by Thomas Tryon
Tiger began again. “I want to ask you ... I have a question to put, okay?”
“Shoot.”
“Are you afraid of something?”
“Afraid? Of what?”
“You tell me. I mean, is something troubling you? Something I don’t know about?”
“What makes you think that?”
“I hear you sometimes. At night. You talk in your sleep.”
Leo was instantly on the alert. “When? When did I?” “Well, one time was the other night after the ghost stories. You went - where did you go to anyway?”
Leo rolled over and looked at the Steelyard house. “Over there.”
“Are you kidding? What made you do that?”
Leo shrugged. “I guess it was Hank’s story about Mary and - and the m-murder. I just wanted to look the place over again.”
“Jeez. I don’t get it.”
“I guess it sounds crazy, but - remember I told you about the butcher shop and us living over it? Well, the Steelyard place keeps reminding me of that house. I got this screwy idea - I don’t know, I can’t figure it out - but there’s something about it - it’s spooky. Even the inside was like our house.”
“Cripes! You mean you went inside?”
“Yup. It was really weird, the layout was practically the same. There was this dark spot on the floor - in the front hall - it looked like blood.”
“Come on, kiddo. You’re jazzing me.”
“No, I’m not. Then I went upstairs.”
“In the dark? By yourself? You’re either fearless or you’re nuts. Oh wow, sorry, I didn’t mean—”
“It’s okay, forget it. The doc’d probably say nuts; I say fearless.”
They smiled at each other, then Tiger asked, “Did . . . did anything . . . happen?”
“Yes ...”
“You’re kidding!” Tiger was on his knees, his eyes flashing his eagerness.
“I went into Mary Steelyard’s room. The corner room. It was like my mother’s room.”
“Oh, jeez, you’re not going to tell me you saw the ghost.”
“Worse. As I was coming down the stairs, I knew there was something there, something was hiding, I couldn’t hear it but I could feel it. When I reached the bottom step the door flew open and this thing rushed in—”
“Thing? What thing?”
“It was just a thing. A big dark thing. I couldn’t see what it was, but it grabbed me and it picked me up. I was hollering. I knew I was going to die. It was going to throw me into the cellar, but I kicked myself free.”
“You kicked?”
“That’s right. I kicked him ... in the eye. Get it?”'
“Oh my gosh! In the - Oh cripes, you mean to say—” Tiger’s eyes grew wider; Leo was nodding to beat the band.
“So that’s how he got the shiner.” Tiger hooted, then launched himself at Leo, and they rolled over together in the grass, laughing as hard as they could; Harpo, who was drowsing in the shade, leaped up, tail a-wag, and joined in the fun. After a few moments they subsided, then, brushing themselves off, they lay back on the turf and were quiet for a while.
“What kind of things do I talk about?” Leo asked when Harpo had settled himself again.
“Well,” Tiger began, gazing up at the sky, “once I remember you said ‘Don’t do it.’ Right out loud. Then you said ‘Put it down.’ ”
“Did anyone else hear?”
“No one, as far as I can tell. At least nobody’s said.” Tiger stopped and chewed his lip. “Is there anything . . . I mean, you’re not exactly a blabber-mouth, I know, but if you wanted to talk ever ...”
Leo wanted, wanted so badly to get it all out, but he couldn’t. The words wouldn’t come.
“That’s okay,” he managed. “I mean, it’s nothing, honest. It’s just. . . well, nothing. But thanks, anyway.” He moved a little way away and squinted at the pond.
Tiger sat up, his eye on the back of Leo’s neck. “Come on, kiddo, don’t go clamming up on me again.”
“I wasn’t. I was just thinking about something.”
“What?”
“I was wondering what’s going to happen when camp's over.”
“Same old thing, I guess. It’ll be back to school for me, and for you—”
“It’s back to the Institute and the grease pits, I guess.” Come September Leo would be apprenticed as a mechanic in the Pitt garage, a prospect he detested. “But we’ll see each other, won’t we? This winter?”
“Heck yes.” Tiger was firm. “My mom’s going to invite you and Bomber to come stay overnight. Up in the attic. I’ve got a swell room. Double-decker bunks just like at camp, and the electric train.”
“Yeah,” Leo said, “I can’t wait to see that.”
“Just remember, until then, try and keep your nose clean.”
“Can’t I even pick it?”
“That’s not for me to say. And you need a haircut.” In a final burst of laughter Tiger was on his feet, Harpo too, and away they sped like a pair of jackrabbits.
Leo watched them go, then, relieving a foot that was going to sleep, he craned his neck, checking the sky for the time. By now the sun had shifted several degrees; he felt a bright beam shining into his eyes, and angled his head into its warmth. Behind his lids lights danced green and red and yellow, pinwheels of color, a vivid burst of patterns and shapes like Fourth of July fireworks exploding in his retina. He reminded himself that he should practice some more, but it was hard to concentrate when his thoughts flitted about as errantly as the dragonflies that hovered above the surface of the water, or - he glanced upward, his eye attracted by a flashing motion in the air. Overhead, limned sharply against the opalescent blue, two pale-yellow butterflies whirled in a frantic spiral of passionate activity. There was evidence of desperate persistence in their wild gyrations as one pursued the other, driven to mate, now joining her, now parting, now joining again. Leo observed the ritual with a certain cynicism. Why wouldn’t, couldn’t she simply give in and accept his advances? What need to lead him such a mad chase when ultimately there would come the gossamer embrace, and death? Poor butterfly. Maybe that was the real meaning of the song . . .
Poor Butterfly! >
’Neath the blossoms waiting Poor Butterfly!
For she loved him so.
He went back inside the icehouse, where he took up his violin again and resumed his practice. And as he played, he imagined her, Emily, seated in her chair, listening to the melody that was her favorite, brushing out her hair as she nodded and smiled approval. He could see the old woman who lived in the back room at Mrs Kranze’s, sitting in the iron bedstead in the corner, her bony fingers clasped under her chin, her eyes bright as she listened; and John Burroughs, the day they went to the park, when the merry-go-round played the song and he sat astride the painted horse with John standing at his side so he wouldn’t fall off; and the night of the big storm, when John - suddenly the light seemed to dim around him. The bridge - the bridge was going to be washed out, it would fall into the river, carrying with it anyone unlucky enough to be on it. He had known it was going to happen, hadn’t he? Somehow he’d imagined it every time he crossed the bridge. Why hadn’t he warned them? Was he to blame? The questions pin-wheeled in his head as he looked and turned away and looked again, saw the bridge falling into the river, saw the truck engulfed and—
Mother!
Mother!
MOTHER!
He stopped playing. His hand was shaking. It was true. Here, beside the lake, in the shade and the summer sun, he was shaking. Why should that be so? Here, beside Moonbow Lake, he still felt afraid.
The sun had moved on. He didn’t need a watch to tell him it was already three, and that he should get back to camp. No more practice today. He replaced his violin carefully in its case, gathered up his music, then turned to retrieve his knapsack. As he did so, in a shaft of light at the back of the icehouse, he spotted a spider, a big fat black-and-yellow one. He fished out his notebook and made one of
his customary notes on the creature’s web and habitat, then flipped it into a box. He was just sliding the lid home when the deep-throated roar of the Chris-Craft engine shattered his sanctuary, and, glancing out the door, he recoiled in alarm. The Moonbow Maid was speeding across the water, heading in a beeline for the China Garden - was only a hundred yards away. Even now, Reece, with Honey beside him, was cutting the motor, and Leo could make out their features clearly, including details like the radium-dial watch on Reece’s wrist, the barrette in Honey’s hair.What were they doing here? Had she come to pick the water lilies?
He felt the clutch of panic, as if he were about to be caught redhanded in some criminal act, and, keeping well out of sight, he tried to think. He knew he couldn’t escape without being seen, but if Reece did see him, what would he say? And Honey . . . And even as he agonized he knew he’d waited too long. He dashed to the door and retrieved his violin and music, then retreated again into the shadows, while the brass-trimmed prow of glossy mahogany carved its way lightly, quietly now, through the bed of lily pads -in which Honey showed no seeming interest - and into the icehouse inlet, where there was a bit of beach. Reece was handing Honey out of the boat. He passed her a grocery sack, and, bringing along a blanket and Honey’s portable phonograph, he joined her ashore. In a few minutes they had made their way to a spot where, tucked away amid a lush brake of ferns nestled under the drooping fronds of a weeping willow, they set down their things and spread out the blanket. Reece put a record on the phonograph and they made themselves comfortable.
What was Leo to do? If he showed himself to them now, he would stand accused of being a Peeping Tom - which was not far from the truth, as from his hiding place he continued to watch, knowing it was wrong, unable to stop himself. His gaze lingered on Honey as she took a brush from her bag and began brushing her hair. Reece turned on one hip, then leaned across her to pull a couple of bottles from the sack, a beer and a Coca-Cola.
“Toss us the church key,” he said.
Honey obliged with the bottle opener, then lay back, watching him uncap the soda pop and drink thirstily, and Leo saw how her polka-dot blouse drew snugly across the curve of her breasts, how they rose and fell with her breathing - a trifle fast, he thought, as if she was excited. One at a time Reece raised his outstretched legs, exercised their muscles, and set them down again while Honey lay back, and the soft sound of her voice floated across the distance between her and the icehouse.
She laughed at something Reece said; he laughed too. He was making an effort to be entertaining and amusing for her benefit: Heartless hard at work. It was easy to see why people found him as charming and winning as they did; he certainly was plenty charming with Honey. He didn’t touch her, but just talked in that bantering way of his. He lay back, one leg cocked over the other knee, hands clasped behind his head, looking up at the clouds.
Honey was laughing now, about a school friend summering on Cape Cod who’d been so badly sunburned she couldn’t go on the beach where all the cute guys hung out. While she talked on enthusiastically about Sally, Reece turned the record over. It was Guy Lombardo, and Reece pinched his nostrils and sang through his nose like Guy’s vocalist brother, Carmen:
I saw you last night and got that old feeling.
When you came in sight I got that old feeling
The music ended, and Reece took the record off; they talked some more, and suddenly Leo was shocked to hear his name mentioned. They were talking about him!
“I think he’s very clever,” he heard Honey saying, “getting the boys invited back to the Castle, when you couldn’t talk Dagmar into it. I think he has a lot of moxie.”
Leo couldn’t believe it! They were talking about him, and Honey - Honey was sticking up for him!
Not Reece, though. “A lot of nerve, you mean,” he said with a nasty chuckle.
“No, be serious, can’t you? He’s not like the other boys. He’s different.”
“Weird, you mean. One of these days he’s going to pull one dumb stunt too many and it’ll be goodbye Wacko Wackeem.”
“I don’t like to hear you talk like that. I feel sorry for him. He has no family, no one to look after him - living in that awful place—”
“How do you know it’s awful?”
“It’s an orphanage, isn’t it? All orphanages are awful. He has such sad eyes sometimes. But he’s so cheerful. He doesn’t feel sorry for himself. He’s really quite comical—” “I don’t think he’s so funny,” Reece growled.
“Oh, you - you’re such a stick-in-the-mud.” She drank from her Coke, then went on. “You have to admit, he plays the violin beautifully.”
“You’ve gotta be kidding. Didn’t you hear him at Major Bowes? Talk about chalk on the blackboard.”
“So he made a mistake. That can happen to anyone—” “Look, let’s change the subject, huh?” He leaned toward her, and what happened next, Leo didn’t care for at all.
Reece reached a long arm into the grass and plucked a flower - a buttercup. Then, tilting Honey’s head back and bringing his head closer, he rotated the blossom under her chin to see if she liked butter.
“Do you?” she asked.
“Sure do.” He came closer still.
“Oh, you,” she said, laughing. His lips were right next to her ear; in a quick move, he kissed her. Leo felt his blood begin to rush. This was the last thing he wanted to see, Reece necking with Honey Oliphant, but what could he do?
“Don’t,” said Honey, shivering and ducking her head between her shoulders, “that tickles.” She giggled, then, and lay back, and Reece took the cold beer bottle and laid it against her chest. She made tiny squeaking sounds of protest and pushed his hand away.
“Please don’t do that!”
“Why not? Don’t you like it?”
“No. It’s cold!”
“I can fix that,” Reece said, chuckling again. “Here’s something warmer,” and he set the bottle down and laid his cheek where the cold glass had touched her, between her breasts. Unable to look away, Leo swallowed and licked his lips, adjusted his position slightly, froze as Honey sat up again.
“What was that?” she said, peering toward the icehouse. “I think someone’s there.”
“It’s a wolf,” Reece said with a mock leer, “and he’s coming to eat you all up, gobble-gobble-gulp.”
“If you ask me, you’re the one who’s the wolf. What if somebody should come along and find us?”
“So what? We’re not doing anything illegal, are we? Besides” - looking at his watch with the phosphorescent face - “it’s swim time. Relax.”
“I’m sure I heard something. Go and see,” Honey urged. “Over there, in the icehouse—”
“Okay, let’s have a quick look.” Reece got up, vaulted the stream, and cut across the plot of grass in the direction of the icehouse. Frantically Leo looked around for someplace to hide. There was none that he could see. He crouched down, not really out of sight, praying that among the shadows he wouldn’t be discovered. He held his breath, listening to the sound of Reece’s footsteps, eyes shut tight, as if that alone might ward off discovery. For a moment or two everything was quiet; then he heard the sound of water. Opening his eyes and raising his head a little, he saw Reece standing just inside the doorway, peeing against the wall, now glancing back over his shoulder at a large fly buzzing around him. Leo ducked. When he took another look Reece was buttoning his shorts, glancing up at the rafters, where the swallows were flying about. Then, apparently satisfied, he left the building and trotted back to Honey.
Leo quickly resumed his lookout, but now he had difficulty seeing. Honey and Reece were no longer sitting up, they were lying side by side on the blanket. Reece was stripping off his shirt, tossing it aside as he slid an arm around Honey’s waist, drawing her to him. Though Leo had seen them together before, though he’d seen them dancing close together, their bodies touching as they bent and swayed to the music, that distressing sight had been nothing compared with this; this was hor
izontal stuff! His heart began to pound. He tried improving his angle of sight but it was no good: Honey was mostly hidden by Reece, who was stretched alongside her on the blanket. Unable to make out what was happening, Leo listened with greater urgency, cocking his head, cupping his ear, frowning in studied concentration as he tried to catch some intelligible fragment of speech. No dice; it was all mumbles.
Risking discovery, he ventured from the icehouse, creeping around the doorframe and wriggling through the grass to get closer. Reece was sitting up now, and he had Honey lying ,on her back across his thighs; his fingers were unfastening the buttons of her blouse. As she murmured protestingly, one by one he undid them and then slipped the blouse down, baring her tanned shoulders, drawing it away little by little until her pink brassiere was exposed. “No, don’t, we mustn’t,” Leo heard her murmur.
“Why not?”
“Because.”
“Because why?”
“Because my mother wants me to be a good girl.” She tried to do up the buttons.
He fussed with her hands. “You are a good girl,” he said huskily. “But listen, what did we come here for?”
“We came to have a nice time. You said you wanted to talk.”
“I do, dreamgirl, I really do. Only you got me so darned excited. You really send me.”
“Then suppose you just come back from wherever I sent you. I think we should be going, honest. We can’t sit here all day, can we?”
“I don’t know why not.”
She started to get up and he reached out and pulled her down again, clasping her to him. He cupped his palms behind her head, gripping it while he kissed her hard on the mouth, kissed her until she began to struggle, until, as if she were drowning, her arms began to flail about, her fists to beat helplessly at him. At last their lips parted and, pulling back, she stared at him in shocked surprise, then tried to break away from him, but his hands gripped her shoulders. With his mouth buried in her neck he forced her back onto the blanket, and, in a quick move, rolled on top of her, tearing at her blouse. Now he had his fingers entangled in her hair, his face buried between her breasts. Her features were half-hidden by locks of hair plastered across them, and she moaned and called out as she thrashed about under the weight of his torso sprawled across her.