Night Swimmers (7 page)

Retta looked at the empty doorway. “I can’t seem to make him do anything anymore,” she said.

R
OY RARELY PLAYED WITH
his food because he was always in a hurry to eat it. The one exception was mashed potatoes. Tonight he was making a volcano of his potatoes, smoothing the sides up to a pool of melted margarine in the middle.

A trickle of margarine ran down one side, and he quickly repaired the damage. He wished they were having green beans so he could plant trees on the side of his volcano—that way the eruption would be more dramatic. But tonight Retta had only fixed one thing—mashed potatoes.

The volcano was almost as tall as his cup of milk now, a really spectacular display. “Look,” he said to Retta and Johnny.

He waited until he had their attention. Then, making sound effects with his mouth, he erupted the volcano, sending margarine spilling down the sides, creating destruction on one side and then the other until the entire volcano was a flat mess of potatoes that covered his entire plate.

Satisfied at last, he picked up his spoon and began to eat. “Want me to make something out of your potatoes, Retta?” he asked.

“No.”

“I can make anything—boats, rivers, planets—”

“No.”

“I won’t make anything for
Johnny
because he won’t tell me the secret.”

“Good,” Johnny said.

Johnny and Retta were not eating. Neither was hungry. Johnny was too excited to eat because he and Arthur were going on a secret mission that night. Retta was too suspicious to eat. She knew Johnny was up to something—she could tell from the nervous energy that caused him to dig at his food, shift in his chair, pull at his clothes, and dig at his food again.

She watched Johnny with eyes sharp enough to penetrate his thoughts.

“Quit staring at me,” he said finally.

“I’m not staring.”

“You are too.”

She looked down at her plate and shifted her potatoes with her fork. She lifted the fork and sipped the potatoes on it as if she were taking medicine. Her eyes rolled to Johnny.

“You’re staring at me
again!”
he accused.

“Well, you’re staring at me too!”

“All right, everybody,” Shorty Anderson said, coming into the room with a square-dance step. “Everybody can stare at me!” He had on his hot-pink velour outfit with the rhinestone lapels, his favorite. He danced around the table in his matching leather boots.

“Supper’s cold,” Retta said.

“I don’t believe I’ll have anything, honey. I’ll just get something at the Hoedown. Looks mighty good though.” Shorty never took chances eating in his pink suit. It cost twenty-two dollars to have it cleaned.

“We had mashed potatoes,” Roy said, “and I made a volcano.”

“I used to do that when my mama wasn’t looking,” Shorty Anderson said. “But my mama wouldn’t let us play with our food. That’s the only bad thing I can say about her.” He put one hand on Retta’s shoulder. “You’re lucky to have a sweet sister who lets you do what you want.”

“Oh, Dad,” Retta said through her teeth.

“Well, they are.” He turned away. “You kids behave yourselves now.”

“We will,” Roy called happily.

Retta, Roy, and Johnny continued to sit at the table after their father left, even though they had finished eating. Retta kept her eyes down, but her thoughts were on Johnny. He’s slipping out tonight, she said to herself.

Finally Johnny broke the silence. He stood up, stretching. “Well, I’m tired. I’m going to bed.”

“It’s only eight o’clock,” Retta said.

“So—I’m tired. All right?”

As Johnny left the room, Retta looked up, eyes burning. She watched him until he disappeared into the hall. Then she got up and began to wash the dishes. Over the hot, steaming water, her face was set.

They all went to bed early. Roy fell asleep quickly, but Retta and Johnny lay wide awake, eyes staring at the ceiling. From time to time Johnny smiled slightly in anticipation, but Retta’s face remained hard, unyielding.

She knew the exact moment when Johnny got out of bed because she heard the creak of his bed springs. She lay without moving, eyes shut, while Johnny slipped out of his room and into the hall.

Johnny paused in the doorway of Retta’s room. He wanted to make sure Retta was asleep. If she stirred, he was going to pretend he was on his way to the bathroom. She did not move. Breathing a sigh of relief, Johnny moved quietly into the living room.

Johnny had always felt that the one thing he was really good at was not being noticed. Indeed, he sometimes thought he must be invisible. One day last fall, in school, his teacher, Miss Lipscomb, was passing out papers, matching pupils to papers, and then paused with one paper left in her hand.

“Johnny Anderson?” she had said. She had looked as puzzled as if the name were foreign. He raised his hand.

“Are you new?”

“No’m.”

School had been going on for six weeks. He had not been absent a single day. Miss Lipscomb had shaken her head, smiling at herself. “Well, Johnny Anderson, you and I are going to have to get better acquainted.”

“Yes’m,” he had said, shifting so that he was, once again, hidden by the boy in front of him. In the spring, when he moved away, she said, “I really don’t feel like I got to know you at all.”

“No’m,” he answered.

Now Johnny walked across the living room, opened the screen door, eased it shut, and went onto the porch. Leaning against the banister, he put on his shoes.

Inside the house Retta was getting out of bed. She was already dressed in her jeans and shirt, and she slipped noiselessly into the hall. She waited a moment in the darkness until she heard Johnny going down the steps.

As he turned onto the sidewalk, he began to pick up speed. Retta moved quickly onto the porch. She went down the steps and stood in the shadow of an elm tree. It was eleven o’clock, and the moon was full and bright, weaving in and out of the clouds.

Down the street, her brother was at the corner. A car passed on Hunter Street and Johnny waited, then crossed quickly and broke into a run.

Retta glanced right and left to see if any snoopy neighbors were watching. All the houses on the street were dark. Keeping to the shadows, Retta moved quickly after Johnny.

R
OY WOKE UP AND
knew instantly that he was in bed alone. His side of the mattress was lower than usual. He flipped over and said, “Johnny?”

In the light from the living room he saw that the other half of the bed was empty.

“Johnny!”

He got up. He hated to be alone and he sensed that Johnny had not just gone to the bathroom or the kitchen. He stumbled into the hall, eyes alert, mouth worried, body still clumsy with sleep.

He staggered into Retta’s room and turned on the light. When he saw that her bed was empty too, he began to yell for either of them. “Retta! Johnny! Rettaaaaa!”

There was, as he had feared, no answer. He went out onto the porch and sat down on the steps. He began to cry.

“Why did they leave me?” he asked mournfully. “People shouldn’t go around leaving people.”

He paused to wipe his tears on his pajama top. “I wouldn’t have left them.”

Each statement made him feel worse. He began to cry harder. “Next time I’m going to leave them and show them how it feels.”

Even the thought of this just punishment did not cheer him. He could not bring into focus the picture of Retta and Johnny sitting on the steps, weeping, while he went off to some good time.

His tears came faster. Being left behind was a terrible feeling. He had always had a special feeling for anyone left behind. The night before he had seen a television program where the pioneer family left their old dog behind while they went west. He had wept real tears for that dog.

Later in the show the dog followed the family and saved them from a surprise Indian attack by barking. “I don’t care how many Indians attack Retta and Johnny,” he said wetly, feeling a closer bond with the pioneer dog, “I won’t let out one single bark.”

The thought of Retta and Johnny going down under Indian attack while he waited in the bushes, lips sealed, was pleasant, but it didn’t make him feel any better. He continued to weep quietly in the moonlight.

Suddenly he sat erect. He remembered that Johnny and Arthur had had some kind of secret. He licked at a tear on his cheek. He tasted the salt. And Retta had to be in on the secret too, he thought. Everybody was in on it but him.

“They’ve gone swimming,” he said abruptly.

He remembered that Retta had told him they could never go to the colonel’s again, but that was probably just to throw him off the track. He got to his feet. The tears were drying on his cheeks. He went slowly down the steps.

As he stood on the last step, scarcely breathing, a wonderful plan came to him. He would sneak up to the colonel’s house and spy on Retta and Johnny and Arthur. He was, it seemed to him, the only one who had not done any spying. They would see him in the shadows, he went on, and be terrified. He would feel no mercy. Abruptly he strode down the sidewalk in his striped pajamas.

At the edge of the street he stopped, struck dumb with an even better idea. When he got to the colonel’s and saw that Johnny and Retta and Arthur were in the pool, he would run forward, whooping and yelling as Johnny had done, and dive in with them.

The picture of Johnny running across the lawn, not caring about anything or anybody, had impressed him deeply. It had seemed the kind of grown-up thing that he himself had never been able to do. If he lived to be a hundred, he would never feel more awe and respect for anyone than he had for Johnny as he launched himself off the diving board in that perfect cannonball.

The brilliance of his own plan washed over him. Arthur and Johnny and Retta would be in the pool, swimming quietly, trying not to splash. They would hear the sound of running. They would look up, mouths open, as he dashed forward. Before they knew what had happened, he would be launched off the diving board in the same fearless cannonball.

He hurried down the sidewalk. He no longer felt the twigs and stones beneath his bare feet.

“Ro-oooooy,” Retta would say. He could hear her in his mind. He mimicked her as he walked, wagging his head from side to side. “Ro-ooooy!”

And Arthur—Arthur would be especially impressed because Arthur would not know he was copying something Johnny had done.

The pleasant dream continued. Retta would herd them all out of the swimming pool, and the four of them would run across the lawn, bonded together in their escape. Behind them the lights would be coming on in the colonel’s house.

“Faster!” he would call back to the others. He himself would be in the lead at this point. “Come
on!”
The thought of being in the lead for the first time in his life made him shudder with pleasure.

The colonel’s house appeared in the distance, big and white in the trees. Roy began to walk slower. He moved closer to the fence. There was a little smile on his face. His heart was beating so hard that he put his hand over his chest to make swallowing easier.

He climbed the fence by the trees as Retta had taught him to do. Overhead, the moon was hidden by a cloud, and he waited in the darkness, so tense and expectant that his knees were trembling. He swallowed again.

Bending, he began to creep toward the pool, a short stooped figure in wrinkled pajamas. He paused, lifted his head. He could not see what was happening in the pool, but he could hear the faint sound of splashing.

Still stooping, he ran forward. He crossed the clearing and paused by an azalea bush. He peered through the foliage with one hand over his eyes.

They
were
in the pool. He could hear them swimming. He straightened and drew in his breath. He moved his feet back and forth on the lawn, like a cartoon character getting ready to run.

Surprise is everything, he told himself. It’s
got
to be a surprise. He leaped out from behind the bush and started running for the pool.

Running across the lawn was wonderful. He felt powerful for the first time in his life. He didn’t care about anything or anybody. He surprised himself by leaping up and letting out a whoop of joy.

He crossed the tiled patio, taking smaller steps now. He didn’t want to slip. He headed for the diving board. He had a rush of panic as he ran to the end—he had never even been on a diving board before—but by taking tiny steps he managed not to fall off the side. His excitement carried him to the end of the board.

He had intended to bounce at least once, but he didn’t have time. He fell immediately, curled forward like a shrimp. He hit the cold water and sank.

Roy came up struggling. He sputtered and reached out for Retta. In the excitement of his plan he had forgotten the crucial fact that he did not know how to swim. “Retta,” he gasped. He choked and went under again.

Water went up his nose. He struggled for the surface, pulling desperately. He felt as if he were at the bottom of the sea and would never reach air. He bobbed up. He screamed Retta’s name, choked, and went under again.

Suddenly he felt an arm grab him and pull him to the surface. He gasped for air. He turned blindly, wrapped himself around the arm, and crawled up to clutch the attached shoulder. He gagged on the water he had swallowed and held on tighter.

He felt himself being drawn to the side of the pool. He was lifted out and stretched out on the patio tiles. He was shivering violently. He gagged and began to cry.

“Retta!” He clutched the empty air, wanting her to hold him again. “Retta, I almost drowned!”

He looked up through his tears and saw that it was not Retta standing over him. He wiped the water from his eyes and saw the stern face of the colonel.

“Where’s Retta?” Roy asked. His voice quivered on the night air like a bird’s.

“Who is Retta?” the colonel asked.

And Roy turned over and gagged so hard that he lost not only the swimming pool water he had swallowed, but his mashed potato volcano as well.

R
ETTA HAD BEEN FOLLOWING
her brother for four blocks. Her eyes were as intent as an eagle’s on its prey.