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I.
~oliO=> 8
CONTENTS
TH E DA NCER .. ." ................ " .... " ......" " ........ .." ......."... ... ..... ........ ......... .. ... ......... Short Story by Nancy Barnett
Page 3
AND THE OAK HUNG DOWN ITS BRANCHES " "" .. "" "" .. "" .. """" .. "".. . Poem by Eric Reichenbach
Page 7
BI G TIM E OWEN "" .. """"". """""" ..... "" .. """ .. """""" .. ." .... "" "" ,, .. ,, .. .. ,,",,. Short Story by Virginia Mordell
Page 8
SA [j IE ;S SU RREND ER ... """""""" " .. .. "." ...... "" "." ... .""" "" .. ." .... ".~ .. " " ... "".. Short Story by Kathleen Rosso
Page 11
CHI NCO T EAQ UE """.,," " ... "." .... " ..... .......... .... .. .. .. " ... " ." .. """""""" .... ,, .. ,,. Short Story by Andrea Zurybida
Page 12
SO ULS CA PE '"'''' '''''' '' """ .. """.""" ..... ,,".,, ... ,,",, .... "" "" ... .... """,, ... ,,..... . Poem by Elizabeth R.Warner
Page 14
PARADISE ISLAND Poem by Thomas F. Lombardi
Page 16
NATURE OVERHAULED Justine Church
Page 17
DAVID MAKES A DECISION " ..... " """ "" "" .. " "" "" .. "". " ... ,, ,, ........ .. ,," "" .. "" Sho rt Story by Sister Constance Sabalauskas . CS .F.N .
Page 18
TH AT ILL US I ON .",," """" .. """ ". "" ....... " .. "." ... " .. """ .. " .. " " .. "."""" .. ,, ,, .... Poem by Sheila Mary McLaugh lin
Page 25
PRAY PRI NCI PA LL Y " .. " """" ".""""" " .. "" ... ". """"""" .,,"",, .. ,,"" "".""",,. Poem by Elizabeth R. Warner
Page 26
I LLUST RATIONS by Fra nce s Capriotti PHOTOGRAPH by Gerald Levin The Folio represents the efforts of the English Department of Holy Fami Iy Co lie ge. The magazine is a journal of contemporary artistic expression of both the faculty and the student body of Holy Fami Iy College . Contributions are also accepted from students and faculties of institutions other than Holy Family . Copyright c 1974 by Holy Fomily College, Philadelphia, P·ennsylvania. All rights reo served. No port of this publication may be reproduced without the consent of the 'lub I i sher.
THE DANCER
flaming hair bounced with each precise kick as th!.: illusic f JlJr erblarcd from Ileal' the bar. The nickering lights flashed her quick, accuratc motions against the orange I¡v alls. Her silver uress was wri Ilk led from the cons tant. en!.:rge ti e move n~e nt cll1d the profuse sweating of her three nightly performances, yet her green eyes danced as vi, aeiously as her slim legs . Someday she would show them , this cheering. \\histling audience. She'd show them that her danee was an arl: someUay she lVould make it to the top of theatrical choreography. It wasn't her fault that her family didn't have the money to send her to ballet school. It was 1J0thing hut fate that kept her in this filthy place! Each thought struck a 1I0te ill her mind as sharp as thos!.: from the tiny piano. Money I\asll't all she craved. Even more than that. she wamed status to be somebody. She arched her ned and hcld her head high as she thought of it. i\ pr'illl<J donna might not have a more adoring audiellee than thes!.: eh!.:ering, whistling clods at her feet. but she was somebody! Hcr rout ille end!.:d in a flurry of frenzied notes. Heat el1\'eloped the pla!.:e, and the swirling smo).;e from the cigarettes almost strangled her. She ne!.:Ued fresh air and a drink . These nightly stints were beginning to lIear on her nencs. When lVould Brigs give her the go-ahead? It was si, months ago tonight th:.!t he promised her a spot on the line for his new shOll. This dub act would .iust be temporary .. he had said. Shy was pr!.:tty; she was a great dancer; the customers lIked her personalIty. \\'hy did he keep stalling her like this ? Funny. He hadn't been around the club for a eouplc of months . IVait ulllil she saw him again! She ' d tell him what she thought of him! She'd tell him she'd quit the eluh if he didn't find her a spot and fast! What 1V0uid he do then, without a club girl 011 such short notice? If a threa t wouldn't mo ve him, then she'd .iust have to try something elsc. . Pushing the stage eurtaills aside, she turned to lIal" offstage when she saw Brigs dowll the hall. " Well. if it isn't the hig mall in person! " she called sareastieally.
"What do we owe for the honor of big man's presence?" He was fashionably dresscdin a slightly tight beigc suit. quite befitting a club owner. " It's been a long limc, hasn't itr" "Yeah. It sure has! I'm glad you could spare thc time to stop by the old place! 1 wanted to talk to you . " HLooks like we shared the same thoughts." he said, appraising her with an unsmiling sweep of the eyes . This was it, she thought excitedly. She'd finally gel the uptown .job. Her parents would be proud of her. Her mother could comc and watch her dance again as she did when she was a little girl at school. Shc half closed her eyes and eouldsce herself ill a beautiful costuille with thousands of beautiful people watching her. Brigs was a good mall! He Imew her worth! He wouldn ' t use her the way the others had! "I'm closing the club ," Brigs said abruptly. "I dOIl't need you allY 0, more. She would move out of thaI dump on Sevcnth Strect LInd move uptown wi th all those beautiful people. "I ' m finished with the club," he said again. more harshly. 'Aren ¡t you listening to me?' ''I'm sorry." she emerged from her daydream. " What's that vou were saying?" "I said I' m selling the club and moving out of this business." lie rcpeated each word emphatic all y. "You don't know how happy that makes me! A guy lilie you doesn't helong in aioint like thi s . When will we be moving out ?" "What? " "When will we be moving out?" she repealcd wearily. "W e PTe not moving ouL/ Pm Illoving out. I dOIl't need you any more . .. The visions drained from her mind . . . don't need you any more . He couldn't mean that! He ' d promiscd . . . . . . "But what about my job in the line?" she stuttered. " \\hy can't I . go uptown with you? " At first, his cold stare was all that answered. Then he sighed. " You just won't fit with the girls up there . The y're nice girls. Educated. You know, nice manners. Clas s . Youiust \\ouldn 't fit." " But can they dance, Brigs? Can they? " She clutched his arill. "I can dance, Brigs! I'm pretty and 1 c an d an. ce l You said so yoursclf. You said ... . " 0
" ) said I was closing out dtis dub." Brigs jerked his arm from her grasp and strode down the corridor ""ithout looking back. She leaned against the wall. Just wouldn't fit? Why? Would nobody e ver give he r a chance to prove she could make herself fit? Slowly she walked to the dressing room and unzipped the silver dress, mechanically lctting it fall to the floor and watching the sparkles from its sheen dancc on the ceiling. Slowly she gathered up her makeup and slung the silve r dress over her arm. The night was stifling, and the concrete was hot from the day's sun. As she ambled listlessly home , the words echoed in her ears. " Just wouldn't fit . . . don't need you any more." She was hungry and the apartment rent was due in three days -- another headache in her ove rloaded mind. Turning the corner , she saw an idiotic-looking man across the street leaning against the clapboard wall. She had seen him earlier in the bar, but hc was not a regular. Probably just another big spender down here slumming, she thought. As she stepped down into the street, the man stomped out his fat cigar with a grinding motion and approached her. Her first instinct was to retreat back into the club, but adventure overruled her common sense . Turning toward the man in his well-pressed suit, she asked, " What brings you out here?" "Maybe I'm looking for a productive investment," he answered quietly, "but obviously I've come to the wrong place." The girl noticed how ugly his features were. The elegant clothes did not hide the ruddy complexion, nor did the panama hat hide his shaggy gray hair. Yet he talked like a gentleman. Investment? Here? Maybe he was going to keep the club open . ... No, she would not be fooled . She would not let this stranger think she was curious. "Then why're you standing out here in the street?" she asked s uspiciou s ly. "Plenty of good drinks inside. What do you think you'll find out here?" He chuckled briefly before answering. "What are you doing out here yours elf? Is n' t the show going on tonight?" , "Sure .is!" she glanced at the silver dress hanging ovcr her arm. Res e ntment stirred in her. "I nced some fresh air. That's all!!" Angrily she kicked at a picce of coal that had fallen from a wagon and watched it shatte r into fragments , against the wall. "Coal -- in the
city?" She looked at it for a moment in wonder. "Who still uses coal in the city?" "You look lonesome," the man said quietly, moving toward her. "Can I buy you a drink?" She kicked at one of the splinters of coal. "A drink, Johnny?" Her voice sank to a bitter whisper. "You can't see a dream break, can you? Funny. They iust tell you . . . they just say ... " her voice mimicked Brigs. "You're not good enough for uptown!" Abruptly she turned and ran down the shadowy street. She was panting when s he reached the entrance to the apartment house. Her footsteps made clapping noises as her toes hit the backs of the wooden stairs. She climbed the seven flights to her door. The antiquated building was like a bal<er's oven, and the disk jockey's voice was blaring from her neighbor's apartment: "It's 97 degrees in WIBG-Iand tonight." The voice cast one more unwanted truth on her burning ears. Pushing her hair off her damp forehead, she shook her cluttered pocketbook groping for her tarnished apartment key. Flinging the door open, she threw her club costume and make-up on the chipped metaltopped table. Nervously opening the warped door of the kitchen cabinet, she rummaged th rough the Corn Flakes box until she found the small cellophane packet. The rippling of the cellophane as she opened it reminded her of the tiny flames crackling in the campfires on cool nights at the lake where she spent so many childhood days. Quickly jerking herself from her daydream, she triumphantly rolled the tiny cube between the palms of her hands and was enchanted by the dancing tinsel colors ari.d she held it up to the rain-streaked window. Popping the cube into her mouth, she sucked the melting sweetness and slouched over the worn blue velour sofa. She stared at the faded , flowered carpet, wondering why she had never noticed the thirty shades of red, marveling at the pattern's beauty in the rug's worn pile. Suddenly her head throbbed. Her body stiffened with terror. And she bolted toward the door screaming with fear. But it was not the door she ran through. The driving rain was beginning to cool the hot COIlcrete far below.
Nancy J. Barnett
6
Then they load you in the lorry, And take you where you'll fina . That you're etched with flying sp'i~ers; And your windows, always blind Ha ve protected from the cider Those fermentations in your brain Which have drifted like a glider;
7
BIG TIME OWEN
66
M
R. BRIMM, you're fired! " That's nine jobs in that many months for Owen Brimm, graduate of the Ford School of Big Business, ninety-second in a class of ninety-three. Since his graduation, Brimm has lost jobs in every field, from a ladies underwear salesman to a census poll-taker, where he was the only man in histor y who thou ght it necessary to count household pets on the average of one hundred thousand people in a district. Mr. Brimm, a five foot three inch one hundred and thirty pounder, whose complexion would make Count Dracula look as if he had a Florida suntan, had never done anything in his life that was momen to us or even worth exaggerting to sound exciting. Consequently, he was struck with only one great idea in his life, or rather. he borrowed an idea that he used to his advantage . It all started when he lost his job with I. B. Gordon Incorporated. Photographic Equipment Manufacturer. He immed iately went to the Sure Shot Placement Bureau, an employment agency and one Owen had visited many times before. As he sat in the waiting room , pondering his fate and wondering what his ne xt job would be, he promised himself that he wouldn't mess this one up. Haphazardly paging through the magazines on the table. he came across Ripley's " Believe It or Not" s tory about subliminal advertising. Into a television program a network had cut announcements that fl ashed on the screen too quickly to be consciously seen but, according to the story, not too quickly to transmit through the eye to the subconscious an impression which, subsequentl y, wo uld s uggest action to the individual. In the television test case the suggested action was the purchasing of a particular brand of soft drink. Sa les of that soft drink increased markedly the day after the television program. It was after reading the story that Owen Brimm began to think big. He left the placement agency, elated with the thought that by flashing the right message to the right people he could take on the wo rld in a small matter of time. Television wasn't possible; photography was the more probable means . He had bought plenty of photo equipment with the
8
discount offered to employees of Gordon, Inc. Knowing little about actual camera operation, Owen decided to base hi s whole design on the strobe. The first thing he'd do would be to bu y many le ns covers for hi s flash attachment. Then, he would write a me ssage on the inside of the flash lens, and, whi le taking a picture of someone, th e mess age would flash into his s ubject 's eyes and into th e subject's s ubconsciou s. Being only the power of suggestion, O",e n figured it would be neces s ary to repeat the fl ash several times before it would take effect. All he had to do now was find his proper s ubj ect an d the proper s ituation . The search was not easy. It too\( a large bribe to get his cousin, a professional photographer, to give Owen some job references . Owen finally chose Wa lter Richardson, a ve ry wealth y banker who wanted a photographer to do a spread on hi s only daughter, Beverly, on the occasion of her twenty-fi rst birthday and her social debut. Gathering a few forged letters of recommendation and some borrowed photographs for hi s portfolio , Owen presen ted himse lf to the Richardson family as a profi cien t, s ucc ess ful photographe r and got the job. T he assignment would ta ke several days of s hooting in order to capture Beverly's every mood , figuring he would need several days to reach he r subcon scio us mind. On the fir s t day of shooting, Owen used th e message . 'Owe n is a nice man. " That evening, Beverly related to her father the occurrences of the da y and threw into the conversation \vhat a nic e man Owen was. The second day the message was "Owen is a ttracti ve"; the third . "Give Owen a little kiss," and , as Owen was packing up his e quipm e nt for the day, Beverly walked ove r to him and gave him a \(iss on the cheek. Owen was hone s tl y astounded and wondered whether this was a coincidence or was hi s plan really working? Now was the time to s tart a mor e seriou s se ries of messages that would be used for th e next two days; namely , "I love Owen." At the e nd of the fifth day, Beverly re lated her und yi ng love , and bet wee n hugs and kisses on the sixth day, the me ssage read "Never anyone else but I Owen," thu s insuring Beverly's faithfulness. Now , for the final day of s hooting and the final message which would decide for Owen whether his plan was a s uccess or failure, Owen flas hed "Propose to Owen." Owen Rrimm hasn' t been back to the Sure Shot Agency. He married
9
¡
Beverly Richardson the following month and now sits on the Board of Beverly's daddy's bank. He still takes pictures of his beloved wife, and who knows? He may still rule her thoughts, especially when he wants to avoid those long, boring society parties.
Virginia Mordell
SADIE'S SURRENDER
§
ADIE STARED at the brownness and the emptiness and tried to find something of the past to console her. The only thing she recognized was the old shack belonging to Mrs. Jensen. But now it looked so ~ilapidated and out of place that she onl y pitied it. Next to the house was a pile of car scraps. Oh , how this di sg usted her. What she and Matthew had gone through to get their first car! And now people discarded them like so many used tissues! She supposed that they would call this progress, too. The only trees that were left stood in thoughful silence awaiting their sentence. Sadie remembered the trees as having been so tall , but now they were stooped over as if they had felt the blows of what they called progress. A backfire from one of the trucks brought Sadie back to the present. She saw the trucks and the gigantic earth movers circling, joining together, and then circling again, slashing the new road across the landscape. One huge wheel was indifferently crushing the ground where her garden used to be when things were alive and beautiful and green. As she turned to see if the taxi cab was still there, she caught a glimpse of the opposite side of the road . Once more , the increasingly familiar lump in her throat returned. That is the way the trees looked
In
seventy years ago when she and Matthew first came here to build their dream house. But progress didn't care about dreams and houses and old foll{s. She remembered the day so clearly. Two years wasn't such a long time ago. Or was it? In that time, she knew that she had lost all pride in her appearance. No one came to call on her in the new neighborhood. The young mothers wouldn't even let her babysit for the children - even after telling them she reared six of her own! She had no more purpose in life. The trees could become wood and paper; she could become nothing more in this life. Her thoughts turned to Matthew. She missed him. He had lived and died here as she had wanted to do. This is what they had planned. Sadie turned to walk back to the cab. Her eyes were blocked by tears from the past , and her ears were blocked by noises from the present. Sadie never heard the screams of the taxi driver, and she never saw the car. But as the car shook her body, she knew that this once she would not mind the future.
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CHINCOTEAGUE
If SOLATED FROM
the Virginia coast by a vast stretch of the Atlantic, lithe island of Assateague defiantly remains unmarred by any human touch. Its sole inhabitants are the herds of wild horses that have roamed the island for more than two centuries. Except for the tracks made by the sea-crabs as they scuttle across the beach, the imprint of hooves in the sand is the only testimony of life. Then, in July, the peaceful existence of Assateague is disrupted, as the people of the nearby island of Chincoteague plan the herd's annual trek across the Chincoteague Bay. On the morning of the roundup, the bay is littered with yawls, yachts, and canoes, spilling over with spectators . anxiously awaiting the unforgettable sight of the noble breed's struggle against the powerful Atlantic current. The horses are herded to the fairgrounds, where throngs of prospective bidders clamor around the corral. When the auction proceedings conclude, the remaining horses swim the bay once again toward the freedom of their home. From the cabin in northern Virginia where I spent my summers, the journey to Chincoteague was a short one - and one that my grandfather, despite his age and failing health, would never miss. Our campsite at Chincoteague was a sliver of sand, rimmed with tall marsh grass that rippled like the waves of the nearby ocean when the sea wind gently stirred. At sunset, the blood-sucking mosquitoes which bred in the marches would swarm upon us , and we would build a fire for protection. It was then that my grandfather would always retell the tale of the Spanish galleon journeying to the New World with a cargo of fine stallions and of the fury of the storm that had splintered the galleon, compelling the horses to swim to Assateague for survival. I would gaze into the leaping fire, hypnotized by his soft, reverent voice and the soothing whisper of the surf. In the summer which I most vividly recall, our rowboat was one of
the first on the bay. A grey mist lightly veiled the island. I closed my eyes to exclude all other sensations but the chimerical movement of the boat upon the waves. The air, redolent with the fragrance of the sea, was chill y yet, and the water was icy to the touch. Slow I y, the bay began to fill with boats, and the quiei: of the morning was punctuated by the rumble of motors, vibrating like base drums. About mid-morning, someone yelled that the horses were in sigh t, but because our craft was hemmed in by much larger ones, I never saw the herd until it scrambled onto the shore . Most of the boats then turned toward the Chincoteague; ours alone headed for Assateague. The keel of the boat sliced the water, shooting the salty spray into our faces. By the time we reached the shore, all traces of coolness had vanished under the intensely white sun. As I ran toward the thunderous surf, with the unbearably hot sand squishing between my toes , I was overwhelmed by the constant movement of the island; the mountainous dunes shifted with each gust of wind ; the blue-white waves incessantly lashed out at the beaches in undefinable fury. The land seemed almost to live. So engrossed was I in my observations that I failed to see the lone stallion poised alertly beside the dune until I met him face-to-face. He arched his powerful neck and pawed nervously, but yet he did not turn away. As he stood before me , the wind gently fingering his mane , I thought that I had never seen a creature so aristocratic and spirited. He gazed upon me without . fear. Then his body tensed. and whinnying triumphantly, he reared up into the air. I cowered to the ground. Upon raising my eyes , I caught a glimpse of him as he disappeared into the safety of the woods. The raucous screams of the sea gulls shattered the silence. They seemed to be protesting my presence indignantly. Indeed , I suddenly s ensed that I was an intruder in this land of unrestrained , uncontrolled vastnes s. I felt that I was a threat to it , because where man was, "ci viii zation" would follow eventually , and civilization would mean doom to all that was wild and free on the island. I was glad that when the pounding surf rose the ne:\t morning, my footprints would be eradicated forever. leaving no traee of a human path.
Andrea ~urybida
13
SOULS CAPE
More earth-deep sea-sweep thall brainscape. Verb-dcfieient, Living next to nowhere. But crawling lonely on, I summer-ize self, whitely.
To sparkle somehow solid ly, To outshine qualities of doom, At eventide. divinely-paralleled, I dreamunsolid soldier of self.
Alone. Thought. Alone in thought. In thought alone, On creasing, crested soul-waters. slowly. solely unmoved yet crawling lonely on , A pale pink broth of tension-present tense surmises me.
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To summarizeThe sometimes thought of soulseapes in heat-breezes. Red-and- burning. fevered , murmuring forever . Costing more in minutes than in mind-peace. Still. the self-of-self survives.
Clinging. Then and nOI-\. I think I thought in clinking brain-ehainsof Balance, of Fullness. of GrowthSanity. Still. And. Crawling. Quickly. Everywhere . Still. But. Resting . Peace-filled. Ever-Here.
Elizabeth R. \Varner
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Pt\Rt\D/SE ISLAND
t\n exotic place -Where the Gulf Stream wends its way And the Trade Winds gently hlow. . There where doud and tree tops touch: /\ native lI'elcome and then a sparkling road That stretchcs clear across the other side: Some trees droop and llIat the ground with hanging While others show the pain of bygonc hurricanes .
IIlOSS
A corner resencd for hungry tourists \\'ho sip pop Who wade and emulate the natives' rhythmic step And there it ends -But there's a little path that winds a\~a) Into a region near yet far: Unvisited serene and still unstained. 1\ blue lagoon where palm trees cut away the sky. A nook where sand is erystal-Hhite and water soapy-warm But danger lurks -In s qualls that spring upon you like a cat! The silence and the beauty soft ly merge: The noonday splendor brol(cn only by a gull. But that time's past -And winter 's strength is fierce. The sno\\ mounts high: the wind blo\\s cold. The sparrow's skating on tile bath. But recollection serves to satisfy the \,icc That an island waits whieh men ~all Paradise. Thomas F. Lombardi.
16
Jr.
NATURE OVERHAULED
HAVE YOU ever accepted an invitation to "Come with me" and found yourself standing within swishing distance of a super high¡ way facing a cement artery in the making? Stay here with me now and get caught up in the swirling clouds of clay dust, diesel smoke, engine fumes. Listen to the medley of roars, zooms, clangs and squeaks as mighty man and his machines change the face of the earth. Behold the naked, naked earth, probed, pushed, and piled anew by gargantuan monsters working in tandem. The tiny tractor pushes the leveler, and they together inch the gigantic hauler slight inclines. Once it reaches level ground, it takes off across the flats like a happy snowmobile. Then suddenly turn your back on this scene. With the continued roar of sound effects, is it not difficult to really focus your attention on the dense foliage that rises up sharply in front of you? Even the trees themselves seem to be watching what's going on across the road. As in any crowd one can pick out the curious, the indifferent, the fearful, the stubborn; just the slightest breeze sets the mood. The mood snaps as we squeeze into our mini-monster and roar off.
Justine Church
n
DA VID MAKES A DECISION
66G
EE, SUMMER'S GREAT!" David lay under the maple tree and lazily ran his foot up and down along the rough bark. You can really do a lot of things - swim and hike and explore." David slid his arms more comfortably under his head. The cool grass felt good. "But the best of all," David decided. "is doing nothing at all until you get tired of doing nothing." His toes moved over the humps and bumps, dents and ridges of the tree . "David, where are you?" called his mother. "Now what?" David kicked the tree vigorously. Slowly he pulled his feet down and got up. He threw his sneakers over his shoulder and trudged toward the house. His mother was standing in the kitchen peeling potatoes. "David." she smiled as he came in, "have you cleaned out the garage yet? The day is almost gone, and your father asked you to do that today." Suddenly David remembered, "Oh. I'll do it. Only I was doing something else outside first." Well, fine! But just get to that garage before Dad comes home. He won't like it if it isn't done." "Okay, okay.'; David started slowly for the door. Then he stopped and turned around and cleared his throat. "Mom, will you ask Dad again about my allowance? He said he'd give me more. I'm almost ten now." "Yes, but Dad also said you'd have to act like a ten-year-old and be more responsible." "But I am trying, Mom. Honest I am. Anyway, it's harder for me because I'm the youngest. I could do as much as Paul does, but nobody around here gives me half a chance. You always give Paul more to do." "Of course you're trying, David," Mrs. Garrison smiled. "But just don't forget the garage."
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"I won't." David hurried out and let the door slam behind him. He walked slowly across the drive and stopped completely as he went into the garage. "Boy, this place is so dirty it'll take the rest of the day to clean," he sighed. He pic\<ed up a pile of old newspapers and carried them to the door. Then he saw Paul running excitedly toward the house and shouting, "Mom, David , look what 1 found! It's the neatest thing!" David dropped the papers and ran toward his brother. He ran so fast that he almost collided with Paul. "What do you have?" panted David. "A toad? A snake? Let me see!" "No, no even better. Look!" Paul opened both his hands to show a small brown rabbit. It was very quiet but its tiny chest was moving rapidly up and down and its large black eyes .stared straight ahead. "He's terrific! Where can we keep him?" David eagerly put out his hands. "Can 1 hold him?" Carefully, David took the rabbit from Paul. Gently he wrapped his hands around it. The rabbit's fur felt soft and smooth. David rubbed his thumbs along its sides. Then he rubbed his cheek along its back. "Isn't he great? What are we going to call him?" "What'll we call who?" Mrs. Garrison came to the kitchen door. "What have you two found noW?" Carefully , David opened his hands and showed his mother. "Can we keep him , Mom?" "We c~~ld call him Scamper," Paul said, "because he's such a fast runner. . "WelL boys, he's nice. But do you think we should keep him? He's wild. Do you think he'd be happy with us?" "Can we try , Mom? Can we?" "Until tonight when Dad comes home." "Let's go! Where can we put him?" Paul dashed off for the empty box from their new television set. David pulled grass and more grass to give Scamper a nice green rug. Then the boys decided that Scamper would like a nice sunny corner on the porch. Paul hurried to get celery pieces, lettuce leaves, and small bits of carrot. He put them all into the box. Then David put Scamper in. Scamper just sat there. "Why won't he eat?" Paul was worried. "Don't be afraid, Scampe r." David ran his hand along the rabbit's side. "David, come here right now!" Mrs. Garrison sounded angry.-'-
19
David wondered what he'd done now. His mother was standing in the kitchen, just inside the door. "Honestly, David, when will you ever learn? When did you intend to finish the garage? The one job you were asked to do today!" When David heard "garage" he groaned. "I'm sorry, Mom! I started but then I stopped when we found the rabbit." "David, you're almost ten." She turned back to check the supper. "You'll just have to try harder." "I'll do It . tomorrow, " he muttere. d "J ust you walt . an d see. " Th en he ran back to the porch to play with Scamper. When the boys heard the car in the driveway, Paul jumped up and ran out to his father. "Dad, you'll never guess what we have! Can we keep him, Dad? Can we? He won't be hard to take care of, and he really likes us!" Paul pulled his father toward the porch. David was sitting quietly by Scamper's box. "Did you get the garage finished , David? What do you have there? Hey, a baby rabbit! He's cute! Where did you find him?" "Out back," said Paul, " while I was mowing th.e lawn. But Dad, we have a problem . Scamper won't eat." Paul and David looked up at their father. "Hm, he's a baby. Maybe he would like some warm milk. We could feed him with an eyedropper." "Good idea," said David. "I'll get the eyedropper," said Dad . "I'll get the milk," said Paul. "I'll warm the milk ," said Mother. "And I'll get Scamper," said David. Scamper did not like his milk at first. Soon he learned how to suck from the dropper. Scamper enjoyed his milk so much that he drank almost half of a small glass. By then, he was so tired that his large black eyes closed more and more. Finally, he went to sleep. Now everyone else could have supper. The boys chattered on and on about Scamper all through the meal. At last they asked the big question. "Can we keep Scamper, Dad?" "We'll take good care of him, honest!" "Are you sure? You've had him for one afternoon, right? Already you've both forgotten to do the jobs you were supposed to do." The boys were silent. Then Paul said, "I'm almost finished the
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lawn, Dad. There's only a little more to do." "I started the garage." David looked down at his plate. "I' ll get it done tomorrow . I will, Dad. You'll see ." "Well boys, whether Scamper s tays or not depends on YOll. If you can take care of him and your jobs around the house, you will certainly be busy. It 's up to yo u. And remember, Scamper is a special kind of animal. He's not like a dog or a cat. He's a wild animal, and we can only take care of him as long as he needs us." David ran to Scamper's bo x. "I' ll take good care of yo u, Scamper," said David. Then he buried hi s face in the rabbit' s soft fur. " I'll remember. You'llsee." Next day David was aw ake early and eager to s tart work. First he checked Scamper. Then he brought milk to the kitchen for his mother. David wo rked all morning. In the afternoon he helped Paul. David picked up all the twigs and little branches before Paul mowed the lawn. Someti mes Paul let David push the mower with him. The boys were surprised that they fini s hed so quickly , and they knew that their father wou ld be s urprised. too . And when Dad came home from work , David and Paul had still another s urprise for him. "Oh. Dad, come and see Scamped" They pulled at their father. Scamper was s itting quietl y in his box. There was more grass than yesterday . No w there were big piles in each corner. "M iss the woods, Sca mper? " Dad reached down to pick him up. He held the rabbi t carefully and looked him over. "Hasn't he been eating?" "Oh, yes !" the boys s houted , "He eats so much thatthere's more of him already. Look!" Pa ul rea~ hed ove r and dug into the pile of grass in one cornel'. Out hopped a s mall rabbit exac tl y like the one Dad was holding. Then, David pushed as ide the grass in another corner. Out hopped another rabbit, exac tl y like the other two. "You've really bee n busy today," laughed Dad. "Well , I bet I can guess what's here! " He pulled away the grass from the last corner , but there was no rabbit. David , Paul, and Mother laughed very hard. So did Dad. "We might ha ve to make room for the rabbits and move Scamper from his cozy hom e. Can you tell them apart? " "That 's not hard," laughed Paul. "Scamper is the smallest one. This one with the white mark on his foreh ead likes to travel. So, Mom called him Rover."
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"And this one," David broke in, "is the biggest. He squ~aked , when I caught him, so I call him Squeaky." "Feeding time at our zoo is going to take a little longer now," chuckled Dad . "Have they all been drinking their milk?" "Oh, yes. But especially Scamper. He's the littlest and he's spoiled already." "Hm! With three rabbits, you're going to be busier than ever. Do you still think you'll remember to get all your jobs done?" David and Paul smiled at one another. "We'll remember. You'll see. " No matter what he did or didn't do, David never forgot to take care of the rabbits. Every day, a few times a day, he fed them. Every day, he changed the grass and let them run around the lawn for exercise. Every day began and ended at their box. Then, one morning, when David came to say Good Morning, one rabbit was gone. David raced up to Paul's bedroom. â&#x20AC;˘ "Do you have Rover , Paul?" "No," said Paul. "Look in the box again. He's probably hiding." Rover was not hiding. There were only two rabbits in the box and a small rabbit-size hole in one corner. David spent most of the next two days on his hands and knees, hunting for Rover. He even left out pieces of lettuce , in case Rover was hungry. "Where could he be?" he asked himself over and over. He looked sadly at his mother. She smiled bac\< sadly. Her smile told David what he already knew. Rover was trying to tell them he was big enough to take care of himself. Now David took even better care of the other two rabbits. He wanted to keep them , and he worked even harder to get his jobs done . His mother and father didn't have to remind him as often now. Somehow he seemed to remember more. He had no trouble earning his allowance. He worked so hard with the rabbits, he got more little jobs done. One week he earned as much as Paul did. Days and weeks flew by for David. The rabbits lived with them for three weeks or more. David never got tired of playing with them, or . watching them, or holding them. Each day the rabbits could jump higher than the day before. They were getting harde r to catch. David didn't let them loose on the lawn as much as he did before. Sometimes they missed the carrot David was holding and they would nibble his finger
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instead. One afternoon David helped Paul wash the car. Then he walked slowly to the porch and leaned over the edge of the rabbit's box. He looked for a long time at the two rabbits. They sat quietly, nibbling on their lettuce , but their eyes were fixed on David. He reached over and picked them up, one at a time. He whispered something to each of them and buried his face in their fur . He placed each of them into the box and watched as they went back to their lettuce. "Mom," David called as he went back to the kitchen, thoughtfully. "Could Scamper and Squeaky take care of themselves if 1 let them go?" "What do you think, David?" Mother looked at him. "What do you think? " For a minute David was silent. "I guess so." David walked back to the porch and looked at the two rabbits again. "Why did you have to grow up so fast?" he asked as he reached over for Scamper. "Well, you two seem to know what you are doing, and I know just how you feel." That night after supper, David carried Squeaky and Scamper outside. He lifted them to his face , and for the last time he felt their soft fur against his cheek. Gently, David placed them on the ground and, with a sigh of resignation , said, "Okay, you're big boys now. Go to it." After a few trial hops , Scamper and Squeaky headed for the edge of the lawn where the woods began. Slowly David rose from his knees. "They can take care of themselves now , can't the y, Dad?" Mr. Garrison put his hand on David's shoulder. Quietly they watched the rabbits hop away. It was a long time before they both headed back to the house.
Sister Constance Sabalauskas, C.S.F.N.
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THAT ILL CSION
All orange moon Remains vague The rose fades A blue-grey mil'll descends \1lL! lIle lHall t;C of l:ie smiling moon Gr()\\~; il1fillile!y sharper
UlIlil all ahstraclion of ils small round face
Dances underneath
Sheila Mary McLaughlin
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PRA Y P!~INCIPALL Y
Write me a puddle. Rhyme me a raindrop on a petal white but wilting.
Sing me a solo
of water-falls and orchards. nursenes. Burn
me a sun
of glowworms and
light-bugs and fourteen-time eyes . young but Icarhing. Pray me !\rri\LlI and \\al~r-\vhitc and ~ ongfilled- \leI. l~ighl.
Teacher. ¡\l11en.
Elizaheth R. Warner
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CONTRIBUTORS Naney Barnetl. a graduate student at Villanova University and TJall l' l'T "hile taking an advanced writing course here. E.rie Reicltenoach is an E.nglish conecntrator at Allentown College of Saint Francis Dc Sales. Virginia Mordcll studies literature and language at Holy Family Collegc (,74). Kathlecn Rosso graduated Holy Family College 1972. Andrea Zuryhida's story was \vciuen while she "vas an advanced placemcnt student from Nazareth Academy ('72). Currently she is studying at Pennsylvania State University. Elizabeth R. Warner, a 1974 s tudent at Holy Fami Iy College . Iws puhli s hed poem s in other literary magazines. This marks her first publication in F olio Thomas F. Lomhardi. Jr .. associate professor of English at 1J0l y Family , is a regular contrihutor to Foli u. lIis dCll:tllral dissertation on Hallal: e Steven s is now in its final stages of prep:Hatioll. Si s ter Constance Sahalauskas . C.S.F.N .. is presenll~ iJl\ohcd in graduate worl, in English at Villanova t! niversit). Sllei la \Iar) \'lcLaughl in is a Holy Family English major (,75) making her second appearance in F olio Justine Church. a Biology maim. 1971 . inspired by the destruction of Inter s tate Ruute 95. composed her \ igncllc \\hile s tud yi ng writing und er Mrs . Marion Vo n Roscns teil.
1973 graduate of lIol y Family. wrote Th e
HOLY FAMILY COLLEGE, TORRESDALE, PHILA., PA. 19114