He walked toward the ninth hole. The flag hung limp above the green. There was no breeze. In the dark you could hardly tell that the flag was red. He passed over the green. The grass felt very soft, like velvet beneath his feet. For a time he sat on the little mound near the green. It was so still, and almost sultry. He got up and continued on. He walked over to the pro shop. It was dark now. He looked in the windows. He could just barely see the faint reflections of the glass from the counter, and the steel shafts of the golf clubs glinting on the wall. Emil would be going away soon, Tommy thought. He always left around Labor Day to spend the winter at a golf course farther south where people could play all year. Tommy walked around the pro shop toward the tennis courts behind it. The music was very distant now. It floated in thin patches in the air. It was very dark. The only light came from the stars in the sky, and the wavering glow of the northern lights. He could make out a figure on the tennis court, a figure all in white. Then he saw another, in a white jacket. They were standing near one of the benches. It must be Daisy, he thought, with Phil. It must be Daisy and Phil, Daisy in her white dress and Phil in his white jacket. The perfect couple, he liked to think, he used to think, he still wanted to think. They looked so good together. Maybe he could talk to them now. Maybe he could really talk to them. He’d like that.
He drew closer, close enough to see that Daisy’s dress was smudged, and strands of her hair, her lovely yellow hair, were falling over her face. They didn’t look so good now. Something was wrong.
“Don’t touch me,” she screamed. “I can’t bear to have you touch me!”
“Why not?” Phil shot back. “Everyone else does.” He was reaching toward her.
“You prick,” she said. “You filthy bastard prick!” She said it with a hiss. She swung her arm and slapped him. She slapped him hard. Her hair was flying. Phil raised his hand to his face. He didn’t move. Daisy’s arm was frozen in midair, her hair caught in the motion. Phil’s hand didn’t move. Nothing moved. The night lay perfectly still.
“Oh, no,” Tommy moaned, “oh, no.” He didn’t want to see any more. He didn’t want to hear any more. He raised his hands to his head, covering his head with his arms. They turned toward him. He ran back, around the pro shop, through the parking lot, across the gravel to the lawn and the broad steps looking toward the tee and the river flowing darkly in the distance, and he sat down. He sat there, on the steps, his head in his arms, trying to catch his breath. The music and voices still floated out from the clubhouse; the lanterns continued to glow with their purple and amber light; the leaves of the elms trembled slightly in the air. He caught his breath, and watched the silver reflections on the river. He heard the doors swing open behind him, and the sound of steps going hurriedly toward the drive. He turned when they had passed. It was Mrs. Slade. “Gun it, Reilly,” she said, getting into her car, “the queen of the night has got to make her getaway.” Tommy smiled. He couldn’t help it. Mrs. Slade saw him sitting there on the steps as she sped down the drive, and she blew him a kiss. Tommy watched her make the turn onto the River Road. He noticed that her fur was still on the chair where Mr. Wolfe had dropped it. Tommy went over and picked it up. The fur felt very thick and soft. It was a beautiful fur, really. He held it for a while, and then put it back on the chair. He returned to the steps and sat there waiting. Eventually Rose would find him and take him home.
After a time the doors opened again. Mr. and Mrs. Steer came out with Mrs. Hutchins. Mrs. Steer was surprised to see him, but not too surprised. “I thought you’d avoid Rose,” she told him. “You’d much rather witness the dance.” She patted his shoulder. The three of them moved toward the driveway. “We’re taking Mrs. Hutchins home,” she said. “Good night.”
“You’ll miss the torches,” Tommy said, “the lighting of the torches.” They didn’t hear him; they were already out of earshot.
Tommy’s mother came out a few minutes later, her dress swirling around her legs. Her stockings were pearly white, and the buckles of her shoes gleamed dully in the night. “I thought you’d left hours ago,” she said. “I thought Rose took you home.”
“No,” Tommy said, “she didn’t.”
“It’s been a long night,” his mother said. “It feels twenty-five years long.” She laughed, but her face was drawn. “I’m exhausted.” She looked it. “You must be dead. I’ll get John to take you home.” She returned to the clubhouse and came out in a moment with John and Emily. “Did you enjoy the party,” she asked him, “your first grown-up party?”
“Oh, yes,” Tommy said. “It was a very nice party.”
Then Tommy and his brother and Emily went to the car. Buck and Junior were beginning to light the torches as they drove out to the River Road and down to the landing on the water. Tommy could see the torches burning, and the purple and amber glow of the lanterns, as his brother dipped the oars into the current and rowed him across the river. On the river the night was luminous and radiant, and all Tommy could hear was the sound of the oars in the oarlocks and the water moving. Then Emily began to sing. She sang the hymn they’d sung on the way to the party, many hours ago. She sang it quietly, by herself, and John dipped his oars in time to the music.
6
IT WAS colder the next day, and it was quiet on the Island; everyone was resting from the party. Tommy had to wear the windbreaker that David had given him for his birthday. A northwest wind was blowing, making whitecaps on the river. That afternoon Tommy got Jim to row him to the shore. Jim had to row hard against the wind and the strengthened current. Next summer, when he’d be nine, he’d have to learn to row himself. He didn’t like always having to find someone to take him, or to wait on the dock for someone to show up. He was old enough to do it himself.
Tommy wanted to say goodbye to Buck, who was leaving that weekend for Kentucky and school, with Katherine and George. Tommy wouldn’t see him again until next summer. He wanted to say goodbye to Emil, too, and he had a present to give Ophelia. He had thought of a nice present for her that day. There were a few golfers on the course, but not many. Tommy went directly to the pro shop, where he thanked Emil for the lessons.
“I told you you’d learn to hit the ball, Tommy,” Emil said. “You’ll do a lot better next summer.”
“I still have the ball with my name on it,” Tommy said. “Thanks for giving it to me.”
“We’ll start out with it next June,” Emil said.
When Tommy got to the clubhouse, they were just finishing cleaning up from the party. Buck and Junior were folding up the last of the tables and putting them away in the storeroom. Mrs. Aldrich’s cloth was gone, the head table had been dismantled, the bandstand wasn’t there, and the mirrored ball had been taken down. Buck said his mother had already been there and left, to take her things back to the house. In a few minutes everything looked as it always had. A stranger walking in the door would never have known that there’d been anything unusual the night before, no big party.
“That was some smart party your mamma had,” Buck said. “Some smart party. But a lot of work for us folks. What’s that?” Buck pointed to the package in Tommy’s hand. Tommy had wrapped it himself. He couldn’t find a box for it, but he did find some tissue paper and some ribbon and he had tried to make it look as good as he could. He wasn’t very good at wrapping yet.
“It’s something for Ophelia,” Tommy said, and he went off to the lounge to find her. The lounge was empty. He rang the little bell and Ophelia came out, just as always.
“Why, Tommy,” she said. “I’m surprised to see you today. I thought you’d be home. I thought your mother would make you rest.”
“She’s uptown,” Tommy said. “I haven’t seen her all day.”
“Did you have fun last night?” Ophelia asked him. “I hear you got a little more champagne than you were supposed to.”
“Who told you that?”
“George. He was pouring it.”
“That’s right, he was,” Tommy said. “I was probably too excited
to notice. He didn’t give me very much.”
Ophelia laughed. “He wasn’t supposed to,” she said. “He was under orders.”
“Yeah, I know,” Tommy said. “I have something for you.” He was embarrassed. Maybe it wasn’t the right thing to do, to give Ophelia a present. Maybe it would make her feel funny.
“You have something for me? Well, isn’t that nice!”
Tommy put the package on the bar. “You wrapped it yourself!” Ophelia looked surprised and pleased. “What can it be?”
“Open it,” Tommy said.
Ophelia untied the ribbon and the paper fell away. “Tommy,” she said. “You shouldn’t do this. It’s beautiful.” She picked up the kaleidoscope, brightly colored as if it had been sprinkled with confetti. “It’s beautiful.”
“Look through it,” Tommy said. “Point it toward the light and look through it.” Ophelia did. “Now turn it,” he said. “See? Don’t you see things?”
Ophelia turned the cylinder and looked. She kept turning it, peering into the tube and turning it. She looked for a long time. When she took it from her eye, she set it on the counter and looked at Tommy. “You mustn’t give me this, Tommy.” She reached for his hand. “You mustn’t give this to old Ophelia.”
“Yes,” Tommy said. “It’s for you. I want you to have it. Doesn’t it make pretty colors? Don’t you like the way the patterns all swirl around and change? You never get the same picture twice.”
“It’s like your mother’s party,” Ophelia said. “It’s as pretty as your mother’s party.”
“It’s called a kaleidoscope. Please take it.”
Ophelia leaned over the bar and pulled him toward her. She put both her arms around him and gave him a big hug and a kiss on his cheek. “Of course I’ll take it, Tommy. I love my kaleidoscope. I’ll always love it. Thank you.”
“I’m glad,” he said. “I’m glad you like it.”
“I think I’ll make you a root beer float,” she said, “or would you rather have a Coke? I’d make you a chicken sandwich but I’m afraid it would spoil your dinner.”
“I think I’d rather have a Coke,” Tommy said. “I don’t need a glass.”
“Well, at least take a straw,” Ophelia said, putting two straws in the bottle. “And Tommy, thank you.”
“You’re welcome,” he said.
“Did you see your name in the newspaper?” Ophelia asked him.
“No,” Tommy said. “Why was my name in the newspaper?”
“Here,” Ophelia said, handing him the afternoon paper. “Read all about it.” The paper was folded open, and Ophelia pointed to an article at the top of the page. “MACALLISTERS CELEBRATE SILVER WEDDING,” it said. “Tommy, I have to go back to the kitchen now. We’re still washing dishes.”
“Don’t forget your kaleidoscope.”
“I won’t,” she said. “I’m not forgetting it.” She picked it up and carried it into the kitchen with her.
Tommy took the paper to a table in the lounge and read the article as he sipped his Coke. It was an account of the party. It listed all the out-of-town guests and who had sat at the head table. His name was there. “Master Andrew Thomas MacAllister,” it said. He had never seen his name in the paper. It was the first time his name had ever been in the paper, except maybe when he’d been born. Tommy read the article again. It told a lot about the party, but it didn’t tell what happened.
Tommy put the paper down and went looking for Buck. He found him on the porch, standing on a chair taking down the paper lanterns. They were swinging in the wind, and as he took each one from its hook it collapsed flat as a plate. He had a little pile of them on a chair. “Buck,” Tommy said, “I’ve come to say goodbye. I probably won’t see you again until next summer.”
“You’ll be a lot smarter next summer,” Buck told him, “a whole lot smarter.”
Tommy laughed. “Yes,” he said. “I’ll be smarter. Goodbye, Buck. I’m glad you were here.”
“Bye,” Buck said, and returned to the lanterns he was collapsing and adding to his pile.
On Sunday afternoon Mrs. Wentworth gave her annual party for the closing of the season. Everyone was there, all the usual people and those out-of-town guests who hadn’t yet left. It was still chilly; the wind was blowing, and the river was full of whitecaps. “Fall is in the air,” Mrs. Sedgwick observed; “you can feel it.” You could, too. In just two days Tommy would be going back to school. He said he didn’t like the idea, but really he wouldn’t mind. He would be glad to see the summer end.
Mr. Steer, who liked to take pictures, said that there’d been a terrible oversight: no one had taken an anniversary photograph. He went to his cottage to get his camera, and Tommy’s parents posed together, arm in arm, on Mrs. Wentworth’s steps. The wind whipped his mother’s dress. Then Mr. Steer said, “We’ve got to get a family photograph,” so Tommy and his brothers went up to the steps and stood there, his brothers on either side of his parents and Tommy before them, in the middle, his father’s hand on one shoulder, his mother’s on the other, and they all smiled into the jeweled eye of the camera. Tommy thought of the photograph taken all those years before, of himself as a baby in his father’s arms on their dock on the Island, and he imagined this picture’s taking its place with that and the others in the family album, or on the wall in the cottage. Mr. Steer took a lot more pictures of all Tommy’s family and their relatives and friends in various combinations: his parents with Emily and Margie and his brothers, his brothers together, his brothers with their girls, Emily and Margie alone, Tommy and Amy together, the Sedgwicks, Madge and Phelps and Vint, Daisy and her mother and grandmother, the McGhees and the Aldriches, Mr. Wolfe and Mrs. Wentworth, Mr. Treverton and Mrs. Wentworth. He took all sorts of pictures before everyone got tired of the whole business and Mrs. Sedgwick said, “Oh, Dick, why don’t you put that thing away?” Tommy’s mother never liked to be photographed, but she had to put up with it. It seemed as if the only picture Mr. Steer didn’t take was one of him with Mrs. Steer. Tommy would have liked that.
The people at Mrs. Wentworth’s party were all talking about the dance—every one of them had been there—and about the war. The news was very bad. Germany had invaded Poland the day after his parents’ silver anniversary, and everyone was very concerned. Once in a while one of them would go inside to listen for news on the radio. They expected England and France to declare war, but it was something we wouldn’t get into, his father said. Almost everyone agreed that this time we wouldn’t be drawn into it. Let the Europeans fight their own battles; it wasn’t our concern. People were pleased that David would be going back to college soon, and this time his father said he’d better have something to show for it. No date had been set for David and Margie’s wedding. His parents wanted them to wait, and so far they were. “We’re still trying to recover from one party,” his father said. John was talking about going to Chicago to find a job, and when he found one everyone expected that he and Emily would be engaged—she would like wearing his grandmother’s diamond—and eventually marry.
Tommy wandered into Mrs. Wentworth’s small sitting room. Mrs. Steer was there, trying to find some news on the radio but she wasn’t having any luck. The radio was just playing church music. “Damn it,” she said. She looked at him. She was not smiling. “The world is blowing up, Tommy.” She looked very grim. “The whole world is blowing up. It will make that explosion at your father’s plant seem like a firecracker. Nothing will ever be the same again”—and she snapped off the radio and left the room.
The next day was Labor Day. The rest of the out-of-town guests had left that morning, everyone waving them off to the shore. The family stayed to pack things up on the Island, but there really wasn’t much to do. They hadn’t moved that much down from town this summer, and they’d probably be back for an occasional weekend as long as the weather was pleasant. Later the cottage would be closed for the winter, but the Indians did most of that work anyway—shutting down the pump, draining the pipes, tu
rning off the power, laying up the boats. Tommy packed up his few things and helped his father and John load the boat. Then the three of them went uptown with the first load while Rose helped his mother finish up on the Island. John and his father were talking about the war. Poland was in bad shape. England and France had declared war on Germany. It was really serious, and his father said that he hoped we could avoid getting into it. “It could be a terrible thing,” he said. He remembered the last war.
Tommy was glad to be home. His father went over to the plant for a few minutes, and John returned to the Island to pick up another load. David had already gone on a picnic with Margie. Tommy stayed in the house, looking at all the familiar things and at the changes, too. All his mother’s redecoration had made the house look nice. He was sure that the people who had stayed there during the party had liked it. He looked at all the new silver. He found the silver elk Mrs. Slade had given his parents, and he put it in the middle of the dining-room table, where it belonged, with the little clawed feet on his Uncle Christian’s salt dishes and the animals on the plate rail. He found Mrs. Steer’s inkwell, too, and he put it on top of the desk in the hall. Then he went upstairs to unpack his bag and put his clothes away. He took the telescope Mrs. Steer had given him and laid it back on top of his dresser, in its old place, but then he changed his mind and decided to put it in his top drawer, where it would be safe. He looked at his bookshelf. There was Fingerfins. He smiled. He did like that story. He remembered how his mother had read it to him when he had the measles. Sometime he would have to go to the Sargasso Sea. He looked out the window over the porch. His father’s stacks were smoking away. He opened the window—he wanted some air in the room—and he noticed Mr. Wolfe’s coins sitting there on the sill, the 1938 dollar he had given him for Christmas and the stack of eight he had given him for his birthday. They had gotten tarnished over the summer, and he picked them up and put them in one of his dresser drawers. His room looked good. He went to his desk and rolled back the top. Everything looked the same. He took the key from its hiding place and opened the locked drawer. It was all there: the box of crayons, his fountain pen in its case, the paper Mrs. Steer had given him, the other paper with his name written on it. He looked at Mrs. Steer’s poem. It was hard to read her writing. He looked at the paper with his name. He looked at where he’d written it: “Tommy MacAllister,” and then, beneath it, “Andrew Thomas MacAllister.” He took the pen from its case and looked through the little window. There was still ink in it. He drew a line partway across the page, below where he’d written the names. The pen worked, and he wrote out his name again, his full name. It looked better this time. He heard a couple of cars drive into the driveway, so he put his papers away, and his pen, and locked the drawer. He went downstairs to help his parents and John unload the car.
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