The Night of the Moonbow

by Thomas Tryon

  “How’s the bite?” he asked Tiger offhandedly.

  “Okay,” came the reply.

  “Let’s have a look anyway.”

  “No, really, it’s okay.”

  “So let me see,” Reece insisted.

  “It’s bandaged,” Tiger demurred. “Wanda said not to take it off.”

  Reece scowled. “Look, Kemo Sabe, I want to check it, okay? So hop down here toot sweet and let’s have a look at it.”

  Knowing better than to argue when Reece’s mind was set, Tiger jumped down from his bunk, hitting the floor hard. “It’s okay, I’m telling you,” he said.

  “Good,” Reece declared. “But I still want to make sure. Jeremiah may be ahead on points, but we’ve got to stay that way if we’re going to cop that Trophy.” He drew Tiger to him and, using his fingernails, he lifted' away the adhesive strips so the gauze pad hung down like a miniature trapdoor. Leaning closer, he whistled softly.

  “Whoa, now, fellah, this doesn’t look so good.” What had been a small red mark had now developed an angry-looking whitehead of pus at its center.

  “Jeez, I thought you said it was clearing up,” Phil said. “It doesn’t hurt,” Tiger returned stolidly.

  Reece got up and rummaged around in his footlocker. “If it’s come to a head, that just means it needs lancing, to get the pus out.”

  “That’s okay, I’d rather have Wanda do it,” Tiger protested, trying to tape the pad back in position.

  “Sure, sure, I know; but she’s not here.” It was true: Fritz and Wanda had driven into Putnam to see a movie show. Reece brought out his canvas sewing kit and unrolled it, slipped a needle from among several others, then meticulously rerolled the kit. He took the needle, produced a matchbook and, using his last match, passed the tip through the flame. He laid aside the burnt match and empty book, blew on the needle to cool it, then began to probe the head of the pustule.

  Tiger squirmed. “Ouch, that hurts.”

  “Come on, hold still, can’t you? Stop fidgeting.”

  “I just wish you’d quit,” Tiger said.

  “It’s got to be done, camper, if you’d just - godarn it!” lie exclaimed, as the needle escaped his fingers. He retrieved it quickly and, steadying his hand, broke the skin of the pustule, releasing the fluid. “There - see, all done!” He milled a tissue from the Kleenex packet on his shelf and blotted up the leakage, then deftly restored Wanda’s gauze |>.id with its adhesive strips as the other Jeremians burst into the cabin.

  liy all rights this impromptu job of surgery should Itave done the trick; unfortunately, it did not. Next day, when Tiger reported to the infirmary to have the dressing i lunged, there was a degree of increased inflammation that i iiused Wanda to wonder, but she washed the infection thoroughly, dressed it, and applied a fresh bandage.

  “Better lay off the swimming for a day or two,” she advised. “And check back with me this afternoon.”

  Though Tiger did his share of grousing, he heeded Wanda’s advice and stayed out of the water, morning and afternoon. But by the following morning he was limping, and, he announced, his leg had begun to throb. The boys watched as he peeled down the tapes and dropped the gauze pad. Overnight the inflamed area had enlarged to the size of a quarter, and there were Scarlet lines extending above and below the infected area. Again Tiger headed for the infirmary.

  “What does it mean?” he asked Wanda, who put on her glasses for a closer examination.

  “It means I think we’ll consult the doc.” Unfortunately, this did not mean Doc Oliphant, who night before last had turned the dispensary keys over to Wanda and driven to Hartford, thence to New York, for a medical conference. In the event of an emergency, she was instructed to seek out old Dr Malcolm over at Woking Corners, and this she now proceeded to do, using the office telephone. The doctor obligingly drove over and examined Tiger’s leg, pronouncing him a fine fellow but allowing as how they might do well to keep him in the infirmary a day or so, until the “local low-grade infection” was cleared up. To “take the strain off,” a Rube Goldberg harness was rigged up with ropes and pulleys and a window-sash weight that kept the patient’s leg hoisted into the air, and a prescription was written for the new sulfanilamide drug.

  All afternoon Wanda’s latest charge garnered numbers of visitors who sat jawing with him and joking about his “torture-chamber rig.” Not only did the Jeremians come trooping into the room with Reece, at their head, but other campers from up and down the line-path paid duty visits, including Peewee, whose rambunctiousness became so annoying that Wanda banished him from indoors and he had to resort to standing on a box with his head inside the sickroom window. Even Pa took time out from his birding to pass by for an encouraging ^yord, while Hank Ives delivered Ma and Willa-Sue by jitney for a get-together. (Ma had baked brownies for general consumption, which she brought packed in a candy box.)

  Only Leo stayed away, watching the procession to and from the infirmary with a heavy heart. Already he was being blamed for Tiger’s predicament, and though he was sure the spider’s bite had not been poisonous, there was no doubt that it was Leo who had put Friend-Indeed’s star camper in a position to be bitten in the first place. His anguish over this fact was compounded by his quarrel with Tiger. With each day that had passed since their foolish argument Leo had looked for a way to make it up with his friend, to have things as they had been before, had tried and had failed. But now . . . now he must get in to see Tiger and explain, apologize, he must. Around and around his thoughts went and still there was no resolution. Then, during powwow that evening, as the conversation turned to the upcoming glee-club concert, the answer came to him, and after supper he took his violin and crept up to the sickroom window, where he settled himself against the wall and began playing, listening for some reaction from inside. It came almost on cue, the mirthful sputter that said Tiger was getting it. l.eo beamed. Nurse Koslowski, however, didn’t find it so amusing. Leo had just reached the release when her reproachful features appeared in the window.

  “Okay, wise-apple, what’s the big idea?” she demanded, poking her head out at him. “You think this is an amusement park or something?”

  Leo grinned and shrugged. “I was just playing.”

  “What kind of song is that, anyway?”

  “ ‘The Music Goes ’Round and Around.’ Tiger likes it.”

  “If he does, he’s the only one. Now suppose you just nut that harp away for a while and get your baganza inside here.”

  “How’s he doing?” asked Leo as he came around the porch and up the steps.

  “He’ll live. Go ahead in, he’ll be glad to see you.” Behind the screen that helped close off the doorway to the sickroom, Tiger lay in his white hospital bed, his leg hiked as if from a skiing accident.

  “Hi,” Leo said.

  “Hi yourself.”

  “How’re you doing?”

  “Okay. How about you?”

  “Me? I’m fine.”

  “Well, don’t just stand there, come on it.”

  Leo sat in the chair, maintaining a discreet distance. “What brings you down this way?” Tiger asked.

  “I was - that is - I wanted to see how you were coming along. If it weren’t for my spider you wouldn’t be here.” “Don’t give it a thought. It’s not your fault. I’m glad to see you.”

  “You are?”

  “Yup. Real glad. We’re some pair, you and me. Acting like two dumb-bells.”

  Leo dropped his gaze. “You were right. I’ve been acting like a jerk. And I’m sorry I called you that name.”

  “I don’t think I’ll die because of it. Let’s just forget it ever happened.” Tiger held out his hand. “Shake?”

  Leo held out his. “Shake.”

  “Your playing was really neat,” Tiger went on.

  “Glad you liked it.”

  “How’s Harpo? I miss him.”

  “He’s okay - he misses you, too. He’s really been dogging it since you haven’t been around.”


  Tiger laughed at Leo’s pun. “Listen,” he said, lowering his voice. “I was wondering. Do you think you could bring him down here so I could see him?”

  Leo lowered his voice too. “Would Wanda let you have a dog in here? He’s liable to have germs and stuff.” “Maybe you could fix it for when she’s not around.”

  “I heard that, Tiger Abernathy!”

  A stern-faced Nurse Koslowski stood in the doorway. “ ‘When she’s not around,’ what? What plots are you two brigands hatching?”

  “He wants to see Harpo,” Leo explained.

  “Oh no you don’t, not that flea-bitten hound; not in my infirmary. Is that completely understood?”

  “Yes, m’am,” replied Leo.

  “Aw, Wanda—”

  “Never mind the ‘Aw, Wanda’s,’ Abernathy. Just remember. And for your information, Leo, visiting hours are just about fini’d, so suppose you trot on out of here while our boy gets some sleep.”

  Leo adjusted his position, then glanced up at her. “I was wondering - could we read a little?”

  “Reading, huh? Okay, go ahead. I’ll sneak a smoke on the porch. But keep it down in here, or I’ll have to toss you out on your baganza.” Her uniform rattled as she turned down the radio, then left the room, her rubber soles squeaking on the painted floor.

  Leo pulled his chair closer to the bed and took out several books from his knapsack. Tiger’s choice was “Horatius at the Bridge,” and so Leo began with the tale of “The Captain of the Gate,” set with two stalwart companions to defend the bridge to Rome until the span could be destroyed and the city made safe. He read the hero’s credo:

  “To every man upon this earth Death cometh soon or late.

  And how can man die better Than facing fearful odds,

  For the ashes of his fathers,

  And the temples of his Gods ...”

  and he read how, in those days,

  . . .none was for a party;

  Then all were for the state;

  Then the great man helped the poor,

  And the poor man loved the great:

  Then lands were fairly portioned;

  Then spoils were fairly sold:

  The Romans were like brothers In the brave days of old.

  He read until a figure in white appeared in the doorway. Finger to her lips, Wanda signaled Leo to leave.

  “Don’t stop,” Tiger murmured. “I’m not asleep.”

  “If you’re not, you’re giving a darned good imitation of it,” the nurse replied. “Doctor wants you to rest.”

  “But I want to hear the end.”

  “Next time. Pretend it’s a cliffhanger. Like Pearl White and that stuff.”

  “Tomorrow?” Tiger asked.

  Wanda blew out her cheeks. “I suppose - only no dogs, got it?”

  “In the infirmary, right?”

  “In the infirmary, right.”

  “Okay, kiddo.”

  Leo went away whistling “The Monkey Wrapped His Tail Around the Flagpole.”

  ***

  Next day, when Leo looked in at the infirmary window, he found the patient entertaining a pair of visitors whose presence both surprised and pleased him. Seated on chairs brought in from the other rooms were Honey Oliphant, returned at last to Moonbow late the night before, and her Cape Cod friend, Sally Berwick. Also attending the invalid were the Bomber and Emerson Bean, along with Dusty Rhoades and Junior Leffingwell. The Bomber had just got off one of his corny jokes and everyone groaned when an alert-looking, hairy head appeared in the open window.

  “Harpo!” Tiger exclaimed with pleasure, stretching out welcoming arms.

  “Good evening, Mr Abernathy,” said Harpo, wagging his shaggy head. He spoke in a deep, solemn voice, and sported a bow tie along with the famous Eddie Foy derby. “I don’t believe I’ve met the dark-haired young lady,” Harpo declared, his pink tongue hanging out moistly from under his whiskers. “Is she a new girl in town?” Sally, as dark as Honey was fair, giggled.

  “Please be so kind as to introduce us,” Harpo went on, and managed cleverly to doff his headgear.

  Getting into the spirit of the thing, Tiger performed the social amenities from his bed. “Sally, this is Harpo the Talking Dog. He can perform twenty tricks in twenty minutes, or ten tricks in ten, take your pick. Harpo, shake hands with Sally.”

  “Hullo, Sal,” said the dog and shook hands in a friendly way. “How’s tricks? Say, is she in the movies?” he asked Tiger.

  “No, she is not in the movies,” Honey replied.

  “Would she like to be? I know a guy in Hollywood.” The girls giggled.

  “And I see the Belle of Moonbow Lake has returned to grace our shores once again,” the dog went on sauvely. “I would like to say on behalf of all the other dogs in the neighborhood that we are very pleased to see her again. We’ve been leading a dog’s life since she’s been gone.” Honey laughed outright. “Why, thank you, Harpo. You’re so complimentary. Especially for a dog.”

  “Oh, we dogs know our onions, girls,” Harpo returned, and laughed. “Being nearer to the ground, we can spot a well-turned ankle with the best of them.”

  “Oh, Harpo, you’re making her blush!” exclaimed Sally as Honey clapped a palm to each cheek.

  “If so, it is the blush the sun provides the peach,” replied the dog majestically. Then, so intriguing did the hairy visitor find the gathering inside that he clambered over the sill and bounded into the room. In two more bounds he was up on the bed, keening with pleasure and joyfully licking Tiger’s face.

  “Harpo, you get right down from there this minute!” Honey jumped up and clapped her hands; in another moment Leo followed Harpo in over the sill, hurried to the bed, seized the dog around its middle, and hauled it bodily from the covers. With the animal’s jumbo-sized head blocking his view, its four paws- sticking straight out, its animated tail swinging like a clock pendulum, Leo energetically wrestled it toward the doorway - where something impeded further progress.

  “I thought we said no dogs in here!” came Wanda’s stern voice as, pushing him backward, she marched into the room and confronted the gathering. “Isn’t that what we said, boys and girls?”

  “Yes - only—” Blindly Leo engineered an awkward circle, trying to get his bearings.

  “Only nothing!” Wanda retorted with mock fierceness. “Out! O-u-t, out! All dogs, all boys with dogs. Now. This minute. This very instant, Leo Joaquim, or you’ll rue the day, I promise.”

  So the hairy object of Tiger’s affection was banished from the premises - not far ^however: Harpo took up a position outside the window, tongue still hanging a-pant, earnestly cocking his head, the model of canine rectitude. Meanwhile, Wanda cleared out her place of work, dispatching Tiger’s visitors to their respective cabins, Honey and her friend Sally back to Three Corner Cove.

  The two girls were on the path when Honey, having spotted Leo on the point, waited for him to catch up, while Sally went on ahead to the cottage.

  “Well, Leo,” Honey began as he came up to her, “how are things?”

  “Okay.”

  “Just ‘okay’?”

  “Well, sort of - only—”

  “Only what?”

  Leo blushed, stumbling for words.

  Pretending not to notice, Honey put her hand in her pocket. “Would you like to see some of my snapshots from the Cape?” Without waiting for a reply she took them out and one by one handed them over: the bridge at the Cape Cod Canal (Honey arm-in-arm with Sally Berwick); several shots of the beach (Honey in her yellow bathing suit building a sand castle; Honey with a lifeguard); the lighthouse at Nauset Heights (Honey on her bicycle).. .

  The exhibition got no farther. Suddenly the screen door at the cottage flew open and Peewee came racing across the porch and down the steps, an orange Popsicle melting in his fist.

  “Peewee - here’s Leo,” his sister called. “Come say hello.”

  The boy shot Leo a fierce scowl. “I can’t talk to him, he’s a spud,” he sa
id, and ran on toward camp.

  “Gosh, what’s been going on around here while I’ve been gone?” Honey asked. “Why are you and Peewee on the outs? You used to be such good pals.”

  Leo ran his tongue around inside his mouth. “It’s nothing. Peewee’s just—” He shrugged.

  Honey laughed. “Young; I know. Master Harrison has a lot of growing up to do, I’m afraid.”

  “Is that Peewee’s name? ‘Harrison’?”

  “Yes. Isn’t it ridiculous?” Her expression sobered. “I was real sorry to hear about what happened to your model village. After all your hard work. I know how disappointed you must be. However could such a thing have happened?”

  Leo didn’t see any point in hashing the matter over again, so he let it go at the “frayed-rope” story, though he wasn’t sure Honey bought it, any more than he did.

  “Honestly, I don’t know what this place is coming to,” Honey said. “Everyone always has such a good time, really. But this summer - well, it’s almost over.

  Doesn’t seem possible, does it? Labor Day’ll be here before we know it.”

  Sally’s round, jolly face appeared at the sink window, where she was pumping water (she was making lemonade). Honey drew Leo aside for a more personal word.

  “I’ve been telling Sal about your music,” Honey confided. “I said you were just about the best violin player I’d ever heard.”

  “You did?”

  “I certainly did. I can’t wait till you’re famous and I can tell my children I knew you when.”

  “I’ve been wanting to thank you,” Leo said shyly.

  “For what?”

  “For the postal card.”

  “Oh, that. I wondered if you ever got it. I love sending postcards. I send them to all my friends. Some collect them.”

  Leo was deflated by this news. Others got cards, too. “Will you keep yours?” she asked. He nodded, eyes cast down to his toes.

  “Good. And sometime, when you go somewhere, I want you to be sure and send me one. For my collection. Okay?”