The Night of the Moonbow (41 page)

If only Leo could share his grief with someone, as Harpo did. Ever since Tiger’s death the dog had roamed the camp road up and down, baying his sorrow. This morning he had been locked jn the old cold cellar under the crafts barn (where Ma stored her jams and preserves in an ancient icebox of yellow oak lined in zinc) so as to keep him from creating a disturbance during the service. But he must have escaped, for now he had taken up a picket post somewhere in the woods and was howling his fool head off. Leo had a pretty good idea of how lonely Harpo must feel.

He looked down at the knife: the Bowie knife Tiger had insisted be his. Since Tiger’s death he had kept the knife hidden from sight; he wasn’t going to let anyone rob him of Tiger’s parting gift. But today, he had decided, he had to wear it no matter what. Just as he’d had to play Tiger’s favorite song . . .

Finally the singing stopped and the last bars of Leo’s music hung in the torpid air, then melted into silence, leaving only their mocking memory. By now the gathering was breaking up, the council ring emptying, and Leo, laying away his instrument, noticed someone standing on the canoe dock; the thick, burly figure of the Bomber stood waving him in. He must go in, mustn’t he? Go in and face what awaited him? For with Tiger’s death he had become more than ever the camp pariah. Though no official decree of Scarsdale had been issued regarding him, hardly anyone was speaking to him. Every look, every pointing finger and whispered word said it was his fault, that he, Leo, was to blame. If it had not been for Wacko there would have been no service, no coffin, no dead friend. As for Reece, having forbidden Leo to visit the infirmary, and then learning that he’d been at Tiger’s bedside when he died, he was more vindictive than ever, determined to extract the last ounce of punishment.

Feeling imperiled on every side, Leo was wishing he had never come to camp. How was it possible for him to feel like this, when only a few short weeks ago he’d been so happy, when everything had seemed so fine? It was as though he’d been drinking water from a well, good, sweet, clear water, and now that water had been muddied and riled, it tasted bitter, as if the well had been poisoned.

He packed up his violin and headed for shore, paddling with neat, controlled strokes, the way Tiger had taught him. Off in the distance Harpo’s howling had ceased. As he neared the dock, the Bomber gave him a look.

“What the heck was that you was playin’?”

“Beethoven’s Fifth. Like it?”

“Somebody’s plenty burned about it,” the Bomber said.

Leo had no difficulty guessing who “somebody” was. With Leo at the bow, while the Bomber bent his broad back to the stern, the two boys jerked the canoe from the water and racked it up. The Bomber went to the clipboard to sign it in, and Leo, straightening, looked around the council ring. Everywhere stood knots of campers, staffers, and visitors, mixed together, talking, but moving slowly, as though their feet were held down by heavy weights. When he came nearer, Leo glimpsed more faces he recognized: Big Rolfe and Joy Hartsig, Hap Holliday, Hank Ives, a baker’s dozen church elders in black suits, doughty, gray-faced and official-looking; Honey Oliphant was now holding tight to her brother’s hand, as if he were a baby she was afraid of losing. They all stood in silent clusters regarding the casket, which in another moment was being removed from its resting place on the rock. Because it was so small, the box required only two bearers, who carried it up the aisle to the hearse parked hear the top of the ring. Burial was to be private; no campers would be there.

Then Harpo came straying toward them from among the trees, tail quivering but not wagging, a forlorn look in his eyes that made Leo want to fling his arms around the dog’s neck and hug him; but that would only make Leo cry and he had promised himself not to do that. Consequently he ignored Harpo, who finally wheeled and trotted away, while Leo climbed the ring and headed for Jeremiah.

Midway up the aisle he paused at the sight of Wanda, standing beside Fritz near a tree. She always seemed so different out of uniform. Today she had on a street frock and a little hat with a veil and she was wearing gloves. Leo hadn’t spoken with her since the morning Tiger died.

A group of Virtue cadets was standing nearby. “It’s all Wacko’s fault,” one of them was saying, “him and his spider—”

“Don’t say that, it’s not so,” Fritz said quickly. “You boys oughtn’t to repeat untrue stories. Now, run along.” Leo ducked his head as the group broke up and moved away. “It’s all right,” Fritz said, giving his shoulder an encouraging pat, “don’t pay any attention to that kind of talk.” The gesture, meant to be comforting, somehow only made Leo feel worse.

As he came onto the line-path, he saw the Abernathys talking with Pa Starbuck and the Hartsigs. Mrs Abernathy was holding a sheaf of gladioli and staring at the black box, its foot protruding eloquently through the open doors of the hearse. Leo flushed with embarrassment as she turned her eyes on him, then quickly looked away again. He desperately wanted to say something to her, to explain about the music and why he hadn’t been at the funeral, though something in her expression said she already understood, a little.

Instead, to his surprise, he found himself going up to her and holding out the sheathed Bowie knife. Misunderstanding his gesture, she shied and turned her face into her husband’s shoulder.

“Isn’t that Tiger’s knife?” Pat Abernathy asked.

Leo nodded. “He gave it to me,” he said. “I think you should have it.”

Mrs Abernathy’s voice quavered. “I’m sure that if Tiger gave it to you, he wanted you to have it. Keep it and remember him always. I know he thought a lot of you.”

Then, as Leo watched her from under his brows, she seemed to give out all of a sudden. The flowers slipped from her grasp and, with Rolfe’s assistance, her husband led her toward their car, parked just behind the hearse.

Leo went on, holding the knife in one hand, his violin case in the other. Across the line-path a grim-faced Phil was waiting on the porch of Jeremiah. Leo veered off toward the Dewdrop Inn; he wasn’t up to a confrontation right now. But Phil quickly intercepted him, hustling him into the cabin, where seven or eight boys were sitting around silently in the bunks.

“Okay, Wackeem, let’s hear it,” Phil began with an angry scowl. “Suppose you tell us what that dumb stunt was that you just pulled with your fiddle?”

Leo shrugged. “Nothing. Tiger liked that song, is all.”

“Liked it? That dumb thing? You sure have a lousy sense of the fitness of things. You’re holding every camper here up to ridicule. Isn’t that right, fellows?”

Leo glanced about at the funeral-solemn, resentful faces: Dump, Monkey, Eddie, Ogden, and Klaus, faces that had shown no friendliness in some time, and others - Dusty, Emerson - who since Tiger’s death had kept their distance. It fell to the Bomber to take Leo’s part.

“Cripes, leave him alone, Phil, why don’t you?” he protested. Phil whirled on him belligerently.

“Listen, toad-face, you better button up if you know what’s good for you. And what are you looking so bug-eyed at?” he demanded of Wally, who had been standing by the door.

“Nothing,” Wally murmured and climbed into his bunk.

Phil was staring at Leo’s hand. “Cripes - look!” he exclaimed, pointing. “He’s got Tiger’s knife! Where’d you get it?”

“Tiger gave it to me. He wanted me to have it.”

“Liar! You stole it!”

“The heck I did!”

“Why would Tiger give you his knife?” Phil stuck out his hand. “Give it to me,” he demanded.

When Leo refused, a scuffle began as Phil tried to wrest the knife from him. Failing in his attempt, he called for assistance. Dump jumped up and pulled at Leo, who, turning quickly, got an elbow in the mouth. In another moment a figure had appeared behind them, an arm reached out, a hand seized Phil by the scruff and pulled him away.

“All right, boys,” said Fritz Auerbach brusquely, “that’s enough of these strong-arm tactics. We don’t want any fighting today.”

Phil struggled in Fritz’s grip. “Let me go.”

“I’ll be happy to - after you return Leo’s property to him.”

“It’s not his! It’s Tiger’s!”

Coming in behind Fritz at the doorway, Wanda spoke up. “It was Tiger’s. Now it’s Leo’s. That’s how Tiger wanted it.”

“Who asked you?” Phil said, rudely. Fritz was about to take him to task when Reece came into view on the path. “All right, what’s all the racket about?” he demanded, joining the group. “Don’t you guys know we just had a funeral service around here?”

“Phil is bent on keeping Tiger’s knife,” Fritz explained. “But Tiger wanted Leo to have it.”

Reece eyed him. “How do you know? Did Tiger say so?”

“No, but Leo told me—”

“Oh? So you’ll take his word, then?”

“He’s not a liar. I believe him.”

“It’s true!” Leo cried. “We talked about it the night before he - he said - since he was going home - he -he—”

“Be quiet,” Reece ordered. “Phil, give him back the knife.”

Phil drew back in outrage. “No, I won’t! He can’t have it.”

Reece repeated the order in stronger terms. Cowed, Phil grudgingly handed over the knife, which Leo took and held behind him. Turning, Phil deliberately jabbed him in the ribs. “You really are a crummy little spud, you know that?”

“All right, you guys hop it over to the lodge and wait for me,” Reece said. “I want to talk to you.”

Obediently the boys trooped out of the cabin, all but the Bomber, who lingered in the doorway, waiting for a word with Leo.

“Hey, that means you, too, Jerome!” Phil snapped from outdoors. Reece fixed his eye on the Bomber, who nodded, then turned to Leo.

“I gotta go. I’ll see you after, huh?”

He left the cabin, bringing up the rear as the others followed behind Phil and disappeared along the path to the lodge. Reece turned his attention to Fritz, who was examining Leo’s bruised lip.

“They just won’t stop, will they?” Fritz said.

“They would if they weren’t given provocation. And while we’re on the subject, what are you doing around here anyway? I thought I told you to keep out of my campers’ business.”

“They were ganging up on Leo again.”

“Sure, I know, everyone’s always ganging up on ‘poor Leo.’ ”

“But they were,” Wanda insisted. “Look what they did to him.”

Reece waved an impatient hand. “Yes, take a good look at him. If it weren’t for him and his damnable spider Tiger Abernathy wouldn’t be being carried out of here in a box. He - he—”

He broke off, then turned and marched out. The others watched him go. Wanda turned to Leo. “You’d better come with me, while I put something on that lip of yours.” She was halfway out the door when she encountered the Hartsigs. There was an awkward shuffling of positions as Wanda stepped aside for Joy, who stood in the doorway, her eyes sparkling with fresh tears.

“What is it? Why was Reece weeping? What did somebody say to him to upset him like that? Fritz, did you say something?”

“Nothing that mattered, Mrs Hartsig. I was thinking, however.”

“Thinking what?” She teetered on her high heels. “Exactly what do you mean?”

“I was thinking that Reece will soon be going into the air force.”

“Yes? We know this.”

“And I was thinking how fortunate Camp Friend-Indeed will be when he has gone. I myself will be very glad to see the last of your son.”

“What? What are you saying?” She clutched fiercely at his sleeve. “How can you say such a thing? Especially after all his father has done for the camp? After all Reece has done?” Fritz looked her in the eye. “What has he dorie, Mrs Hartsig?” he asked quietly.

“How can you ask such a question? He’s done everything, simply everything! He’s set an example, for one thing, he’s given the boys someone to look up to and emulate. Why, wherever they go from here they will take the memory of Reece Hartsig with them.”

Fritz’s shoulders lifted, then drooped. “Let me just say this, please: I consider it just as well for Camp Friend-Indeed that your son should not be back next year. This place does not need men like him among its counselors, no matter how long he has been coming here.”

Joy stopped dabbing at her melting mascara and stared at him. “What nonsense are you talking now, Mr Auerbach?” “He’s thoughtless, your Reece, he’s careless of other people’s feelings. No matter what some may find to admire in his character, flaws are also evident. I would not like to think of campers’ emulating those as well.”

“Everyone has flaws!” Joy retorted, her mouth pulled down in an angry bow, her pale cheeks bedizened with two flaming spots of color. “I’m sure you have your share,

Mr Fritz Auerbach! You should think of that before you go around saying nasty things behind people’s backs!”

“I will be glad to say them to Reece’s face if you wish me to,” Fritz replied with icy formality. “I have said nothing but the truth.”

“What truth?”

“The truth that it is wrong to blame Leo Joaquim for an act he had no part in.”

“If you mean Tiger’s death I suggest you remember that it was Leo’s spider that inflicted the fatal bite.”

“Pardon, dear madame, but that is also untrue.”

“Say, wait a minute, Fritzy,” demanded Rolfe, lunging into the group. “You calling my wife a liar?”

“I am merely trying to point out that Leo is in no way to be held responsible for the tragedy that has happened here. And to. wrongfully blame him is not to be tolerated. I will be leaving tomorrow morning and—”

Rolfe hiked his chin. “Running away, are you?”

Fritz colored. “I assure you, sir, I am not running away at all. I am going to Washington to talk with some Red Cross people who may have knowledge concerning the fate of my family. But while I am gone from this place ...”

“Yes? Go on.”

“If upon my return I should learn that Leo has been mistreated or persecuted for any imagined sins, I would then be obliged to go to Dr Dunbar and inform him of the facts.” “What facts would those be?” demanded Rolfe, his heavy arm cradling his wife’s small form against his side.

“For one, the fact that if it weren’t for an act of carelessness on the part of your son it is highly likely that Tiger Abernathy would be alive today.”