“Really?” I said.
“Figure it out,” he said.
In another hour the bus turned into a twisting, pot-holed, narrow trail. After about twenty yards it was clear that the driver would not be able to go further.
“We’ll have to walk the rest of the way,” Eddie announced. “It’s not far.”
No one knew where we were, but clearly we were in the country. In the wooded foothills of something. Eddie made an announcement: “The Holiday-of-the-Month Club has brought you all for an unforgettable August weekend to beautiful Camp Starglow, just outside Windsor, Pennsylvania.” He explained that it was a kids’ summer camp but that we’d have it all to ourselves because the first session had just ended and the second wouldn’t begin until the middle of the next week. “Be careful what you leave lying around, won’t you?” he said. Everybody laughed.
Mrs. Taylor turned to me happily. “Did you bring your camping equipment?” she said.
“Mrs. Taylor,” I said, “despite my hearty good looks, I have a low sperm count and am a troubled man and a lousy sport.”
“You goyim,” she said, crinkling her nose.
“Just warn your husband,” I said calmly, “that if he so much as shakes hands with my wife I will break his legs for him.”
Mrs. Taylor stopped smiling. I could see I had disappointed her. She was not, after all, a bad woman; perhaps she was not even as silly as she seemed to be. Maybe this was just a routine — probably it was. At any rate, as she squeezed by me I felt I ought to make it up to her in some way. I pinched her behind. She turned on me furiously.
“It’s all talk, you,” she said in a low, dark voice. “That’s all it is,” she hissed. She began to cry.
“Look,” I said. “I’m sorry.”
The people filing past stopped to look at us. Spotting his wife, Taylor moved up the aisle through the crowd. “Here, what is this?” he demanded.
“Nothing,” I said. “It’s a mistake.”
“Marvin, be careful,” Mrs. Taylor sobbed.
“What is this?” Marvin said uncertainly.
“He’ll hurt you,” she said.
“Nobody’s going to hurt me,” Marvin said. His knees, below his Bermuda shorts, were shaking. I felt sorry for him.
“I’m sorry,” I said. “I just told your wife a filthy story and she took it the wrong way.”
“Oh,” he said, clearly relieved. “Is that all it is?” He lowered his voice and put his arm around his wife’s shoulders. “Honey,” he said, “you’ve got to be a sport about these things.” He winked at me.
“What’s going on?” Eddie said. He looked at Mrs. Taylor. “Hey, now,” he said, “the Holiday-of-the-Month Club is supposed to build up confidence. Otherwise what’s the good?”
“My fault,” I said.
I pushed past the people shuffling off the bus and caught up with Margaret. “Margaret, it’s a mistake,” I said. “Let’s pay the driver to take us back to the city.”
“Oh, Boswell,” Margaret said, “you’ve lost your sense of humor. My God, I know! You’re jealous of Marvin Taylor.”
“Nonsense,” I said, “it’s all t-a-l-k.”
The Taylors passed us. “See you later,” Marvin said significantly. He touched Margaret’s shoulder.
“I’m not a jealous man,” I said. “You have reason to know that. But I won’t raise another man’s child.”
“That’s ridiculous,” she said. “You’re ridiculous.”
“Accidents happen.”
“Do you actually think I’d sleep with Marvin Taylor?”
“Look, let’s not talk about it. You know how I feel.”
We followed Eddie to the guest lodge, and each couple was assigned a room. “Look,” Eddie said, “there’s something else. There are some cabins — not enough to go around or there wouldn’t be any problem, but I’ve got thirty keys. Who doesn’t think he’ll be wanting one?” Everybody groaned. “What a bunch,” Eddie said. “I never saw such a bunch. You ought to be ashamed of yourselves.” They laughed. “No volunteers, hey? No good sports in the crowd? Well, all right, all right We’ll auction them off. Proceeds to charity.”
“Crap,” Harris whispered to me. “He’d put the money in his pocket.”
Eddie help up a key and asked for a bid. The men laughed, but no one offered him anything for it. “All right,” he said at last, “I’ll throw them up in the air and you stallions can fight for them.” He flung the keys as high as he could and they came clattering down on the wooden floor of the lodge. Everyone scrambled for the loose keys. Eddie stood on the stairs and laughed. “What. a bunch,” he said. “Oh, well.”
In our room Margaret and I were changing into our bathing suits when someone tapped on the door. “Who is it?” Margaret asked.
“Oh, I’m sorry. I thought this was Mrs. Schmidt’s room.” It was Mrs. Taylor’s voice.
“That was your friend,” Margaret said.
I looked at her helplessly. “It’s pretty shabby, isn’t it?” I said.
“What’s shabby? This? This isn’t anything.”
“Our needs,” I said.
“Fuck it,” Margaret said.
I wondered again why she had married me. I suspected that when I finally knew, the reason would be dark, damaging. I wondered if 1 could ever be insane again, if I would ever recover my mad, unconfused Boswellian purposes.
“Let’s go down,” she said sadly.
That afternoon we swam and played basketball and threw softballs to each other. I am a good athlete, and though I had not done anything in a long time I moved with more certainty than any of the other men. I knew the women were watching me, and this was not unpleasant, but somehow I manipulated my body almost absently, with the peculiar preoccupation of someone in pain. Later we ate the sandwiches and drank the beer Eddie had brought from the town. That night, in slacks and heavy sweaters, we sat around the campfire which Eddie made and toasted marshmallows and drank bourbon. We sang “Going Home, Going Home” and “Swing Low, Sweet Chariot” and “The Battle Hymn of the Republic.” That is, the others sang and I listened; I do not know the words to songs.
We lay stretched out on blankets ripped from our cots. I gazed at the stars and into the orange fire. In the dark I could see shapes moving, people changing blankets and going around the campfire like ghosts. Gradually the voices flagged. Couples lay locked in each other’s arms.
Eddie shouted suddenly. “Come on, wake up, wake up. Let’s dance. There’s a wind-up phonograph in the theater and some records. Hey, Boswell, you’re just with your own wife, so I won’t be disturbing you. Come on, give me a hand with them.”
“That stupid bastard,” I said.
“Oh, go ahead,” Margaret said. “Help him.”
“He’s a jerk.”
“Help him with the machine,” Margaret said.
I got up reluctantly and walked over toward Eddie. He was grinning foolishly and looked rather like a very stupid devil in the glare of the fire. “No offense, right?” Eddie said.
“None taken,” I said.
“Good. Good. Here’s the key. The stuff’s on the stage.”
“Aren’t you coming with me?”
“What, and let the fire go out? Mrs. Taylor here will go with you,” Eddie said slyly.
“Look, what’s the matter with you?” I asked him.
“Hey, hey, easy,” he said “What’s wrong? You got our literature. Didn’t you read between the lines?”
As a matter of fact I hadn’t even seen their literature. It was Margaret who had told me about the club. Mrs. Taylor moved up beside me and took my arm. “I’ve got a present for you,” she said as we moved off. She was drunk. “I mean it. Because you were so nice to Marvin before.”