Night Swimmers by Betsy Byars

Author:Betsy Byars [Byars, Betsy]
Language: eng
Format: epub
ISBN: 978-1-4532-9418-5
Publisher: Open Road Media

“IF YOU WANT TO see Arthur, now’s your chance,” Roy sang at the window.

Retta glanced up from the television set. She had been watching television all day, but she didn’t really know what she was seeing. The soap operas, the game shows, passed like one long, boring dream before her eyes. “What did you say?”

“Arthur’s in our yard, so if you want to see what he looks like up close, you can.”

“No.”

“I had to come in the house,” he said, his voice losing its happy lilt. “Arthur and Johnny were talking about something secret.”

Roy stood at the window with his hands in his pockets. He was hurt. He hated to be left out. Once in kindergarten he’d accidentally colored his George Washington face mask green and had not been allowed to march in the Parade of Presidents with the other kids. He had waited in the classroom with Miss Penny, weeping with the pain of exile, vowing never to be left out of anything again.

He glanced at Retta. He sensed that she really wanted to see Arthur up close but didn’t want to admit it. Out of kindness he began to describe Arthur to her.

“Well, he’s got on blue jeans with a patch in the back and a yellow T-shirt. There’s writing on the shirt, but I can’t read it. There’s a Band-Aid on his elbow and a watch on his arm. He’s got a—”

“Will you shut up? I am trying to watch television.”

“That show’s no good. It doesn’t even have good commercials.” Roy believed the quality of TV shows could be judged by the commercials. The most boring programs had commercials for false teeth glue and toilet paper.

“I’m not watching the commercials,” Retta said, giving him a cool nod. “I’m watching the program.”

Roy glanced out the window. “Arthur’s leaving now,” he reported. “He’s walking down the sidewalk.”

“Good.”

“He’s pausing, scratching his head, he’s turning, he’s—” Suddenly he broke off. He drew in a long, shuddering breath. “I smell the Bowlwater plant,” he said happily.

“Maybe you smell Arthur,” Retta replied, making an ugly face as she said the name. She did not take her eyes from the television set.

“No, it’s the Bowlwater plant. I’d know that smell anywhere.”

In his mind the plant was growing, reaching for the sky, shading the countryside with its huge leaves. The enormous flowers were swelling on stems thicker than his arms and sending out their magical fragrance, today, luckily, in his direction.

“I wish they’d close that plant down,” Retta said suddenly.

Roy looked at her. He was as astonished as if she had proposed doing away with the Atlantic Ocean. “They would never do that.”

“They should.”

“Anyway, why did you say close it down?” he asked, puzzled. “You can chop down a plant, maybe, or pull it up, but you can’t close down a plant.”

Retta turned her eyes from the television. She looked interested in Roy for the first time. “What do you think the Bowlwater plant is?”

“A plant.”

“What kind of plant?” she quizzed.

“A big plant.” He was careful not to commit himself.

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