Free Camp Pleasant by Richard Matheson Page B

thing I came up with was the fact that he was already short one counselor with Merv ousted. He didn’t like me but he couldn’t spare me. Not yet.
    I found Tony in his bunk, burrowed under the covers, trembling with soundless sobs. I felt tightness fill my chest and throat as I stood by the bunk, looking down at him. Then, with a very tired sigh, I gathered together his things and put them all in his near-empty trunk. Across this I laid his bat like a squire laying down the sword of his slaughtered knight.
    I sat down on the mattress beside him. “Tony.”
    Silence. I put my hand on the shaking lump that was his head. “Tony,” I said again, “Pull the cover off your head, Tony. I want to talk to you.”
    “I ain’t
goin’!”
    “Tony, take down the blanket.”
    “No, I ain’t
goin’
!
“
    Gently, I drew back the covers. His thin cheeks were wet with tears.
    “Tony,” I said, hoping I’d just imagined the break in my voice.
    “Why’d ya
let
‘im?” he asked me pitifully. “Why’d ya
let
‘im, Matt? You
said
I could go t’the ball field.”
    “I know, Tony,” I said. “There was nothing wrong in your going. Mister Nolan just thinks there was.”
    “Then I don’t have t’go?” His thin voice rising hopefully.
    I sighed. “I’m afraid so, Tony,” I said. “That’s what he wants.”
    He drew in a sob jerkily, his chest shaking with it. “Who’s he think
he
is?” he asked. “King
Shit?”
    “Shhh, Tony,” I said. “That won’t help.”
    “I
hate
‘im,” he said bitterly. “Who’s he think he is?”
    “Come on, Tony,” I said. “I think we’d better get it over with.”
    “But I
like
this cabin. I know all the fellas in it.”
    “I know, Tony,” I said. “But I can’t do anything about it. Really I can’t Tony.”
    “No!” he sobbed, tears pulsing from his eyes again. “I ain’t goin’. He can’t make me! The dirty son-of-a—”
    My finger over his lips cut him short. From the mouths of babes, the phrase occurred ironically.
    Then Marty Gingold came in from the dock, dripping lake drops on the floor. He stared at Tony with that brutal frankness of the young. “What’sa matter?” he asked.
    “Nothing,” I said. I got up and blew out a disgusted breath. “Come on, Tony,” I said. “You’re only going next door.”
    “No.” Sullen; without hope.
    “‘S he bein’ transferred?” Marty Gingold inquired interestedly.
    I nodded curtly. “I’m going next door a second, Tony,” I said. “Get your things moved now.”
    “No.”
    “Who we gettin’?” asked diplomatic Marty Gingold. “Hope it’s someone that can play ball.”
    “Shut the hell up,” said Tony.
    “Fungoo,” answered Marty.
    “Oh … shut up both of you!” I muttered irritably as I went out of the cabin.
    I found a disgusted-looking boy flinging clothes into a trunk with furious motions. I glanced at the empty bunk.
    “So you’re the one,” I said. “What’s your name?”
    “Riley!”
He flung the words the way he flung his swim suit into the trunk. “What’s
yours? “
    “Mud,” I said. He paid no never mind.
    “What’sa
matta
with this dump
anyway
?” he asked angrily of the air. “Why the hell do I have t’transfer for some lousy wop!”
    “He isn’t any happier about it than you are,” I said.
    “Then what the hell’s he
comin’
for?”
    “Politics,” I said.
    “So
what
!,” he answered.
    That was when I heard the thumping and the bellowing curse from my own cabin.
“Oh….”
With a curse of my own, I lunged out the doorway and bounded to the steps of my cabin.
    I found Tony underneath a punching Marty Gingold; a saliva-frothing Tony whose hands were twisted into bone-white claws on Marty’s back.
    “Bite
me, will ya!” yelled Marty Gingold, driving a fist into Tony’s head. I dragged his punching pudginess off of Tony.
    “What’s the matter with you!” I stormed.
    “He
bit
me!” accused Marty.
    “Son-of-a bitch
bastid,” Tony said in a low,