“Who?”
“I dunno. Down at the store.”
“Tony, Tony,” I said, “what are we going to do with you?”
“Hey, Matt, will you tell the old lady nurse I can go swimmin’ this afternoon?”
“No, Tony,” I shook my head wearily. “You cannot go swimmin’ this afternoon.”
“Aw, gee, Matt!”
As I stepped out of the dispensary cottage, I almost bumped into Ellen.
“Hello,” I said.
She smiled. “Hello, Matt.”
“It’s been a long time since I’ve seen you.”
“Yes,” she answered, her smile a little less convincing now, “it has.”
“How have you been?”
“Oh … fine. How have you been?”
“Swell.” I nodded, smiling, and we stood in awkward silence a moment.
“Well….” she started, as if preparing to leave.
“I was just in to see Tony Rocca,” I said hastily, not wanting her to go.
“The little boy who cut himself?”
I nodded. “He wants to go swimming,” I told her.
She smiled, “They never have any sense at that age, do they?”
“Never,” I said, smiling back.
Another silence.
“Well, I guess I’d better be getting along,” she said.
I didn’t want her to go but all I could do was smile, say, “All right,” and step aside. I watched her walk away.
Later I had a swim with Bob, during which we discussed Merv. “If you ever get a chance, ask him to come to your cabin some night and tell the kids horror stories,” Bob told me.
“Maybe I will,” I said. “I’m running out of stories.”
“Oh, Christ, Merv isn’t,” Bob said. “He makes them all up.” He chuckled to himself.
“Maybe I’ll ask him tonight,” I said. “There’s a free bunk in the cabin by dint of T. Rocca’s indisposition.”
“I heard about that,” Bob said. “He’s a little bastard, isn’t he?”
“No,” I said, “just a lost soul.”
We were silent then and, as Bob dived into the water to sidestroke around, I lay back in the lowering sunlight and stared up at the still blue of the sky, watching the cottony clouds move across my line of vision, feeling the cool water lap gently at my ankles, thinking of a beautiful girl I was going to marry before an automobile collision tore the life from her.
Supper time. The usual gabbles and giggles and little boys stuffing stomach cavities. And, in the middle of the main course, Big Ed rising, belching, waiting, speaking.
“You all know what happened this afternoon,” he said. “And you all know why. Roughhousin’, that’s why.” He looked around the dining hall. “Anybody wants to roughhouse, send him to me. I’ll give him a little roughhouse where it counts—on the butt with a canoe paddle! I don’t want no shovin’ or roughhousin’ in my camp, ya understand? If it happens again, there’s not gonna be any store open after rest period.”
Again his eyes moved over us all, his cheeks puffing out gassily. “That’s all,” he said, surprising us with his untypical brevity. My meat loaf was still warm on my plate. And still warm in my stomach when Big Ed met me at the door and suggested I join him in the office.
“I guess you know what happened to Rocca this afternoon,” he said.
I looked at him curiously, “Yes,” I said, “I—”
I stopped talking as Ed Nolan jabbed a thick forefinger at me. “Harper, you’re gonna have to get on the ball,” he said. “That’s the second time he’s been to the dispensary this week.”
“I know, but—”
“If you can’t take care of your boys, Harper, I’ll have to find someone who can.”
I gaped. “You mean you’re holding me responsible for what happened this afternoon?”
A slight, glowing flush moved up Big Ed’s portly cheeks. “That’s right,” he said.
“But I wasn’t even in camp this afternoon!”
“What in hell’s that got to do with it?” Big Ed snapped. “Ya think you’re not responsible for your kids soon as ya can’t see them?”
“I don’t understand, Mister Nolan,” I said. “I took six of my boys on a hike this afternoon. I had to leave Tony Rocca behind because of his foot. How could I have anything to do with—”
“I don’t like your attitude, Harper,” he said. “You’re not gonna last long here with an attitude like that.”
Repressing anger sent a shudder down my back.
“I’m sorry,” I said. “I’m not trying to argue with you, Mister Nolan.
I just can’t understand how I can be held responsible for every move my—”
“Well, ya better understand it!” Another shudder. “All right,” I said.
“That’s all Harper,” Big Ed cut the interview short. “Just remember I got my eye on ya, boy. Either you get in high gear or you’re gonna find yourself out on your ass. Now, beat it, I’m busy.”
Holding back words which would have ended my Camp Pleasant career posthaste, I left the office and went out of the dining hall.
7.
Reaching The Crossroads Tavern involved a four-mile walk south down the road from camp. It was one of three buildings, the other two being the Shady Haven Motel—10 Cabins—TV in Every Room—Light Housekeeping and The Bramblebush Restaurant, vintage 1920, an old converted home with heavy beamed ceilings, paneled walls and a stone fireplace. From the upper dining deck of the restaurant, you could see glinting flashes of the lake along whose south shore that road was constructed.
Bob and I were sitting in one of the tavern booths that night, drinking bottled beer and discussing, among other things, the annual Counselor Takeoffs in which everyone and everything fell before the truncheoning of lampoon, especially the upper echelon boys.
“This we must take loving care with,” I said. “I must confess I would like to see Big Ed skinned alive.”
Bob blew out more smoke. “I see you’re finally coming around to our way of thinking,” he said.
“Well, let’s get back to the show,” I said.
“Right,” he agreed. “I think I’ve just about talked Sammy Wrazalowsky into playing Big Ed.”
A heartfelt chuckle rumbled in my chest. Sammy Wrazalowsky was a gigantic butterball who taught ring-making in the craftshop.
“He may chicken out,” Bob said. “But I think he’ll do it.”
“It is a role he was born to,” I said.
“Gawd, can’t you just see him in a tee-shirt full of holes?” Bob word- pictured. “His belly overlapping the belt of his low-slung trousers, a soda bottle in one hand, a sandwich in the other, ranting—’Get in high gear, get in high gear!’?”
“Can see,” I admitted and a laugh most uncharitable ballooned above our booth.
We were discussing the possibility of setting up a stage by pushing together the square dining-hall tables when a young man leaned over our table.
“Pardon me, fellows,” he said, “but are you from the boys’ camp?”
We looked up. He had brown hair slicked down carefully, a red silk sport shirt, camel’s-hair jacket over it, a cigarette inserted in a dark holder completing the picture.
We told him we were from the boys’ camp.
“Do either of you know Merv Loomis?” he asked then.
“Yes, we know him,” I said.
“Do you know where he is tonight?”
“In camp, I imagine,” Bob said.
“Oh.” The young man straightened up, visibly crestfallen. “Well,” he said, “I thank you, gentlemen. If you see Merv, would you—oh, well, never mind.”
“We see him every day,” Bob said. “If you want us to give him a message….
Eyebrows raised, drooped. “Well,” he pondered gingerly a moment, “just tell him that Jackie was asking for him, will you?”
The young man smiled pleasantly, turned away and walked down the row of booths.
“Sure thing,
Jackie,” I said to the air. “We’ll tell him.”
Bob and I exchanged a look. “Ooh, mama,” he said.
I blew out breath slowly. “Let’s not think about it,” I said. “We’ve already decided we don’t care about Merv’s personal life. As far as I’m concerned, that still goes.”
“I know.” Bob pressed out his cigarette, a worried look on his face. “It’s disturbing, though I guess I never really thought about Merv that way. I guess I was always so much on the defensive against the attitudes of guys like Mack and Ed that … well, that I never stopped to think they might be right.”
“No.” I shook my head. “Even if Merv is a homosexual, Mack and Ed are not right.”
Bob nodded concedingly and we skipped the subject, returning to the discussion of the Counselor Takeoffs.
Two hours later, when we reached the camp, even the occasional appearance of the moon between cloud rifts had stopped.
“You going to bed?” Bob asked me, as we entered the camp grounds.
“I guess so,” I said. “Why?”
“No reason. I … thought we might have a game of chess before bed.”
I shook my head. “Not tonight, Bob,” I said. “I don’t want to take the chance of seeing Fat Eddie’s porcine face any more today.”
“Okay,” Bob said.
It was he who saw the flashlight down on the dock as we started over the log bridge. He called my attention to it and we both stopped to look.
“I wonder what’s going on down there?” he said. In the night air we could hear a faint sound of voices. They sounded angry.
“Let’s go see,” I said and, without another word, we recrossed the bridge and moved slowly down the hill. We could see the flashlight beam wavering back and forth down there and, as we drew closer, we saw who was standing in the light of it.
“It’s Merv,” Bob said quickly. “Oh, my God, he’s—”
Naked. He was standing on the dock boards looking as outragedly dignified as he could wearing only lake water on his body. Bob and I stopped.
“—expect me to believe that?” we heard the voice of the man holding the flashlight. Ed.
Bob and I moved out of the open and into a dark clump of trees near the lake edge.
“Why shouldn’t I go swimming when I choose?” Merv was asking in a failing belligerence.
“Nobody goes swimmin’ without nothin’ on in my camp,” Ed answered roughly, obvious satisfaction in his voice. “No use arguin’ with me, Loomis. You’re through.”
A blank look of shock crossed Merv’s spotlighted face. His voice became almost inaudible.
“Through?”
“You heard me,” Ed said.
Then I noticed another shadow which, up till then, had been hidden behind the bulk of Ed Nolan. I couldn’t make out who it was though.
“Now, one moment,” Merv said, his voice rising nervously, “I told you I left my bathrobe here on the dock. I did not come walking down here like this.”
“Where is it then?” asked Ed Nolan. “Did it fly away?”
“Maybe it was taken away,” Merv said tensely.
“Oh, don’t give me that,” said Ed.
“Listen, I’m telling you that—”
“I’m not interested in what you got to tell me, Loomis,” Ed interrupted. He pointed the flash beam toward shore, then back. “Come on. Get off this dock. You got fifteen minutes to clear outta my camp.”
“Fifteen—!”
“You heard me!”
“Now, wait a moment,” Merv insisted. “You can’t—”
Ed grabbed Merv’s arm and shoved him toward shore. “Get movin’, boy,” he said, his voice thick with menace. “You haven’t a leg t’stand on. Goldberg and I both saw you.”
I heard Sid say, “But, Ed, I—”
“No buts about it,” Ed cut in. “I’m not havin’ no pervert in my camp.”
“Listen, I don’t have to take this—” Merv started.
“I said fifteen minutes!” Ed snapped. “If you’re not out by then, I’ll throw you out!”
“Are you actually—”
“Get!” Ed shoved at Merv’s back and Merv went stumbling forward, slipping to one knee on the wet boards. “Get up!” Ed roared.
“Take it easy, Ed,” Sid tried to calm him.
I felt my stomach muscles tightening as they started off the dock. I saw Ed flash the light beam at Merv’s buttocks.
“Now ain’t he cute,” he said, his voice low and vicious.
Merv’s head snapped around suddenly as he glared at Ed, the bright light splashing up his rigid features.
“That’s enough of that,” he said in a voice that trembled with anger.
“Oh, that’s enough, is it?” Ed started forward until Sid grabbed his arm.
“Take it easy, Ed,” he cautioned.
“No damn pervert’s gonna talk to me like that,” Ed answered.
Now the tall gauntness of Merv Loomis came walking past a few yards away from us and Bob and I held our breath, standing very still. I was thinking about the disappearance of Merv’s bathrobe. It bothered me; almost as much as it bothered me that Ed should just happen to be on the dock with a flashlight as the bathrobe disappeared. Ed and Sid walked by next and we heard Sid trying to talk Ed out of throwing Merv out of camp and Ed’s stubbornly angry reply—more than loud enough for Merv to hear—
“Naw. Naw. I’m not havin’ any damn pervert in my camp. Use your brains, Goldberg. With all these kids, I’m s’posed to let someone like him loose? Takin’ ‘em on hikes? Bein’ alone in the woods with ‘em? What kind o’ thinkin’ is that, Goldberg?” The light flashed up. “Keep movin’, Loomis!”
“Ed, he’s been here for five years,” Sid argued. “If anything was going to happen, don’t you think it would have—”
“There’s always a first time,” said Ed Nolan sternly. “Always a first time. No, I’m sorry, I’m sorry. I don’t like to fire nobody any more than you would. But my job is takin’ care of these kids and if I let this jaybird stay, I wouldn’t be doin’ my job. You saw it, Goldberg, you saw him swimmin’ naked and no clothes around at all.”
The three of them moved into the night.
“Jesus Christ,” I heard Bob mutter slowly.
“Well …” I swallowed. “He’s got him. Right where he wants him.”
We stood in silence a moment.
“What’ll we do?” Bob asked then. “Go back to our—”
“No,” I broke in. “I want to see it. I want to remember.”
Without a word, Bob followed me along the shore and up toward the edge of the clearing where the cabin was that slept the craft shop counselors, the kitchen help and Merv.
As we approached the clearing edge, we saw the cabin light flare on and the loud complaints of the sleepy counselors. Complaints which were cut off instantly when they saw a lake-dripping Merv Loomis grabbing a towel from a coat hanger and Ed Nolan framed in the doorway.
“What’s up?” I heard Mick Curlerman ask in a thin voice.
Ed paid no attention. “Come on, get your clothes on, boy,” he ordered as Merv hastily dried himself.
“I have to—”
“Boy, you heard me,” Ed told him. “You better be out o’ here in time.”
Merv’s face was terrible in the bald cabin light. I’d never seen him without his glasses before; his eyes had that strange cast badly myopic eyes have in the absence of glasses. There was no color in his face except for purplish-looking lips. I thought he was sick for a moment until I realized that he’d been forced to walk naked and wet in the cold night air. I noticed for the first time how badly he shivered.
“Snap it up,” Ed ordered. Merv dressed quickly, his lips pressed together, his eyes looking fixedly at the floor.
“And what’s that, Loomis?” Ed Nolan demanded, pointing his flashlight toward Merv’s bunk.
Merv’s terrycloth bathrobe and Merv’s towel.
“You wore it down to the lake, hanh?” Ed sn
eered. “I always knew you were a damn liar.”
Merv stared blankly at the bathrobe. “But—” His cheek twitched. “I swear to God I—”
“Never mind,” Ed snapped, “I’m not interested. Come on, come on, get dressed!”
“I tell you I wore that bathrobe down to the lake!”
“And I said get dressed!”
Merv shook badly as he finished putting on his clothes but no more than I did. It made my stomach turn to stand there looking at his confused expression as he dressed in jerky, erratic motions.
“Son-of-a-bitch” I heard Bob whisper, almost in a gasp.
Merv finished putting on a sweater and looked up dazedly at Ed.
“Awright, get your stuff together,” Ed told him.
“But how—”
“Loomis, I’m not here t’argue with ya. Either you get your stuff out o’ here or I will.”
The scene went on, endless in its horror, silent except for the creak of the floor boards as Merv moved around nervously, pulling clothes off hangers, folding them hastily, putting them into his trunk.
“Come on, come on,” Ed said impatiently, “I ain’t got all night.”
“I’m trying as—”
“Never mind the lip. Just pack.”
Merv finished packing.
“Awright,” Ed said. “Pick it up and let’s go.”
Merv stared at him blankly. “But I can’t,” he said. “It’s too—”
“Ya want it tossed in the lake!” Ed snapped.
Merv bent over the trunk, his lips pressed together tightly. He tried to lift the big trunk but he couldn’t. He managed to get one corner up but even that slipped. He looked up in fright as Ed Nolan cursed loudly and lunged into the cabin. Then he backed off as Ed grabbed up the trunk as if it were a small, empty suitcase. Ed spun on sneakered soles and banged through the doorway, ordering over his shoulder, “Grab the rest of your things and come on!”
“What are you going to do with my trunk?” Merv asked in a panicky voice but Ed didn’t answer.
Sid went up the steps and into the cabin. “He’s just taking it up to the road, Loomis,” he said.
“But he said—”
“I know, I know,” Sid said quickly. “He won’t though. Come on, let’s go.”