The Night of the Moonbow

by Thomas Tryon

  He shook his head.

  “Stubborn boy.” She snapped the money back in the bag. “I won’t see you again once you’re gone, I expect.” She started away, then turned back. “Ask Ma to tell you about Pa’s famous Buffalo Bill War Bonnet,” she said; then, pulling in her chin, she marched away, while a mystified Leo went on to the arbor, where Ma set aside her colander and made room on the bench beside her.

  Leo glanced at her. Her iron-gray hair had a side part today, and was rolled around her ears on a bit of ribbon. “What did Dagmar have to say to you?” she began. “Nothing.”

  “She must have said something. I saw her talking.”

  “She said to ask you about the war bonnet.”

  Ma shook her head ruefully. “It’s of no matter now, honey. Your old Ma shamed her mate of thirty years in front of company, and she’s mighty sorry. But how are you? Are you all right? You’ve lost your friend—” “Fritz.”

  “Fritz, too - though I was thinking of Tiger.” A tear appeared behind her glasses. When she took them off to wipe her eyes she seemed a stranger to Leo. Her pupils were clouded by a milky film, and she visored them with her crabbed hand, attempting for vanity’s sake to hide her affliction. “It’s not right to weep for the dead, I suppose,” she said, fumbling for her handkerchief. “God don’t want that, I know. Tiger’s with his Maker in paradise now, and ’twon’t do to mourn him overmuch.”

  Evidently her glasses didn’t please her, because she took them off again and rubbed the lenses with her handkerchief. “You’re a good boy, Leo Joaquim.” She still pronounced it “Joakum.” “Don’t seem possible the summer’s over.” She sighed. “Seems like you all just got here and soon you’ll be leaving.” She beckoned him nearer. “See here, Leo, Dagmar’s told me how bad you want to stay with her at the Castle. I’m sure she’d like to have you come visit, thinking a good deal of you the way she does. She’s got plans for you - musical plans. You’ve got to get your schoolin’, ’n’ t’ do that you’ve got to go someplace where there’s folks to teach you proper, don’tcha see? Now, before you leave, I want you to phone her up and tell her you’re sorry. Yes, she told me how you spoke. And y’are sorry - aren’tcha?” He nodded and dragged his toe in the dirt. “Of course y’are!

  “And, dear,” she went on, “I know you’ve been meanly treated by some of the boys. But, oh, honey, I don’t think they meant to be bad. I’m sure they didn’t. Our boys are good boys, Moonbow boys, only — I don’t know, this summer something seemed to get into them. They were all mischief-bent. I don’t know why, this summer. ’Twasn’t like that before and I’m sure it won’t be that way again. Besides, a body’s got to go on. I’ve got to go on, you’ve got to go on, we’ve all got to go on. My mama said it, a man’s got to find his own way home.”

  Leo nodded.

  “Well, go along, then,” she said. She sighed again and peered at the cat, lying on the slates. “Jezzy, suppertime, is it?” She heaved herself up and went to get Jezebel the tasty fishhead Henry Ives had saved for her.

  When Leo crossed the compound he found Pa waiting for him.

  “I wish a word with you,” Pa said, beckoning. Leo approached hesitantly, not knowing of what he might be found guilty this time.

  “Well, young man,” Pa began, running the tip of his tongue around his store-bought teeth, “and how are we today?”

  Leo offered a positive report on his current state of health and general well-being while' Pa managed not to look directly at him.

  “Eeee-heh,” he said. His tone took on an unaccustomed intimacy. “See here, son, I want you to know I have been deeply distressed, deeply distressed, at some of the things that have happened around here this summer. Can’t think what possessed our campers to behave like savages. A pack of miscreants, they were. But let us not be too harsh in our judgments, eh? Boys will be boys, I always say. Too quickly they all grow up, too soon they must face the cares and burdens of adulthood. ‘Glad Men from Happy Boys,’ eh? There’s the spirit! The good old Friend-Indeed spirit.” He smote his kneecap. “I say let the lads have their fun while they may, make hay while the sun shines, so to speak.”

  Before Leo could properly respond to this, Pa sighed again, then went on. “We must take these setbacks in stride, you know. After all, God gives us no heavier burden than He provides us with the strength to bear, isn’t that so?” He took out his pocket square and pressed his lips. His eyes were moist as he looked at Leo, planning his next words. He started, stopped, began again, employing a confidential tone. “I find myself hoping that, should occasion arise when Dr Dunbar and the Friends of Joshua come among us again, that you might withhold comment as to what has transpired here. It’s all in the past now; why make more of it than necessary? Hm? So I am wondering if I could possibly prevail on you - we don’t like to get Big Rolfe upset, do we? Not when he’s in such a giving frame of mind. I think I can say we would be one of the first camps on the whole Eastern Seaboard to have chemical toilets - should Rolfe decide to afford us them. In the meantime, if it’s all the same to you, we needn’t say anything to anyone about these matters, need we? After all, accidents will happen. And Dr Dunbar, fine gentleman that he is, is not required to know everything that goes on here at camp, now, is he - hem?”

  He wove his fingers into a basket, allowed his eyes to meet Leo’s, and quickly shifted them. “Well, well, go along, then,” he said and sent Leo from him with a finger on his shoulder. The screen door slammed behind him and in a moment the radio came on: “Vic and Sade.”

  Leo did not linger but headed for the lower camp.

  ***

  In the loft doorway, Reece Hartsig leaned against the lintel, his expression coolly thoughtful as, fingering his cedar heart, he watched Leo trot down the meadow path. He straightened; then, moving quickly down the stairs, he crossed the compound and crept up to the office door. He peered through the screen and, satisfied that the place was empty, opened the door quietly. Once inside, he went immediately to Ma’s desk and slid his fingers under the ink-stained blotter. He used the key to open the pie safe, from which he removed the manila folder Ma had placed there. He shut the door, returned the key to its place, then slipped the folder and its contents inside his shirt. As he started to cross the room again, something caught his eye and he froze. Willa-Sue was watching him from the hallway.

  He glared at her.

  The girl started to shake. He thrust her roughly aside and headed for the door.

  ***

  Not long after, Leo was standing in the Dewdrop Inn, where he’d made a stop, his pee creating a satisfyingly tinny sound against the trough. Suddenly the door opened and someone ducked quickly inside: Wally Pfeiffer. He halted, back to the door, staring at Leo, his large eyes blinking rapidly. Leo grimaced; he had paid hardly any attention to Wally since Tiger got sick.

  “I’ve got something to tell you,” Wally began, a worried expression on his face. “I know you don’t like me but—” “Cut it out,” Leo said. “What is it?”

  As Wally darted a furtive look out the window, the sound of cheering could be heard coming from the far edge of the playing field, where the final round of the last archery tournament was in progress. Obviously someone had just hit a bulls-eye. Sliding a sidelong glance at Leo, Wally said, “You better get out of here. You’re in trouble.”

  Leo couldn’t resist a snicker. “Tell me something I don’t know.”

  “It’s true. The Mingoes. They’re going to get you.” Wally lowered his voice further. “Remember Stanley? Stanley Wagner?”

  “What about him?”

  “Do you know what happened to him?”

  “Sure - he stole a paperweight from the Castle and got caught.”

  “He didn’t steal it. I did.”

  “You did?”

  “The whole thing was Reece’s idea. He wanted Stanley out of camp and he would have done anything to get him out. Right from the start.”

  “You mean he didn’t want him in Jeremiah, isn’t that
it? Because he was afraid Jeremiah’d lose the trophy?”

  Wally nodded.

  “Then Stanley was framed.”

  Wally nodded again. “I sneaked the paperweight out of the cabinet and slipped it to Phil. He hid it in Stanley’s suitcase. Then Reece held an inspection and made believe he accidentally found it.”

  “Why didn’t Stanley deny it?”

  “He did. But the Sachems put him in Scarsdale anyway. Reece thought that would get rid of him, but Stanley fooled him. He stuck it. Reece was really mad. When Scarsdale didn’t work, they locked him up in the Haunted House -in the cellar - and scared the heck out of him. Stanley was a mess. He called his folks and they came and took him.” “Why didn’t they do something?”

  “Maybe they didn’t believe him. He was a big storyteller, Stanley.”

  “Then why didn’t you do something? You knew the truth.”

  “I - I couldn’t. Phil threatened me. He said if I told, he’d fix me. And he would. He likes hurting people. You reme'mber after the Snipe Hunt - when he was mad at you

  - he was the one who put the guys up to making you climb the ladder. He said you’d never jump, so you were bound to get paddled.”

  Leo buttoned up, then stepped away from the trough, looking Wally up and down. “So why are you telling me now? You never liked me.”

  “No, I never. Only—” A fierce scowl knit his brows and his voice was a hoarse rasp as he again looked out the window, checking for eavesdroppers. “It’s because of Tiger,” he said earnestly.

  “What do you mean?”

  “He was the best guy in camp, Tiger,” Wally said. “And he didn’t have to die. It was Reece.”

  “How do you know?”

  “I was there," he declared forcefully. “I was just coming in when Reece dropped the needle. I saw it too.”

  Leo shook his head in disbelief. “You saw it? And you didn’t say anything? Everybody blames me.”

  Wally spoke urgently. “I know. That’s why you’ve got to get out.” He looked around before going on. “They don’t want you leaving camp without getting back at you. If you’re smart, you’ll scram while you still can get away.”

  Leo squinted hard at him, trying to see the truth. Wally was about to say more when the dinner bell rang. There was no more time; Wally would leave first, then Leo.

  “Be careful,” Wally cautioned as he started out. “They’re watching you.”

  He slipped through the doorway; in a moment Leo followed him.

  The camp seemed eerily quiet. A light breeze drifted from among the trees on his right, carrying with it the faintly recognizable calls of baseball players on the upper playing field, their voices distorted by distance. The gradually fading light produced a milky iridescence, uncommon greens tinged with blue, blue with violet, purple shadows flecked with gold, and over all an opalescent glaze, like the mother-of-pearl in seashells. As Leo headed away from the Dewdrop, strains of music reached his ears. Someone was playing a violin - badly. He broke into a run. When he reached Jeremiah he was confronted by the sight of Billy Bosey, perched on Reece’s footlocker, Leo’s instrument clamped under his chin as he sawed away on the strings. The Bomber, sitting crosslegged in Eddie’s bunk, was grinning hugely, while Peewee Oliphant peered down from Tiger’s empty bunk.

  “What do you think you’re doing?” Leo cried, outraged. “You don’t know how to play that!”

  “Hell I don’t. Give a listen, kiddo.”

  He sawed some more, while Leo stood by, not knowing what to do. If there was a scuffle, the violin might get damaged.

  Bosey grinned. “Some hot stuff, huh?”

  Leo tried to seize the instrument, but Bosey held it out of reach. “Hold your water, Wacko, I’m not finished,” he said, then passed the violin behind him to Dump. Leo ran around, the cot and tried to take it from Dump, only to see it handed to Monkey, who handed it down to Eddie, who slipped it back to Bosey. Each time Leo tried to grab it, he ended up empty-handed. Furious, he stormed at Bosey again, who this time handed it up to Peewee, who in turn slipped it to Blackjack, who began strumming it like a ukulele, singing “Sweet Leilani” through his nose.

  Then the Bomber let out one of his blasts, causing further ribaldry and the usual chorus of “Bomber did it! Bomber did it!” The Bomber heaved himself up and began fanning his rear end.

  “Pee-you!” Peewee shouted, holding his nose.

  Just as the Bomber went to reseat himself in the bunk, Ratner inserted the violin under his rear end. The Bomber fell heavily into the bunk, and there was an ugly sound of splintering wood.

  A silence fell. He reached under himself, and sheepishly extracted the mutilated instrument, which he gripped by its neck and held up.

  “Jeez, it broke!” he exclaimed with mock surprise. There was a chorus of oohs and Leo felt the sting of tears as he took the pieces, several of which dangled from the strings.

  “Cripes,” said Bosey, “look at him, willya, he’s going to cry. A lousy violin and he’s going to cry over it.”

  “I am not.”

  “Sure you are - look at you, you got tears in your eyes already. Go ahead and cry. You’re nothing but a sissy anyway. Cry all you want.”

  Leo squeezed his eyes shut; when he opened them again he was staring accusingly at the Bomber.

  “Don’t look at me like that, Wacko,” he said. “You seen it was an accident.”

  “You’re a liar! You did it on purpose, you know you did.” He glared around at the others. “All of you, you planned it!”

  “Aw, you’re crazy. Why would we do a thing like that, Wacko?”

  “B-because - because you’re - you’re all a bunch of shits.”

  Bosey got up and squared off at Leo. “Hey, wait a sec, Wacko, who you calling names?”

  “You! The whole bunch of you—”

  He had more to say, but he was silenced by the sound of cheers, coming from the playing field. A few minutes later Phil jumped onto the porch, clutching something in his upraised hand.

  “Look at what Reece knocked off,” he declared proudly. Hanging by its feet, like a Christmas goose, head down, eyes glazed, was the owl, an arrow still piercing its breast. Blood dripped on the warped floorboards.

  Leo turned and bolted. Outside the sun had slipped behind the clouds. And it seemed to him to have taken with it all the warmth of the world; all the sweetness and goodness of it, leaving behind only a dusky bleakness and changing ordinary objects - the archery butts, the Dewdrop Inn, the cottage ruins, the Green Hornet - into ribbony shadows, as if the edge of the playing field were the edge of the world and beyond that lay terra incognita.

  Evening saw the farewell banquet in the dining hall, with the tables decorated with ferns and flowers in token of the camp’s last big night of the summer. Ma and Willa-Sue were in evidence at the staff table, along with Doc Oliphant and Maryann, Honey, too, everyone eager to learn who the winners of the Hartsig Memorial Trophy were going to be.

  When the meal ended Leo watched as Pa rose to offer some choice parting words - the usual Friend-Indeed talk, which Leo only half heeded; he was still thinking about Icarus, felled by Reece’s arrow, never to fly again. And the violin. What, if he had lived, would Tiger have thought of the destruction of Emily’s violin, the treasure that to Leo had been such a potent talisman, not only of the past but of. the future that Dagmar had spoken of?

  A stir among the campers marked the end of Pa’s speech, as he turned to the presentation of the initial awards: Bibles and felt badges for various camp competitions. He was followed by Hap, making the athletic awards, then Rex, who handled the aquatic awards in a like fashion, and Oats, who bestowed certificates of merit for nature studies and, in Fritz’s absence, for crafts. As each camper received his prize there were cheers and applause, until Leo’s name was announced - to be greeted with silence, not a jeer or a knock, only a titter or two from the back of the room. Leo cursed the spider collection that made it necessary now for him to exhibit himself before
the camp and, blushing furiously, he all but snatched the paper from Oats and regained his seat.

  Finally it was time for the awarding of the Trophy. The winning cabin’s name did not come immediately to Pa’s lips, however, for some fulsome words of general commendation were required to lay the carpet, so to speak, before the grand announcement could be made. During these remarks Hap stood by, exhibiting the silver cup for all to see. And, finally, the winner was - Jeremiah! Reece strode to where Pa stood, to accept the cup “in the name of all Jeremians, past, present, and future,” with special thanks to Tiger Abernathy, who had contributed so much toward winning it.

  So, the Jeremians, as expected, had taken the Trophy. That any other cabin should have won seemed unthinkable yet as he left the dining hall Leo harbored a curious sense of “so what?”, as if, with Tiger gone, the whole thing had never mattered much after all.

  >

  At eight o’clock that evening, as he’d done all summer before the start of each council fire, Pa made his customary appearance at the head of the line-path, bearing aloft the Great Torch, its sacred flame a beacon for all to see, there to be met by the trio of honorary runners, who lighted their torches from his, then separated to carry the flames to all three units.

  Was it possible, thought Leo, watching the ceremony from Old Faithful, where he’d been waiting alone, that this was the final campfire of the season, the last time the Senecas would meet, the last telling of the moonbow tale? Could it really be that eight whole weeks had elapsed since he had come to camp? Possible that Tiger Abernathy was actually dead, that Leo would never see him again, that on this last evening they wouldn’t be sitting side by side at the council fire sharing in the fun? Half an hour earlier, as he prepared for the evening’s activity, he had felt the prick of goose pimples along his legs. He still wanted to leave, to get out, but he had promised Tiger he wouldn’t

  run away, and he wouldn’t, despite all that had happened -“Never Say Die.” As a result of Wally’s warning, however, he had slipped Tiger’s compass into his pocket, and had buckled the knife onto his belt. The funny thing was, Wally himself hadn’t shown up since dinner, which didn’t necessarily mean anything, since, for the past several days, he’d been giving both the cabin and Phil a wide berth. Still, the torchlight parade had started and it wasn’t like Wally to miss formation.