by Thomas Tryon
“Wanda, dear, try and control your hot-blooded beau, won’t you?” came the doctor’s admonition as he went back inside and turned off the porch light.-
Panting from their exertions, the two combatants faced each other with dull, sullen looks.
“You’re bleeding,” Wanda said to Reece, whose lip had been opened by a lucky punch from Fritz’s hard knuckles. “Let me get something for it.”
“Skip it.” Reece spat over the railing, then turned to Leo.
“All right, camper, skip off to where you belong,” he said, and, his lip red with blood in the lamplight, he swung away down the steps. With a prompting nod from Fritz, Leo followed. At the head of the path Reece split off without a word or sign to disappear in the direction of Bachelors’ Haven and the game of poker in progress, while Leo limped back to Jeremiah, where, as taps blew, he fell onto his bunk with his clothes on.
The crescent moon hangs high above the lake. Nothing stirs, except, in Hosea, Gus Klaus snores fitfully, making liquid flutters under his nose. Presently, from among the cabins of the Harmony unit, a solitary figure emerges, creeping stealthily along the line-path, crouching low as if fearful of discovery. With purpose and intent he moves onto the lodge path.
High in the Methuselah Tree the owl Icarus spies him soft-walking along the path, stealing up to the lodge. Inside, like a wandering moth, a pale light flits across the wide-board floor to the upright joist where the rope supporting the great horn chandelier is figure-eighted over the cleat. The dark phantom bends closer; in his hand a knife. Its sharp blade presses hard against the twisted fibers of the rope, then begins its calculated work, making a ragged cut. It is not difficult: the rope is old. One after another the strands give way, until only a handful remain intact to carry the weight of the fixture. Satisfied with his handiwork, the phantom sheathes the knife and melts into the darkness.
All is quiet again in the lodge. But in the darkness the implacable force of gravity works upon the weakened rope, exerting its power, causing the remaining strands to relinquish their hold, one after another parting. Icarus cocks his head. Soon now . . . any moment . . . yes - now!
The ponderous mass of iron and animal horn breaks free of its beam, the severed rope speeds through the tackle, the wheels turn noisily, as the chandelier comes crashing to the floor. The pine grove is rocked by the deafening sound, the lodge walls tremble from the impact, the panes in the windows rattle. In the cabins along the line-path campers and staff spring to sudden wakefulness. What is it, they ask? What has happened? Shouts and calls break out, fifty pinpoints of light are seen flickering along the pathways, converging on the lodge. And inside:
“Ah, too bad,” they mutter. “What a thing.” For the old worn rope, frayed after many years of use, has, it seems, given way, dropping the horn wonder to the floor. Beneath the clutter the village of Durenstein lies ground to dust.
Quietly, with great determination, the small spider tried to spin her web across a wide crack in the weir at Kelsoe’s Pond, where Leo had taken refuge. Poor thing, he thought, I know just how you feel. He had bestowed a name on the spider - Elsie - and hoped she would prosper in the way of her kind. Under more promising circumstances he would have collected her for his arachnid exhibit, but where was the point? Tonight he might return to the lodge to find that the shelves of his display case had suffered a fate similar to that of Durenstein.
Again he was swept by a hot wave of resentment and frustration. It had been Fritz who had noticed the ends of rope that when put together butted neatly; but when Fritz produced the evidence for Pa and voiced his suspicions -that Reece Hartsig, who had been seen leaving Jeremiah after midnight, was the guilty party - Pa had turned a deaf ear, bemoaning the loss of the model but saying there were no grounds to suspect the counselor, who had no doubt been answering a call of nature at the Dewdrop. And in the end what did it matter, really? It was the spirit of a gift that counted, wasn’t it? As for the work that had gone into it - Jeremiah would get the points Leo had earned for it, eee-heh.
And that was pretty much that. Before the end of the day the formal dedication had been canceled, the newspaper story and pictures were yanked, and the platform for the model had vanished without a trace.
Leo wanted to stop thinking about it all, to blot everything from his mind; there was no one he cared to be with -- not even Fritz, while Tiger, it seemed, was a lost cause. So here he was, back at Kelsoe’s Pond, alone except for little, hardworking Elsie; good enough company, he decided, if it came to that. The spider’s unflinching persistence put him in mind of the tale Emily had read to him about the Scottish hero Robert the Bruce, who “seven times had flung himself into the fray against the English” (Emily read) and who “at nightfall still had not won the day. Knowing all was lost and that on the morrow he must yield or die,” he had taken refuge in a crofter’s cottage, where he had watched a spider - just such a spider as Elsie, Leo imagined
- trying desperately to throw a filament from which to hang her web. Each time the line fell short, yet each time she would climb back up and bravely attempt the toss again, until - until at last - success! The line held, and the spider suspended her web from it. And having watched this little drama enacted, “Robert had slept soundly, then, awakening refreshed, strode forth to marshal his troops one more time and finally to carry the day.”
The moral, Emily said - all the tales in the book had morals at the end — was “If at first you don’t succeed, try, try again.” Whatever it was, you did it, and you did it over and over until it came right - until you won. It was like Tiger’s motto: “Never say die.” Leo guessed that was easy if you weren’t the butt of every prankster in camp, if every bully wasn’t looking for a chance to knock you down, if nearly everyone wasn’t lying in wait for you, to call you a liar, to destroy all your handiwork. He wasn’t Robert the Bruce, after all, he was only Wacko Wackeem, and this spider wasn’t going to bridge the gap in the stone in a hundred hundred years.
His thoughts were interrupted by the sound of an auto motor, and he recognized the expensive purr of Dagmar’s Pierce-Arrow. He straightened up and, looking across the turf, saw the car tooling toward him. Augie behind the wheel, Dagmar peering out the window. In a moment it pulled up; Augie helped Dagmar out, and, giving Leo a wave, she made her way toward him.
“There you are,” she called agreeably. “Ma said we’d find you here. May I join you?”
Without waiting for his response, she seated herself on the grass. “What a pretty spot. I haven’t been here for years. Knute used to fish in this pond, I remember. Do you come here often?”
“Sometimes.”
“I was very sorry to hear of what has happened to the model village. A terrible thing, I have been talking with Ma and Fritz about it. That young man must be taught a lesson! He can’t go around behaving like some thug simply because he’s big and strong or because he’s Rolfe Hartsig’s son.” She had a good deal more to say on the subject of Reece’s recent behavior, none of it flattering. “I say he had better change his ways and quickly,” she concluded. “When he flies from the nest next year he won’t find the world half so well-feathered as it is at home.”
She paused expectantly, but when Leo said nothing, went on. “Fritz also told me about these Mingoes, or whatever they please to call themselves—”
“They’re out to get me, I know they are,” Leo cried, unable to stop himself.
“Don’t be a blubberer,” said Dagmar starchily. “I’m sure Pa will put a stop to them.”
“He won’t. He never does. Fritz told him!”
“Then someone will have to talk to Dr Dunbar. Perhaps I’ll ring him myself.”
She jerked her chin firmly for emphasis. “But Leo,” she went on, “in any case, you must not think it was wrong, your coming here. I am not a superstitious woman, but somehow I know, I am certain, that you were meant to come here to Moonbow, that it would - will - lead to very important things. Things that will change your whole life.” She reg
arded him long and a trifle wistfully. “Leo, you are young and do not see it; but if you did ...”
“See what?”
“See that you are standing upon the golden threshold. You are waiting just outside the door, nearly ready to step through. Into a world so glorious not even you can imagine it. But if you could see, you would realize it is there, for you to grasp and make the most of. If only you will do it. If only you will make the most of your talent. Yes! You cannot appreciate this - not yet - what it means to be an artist, how hard you must work and struggle for it, how hard you must fight against those who cannot understand. And you must make up your mind to it, that as an artist you will always be apart, always different. That is what helps make you an artist, that difference.”
Her eyes held an urgency as she spoke, talked on, trying to reach him with her words. Leo listened, knowing they were meaningful things she was trying to express, but he felt uncomfortable nevertheless. Even while they sat beside the water the dusk was gathering around them, and as she talked her face grew pale in the purple light, the wrinkles in her skin more pronounced.
She changed her position to bring herself closer to him, forcing him to attend more closely to her words. “What I am trying to say is that you have displayed your talents to me on two different occasions. Both times things were amiss and the performance was interrupted, but that fact takes nothing away from your God-given abilities. Professor Pinero agrees. Yours is a rare gift, a gift that requires nourishment. It seems to us that if you were given the opportunity to pursue your studies as your mother wanted you to, you could go farther than even she dreamed.” This mention of Emily caused him to drop his head. Using her thumb, Dagmar raised it again. “Leo?”
“Yes?”
“Why did you tell me your mother and father had died in a train accident?”
“Did I?”
“Yes. Don’t you remember?”
He shook his head. “It’s true,” he said. “They did! It’s true!” But even as he spoke he knew she had found out the truth.
“Leo, my dear, listen to me, please,” she went on. “You needn’t be ashamed. I have spoken with Ma. She told me. You mustn’t think I am being a nosy Parker, but I believed you would wish me to know. Isn’t that so? Aren’t these things we should speak of, you and I, if we are to be friends?”
“I suppose so.” He feigned a profound interest in the spider. “But what if someone else finds out?”
“Who? The campers, do you mean? Or Reece? They won’t, never fear.”
But Leo was remembering the village. Suddenly he looked up at her. “Can we talk at the Castle?”
“Why there, please?”
“Because I want to come.”
“And you shall,” she replied. “We’ll have a nice visit before you leave.”
“No. Not a visit. To stay.”
“To stay?”
“Yes. Then you can ask me anything you want. And I’ll play for you. But you must promise to keep me. Forever and ever.”
“Oh, my dear, how can I do that?”
“Tell Mr Poe and Miss Meekum you want me,” he said eagerly. “Say I’m to come and stay with you.”
“That’s a very nice idea. Perhaps you can come for Christmas vacation. But I’m afraid a longer visit would be out of the question.”
“Why?”
“Leo, I am an old woman, I cannot have the responsibility of a boy to look after. What would happen if I became ill—?”
“Augie! Augie will take care of me.”
“Nonsense! That’s ridiculous. Augie is older than I. He’s not well. I wouldn’t think of burdening him.”
She consulted her watch, then stubbed out her cigarette and dropped her Camels into her bag. “My stomach’s rumbling,” she said. “I must get home for supper.” She stood and brushed off her seat, then put out a hand and wiggled her fingers coaxingly. “Come. Augie will drive you back to camp.”
She reached for his arm but he pulled away abruptly.
“I don’t want to.”
“I thought you liked riding in my automobile.”
“No, I don’t want to,” he said again.
She laughed her robust laugh. “What do you want, then?”
“I told you. I want to come with you and live in your castle.”
“But I have explained that is not possible. You must go back, of course.” She smiled encouragement. “Before the summer’s over we’ll play duets again, how will that be?” He stiffened and spoke coldly. “That’s okay. You don’t have to be polite.”
“But I am not being polite. I mean what I say. I want you to come. I hope you will visit me many times in future.” He turned a little away. “I’m liable to be pretty busy.” A faint line of dissatisfaction drew itself between her brows. “Come now, please don’t scowl so. I may be an old woman, but I know what I’m talking about.” She smiled and touched a finger to the back of his hand. “Be a good boy, Leo, won’t you? Aren’t we friends, you and I? I hoped we were ...” She tried to force his chin up, but he ducked his head and stubbornly refused to look at her.
She sighed. “I had not thought to find you so ill-mannered. I fear I have mistaken myself in you.” She sighed. “Very well, then, let us part, not as I hoped we would, but as we must. Good-bye.”
He only half-watched her as she marched away, her back stiffened with affront, bits of leaf and straw attached to her skirt. He wanted to run after her and say he was sorry, but his feet wouldn’t obey his brain. He pretended not to notice as Augie helped her into the car, shut the doors, turned the car around, and drove away down the lane. She never even looked around once. Leo felt tears sting his eyes.
“Okay for you,” he said aloud, tossing a pebble into the water, and returned his attention to Elsie, who had labored on without letup. In the end he felt compelled to take her; she was probably the last spider he would add to his exhibit before leaving camp. More happy points for Jeremiah: what a joke that was. He fished out a codfish box from his knapsack, pulled back the lid,'and, using his pen, flicked the creature inside and slid the top home.
It was not until the following morning, after cabin cleanup, while they waited for inspection, that he remembered “Elsie.” The Robert the Bruce spider had passed a supper-less night, and it was with some trepidation that Leo now removed her box from the knapsack to have a look. Elsie lay on her back, her eight legs bent and shriveled up. But when Leo gave the inert form a shake, she miraculously revived; her legs straightened, she flopped onto her belly, and began to scramble frantically around her prison.
“Yikes! It’s alive!” cried Peewee (having “dropped by” as usual), as the spider crawled up the side of the box. Leo tried to contain her by reinserting the panel into its grooves, but he wasn’t fast enough and she escaped, describing an arc through the air to land near Reece’s footlocker, where Tiger sat sewing on the button that had popped off his polo shirt during the last ball game.
“Look out - look out!” shouted Peewee, dancing up and down like a dervish. “It’s on you! It’s on your leg!”
Tiger was frozen in place, staring at the spider clinging to his thigh.
“Don’t worry,” Leo said. “It’s not going to hurt anybody.” Slowly he put out his hand to seize the towel hanging at the end of Eddie’s bunk, and with a quick pass brushed the spider from Tiger’s leg into the box.
“You ought to keep those dumb things out of here,” Phil said darkly as Leo slid the top shut.
“Yeah,” said Dump. “What if he’d got bit? We’ve got a game tomorrow, you know.”
“It wouldn’t matter if he did,” Leo said. “The spiders around here aren’t poisonous.”
“How do you know?” demanded Phil.
“Because there are only two venomous spiders in the whole United States, and neither is indigenous to Connecticut.” “Aw, screw you and your fifty-cent words, Wacko,” Phil sneered. “You think you know everything.”
“I know which spiders are dangerous and which aren’t,
and that’s a lot more than you seem to know.”
“Spiders can bite, even if they’re not poisonous,” Monkey argued.
“I think it did,” Tiger said, with a sheepish laugh. As the others crowded around, he indicated a small red mark visible on the inside of his thigh. Leo got down on his knees and inspected the bite.
“It’s nothing to worry about,” he said finally. “But just to be on the safe side, maybe you should go let Wanda take a look at it.”
“Naw, forget it,” Tiger said, without looking at Leo. “I’ll just put some stuff on it.” He found a half-dollar-size tin of Campho-Phenique and dabbed some on the mark, and let it go at that.
By the next morning, however, the mark had enlarged and turned purple. “Now I go see Wanda,” Tiger announced, and after breakfast off he went to the infirmary, while the other Jeremians waited at the cabin. A scowling Phil let Leo know just where the boys - and their counselor -stood on matters.
“I hope you’re satisfied,” Phil said grimly, while Dump and Monkey muttered about “Wacko’s spider,” making Leo feel worse than he already did. Fortunately, when Tiger came back, the bite washed and dressed with a square gauze pad fastened by adhesive tape, he reported that Wanda’s diagnosis was that there was nothing to worry about: he was still good for today’s game.
Later, just before powwow Leo came in from the cottage, where he’d been listening to records with Fritz, to find Tiger sitting in his bunk discussing with Phil the results of the game (Red Sox 9, Cards 2; Abernathy slammed three homers, putting Jeremiah in the lead for the Trophy at last). Leo looked at the bandage on Tiger’s leg, wanting to say something, but unable to find the right words. In the adjoining bunk the Bomber was thumbing through a dog-eared copy of National Geographic, studying a bevy of bare-breasted maidens. Suddenly he sat up.
“Hey, watch it, guys, here comes Heartless>” he said, and, stuffing the magazine under his pillow, he hopped out the side of the cabin to hang his wet towel and trunks on the line, while inside Jeremiah, Reece greeted his boys, then sat down on his footlocker and shucked off his tennis shoes. Removing his sweaty socks, he folded them neatly before dropping them into his laundry case. One foot crossed over a knee, he dusted his toes with foot powder before donning fresh socks.