The Night of the Moonbow (20 page)

“Surprise, surprise,” caroled Miss Meekum, beckoning with her hanky as Leo approached.

“Leo, my boy, here you are,” Mr Poe declared in his pale, papery voice, giving Leo’s hand a single, formal jerk. Too stunned by their unexpected advent to say anything, Leo darted him a glance.

Porcelain-pale under her coating of white vanity powder, Miss Meekum was already fussing at him, tugging his collar and brushing off his shoulder, inquiring how he was getting on. “Are you having a good time?”

Leo ducked his head. “It’s okay, I guess.”

“Okay - you guess!” Miss Meekum’s fa-so-la laugh climbed its way up the scale. “Why, I should hope it’s nice!” The steel rims of her glasses sparkled in the sun when she gazed at Leo, as if to assure herself of his well-being. “My goodness, will you look at him,” she went on. “He’s put on weight - hasn’t he put on weight, Mr Poe? And see how tan he is. I can’t get over it. You seem so - so different!” She gave his arm a squeeze. Quickly Leo withdrew it. Several campers were hanging around now watching.

“Did you drive all that way just to see me?” he asked. “Of course we did,” Miss Meekum replied. “We were simply panting to get out of the city - so hot. And we wanted to meet Reverend and Mrs Starbuck and the Society people.”

Leo breathed a sigh of relief. So they hadn’t come to take him back after all. But cripes, he thought; the fact that this was just a social call meant he’d have to introduce them around to everybody. He looked from Miss Meekum to the supervisor, who was eyeing him narrowly.

“Which of these cabins is yours, Leo?” he inquired.

Leo pointed out Cabin 7. “It’s called Jeremiah.”

Miss Meekum craned her neck to look. “Jeremiah,” she repeated. “How quaint. May we have a peek?”

Left no choice, Leo reluctantly escorted them across the field, self-conscious because the only family he could put up against all the others was no relation of his, only these two gray birds, looking so out of place in their badly wrinkled, ill-fitting city clothes. Why hadn’t they at least given him warning so he could have cooked up some kind of story about them?

Mercifully, Jeremiah was vacant when they got there, so Leo, in his chagrin, was not required to deal immediately with making introductions. But as Miss Meekum exclaimed over his ceremonial torch (the carving of a ceremonial torch was* one of the most important traditions at camp, and each incoming camper must perform the ritual of cutting a branch in Indian Woods and decorating it with occult Indian symbols), arid Dr Poe noted approvingly the military neatness of the cabin, he spotted Tiger and the Bomber (thank goodness it was them!) coming along the line-path with a man and woman who turned out to be the Abernathys, pleasant-looking people with kind, sympathetic faces, who had driven up for the big event from their cottage on Long Island Sound. (The Bomber’s folks never came on Sundays - or any other day, either. “My ole lady’s glad to get rid of me,” he bragged; his father, a school janitor with a yen for booze, never seemed to know what his son was up to - or care.) They all walked right inside, and in his easygoing, cheerful way Tiger presented himself, his parents, and “our friend Jerome” to the older couple. Leo was ready to jump out of his skin. What would Supervisor Poe and Miss Meekum talk to the Abernathys about? He quailed at the thought of some inadvertent disclosure, about the goings-on at Pitt, or the unhappy events that had seen him brought to the Institute in the first place. And though the skies were blue, with no sign of rain, in the echo chamber of his mind he heard the alarming crash of thunder and the familiar sound of rain rattling in the downspout, heard the chink of Rudy’s bottle against the glass and his angry voice -

Tell him, you bitch - no rhapsodies -

“I hope you’ll play your violin for us, Leo,” Miss Meekum was saying, as if reading his mind. “I hope you’ve been practicing. Have you?”

“Yes’m.”

A bold-faced lie, but what Miss Meekum didn’t know wouldn’t hurt her.

Then the others began to appear - first, Eddie with his folks, then Monkey with his - and Leo began to relax. What was there to worry about? Everyone seemed to be getting along just fine. Why, Mr Poe and Miss Meekum were talking away with the Abernathys as if they were old friends, nodding and smiling, fitting right in, just like regular folks! Maybe things were going to turn out okay after all. Maybe they had just driven out for a little holiday, to see how he was getting on.

Before long the Dodges, the Pfeiffers, and the Dillworths had joined the group, and as the crowd spilled out onto the porch, Reece Hartsig, counselor supreme, moved among the parents of “his boys,” speaking with each in turn; discussing with Dump’s father the chances of St Louis winning the pennant this year (now that Dizzy Dean had been traded to the Cubs); confiding a new joke to Wally’s dad; raising his stock with Phil’s parents by remarking on the fine job of work their son was doing on his radio transmitter project; even complimenting Miss Meekum on her hat.

Then across the field a disconcerting one-bar melody was heard - an automobile horn blaring the four zany notes of “How Dry I Am” - and a shiny new car - the latest model Lincoln Zephyr - rolled over the rise and came to a stop in front of Cabin 7. The Hartsigs senior had arrived: Big Rolfe, a large, florid-faced man in a wrinkled seersucker suit, with a Zeiss camera hung around his neck, and, shoved back from his warm brow, a straw hat with a band of striped silk; and his wife, Joy, a petite woman with a shingled bob of bright blondined hair, lots of lipstick and rouge, and a gay laugh, who was attired (in honor of the day’s nautical theme) in a sailor outfit, with a striped collar and gob’s cap emblazoned with an anchor and cord and little gold stars.

“How do you like her, fellows?” Rolfe bawled heartily, flourishing his skimmer at the car, which was now surrounded by campers admiring their reflections in the glossy black finish and the liberally applied chromium trim. Then, with his wife on his arm, he made his way up the porch steps to greet the parents of the Jeremians, most of whom were old friends, and regale them with the tale of how he’d come by his new two-hundred-dollar Swiss watch - “got it for cash off this little sheeny on a street corner. Hot goods,” he joshed, and they all laughed immoderately -while inside the cabin Joy sat herself down on Reece’s cot (she was the only person ever permitted such a trespass) and smiled brightly at Miss Meekum and Supervisor Poe, saying wasn’t Leo lucky to get into Jeremiah, where all the really tiptop campers were.

By this time the crush inside the cabin had become considerable, and Leo, seeing that Miss Meekum and Mr Poe were in safe hands, ducked outside, where he found the Bomber leaning on the porch rail and observing the arrival of yet another vehicle, a Pierce-Arrow with black lacquered fenders and a dark-green cab taller than that of any of the other autos on the field. “It’s Dagmar,” the Bomber informed him as the chauffeur, a coloured man wearing a straw hat and no jacket (“His name’s Augie,” said the Bomber), got out and opened the rear door, and Leo recognized Ma’s friend from Major Bowes Night -witness to his humiliation. He had decided when he first saw her that in no way could Dagmar Kronborg be called conventional, and now, in close proximity, he found her both compelling and intimidating. Her blue eyes sparkled with such a bright blueness - keen eyes that missed nothing. He suspected she might be older than she looked: sixty-five? seventy, maybe? She had salt-and-pepper hair and leathery skin, tanned and wrinkled, and beyond a careless use of lipstick on her puckered lips she wore no makeup. He was intrigued by the husky timbre of her voice and the forceful energy behind it. Her English bore only traces of her Swedish origins, and when she laughed the sound was a rich, robust explosion of mirth.

“Hello - hello, all,” she called, nodding to the lineup of boys and adults who now crowded the porch of Jeremiah for the express purpose, it seemed, of greeting her arrival.

“Well, Dag, how are you?” Big Rolfe pushed his way through and enfolded her in a bear-like embrace, loudly kissing her.

“I’m fine - but don’t call me Dag. I don’t like it.” She gave him a sock on his shoulder and put her cheek out for Joy to kiss. “And here’s Mr Jack-in-the-Box himself,” she added, as Reece sprang out the side of the cabin to land in front of her.

“Hello, Auntie — How are you?” He threw his arms around her and, lifting her off her feet, bussed her roundly on both cheeks. “Come on up to the porch and take a load off. It’s time to catch Dad’s Sunday broadcast.”

Nearly every Sunday afternoon around this time, Reece’s father tuned in to the weekly preachments of Father Coughlin, The “Radio Priest,” whose multitude of admirers were convinced he was America’s savior and would keep its people from falling victim to the Red Menace. Since this host of advocates included Pa Starbuck as well as Big Rolfe, not many at Friend-Indeed disparaged the prelate openly, though Fritz Auerbach had declared that the man was a rabble-rouser and demagogue, and should be silenced.

Dagmar, evidently, was not a Coughlin admirer either. While the priest held forth on how Franklin Delano “Rosenfeld” was “selling America short” - Rolfe had thrown open every door of his car “so all could hear” -she excused herself and marched over to the fountain for a drink. Leo stepped up beside her and gallantly pushed the button, and as she straightened and blotted her lips, accepting his courtesy as a matter of course, she found his eyes studying her.

“Eh? What’s this?” she demanded. “Do you think I’m funny-looking, then? You’ll see a lot funnier sights before you grow up, young man - and learn some manners!”

Leo was speechless in the face of his outburst. He felt his face blazing scarlet, and mumbled an apology.

"Gode Gud,” Dagmar exclaimed in Swedish, lifting her glass to her eye. “It’s the violinist. Now, why didn’t I recognize you? What a stupid old thing I am!” Leo was mortified - she had noticed him, then, at Major Bowes, and now recalled his shame - but she cocked her head at him and in a quicksilver change of course, she said, “You were very amusing in the skit the other evening, too - very funny. He
was
,” she assured the cluster of visitors who had been watching the exchange. “And he thought the whole thing up himself,” she added. “How do I know that? Because Ma told me.”

Before any more could be said, the voice of Hap Holliday -- its stentorian tones enhanced by a megaphone -- was heard from the waterfront, inviting guests to come and be seated in the council ring. The afternoon’s events were about to begin. As Peewee Oliphant came pelting down the line-path, waving his arms to a fare-thee-well and hollering for all campers to get a wiggle on -- Coach wanted all boat-parade participants at the lodge in five minutes to get into costume -- a couple of shrill blasts from Reece’s whistle galvanized the Jeremians to heed the summons. Then Reece himself headed for the dock to confer with Rex and Hap on matters pertaining to the swim competition, while Dagmar rejoined the Hartsigs and the entire adult contingent connected with Jeremiah headed toward the council ring. Even Father Coughlin could offer no competition to the prospect ahead of them. The Abernathys, Leo observed, had Mr Poe and Miss Meekum in tow, and when the cabin was empty of visitors, he scrambled about, snatching up items of gear, and ran off to join the others, forgetting his humiliation, for the moment at least, in anticipation of things to come.

All around the council ring, campers, counselors, and guests a-like were dispersed among the tiers, the overflow scattered along the waterfront, the ladies, wafting improvised fans (pleated programs), ensconced in folding chairs, the gentlemen seated on cushions on the ground beside them. And here was Pa Starbuck making his official progress through the assemblage of parents and guests, nodding and smiling and generally behaving as if all this - every glint of sunlight, every lap of the waves, every glittering splash and dive, every foot of cloudless sky, every joyful camper and approving parent - was the work of his own hand and no other’s - until, exhibiting enviable spryness for a man his age, he climbed onto the flat top of Tabernacle Rock to offer a welcoming address whose floweriness, embraced “the piney fragrance of the grove,” how happy he was “to gaze upon so many happy faces,” the “salubriousness of the day God hath wrought” for the proceedings, and the “one or two special guests of note”: Dr and Mrs Justiss Dunbar, the doctor being the “First Chairman of the Committee for the Endowment of Young Males by the Friends of Joshua Bible Society” (as he and his organization were formally known). Then, with a gracious wave of the hand, Pa brought on Fritz Auerbach (“our visitor from foreign lands, to whom Dr Dunbar and the Friends of Joshua have seen fit to offer sanctuary”), who, as arts-and-crafts director, was the guiding spirit behind the famous “Parade of Ships” that led off the afternoon’s program - the event that annually gave the broadest scope to the campers’ wit and ingenuity, requiring as it did the transformation of humble rowboats and scows into representations of the triremes and galleons of yore.

Fritz, equally gracious, expressed his gratitude for the opportunity the Society had given him, and, his gently modulated voice amplified through the megaphone, proceeded to introduce the various entries as they traversed the five hundred yards from the boat dock to the swimming dock, where they were rated by a panel of judges (Pa, Doc Oliphant, and Henry Ives) on originality, execution, and presentation: Columbus’s famed Nina, Pinta, and Santa Maria (three for the price of one) - the Job entry; a Mississippi River paddle wheeler, with its smokestack puffing - Malachi; even the Titanic, Hosea’s entry, which, in full view of all, “struck” an “iceberg” and “went to the bottom”; and finally - this was ultimately awarded the first prize (twenty happy points and an extra helping of dessert all round) - Jeremiah’s entry, the old camp whale boat converted into a “Cleopatra’s barge” of remarkable configuration, her gunwales festooned with flowered swags and wreaths. A stern-visaged Marc Antony (Phil Dodge), complete with an approximation of a helmet and a scarlet cape, posed dramatically, sword in hand, on the foredeck, while a stalwart Roman centurion with a trumpet (Tiger Abernathy) and the queen’s own brother-husband, young Ptolemy (Leo Joaquim), exchanged murderous scowls just behind him. Astern, the plump and gaudy Egyptian queen lounged amid a bower of wild flowers, one hand trailing languidly in the water as its mate dangled a bunch of gilded grapes over a pair of bright-red lips: Mr Jerome Jackson, ludicrously lipsticked and rouged, bedecked in an outrageous wig and a tin brassiere cleverly wrought from a pair of kitchen funnels. An outsized “diamond” was ingeniously attached to his navel, and his husky physique was swathed in folds of gauzy fabric (dyed cheesecloth), yards of which drapery trailed prodigally in the barge’s wake.