lips fell apart a little. When David slept, his lips seemed to rest on a line of junction so fragile that even his breath must be careful not to rupture it.
Chris opened one eye. He stretched both arms over his head. He drew his muscles taut, then let them subside all at once. He lay perfectly still for a minute, then threw back the quilts and stepped out of bed. He yawned and pulled up the woollen shirt he’d slept in, scratching his hips. He reached for his clothes on the chair and began to dress.
David’s clothes were in a tangle on the floor. His drawers were still inside his pants. His shirt sleeves were inside out. One of the garters that pinned to his waist was under the bed.
He ran to the window before he pulled on his drawers. To make sure the weather had declared itself to be fine all day. The others always had to be so certain about the weather before they’d let him go anywhere like this.
“I think I’ll leave off this old woollen shirt,” he said.
“What?” Chris said. “You don’t know how cold it gits, back there at night.”
“Cold!” It was a word that had no more real sense than the “meanings” in his speller.
“You’ll see,” Chris said.
David heard his mother and father talking downstairs. There was no special excitement in their voices. It was funny, they hardly seemed to know what was going on, sometimes.
“Is it fun back at the camp, Chris?” he asked. His face puckered up in a smile of excitement to hear the answer he was already certain of.
“Sure,” Chris said.
“I dreamed about it last night,” David said.
Chris’s hand hesitated for a second on a button. His own dream came back to him. It made the room seem small and strange.
“I dreamed,” David said, “you and Dad and me was on the log road, only it was funny”—he laughed—“all the trees was trimmed up like Christmas trees. And then it was like there was two of me. I was walkin with you, and still I was walkin by myself on this other road that
didn’t
have any trees on it. I saw the camp on this other road and went and told us on the log road, but when we come back to the other road the camp was gone … and we walked and walked, and I guess that’s all, we didn’t get to the camp. Did you dream about the camp, Chris?”
“No,” Chris said.
He couldn’t tell David about his dream. There wasn’t any story to it. It wasn’t a crazy dream like David’s.
He was walking down Gorman Hill. Halfway down you couldn’t see any of the houses in the village at all, just the smoke from their chimneys. He was going swimming in the Baptizing Pool that was suddenly deep like a varicose rupture in the shallow vein of the brook. Some of the sweetish freshwater smell of the meadow seemed to get into the dream. He met Bess Delahunt on the bridge, and she kissed him.
That was nothing new. Bess was always kissing young boys and squeezing them in her big warm arms. Only suddenly he didn’t have any clothes on. And his body didn’t feel small and scared, as it had in dreams of nakedness before. It didn’t feel like being naked in front of his mother or any of theother women. Bess didn’t seem to notice it at all. And there was something else today besides just the squirming minute of face-nearness and the woman-smell of Bess’s black hair and the body-smell of her arms. Your own body seemed to swell in a dizzy clamorous way you could hardly stand it was so sweet. Every bit of it ran up to the spot where Bess’s flesh touched you, and then drained back, and then ran up again, faster and faster.
That was all. The dream shifted. He was at the pool with the other boys, not remembering her at all. And yet he felt as if he’d been someplace new; where he’d seen what people were really like. He’d never noticed before how flesh-whiteness and flesh-moistness were like no other whiteness or moistness, to see or to touch. His own flesh seemed to have a new light inside it. He knew that whenever he saw Bess
Chris opened one eye. He stretched both arms over his head. He drew his muscles taut, then let them subside all at once. He lay perfectly still for a minute, then threw back the quilts and stepped out of bed. He yawned and pulled up the woollen shirt he’d slept in, scratching his hips. He reached for his clothes on the chair and began to dress.
David’s clothes were in a tangle on the floor. His drawers were still inside his pants. His shirt sleeves were inside out. One of the garters that pinned to his waist was under the bed.
He ran to the window before he pulled on his drawers. To make sure the weather had declared itself to be fine all day. The others always had to be so certain about the weather before they’d let him go anywhere like this.
“I think I’ll leave off this old woollen shirt,” he said.
“What?” Chris said. “You don’t know how cold it gits, back there at night.”
“Cold!” It was a word that had no more real sense than the “meanings” in his speller.
“You’ll see,” Chris said.
David heard his mother and father talking downstairs. There was no special excitement in their voices. It was funny, they hardly seemed to know what was going on, sometimes.
“Is it fun back at the camp, Chris?” he asked. His face puckered up in a smile of excitement to hear the answer he was already certain of.
“Sure,” Chris said.
“I dreamed about it last night,” David said.
Chris’s hand hesitated for a second on a button. His own dream came back to him. It made the room seem small and strange.
“I dreamed,” David said, “you and Dad and me was on the log road, only it was funny”—he laughed—“all the trees was trimmed up like Christmas trees. And then it was like there was two of me. I was walkin with you, and still I was walkin by myself on this other road that
didn’t
have any trees on it. I saw the camp on this other road and went and told us on the log road, but when we come back to the other road the camp was gone … and we walked and walked, and I guess that’s all, we didn’t get to the camp. Did you dream about the camp, Chris?”
“No,” Chris said.
He couldn’t tell David about his dream. There wasn’t any story to it. It wasn’t a crazy dream like David’s.
He was walking down Gorman Hill. Halfway down you couldn’t see any of the houses in the village at all, just the smoke from their chimneys. He was going swimming in the Baptizing Pool that was suddenly deep like a varicose rupture in the shallow vein of the brook. Some of the sweetish freshwater smell of the meadow seemed to get into the dream. He met Bess Delahunt on the bridge, and she kissed him.
That was nothing new. Bess was always kissing young boys and squeezing them in her big warm arms. Only suddenly he didn’t have any clothes on. And his body didn’t feel small and scared, as it had in dreams of nakedness before. It didn’t feel like being naked in front of his mother or any of theother women. Bess didn’t seem to notice it at all. And there was something else today besides just the squirming minute of face-nearness and the woman-smell of Bess’s black hair and the body-smell of her arms. Your own body seemed to swell in a dizzy clamorous way you could hardly stand it was so sweet. Every bit of it ran up to the spot where Bess’s flesh touched you, and then drained back, and then ran up again, faster and faster.
That was all. The dream shifted. He was at the pool with the other boys, not remembering her at all. And yet he felt as if he’d been someplace new; where he’d seen what people were really like. He’d never noticed before how flesh-whiteness and flesh-moistness were like no other whiteness or moistness, to see or to touch. His own flesh seemed to have a new light inside it. He knew that whenever he saw Bess
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