Midnight Yearnings - Rob Chilson

Midnight Yearnings - Rob Chilson, ebook

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ROB CHILSONMIDNIGHT YEARNINGSThere comes a time in every rightly constructed girl's life when she has araging desire to go somewhere and dig for buried treasure. This desire had comeupon Jan Conway in the autumn of the year. It was the third week of school, andall desire to live had departed from the scholars.Jan dismissed with a sigh Mr. Ladysmith's discussion of the First Ship and theFounders and reverted to her dreams of treasure. A wooden chest with a roundtop, and she paused to wonder, why a round top? Anyway, that was traditional --a wooden chest with a round top, reinforced with iron at the comers, and lockedwith a "massy" padlock.But where on all Columbia might such a thing be buried? And who was there tohave buried it? Jan Conway rued her lot, born on a colonial planet which hadonly two events in its short history: the Settlement, and the Rebellion. And thelatter had only lasted two weeks.Something cold, but affecting her like the heat of a suddenly opened stove door,passed across Jan's face: Mr. Ladysmith's gaze. Guiltily she brought her regardback to the room and straightened, trying to seem as if she had all along beenattentive."You might be standing on a pleasant lea," Mr. Ladysmith said dryly. "Haveglimpses that would make you less forlorn -- a sight of Proteus rising from thesea, or dear old Triton blowing his horn. However --"When he dropped her, Jan looked wonderingly about the school room. Everythingshe saw was so mundane as to bring a yawn to the statue of First Ship CaptainWillamette.That booklover, Chris Brinker, said, "Honor is a mere scutcheon," and looked atMr. Ladysmith for approval.He gave her a short look-- Mr. Ladysmith didn't take even Chris Brinker forgranted -- and nodded. "Indeed it is, as the Second Faction was soon to learn."Jan found herself unaccountably jealous of Chris Brinker. Mr. Ladysmith hadnever looked at her like that. She consulted her dictionary, but couldn't find"scutcheon."Later, Mr. Ladysmith rebuked Edric Tancredi, who was boasting of his travels --he'd been to Canyonhead at Grand Rapids. "Beware you do not suffer a fall likethat of Pombo the idolator," said he, "and of the other, the thief Slith." Stillsmarting, Jan knew she'd never find that in the dictionary either, and raisedher hand."How do you spell 'Pombo, 'sir?" she asked.Mr. Ladysmith looked at her for a moment, realized that she was sincerelycurious, and nodded, mostly, she saw, to himself. He spelled the word clearlyand watched curiously as Jan wrote it down. So did Chris Brinker.Next time she was on the terminal, Jan had the library search Poetry for"Pombo." No match. Worried, she broadened it to Literature in general, and itgave her a short story title: "The Injudicious Prayers of Pombo the Idolator."It was very short, so she read it on the spot. It ended with this strange Pombofeeb falling off the edge of the Earth into space, falling and falling.Wow, thought Jan. What a weird idea.She looked at Mr. Ladysmith. Edric was liable to fall off of Columbia? At least,fall off of the truth. Jan sighed. Impossible to understand Mr. Ladysmith. Maybehe meant both.At last recess, Jan purposefully sought out Chris Brinker. It was almost hotout, so everybody else had left off their jackets and were running and yelling.Chris wore her jacket and huddled in the shade at one side of the school yard.When Jan approached her, Chris seemed to shrink into herself a little. Shealways did that; Jan had seen it ten thousand times. Now she noticed it, but shehad other things on her mind."What does 'scutcheon' mean?" she demanded."It means 'nothing.'"Jan hesitated. "You mean it doesn't mean anything?" Mr. Ladysmith had understoodher, and it had meant something to him."No, I mean scutcheon is nothing. It means nothing you see?" Chris was stilldefensive."Oh. Then -- Honor is a mere nothing -- that's what you were saying.""Yes." Still defensive."Then why didn't you just up and say it?" Jan demanded, more vehement than shehad meant to be. Chris got stubborn if you got pushy."It's from Shakespeare," Chris said stiffly."Oh." Jan stared at Chris, not knowing how to proceed.After a moment Chris said, "It's from Henry the Fourth, Part one. I've -- myparents have an audiovisual of it.""Oh." At least she hadn't read the book, as Jan had at first feared. "Is itgood?""Oh, yes."Jan scuffed her toe in the dirt, at a loss, and was rescued by a yell fromPhilly Wu. "I gotta go!""Whaddayou wanta do, Jan?" Bobby Wilson asked, or demanded."Dig a hole," she said vaguely, thinking of treasure.Chris Brinker laughed, to the others' irritation. Jan took no further part inthe argument about what game to play. When it was settled, she played Run SheepRun without much interest, to the exasperation of her friends."Pay attention, Jan!" BeBe Feder cried. "You're gettin' dumb as Chris Brinker!"When dear old Triton rang his bells for the end of recess, it was as big arelief to Jan as to Chris. The remaining classes of the day, seeming endless,eventually ended. Jan was slow in getting out of the classroom.BeBe Feder, Philly Wu, and Bobby Wilson ran on without her. She heard Phillysay, "Never mind that stupid Jan, she's walkin' around in a daydream." Then theywere gone, their feet thunderous on the boardwalk. Jan walked home slowly, notcaring, her mind far away from Port Michigan.Might there not have been pirates in space, she asked herself, who might havechosen Columbia to hide their treasure in? The thought of pirates in space wasso romantic a notion in itself that she spent the homeward trip garnering thetreasure rather than digging it up, zooming through space, pouncing uponunsuspecting ships and orbital factories, terrifying everyone while laughingsinisterly and twirling her mustache.When she got home she was immediately sent out to play, for her sister JoAnnehad been forbidden to go to a picnic on Melancholy Heights with the other girlsand boys from high school, and was rebelling all over the house. Momentarily Janregretted not being older than eleven. With a sigh she took a doughnut and twocookies and departed, spurning the offer of an apple.Phil, BeBe, and Bobby were gone when she went around to their houses. She lookedfor them in a shrubbery cavern, a baseball field, and an abandoned shed whichthey frequented, without luck. Lastly, she tried the docks on Starport Bay.Resentfully she thought: they've abandoned me.Jan stood looking out over the waters of the bay, remembering the glorious timelast summer when the tramp starship Rosa had planeted in unexpectedly. Now theship was long gone, and she was still stuck here on dumb old Columbia, wherenothing had ever happened, where nothing would ever happen, and nothing couldever happen. Philly and Bobby and the other boys had talked a lot about stowingaway. Now Jan wished she had.Jan was late getting in to supper. "Jan! Where have you been?" her mother cried."Hurry up and set the table!"Dreamily Jan did this, and stood staring dumbly at nothing until her mother camein and started rearranging the plates and flatware, saying, "Take up the greenbeans, Jan, put them in the crock -- Jan! I swear, if it isn't one girl it's theother --"When the meal was served, her mother went and bullied JoAnne out of her room andto the table, where she declared, red-eyed, she wouldn't eat a bite. As Jan wasalso silent and their older brother absent at the Academy, it was a quiet meal,punctuated by the conversation of the dog in the next yard with an enemy twoblocks down."I would so have been home before bedtime," JoAnne said sullenly, but her motherdeclined to take the bait."Dad, did you ever read Space Ranger and the Pirates?" Jan asked.He looked up from concentrating on the audiocast of the news murmuring quietlyover the table. "Why, no, I don't believe so. How about Treasure Island? I readthat," he said.Jan hadn't. She had merely seen the A/V, so she said only, "It had a bigtreasure." She fell to dreaming of mountains of "pieces of eight" (whatever theywere) over her roast beef, and had to be reminded by her mother to eat. Absentlyshe consumed beef, potatoes, gravy, yams, green beans, and a tomato sliced andsalted.Trouble came when she asked for dessert, and her mother told her she'd alreadyhad it. "Three cookies that I know of, and a doughnut --""But I didn't spoil my supper! I want dessert?Being somewhat well fed, Jan accepted a broad molasses cookie. Nibbling it, shestood looking about the front room for-- Proteus, or Triton, or -- She did notknow what she wanted, but she wanted it unbearably. She pulled out a book almostat random, sighing, and lay down on the couch with it: Edgar Allen Poeillustrated by Arthur Rackham.Jan turned immediately to the full-color illustration for "Eleonora," whichdepicted a young -- a very young man sitting next to a younger girl, youngereven than JoAnne, and nude. She had breasts, though small, and surely had herperiod, too. Jan sighed, and looked at the young man. He wore only a sort ofshirt that came below his hips, leaving his legs bare.Jan contemplated this picture for some time, thinking of her ideal, a highschool boy named Irwin Blane, about whom she had told no one, even BeBe Feder.The near passage of her unseeing mother caused her hastily to blow the cookiecrumbs out of the book and flip to the front, where she reread "The Cask ofAmontillado.""Jan! Jan, come dry JoAnne's dishes!" her mother cried.Jan awoke with a start and went in... [ Pobierz całość w formacie PDF ]

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