, bowing to his audience, flexing his “muscles” and tipping an imaginary hat.
***
As all good things must, the Water Carnival reached its end, and the overall winners were formally announced, with Malachi beating out Jeremiah at the last. When the individual campers had been awarded their ribbons - each one stamped “Honorary Presentation of the Bible Society of the Friends of Joshua” - little by little the waterfront quieted, while in the grove the guests stood about, getting the good of the breeze coming off the water and asking one another if it wasn’t time to think about leaving. Those consulting timepieces discovered to their surprise that it was nearly four o’clock; Sunday traffic would be heavy. Already automobiles were being loaded up with families and belongings, while some of the second allotment of two-week campers were bidding reluctant goodbyes to new friends before going back to city sidewalks.
Equally sad to be leaving camp were
Leo’s guests, and in a strange way he was now sorry to see them go. With traces of his clown makeup still visible around his ears, he lingered as Miss Meekum and Supervisor Poe prepared to be on their way.
“What an extraordinary afternoon!” Miss Meekum exclaimed in a tremulous voice, her eyes dewy behind her spectacles, as she smiled her sweet, sad smile all around. “We’re certainly proud of you, Leo. Aren’t we, Mr Poe?” “Yes. I believe we may say that. Most proud.”
Leo felt a vivifying sense of relief. He’d got through the day with flying colors. He was nuts to have thought Miss Meekum and Supervisor Poe had come there to cause him trouble. Everything was jake again.
“Take care of Leo, won’t you, young man?” Miss Meekum entreated Reece. “And when he comes back to you next summer, maybe you won’t recognize him. Oh, but you won’t be here, will you? You’ll be off piloting your aeroplane. ” Again the supervisor reminded her that the hour was late. Reece insisted on escorting them to the car, offering Miss Meekum his arm and again complimenting her on her hat. “Just remember,” she said to Leo as she got into Mr Poe’s tin lizzy, “if you need me, I’m only a penny postcard away,” and her wafting hanky could be seen waving wistfully out the window long after her face disappeared from view.
“I wouldn’t count on that.” Leo was surprised to find Reece still standing nearby, watching the departing car.
“On what?”
“On what your lady friend just said - about coming back next year. That doesn’t seem a very likely thing to me under the circumstances. Suppose you tell me what you thought you were doing. Showing off, grandstanding in front of the whole place, losing us the canoe tilt. Bad enough people laughing at you, you had them laughing at me, too, tipping your cap like that.”
Leo was speechless. Reece had it all wrong. Tipping your cap was just something you did after a performance. It was only a joke. But even as he stammered a feeble explanation he realized the futility - if it was a joke, as far as Reece was concerned the joke was on him, and he didn’t like it.
“And what was the idea of that nutty outfit?” he demanded. “Where’d you get it, anyway?”
Leo faltered. How could he explain that he couldn’t just get up in front of all those people and do his stunt as, well, as just Leo Joaquim; that he had to pretend he was someone else, like Dr Mackinschleisser, or Donald Duck, or Superman, otherwise he could never have done what he had? So he’d borrowed Phil’s Marc Antony cape from the boat parade, and used some of Fritz’s stage paint.
“I just wanted to prove I could do it,” he managed weakly.
“You wanted to show off, you mean. But we don’t like show-offs here. Now hop to it, camper. It’s time for powwow.” And, hiking his shoulders, he marched across the playing field to where Hap was once again driving .1 bucket of golf balls into the baseball backstop.
In the cabin, the Jeremians were all in their bunks, and Leo had the impression they’d been waiting for him: as soon as he stepped across the threshold Wally gave him the fisheye, Phil an angry scowl; Dump’s stare was indifferent, while Monkey averted his gaze altogether, and Eddie offered an inoffensive little shrug, marking his desire to remain neutral. Only the Bomber’s and Tiger’s expressions said they were still in Leo’s corner.
“Well, well,” Phil began. “Our hero, home from the wars. I hope you’re satisfied, Wacko.”
Leo was about to make a retort, but, catching Tiger’s look, he turned away and went to his bunk, where he sat on the rail and retied the laces of his sneakers.
Furiously Phil sprang to the floor, his weight causing Reece’s footlocker to leap. “Don’t you sit down like that when I’m talking to you, kiddo. Stand up! Stand at attention!”
“Easy there,” Tiger cautioned him. “Nobody’s robbed a bank or committed murder.”
“He may as well have.” Phil turned back to Leo. “I guess you know what your smart-alecking cost us this afternoon. We would have come out first except for your screwing around. I guess you’re really proud of yourself. Well, speak up! Are you proud of yourself?”
“No ...” He looked from face to face. “I guess I just didn’t think—”
“Yes, we know, you never think. Jeez, don’t you get it, Wacko? We want to win around here - that’s what it’s all about. Reece wants that cup. It’s his last year at Moonbow, we have to get it for him. If we don’t - well, whoever screws up, that’s his lookout. And if you don’t stop acting like a weisenheimer, you know what’s going to happen to you?” Leo remained silent. Wally, leaning over the edge of his upper bunk, smiled grimly. “If you want to know, just try asking Stanley Wagner,” he said.
“Okay, fellows, let’s cut it out, huh?” Tiger jumped down and stood eyeing Phil sternly. “That’s enough. Leo doesn’t have to ask anybody anything. He didn’t mean to make us lose, it was an accident. It could happen to anyone.” “Yeah? He didn’t have to do it. He was just showing off, being a wiseguy. Aren’t I right, fellows?”
Phil looked around for support. Wally was the first to respond. “Yes, you’re right,” he said; Dump and Monkey nodded agreement.
“We didn’t ask for him to be in here,” Phil went on. “We could get along fine without him.”
“Well, he is here,” Tiger declared, “so quit your bellyaching for cripes’ sake.”
Phil’s scowl deepened. “Say, Abernathy, whose side are you on, anyway?”
“I’m not on anybody’s side. We’re all friends here. If Jeremiah lost a couple of points, it’s not the first time. You’re making a mountain out of a molehill. Forget it.” “Yeah, let’s can it,” said the Bomber. “I’m hungry.”
“I won’t forget it. If you ask me, it’s about time somebody did something.” With that Phil turned and marched out the door. “Wally - you coming?” he called from the line-path. Ever quick to respond to Phil’s orders, Wally hopped to, and Leo watched the pair cross the playing field, walking side by side. In his mind the two campers had fused into a single entity, like the partners in a law office or a haberdashery, Phil & Wally, Inc. After a moment, Dump ducked out the side and went chasing after Phil, and seconds later, without a word or look, Monkey sidled away; he too caught up with the group, which left Eddie reluctant to make a move.
“Looks like it’s four against four,” the Bomber said dourly, watching the others disappear beyond the rise. Leo’s shoulders rose and fell in a silent sigh. He felt bad that he’d let them down, made them lose top score. But how could he have known his great feat would backfire this way? All he’d wanted to do was prove he wasn’t afraid;
and shine a bit. Looking around at the empty bunks, so recently filled with his accusers, he suddenly felt an alien in Jeremiah, as if he’d dropped in from outer space, a little green man with goggle eyes.
But then, “Nobody’s against anybody.” Tiger said, putting on his cap. “Come on, guys, let’s shag it.”
The Bomber gave Leo a friendly punch. “Ya done good, kiddo,” he said. “Didn’t he, Tige?”
And together, the three, plus Eddie, trudged off across the playing field and joined the trekkers heading up-camp to the dining hall.
On a gray, windy morning several days after the Water Carnival, Leo found himself part of the detail assigned to police the Nature Lodge - such clean-up details were standard operation procedure at camp, a rotation duty, like waiting on table or KP - in preparation for the “ghost-story telling” that, the weather being coolish, would take place in the room tonight, instead of in the council ring. In the midst of an uncommon amount of industry, the great horn chandelier had been lowered to the floor to have its two dozen chimneys washed and its wicks trimmed, while sweepers manned the brooms and dust rags flew, and a couple of Endeavorites raked ashes in the two fireplaces and restocked the fuel supply. Leo, with a rag, a sponge, and a bucket of vinegar-water, was washing windows, as well as the glass in the various exhibition cases; it was a job he liked, and he went at it with a will.
Second only to the council ring in the life of the
camp, the main room of the Theodore Roosevelt Nature Lodge was the site not only of theatrical events like Major Bowes Amateur Night but of an uncommon variety of activities, from Ping-Pong and checkers tournaments to nature talks and (during periods of inclement weather) the biweekly council fire. Centered at each end were large fireplaces built of local fieldstone, one graced by “George,” a stuffed eagle named after the Father of the Country, the opposing one by the framed portrait of Buffalo Bill (the Great Plainsman wore fringed buckskins and carried a silver-chased rifle). In addition to the nature exhibits arrayed along the walls between multiple windows - a horned owl, a gray fox with a still-bushy tail, a collection of snakeskins, the deadly-looking rattles of a diamondback, Leo’s growing collection of spiders, and, in its own cage, the bullfrog that had become Peewee Oliphant’s special pet - and the Indian exhibits - assorted masks and headdresses, even a beaded buckskin dress, all “on loan” from Dagmar - the room contained the two objects of primary importance at Friend-Indeed: the Hartsig Memorial Trophy Cup, which rested in a position of prominence, in the center of the eight-by-eight beam built into the stonework of the north fireplace, where its silver shape gleamed lustrously, even on the dullest days, and the Buffalo Bill War Bonnet which, when not being worn by the camp’s designated Moonbow Warrior, was displayed on a stand of pinewood in a tall glass case nearby.
Now, as the dust and talk both flew, Oats Gurley, in whose loose and liberal charge the clean-up detail went about its business, was himself dusting the shelves of books that were his personal library, a collection of well-thumbed volumes on various natural phenomena, including the local flora and fauna, volumes (especially one on spiders) with which Leo was by now familiar.
Ah-choo! Ah-choo! Ah-choo!
Sweeping the floor with commendable zeal, Emerson Bean had raised a cloud of dust whose particles floated in the air. Tactful as always, Oats quietly suggested to the camper that he lower his energy level by half and damp down the dust with a good sprinkling of water.