Page:Jay Little - Maybe—Tomorrow.pdf/333

 afternoon. It had been fun. He had really enjoyed himself. Glenn Rogers had been so nice … Gosh he was a swell boy … He pulled himself erect, got out of his car, and turned to the front of the house, stepping heavy on the paved driveway. The pavement was hard under foot and he recalled the softness of the thick carpet of leaves leading to the creek. The huge green wall of vines dipping to the edge of the banks, the old tree Rogers had dived off, was all so clear in his thoughts. He rubbed his eyes as he walked, half-contented, and dreamily visualized the naked body on the end of the log.

Then he heard it. For a moment he was not sure it wasn't just a shrill bird; a high cadence in the voice of the woods deceiving him; but before him came the unmistakable squeal of tires and the locking of brakes. It was followed by a man's voice in a flat declarative. "Gaylord," it commanded … "Come here."

The woods with all its beauty suddenly disappeared, and the water in the creek had become black and lost. He stood rooted to the spot. A twinge bisected his larynx. He glanced at his wrist watch with a stalling-for-time maneuver. The car looked familiar, there were many such models, but the word "Gaylord" sounded strange. He walked up to the car expecting to find someone he did not know. He looked into the car window. Bob … it was Bob Blake. Bob bidding, his dark features flushed and excited; and the violent face he saw was the same that had haunted the background of his life, shadowy and unrevealed. But this was not the boy he loved. This was not that boy's face. This one was full of hate with black unruly hair and stormy demanding eyes. Blake was definitely in a stage of agitation. He had never called him by his full name before. Gaylord's brain was confronted by a white barrier thick and high, a barrier that he could not pierce or leap. His words came stumblingly as he tried to speak … "Why Bob … it's you." He looked into the stern eyes, but they did not return his glance. "What's happened? Are you all right?"

Serene egotism radiated from Blake's features. "Get in," he said, "get in, Gaylord."

He shivered miserably on the seat. He sat very quietly looking at Blake through eyes strangely marine in color and depth. He seemed a changeling now, an Undine-creature condemned to spend his life gazing from sea caves at the only mortal who could give him a soul. 323