Authors: Madeleine L'engle
The Moon by Night (7 page)
N
obody emerged from the Greys' tent, no matter how often I looked towards it, and I had to quit when John made a snide remark. We got going about eight-thirty and if it hadn't been for this funny feeling that I had about Zachary I'd have gone along with everybody else in being glad to get out, what with wind and weather and hoods and bears.
obody emerged from the Greys' tent, no matter how often I looked towards it, and I had to quit when John made a snide remark. We got going about eight-thirty and if it hadn't been for this funny feeling that I had about Zachary I'd have gone along with everybody else in being glad to get out, what with wind and weather and hoods and bears.
John and Mother were right about Tennessee. It's really a beautiful state, and everybody we talked to at filling stations and markets and places was lovely and drawly and friendly. Of course John had to go through Oak Ridge, which was fascinating but scary. I mean all that stuff about radiation and cancer and all. It's facts and we have to face it and it isn't any worse than the Black Plague and the Spanish Inquisition but that doesn't make me have to
like
it.
like
it.
Well, that was Oak Ridge, and that isn't Tennessee any more than the JDs were. What was Tennessee if I look back on
it with my mind instead of my feelings is roses, laurel, and rhododendron all in bloom, and birds flying across the road. Red earth and wind-ey roads and lots of mules, which the farmers at home don't have. And people wanting to help us and saying
Tinn
issee instead of
Tenn
essee. And stopping at a funny little store up in the hills to get gas and cash a traveler's check, and the little old lady who ran the store coming out in a gingham dress and an old-fashioned sun bonnet and a corncob pipe in her mouth and knowing all about credit cards but never having heard of a traveler's check!
it with my mind instead of my feelings is roses, laurel, and rhododendron all in bloom, and birds flying across the road. Red earth and wind-ey roads and lots of mules, which the farmers at home don't have. And people wanting to help us and saying
Tinn
issee instead of
Tenn
essee. And stopping at a funny little store up in the hills to get gas and cash a traveler's check, and the little old lady who ran the store coming out in a gingham dress and an old-fashioned sun bonnet and a corncob pipe in her mouth and knowing all about credit cards but never having heard of a traveler's check!
Somewhere along in the early part of the afternoon a shiny black station wagon with a tent trailer whizzed past us on a curve, honking loudly. “That crazy kook,” John said. “I'm glad he's not driving
us
. Just as well that's the last we'll see of
him
.”
us
. Just as well that's the last we'll see of
him
.”
Montgomery Bell State Park all the way across Tennessee was one of the nicest state campgrounds we hit, with
hot showers
and laundry tubs, so we all got bathed and Mother and I washed out some of our drip dry clothes and hung them up on our laundry rope which John and Daddy strung for us between two trees. There was a ball park right by the camp, so as soon as John got his jobs done he was off and before long he was in the middle of a baseball game, with Suzy and Rob sitting on a fence with a group of other younger kids, watching. Meanwhile Mother and I started getting dinner ready and Daddy struggled with the fire. There must have been a heavy shower early in the afternoon, because all the firewood was sopping wet, and about all it did was smoke. So Mother said it was a good time to initiate Uncle Douglas's stove, the fancy one he got us from Abercrombie and Fitch. The thing wouldn't work. Big deal. So dinner was cooked exclusively over magazines Mother and Daddy had brought
along, medical magazines, the
Saturday Review
(Daddy loves the Double Crostic puzzles in those and pulled out all the pages with the puzzles he hadn't done before putting the magazines in the fire),
Harper's,
science fiction magazines,
Life,
the
New Yorker, Scientific American
âoh, it was a real conglomeration.
hot showers
and laundry tubs, so we all got bathed and Mother and I washed out some of our drip dry clothes and hung them up on our laundry rope which John and Daddy strung for us between two trees. There was a ball park right by the camp, so as soon as John got his jobs done he was off and before long he was in the middle of a baseball game, with Suzy and Rob sitting on a fence with a group of other younger kids, watching. Meanwhile Mother and I started getting dinner ready and Daddy struggled with the fire. There must have been a heavy shower early in the afternoon, because all the firewood was sopping wet, and about all it did was smoke. So Mother said it was a good time to initiate Uncle Douglas's stove, the fancy one he got us from Abercrombie and Fitch. The thing wouldn't work. Big deal. So dinner was cooked exclusively over magazines Mother and Daddy had brought
along, medical magazines, the
Saturday Review
(Daddy loves the Double Crostic puzzles in those and pulled out all the pages with the puzzles he hadn't done before putting the magazines in the fire),
Harper's,
science fiction magazines,
Life,
the
New Yorker, Scientific American
âoh, it was a real conglomeration.
“More paper, more paper,” Daddy kept calling to Mother.
“But I've
given
you all the ones I've read.”
given
you all the ones I've read.”
“I have to have more,” he said, “even if we get Reader's inDigestion,” Daddy said. “Since it cooks your dinner you can digest it along with your food.”
Mother groaned at this display of wit, and handed him some more pages.
We were through dinner; John, Suzy, and Rob had gone back to the baseball field, when there was the sound of a car being driven at high speed, and a black station wagon came roaring into the campgrounds, stopping with a squeal of brakes at our campsite. I'd quit thinking all cars being driven too fast belonged to hoods. That was one effect Zachary had.
He got out in his gorgeous black leather jacket and said, “Hi, Austins.” His mother and father weren't with him, and the tent trailer wasn't hitched to the station wagon.
“My mother insisted on staying at a motel tonight,” he said. “We've just finished a zuggy shrimp dinner. I'll probably upchuck it before morning. May I take Vicky in to town for a movie, sir? There's a good show on.”
I could tell Daddy didn't think much of Zachary the way he said, “Sorry, Zach. We've got a six hundred mile drive ahead tomorrow. We're going to push on to stay with relatives in Oklahoma.”
“Where do you go from there?” Zachary asked.
“I really don't know,” Daddy said coldly. “We plan to stay in Oklahoma quite a while.”
I got the message even if Zachary didn't. It was the first I'd heard of going all the way to Tulsa the next day, and what Daddy meant was that Zachary wouldn't be able to find us at the next camping place and that was just as well and it would also be just as well if we never saw him again. Usually Mother and Daddy have their arms out and the doors open to all our friends. There's almost always someone extra at our house for dinner, and, on week-ends, spending the night. But the welcome mat wasn't out for Zachary.
I looked at Mother and Daddy and kind of scowled. I didn't think Zachary was all that undesirable. John's brought home some pretty gooney characters and nobody's blown any gaskets.
They didn't ask Zachary to stay, but he obviously wasn't about to go. He leaned against the shiny black of his station wagon and talked Tennessee politics, about which he seemed to know a lot. After a while Mother and Daddy excused themselves and went to sit on a fallen tree that edged the brook behind our campsite.
Zachary grinned. “Finally smoked 'em out. You intrigue me, Vicky. Don't wonder that gang last night tried to pick you up.”
This flattered me, even if it wasn't true. “They didn't,” I said. “They were just a bunch of kooks looking for kicks.”
“You think you're not a kick?” He kind of leered at me. Out of the corner of my eye I looked at Mother and Daddy sitting on the fallen tree. I didn't know whether I wanted them to be nearer or further away.
“When are you going to be in Laguna Beach?” he asked.
“I don't know exactly. Somewhere near the end of June.”
“Who're you staying with there?”
“An uncle and aunt.”
“What's their
name
, for crying out loud? How'm I going to look you
up
? Laguna's not too long a haul from L.A.”
name
, for crying out loud? How'm I going to look you
up
? Laguna's not too long a haul from L.A.”
“That's where you live?”
“Yes. Now what's your uncle's name?”
“Douglas Austin.” If my parents would have reservations about Zachary's looking me up, so did I. But somehow it seemed safer to have him look me up when we were in a house in a town in the middle of civilization than in the wilderness. I wasn't a hundred percent sure whether I wanted him whizzing into any more campgrounds.
“Who's keeping you all that time in Oklahoma?”
“Another uncle and aunt. They used to live in California, but now Uncle Nat has a church in Tulsa.”
“Oh my aching back, a
church!
What's he doing with a church?”
church!
What's he doing with a church?”
“He's a minister,” I said stiffly.
“Ick. Have fun.”
“We will,” I said. “We've got a lot of cousins there and Uncle Nat and Aunt Sue are marvelous and we're going to have a ball.”
“I bet.”
I was mad. I liked Zachary and he was different from anybody I'd ever known and I didn't want to scare him off by seeming pious or something, because after all I think I've made it quite clear that I'm not, but I wasn't going to have him thinking people like Grandfather or Uncle Nat were squares just because
they were ministers. What's wrong with being a minister? It's not like having leprosy in the family. I looked Zachary fiercely in the eye and put all the disdain I could manage into my voice. “You don't have the faintest idea what you're talking about.”
they were ministers. What's wrong with being a minister? It's not like having leprosy in the family. I looked Zachary fiercely in the eye and put all the disdain I could manage into my voice. “You don't have the faintest idea what you're talking about.”
“Oh, no?”
“You think just because a person has a
church,
for heaven's sake, they can't have any fun.”
church,
for heaven's sake, they can't have any fun.”
Zachary's face kind of got whiter and little spots of pink showed just above his cheek bones. “What's fun got to do with it? Religious guys are
phonies,
that's all,
phonies,
every crumby one of them.”
phonies,
that's all,
phonies,
every crumby one of them.”
I stood up. “My
grand
father is a minister. My
uncle
is a minister. I bet you don't know any ministers half as well as I do. And they're not phonies. They're the realest people you'd ever want to meet. If they tell you anything you can trust them. One hundred percent.”
grand
father is a minister. My
uncle
is a minister. I bet you don't know any ministers half as well as I do. And they're not phonies. They're the realest people you'd ever want to meet. If they tell you anything you can trust them. One hundred percent.”
Zachary reached out with one skinny hand and took my wrist. He had a lot more strength than I'd have expected and he took me by surprise. I sat down hard on the picnic bench. He stood leaning against the shiny black hood of his car (I bet they have that darned car washed and polished every other day) and talked with withering scorn. “My eye. Pie in the sky. The best of all possible worlds.” He began whistling the tune he'd whistled the night before, then said with ferocious intensity,
“What nature doesn't do to us
Will be done by our fellow man.”
Will be done by our fellow man.”
“What's
that
got to do with anything?” I asked impatiently.
that
got to do with anything?” I asked impatiently.
“They're our fellow man, aren't they? Ministers? What're
they
doing about war and stuff except coming to your bedside in the hospital and praying over you and if you weren't going to die anyhow you'd do it right then and there with embarrassment.”
they
doing about war and stuff except coming to your bedside in the hospital and praying over you and if you weren't going to die anyhow you'd do it right then and there with embarrassment.”
“
Well
,” I said, “we
ob
viously know
diff
erent kinds of ministers. Maybe they're like that in California, but they aren't at home.”
Well
,” I said, “we
ob
viously know
diff
erent kinds of ministers. Maybe they're like that in California, but they aren't at home.”
“I thought you said your zuggy uncle used to
be
in California!”
be
in California!”
Now. Take my mother. She's the daughter of a minister and all. But when she and Aunt Elena were in boarding school in Switzerland (that was when Grandfather was in Africa and Mother got sick and had to be sent out of the climate) the worse thing anyone could be was pi. Pious. You know. The kind who pray loudly on the street corner instead of quietly in their closet, the way it says in the Bible. People who don't really mean it. It's all on the outside. Whited sepulchers.
If there's anything I'm
not
it's pious. I'm
proud
of not being pious. But it got me, the way Zachary talked. I didn't like it. So I said, “What're you so
scared
of ministers for? What do you think they're going to
do
to you? You sound as though you thought they were some kind of
witch
doctor just waiting to surround you, muttering evil incantations, and if they can close the circle you'll turn into a handful of
dust
with a small puff.”
not
it's pious. I'm
proud
of not being pious. But it got me, the way Zachary talked. I didn't like it. So I said, “What're you so
scared
of ministers for? What do you think they're going to
do
to you? You sound as though you thought they were some kind of
witch
doctor just waiting to surround you, muttering evil incantations, and if they can close the circle you'll turn into a handful of
dust
with a small puff.”
“You're a card, Vicky,” he said. “You really are. That's cool.”
I thought he was being sarcastic, but he reached over and patted my knee, and I saw he really meant it.
He said, “If I had somebody like you around maybe I wouldn't go getting kicked out of schools all the time.”
“Why do you?”
He shrugged. “Oh, you know. The usual reasons. I get bored, so I goof off on a couple of subjects. Or I get caught smoking. Or trying a new kind of cheating on exams. If I
needed
to cheat of
course I wouldn't do it. I mean that kind of cheating's phony. I do it because it's an art, and the teachers are all squares. Most of them. There's usually one or two who come close to being human beings.”
needed
to cheat of
course I wouldn't do it. I mean that kind of cheating's phony. I do it because it's an art, and the teachers are all squares. Most of them. There's usually one or two who come close to being human beings.”
“I know what you mean about teachers,” I said. I was feeling more relaxed, now that Zachary hadn't had a spazz attack over what I said about ministers. “Lots of them are muffins. But it isn't just teachers. It's people.”
“Muffins?” He sounded kind of interested.
“Well, at home we have this kind of club. The anti-muffin club. Very exclusive. I mean you have to be really
un
muffiny to belong.”
un
muffiny to belong.”
“Yah?”
“You know my little brother, Rob? He really started it. It was about a year ago, and Uncle Douglas was up for the weekend.”
“He a minister, too?”
“He's an
art
ist. He came up that weekend without a girl, but the weekend before he came up
with
a girl. He wasn't married, then, and he used to bring his girls up for us sort of to look over. We used to like some of them, but this one was a real stinker. I mean a real snob, asking questions about the family, I mean Mother's and Daddy's families. You know, wanting to know all about grandparents and things.” I started to laugh.
art
ist. He came up that weekend without a girl, but the weekend before he came up
with
a girl. He wasn't married, then, and he used to bring his girls up for us sort of to look over. We used to like some of them, but this one was a real stinker. I mean a real snob, asking questions about the family, I mean Mother's and Daddy's families. You know, wanting to know all about grandparents and things.” I started to laugh.
“What's so funny?” Zachary wanted to know.
“It's Rob. The way he goofs up on words. The more syllables they have the more he likes them. He's really bright, but he gets all tangled up in words. And this girl kept talking about her ancestors and Rob went up to Mother and said, âHer aunt must have had an awful lot of sisters.'” Zachary looked blank, so I said, “Aunt's sisters. Ancestors. Get it?” He gave a kind of grin, and I
realized the only time I'd ever heard him really laugh was over that ghoulish song. It must be awful never to laugh. I felt sorry for him, and at the same time curious. I didn't think the reason he never laughed was that he didn't have a sense of humor, even though he'd been kind of slow about the joke about aunt's sisters.
realized the only time I'd ever heard him really laugh was over that ghoulish song. It must be awful never to laugh. I felt sorry for him, and at the same time curious. I didn't think the reason he never laughed was that he didn't have a sense of humor, even though he'd been kind of slow about the joke about aunt's sisters.
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