Camp Pleasant

by Richard Matheson

  I didn’t see his face but his voice was very surprised. “Leavin’?” he said. “Why?”

  Again, I saw no reason for lying and I told him I’d been fired by Nolan.

  “What for?” he asked, sitting down on the edge of my bunk, looking at me curiously.

  I shrugged. “We just don’t get along,” I said.

  “Was it because ya got me outta cleanin’ the garbage cans?”

  “Oh … I don’t think so, Tony. It’s more than that.”

  “Jesus,” he said. “That dirty son-of-a—” “All right, Tony,” I cut him off. “Let it go.” He watched in silence a while as I packed. “How are you getting along?” I asked him. “What d’ya mean?”

  “Are you getting used to being in Mack’s cabin?”

  He shrugged. “I dunno,” he said carelessly.

  “You washing your clothes?”

  Another shrug. “I s’pose.”

  “Not having any fights, I hope.”

  “Not unless I feel like it,” said Tony.

  I closed my trunk and sat on the top so the lock would catch. I pushed in the catch, then looked up at him. “I’ll miss you, Tony,” I said.

  He didn’t seem to understand. He looked at me blankly. “What d’ya mean?” he asked.

  “I mean I like you. We’re friends, aren’t we?”

  “I … guess so.”

  “Well, I’ll be sorry not to see you any more.” “Why?”

  “Because we’re friends,” I said, “and I don’t like to leave my friends.”

  “Oh.” He looked at the floor.

  “Tony,” I said, “will you promise me something?”

  He looked up suspiciously. “What?”

  “Will you be a good boy the rest of the season? Wash your clothes, don’t fight, try to make friends with the other boys?” “Aaaah, they don’t want no friends,” he said. “How do you know?” He shrugged. “I know,” he said.

  “What about David Lewis?” I asked. “Why don’t you make friends with him?”

  “ That pansy?”

  “He’s a good kid, Tony, don’t fool yourself,” I said. “He’s quiet, that’s all.”

  He stood up. “Well, I gotta go,” he said.

  I put out my hand. “I may not see you tomorrow to say good-bye, Tony,” I said. “So shall we shake hands now?”

  He stared at me, not the trace of a smile on his face. Then he came over and shook my hand solemnly. “You got the dirty end o’ the stick,” he said.

  “Don’t worry about it, Tony,” I said, pushing a friendly fist against his jaw. “Just be good.”

  “Sure, Matt,” he said, and turned away.

  I sat on the trunk a long time after he was gone, staring at the screen door. Sure, Matt. Sure, Matt. His last words kept repeating in my mind. Sure, Matt. Sure—and he was damned. His future lay in the hands of a misunderstanding father and in the city streets where he’d play and grow like a weed that breaks through concrete, surviving, not because it’s beautiful or good but because it’s hardy enough to exist despite every condition which seeks to kill it.

  I felt pretty low down that night, thinking of Tony, of Ellen. So low down that I didn’t even bother telling the boys that I was leaving. I had them get ready for bed and I went to bed too and lay there awake, feeling lousy.

  5.

  The next morning, all the boys got dressed in their Sunday clothes for the performance of Madame Marie La Toure, France’s contribution to the art of the high dive. I hadn’t had much chance to ponder over the existence or non-existence of the woman but it sort of bothered me that morning, despite the growing tension I felt as I approached the moment when I’d have to leave Ellen forever. If the Madame La Toure business were a gag, what in hell was the punch line? For a whole day the boys had knocked themselves out sweeping, mopping, painting, scrubbing, hanging bunting and streamers and a huge painted banner—WELCOME TO CAMP PLEASANT, MADAME LA TOURE! Now they were getting dressed in their best clothes, all chattering excitedly—except for Charlie Barnett.

  At eleven o’clock, the car arrived bearing Madame La Toure. Everyone was in the great open area in front of the dining hall; all the eager- faced boys, the counselors, the section leaders, the kitchen help, the craft shop personnel and Jack. The only ones who weren’t there were the cooks and kitchen helpers and Ed, Ellen, and Doc.

  When the convertible turned in off the road, a great cheer billowed up from the boys and the dark-haired woman sitting on top of the back seat in a bathing suit waved at everyone. Without comprehending, I looked at the woman as she got out of the convertible, a robe thrown over her shoulders, and was led by Jack Stauffer into the dining hall to be feted. I walked over to where Bob was.

  “What is this?” I asked.

  “You don’t know?” he asked, a little surprised.

  “No. What is it?”

  He was going to tell me but then we all had to go into the dining hall for dinner and speeches.

  All through the meal, I kept looking at the dark-haired woman eating at the leader’s table, wondering what in hell it was all about.

  Her speech did nothing to alleviate confusion, her French accent being that of a high-school actress imitating Catherine Deneuve.

  “I ‘ave zee great ‘appiness to be wiz you today,” she said, “for zee exhibeeshun. I ‘ave always like to perform for zee boys as zey appreciate zo much my diveeng.”

  I didn’t notice the water-front counselors leaving, one by one, during the course of the meal. When dinner had ended, Jack announced that the exhibition would take place and “Yah!” cheered all the boys as I watched the smile of unparalleled ghoulishness on the face of Charlie Barnett. As everyone was filing out of the dining hall and straggling down the hill toward the dock, I caught Bob’s arm and took him aside.

  “Now what is this?” I asked.

  “It’s a practical joke,” he said, sounding neither dismayed nor amused.

  “How does it work?”

  “Well, all the kids will be massed on the dock,” he said, “shoulder to shoulder. They’ll be so packed they won’t be able to move. The exit from the dock will be blocked by counselors.”

  I began to feel strangely worried.

  “The woman will climb up to the top of the platform,” he said.

  “Who is she?” I asked.

  “Who knows?” he said. “Some friend of Jack’s wife I guess.”

  “She’s not a diver?”

  “Not as far as I know,” he said. “Even if she is, she’s not going to be doing any diving.”

  “What does she do?”

  “Well, she’ll get to the very top of the extension. Then she’ll take off her robe and call down to the boys—Are you ready?”

  “How do you know all this?” I asked abruptly.

  “Merv told me,” he said. “He saw it once.”

  “Oh. So she asks them if they’re ready. Then what?”

  “Well, that’s the key to the whole thing. She keeps asking them— Are you ready? and they’ll keeping saying—Yes! She’ll ask them again— Are you sure you’re ready? and they’ll shout again—Yes!”

  “Then what?”

  “Then the counselors inside the tower rip open and drop streamers and throw pails of water on all the kids and the counselors on the dock shove them into the lake.”

  “What?”

  “That’s it,” he said, apparently casual.

  “But that’s fantastic,” I said. “You mean they’re going to push them in the lake with their good clothes on?”

  “Sure.”

  “Oh, come on. Some of those kids can’t swim. They’ll be scared half to death. And they just ate, for Christ’s sake. They’ll get cramps.” I suddenly remembered Doc’s words about what had happened the last time.

  Bob didn’t seem to care. He seemed distracted and oblivious.

  “What about your own kids?” I asked. “Doesn’t it matter to you if—”

  “No, it doesn’t,” he said, curtly, an
d turned away.

  I looked down the hill at the rapidly accumulating crowd of boys on the dock and a tight, restless feeling started to come over me.

  Jack and the young woman went past me.

  “Coming?” Jack asked. “If you don’t hurry, you won’t get a good spot.”

  Suddenly I thought of David and my body twitched with shock. He’d be scared to death getting drenched first, then shoved into the lake. I started down the hill suddenly, anger rising. Five of the cabin counselors stood at the entrance to the dock, chatting and laughing with Jack and the woman. One of the counselors was Mack.

  “Well, if it isn’t Harper,” he said. “Goin’ in t’see the act?”

  I didn’t say a word but walked past him onto the dock which was becoming jammed with milling boys, all talking excitedly. I bumped into Charlie Barnett who stood near the shore-end of the dock where he’d not only be out of range of the bucket emptiers but be able to jump to shore and run for it when the other counselors started pushing kids into the lake.

  “You little rat,” I said. “Where’s David?”

  “Who?” Blandly.

  “David,” I said. “Come on, come on, where is he?”

  “I dunno. Why?”

  “One side, boys, one side!” I heard the cheery voice of Jack Stauffer behind me, and with a spattering of “Yahs!” the boys parted like a sea to let the “Madame” through.

  I stepped aside, feeling my heart start to beat heavily. I stood up on my toes, trying to see David. I called his name but was drowned out by the general tumult. I pushed by several boys, searching desperately for David but the ranks had closed tightly behind Jack and I was blocked. I yelled to him but he was too absorbed in conducting the woman to the tower.

  “David!” I yelled, on my toes again.

  I felt my stomach muscles jolt. He was standing right under the tower.

  “Oh, my god,” I muttered. I tried to shove through the boys but I couldn’t. I called again but David didn’t hear me. A sense of panic began to take hold of me coupled with a rising fury at this ultimate in viciousness. I lunged back toward the shore to find someone who could stop it; at least long enough to get David out of there.

  Mack and the other counselors were lined up at the end of the dock and Mack held out a blocking palm as I came up to them.

  “Where ya goin’?” he asked, trying to sound amiable but failing.

  “Look out.”

  “Don’t ya wanna see the divin’ show?” he asked.

  “Yeah, don’t ya wanna see Madame Le Toure?” another counselor asked.

  “I said look out, damn it!”

  “We got orders not to let anyone off the dock.” Mack said.

  “So help me God—!” I started, shoving past him.

  He grabbed my arm and the other counselor grabbed my other arm.

  I jerked the one arm loose but Mack had a stronger grip. I didn’t bother talking this time. I drove my left fist as hard as I could into his face and he went back with a cry of pain, bowling over two of the other counselors. I turned and ran up the hill.

  I found Sid in the office. He looked up in surprise as I came bursting in. “What is it?” he asked quickly.

  “Can’t you stop this damn thing?” I asked breathlessly.

  “I’m afraid not,” he said. “It’s Ed’s idea.”

  “I thought you didn’t know about it,” I said.

  “Jack just told me this morning,” he said.

  “Well…. Goddam it, are there any limits in this son-of-a bitch camp?”

  “Take it easy, Matt.”

  “Easy! What about Tony? Do you think he’s going to take this? And do you know where David Lewis is? Right under the tower! He’ll be soaked first and scared to death! Then he’ll get shoved into the lake!”

  “They won’t shove him in if he can’t swim.”

  “What’s to keep them from it?”

  From the dock, I heard Jack’s voice start over the loudspeaker system.

  “You can’t stop it?” I asked.

  “No,” he said.

  “What about Doc?”

  “Maybe, but I doubt it.”

  “Well, by God, I’ve had it!” I yelled, and turning, I lunged out of the office. Sid called me but I paid no attention. I started running down the path toward Ed Nolan’s cabin.

  To this day, I don’t know what I thought I was going to do to make Nolan stop it. All I knew was that David was down there, not knowing what was coming. And Tony was there and a lot of small kids waiting and I was furious at this last, most outrageous Camp Pleasantry.

  The area of woods around the section leaders’ tent and Jack Stauffer’s cabin was deserted and still as I ran along the path. The only sound was the thumping of my shoes. When I reached the cabin at the end of the path, I jerked open the screen door and ran through the kitchen into the still house.

  “Mister Nolan!” I yelled.

  No answer. I dashed through the living room onto the porch but that was empty too.

  It was when I came back into the living room that I noticed what I hadn’t seen at first. The floor and rugs were covered with bright red spots—the kind made by—

  Hard cold fingers clutched at my stomach suddenly as I stood there staring at those spots. Then, as if I knew already, I stumbled across the room and shoved open the door.

  She was crumpled on the bedroom floor in a new white dress and white shoes and white gloves. Only none of them were white because they were covered with blood. With a sick gasp, I started forward, staring at her still face. Then, as I bent over her, she groaned a little and I smelled the heavy fumes of whiskey on her breath.

  That was when I saw him from the corners of my eyes and my head jerked up, a sudden wave of horror breaking over me.

  Ed Nolan was lying motionless on the blood-soaked bed, the handle of a hunting knife protruding from his throat.

  1.

  When Sid and I came out of the Emmetsville police station that afternoon, he suggested we have a cup of coffee before driving back to camp.

  We went to the same drugstore Mack, Bob and I had been in that first night. I even sat on the same counter stool and the same girl brought me coffee in the same kind of cup. There the similarities ended. The first time I hadn’t even met Ellen; this time I loved her and she was in jail under suspicion of murdering her husband. Two cups of coffee with a lifetime of emotions between them.

  “Doc staying at the station?” I asked as I drizzled sugar into my cup. Sid nodded. “We’ll go back without him,” he said. “He has his own car.

  Silent drinking awhile. The clink of coffee cups, the sounds of a drugstore on a sleepy summer afternoon: the occasional slap of the screen door, the mumbling and laughter of two small boys in the front of the store looking at comic books, the rattle of dishes in the back kitchen, the monotonous whir of the wall fan as it turned from side to side. Life going on for everyone except a frightened girl a few blocks away who didn’t know if she had killed her husband.

  “I just can’t see her doing it,” I said. “She’s so—” I broke off and stared into the cup.

  “Drink can change a person,” Sid said. “Change them a lot. They’ll do things that, sober, they wouldn’t even dream of doing; and, if they drink enough, they’ll do things they won’t even remember doing.”

  “I just can’t see that,” I said. “To kill somebody—like that—then not even remember it?”

  He drew in a slow breath.

  “I was drunk once,” he said, “I mean really drunk. In the army; years ago. I got drunk on Saturday afternoon and the next thing I knew it was Sunday night. I was in a hotel bed with two women and there was an inch-long gash on my head. And I didn’t remember a thing about it.”

  I put down my cup. “If the case is as clear as all that, why are the police asking questions?”

  He shrugged. “It’s the way they do it, I guess,” he said.

  “No,” I said. “No, it’s more than that. They kept asking m
e questions about Ed’s relationships to everybody in the camp. Why should they if they knew it was Ellen?”

  “They’re probably just making sure, Matt,” he said, looking at me. “I wouldn’t lay too much emphasis on it. I don’t want to think she did it any more than you do but—well, the facts speak for themselves.”

  “What facts?”

  “She was right there beside him, Matt,” he said, “covered with blood.”

  “She could be right there covered with blood if she found him too,” I said.

  “I don’t know, Matt,” he said.

  “And what about the knife?” I kept on. “It belongs to that kid in Bob’s cabin, doesn’t it?”

  “What does that prove?”

  “If she killed Ed, why didn’t she use one of the kitchen knives?”

  “I don’t know, Matt,” Sid said, obviously not wanting to discuss it. “Maybe she found it. The kid lost the knife a week before—it happened.”

  “No, it doesn’t make sense,” I said, getting angry with Sid because I had to let it out on someone.

  “Maybe you don’t want to see the sense of it,” he said.

  “What does that mean?” I asked.

  “I wouldn’t even mention it, if this thing hadn’t happened,” he said. “I’m not a guy to meddle in other people’s business, but—” he cleared his throat—”I saw you come out of the Nolan cabin one afternoon a few weeks ago.” He glanced at me. “You looked pretty shaky, Matt.”

  “What are you trying to say?” I asked.

  “The police are looking for reasons Ed was killed,” he answered. “Are you sure you don’t know the reason?”

  “No,” I said, “I don’t.”

  “She was trying to leave Ed that afternoon,” he said. “At least she was planning to leave; there was a packed suitcase locked in the bedroom closet.”

  “I didn’t know that,” I said.

  He nodded. “Doc told me,” he said. “The way I see it, Ed caught her trying to leave and locked up her suitcase. She went in the bathroom with a bottle and got drunk, worked herself into a pitch, found Ed sleeping on the bed and—”

  “What about all the blood in the living room?” I asked.

  “He was a big guy,” Sid answered. “He probably staggered around.”