Let's Go Play at the Adams' PDF
Preview Let's Go Play at the Adams'
—} md I Ln Ln ru V V ru -D Ln PREPARE YOURSELF FOR A SHOCKING EXPERIENCE Mendal W. Johnson's LETS GO PLAY AT THE ADAMS' "The unbearable tension of a silent scream . . . Johnson is telling us some horrifying things about the hidden re- cesses of the human psyche . . . Wonderfully skillful.'' ---Detroit Free Press "Proceeds at d breathless pace, as horror multiplies it- self in geometric progression." ^-Hartford Timet **A superb new novel of suspense, which will hold the reader in its grip of horror until the last page." —Atlantic City Press GO PLAY LET^S AT THE ADAMS^ W* Mendal Johnson GOLDEn APPLE PUBLISHERS To my wife, Ellen Argo Johnson This low-priced Golden Apple Book has been completely reset in a type face designed for easy reading, and was printed p-om new plates. It contains the complete text of the original hard-cover edition. NOT ONE WORD HAS BEEN OMITTED. LET'S GO PLAY AT THE ADAMS' A Golden Apple Publication / published by arrangement with Thomas Y. Crowell Company Golden Apple edition / December 1984 Golden Apple is a trademark of Golden Apple Publishers All rights reserved. Copyright '0 1974 by Mendal W. Johnson. Cover copyright © 1984 by Golden Apple Publishers. This book may not be reproduced in whole or in part, by mimeograph or any other means, without permission. For information address: Golden Apple Publishers, 666 Fifth Avenue, New York, N.Y. 10103. ISBN 0-553-19829-7 PRINTED IN CANADA CXXVER PRINTED IN U.S.A. 0987654321 fijwJbqwL — On t—he keyboard of a piano ^in this case, it is an up- right are two neatly positioned pairs of hands. To the right is the pair (at C above middle C) which may be fairly s—aid to be the hands of a girl. They are terribly slend—er only girls, only the young have hands like that and they are finn and strong and tanned. There is a decorative ring on the right hand but nothing on the left: the girl is not yet engaged or married. The hands are spread into a C-major chord and waiting. They begin. — What they are playing and well enough—is "The Happy Farmer." It—'s a rather insis—tent small tu—ne that goes, "—Dum dum ^boom, boom dum dum boom, boom dum dum dum rfww," etc. It goes to a similar conclusion. It is an inevitable tune; people have been toying with it for centuries. The hands disappear. "OK, now you try it." Now it is the turn of the other pair of hands, the ones to the left, the pudgy, sunburned (but well- scrubbed) little hands. They strain awkwardly. Th—ey achieve the necessary chord and begin: "Dum dum boom, boom (mistake).'* They reposition themselves and begin agaui. "Come on now. You can do—that after church." "Just let me. Just once more now?" "OK, but you come when I honk the horn. I don't want to be late." The longer, more slender hands puU 1 on a pair of short white gloves that stop exactly at the wrist. "Now, Where's Bobby? Bo\>eeer "I'm coming. But it's early. We never leave un- til—" "Let me see your hands.** These hands are also more or less clean,- but they are definitely boy's hands. Against the white gloves that hold them, they look knuckle-barked, calloused and in- nately grubby in spite of their recent washing. Nonethe- less they pass inspection. "OK, let's go, Cindy." "Com-ing, Miss Barbara." There is some tnicu- lence here. "You don't have to use Miss with me.'* "Mommy said to." "All right, if she said so.** The parents are in Europe, so that the children are driven to church by the baby-sitter. They make a pleasant sight. Cindy Adams, the smaller piano player, is an imp- ish little girl of ten. She is pretty enough, and she has brown hair cut rather short for summer, because with swimming and moist heat, it wants to spring into curls and spirals and tangles and become immanageable. She is the sort of child that grown-ups instinctively want to pat Bobby Adams, her brother, is oddly enough the beauty. He is about thirteen, thin and fair, with high coloring to his cheeks and fine, blond hair that requires water and sticky stuff to keep it from floating around his head in an unruly halo. He rarely smiles, and he of- ten stands in thought with his hands thrust straight down, as deep as they will go in his pockets. This posi- tion, rare in a youngster, is an unconscious copy of the position his surgeon father often takes in conversation. The white-gloved hands that swing the family sta- tion wagon into the churchyard, belong to the baby-sit- ter-pianist, Barbara. When she gets out of the car to let the children out, it is with an athletic little leap. She is 2 — probably twenty not much more. She wears a white dress of extremely diplomatic appeal. It is short enough to show off her legs and pass with her generation and yet long enough to show her deference to the older gen- eration and the social order of things. Barbara is also not pretty in the sense that movie professionals are p—retty. She is better than that: she is young and—downy or so you would say from looking at her face and she likes everyone. You can see it in the way she shepherds the children off to Sunday School and in the way she is rather instantly accepted by the older, generally cautious group in the church- whom yard, all of are strangers to her. The morni—ng passes easily enough. Downstairs in Sunday School Cindy squ—irming, Bobby sitting with that thoughtful look of his they hear—about how Our Lord cured people. Upstairs they hear ^Barb—ara sitting with white gloves folded neatly in her lap that in times of change and uncertainty the words of Jesus have even more relevance than before. Afterward they all sing. It is a pretty and simple sound: "Jesus, our God and Father," and so on and so forth. When s—ervices are over, everyone stands in the shad—ed yard it will be paved next year; now it is all dust and discusses the county news. Call it gossip. The Adams are well known here, for all the fact that they are not natives. Dr. Adams has contributed to the paint, the piano, and the plantings. Mrs. Adams has participated in the cake bakes and fund-raising affairs. There is a Uttle cynicism in this, and there is a certain amount of friendliness. For cynicism, everyone knows that the Adams are not godly people, at least not in the sense of this county of the Eastern Shore of Maryland. It's all for show. Quite on the other hand, everyone understands that by so participating in the church doings, the Adams are doing their dead level best to be friends with their adopted com—munity. Dr. Adams—' hand is extended and taken, and in his ab- sence the hand of the community is extended into the 3 slender one of the baby-sitter, Barbara, who stands daisy-white and bright outside beneath the mimosas. Tomorrow, or on some tomorrow, she will be a part of so—me community with childr—en of her own and plans and well, sometimes we must cake bakes. It is a soothing future, one which she has considered all her life, or perhaps a picture instilled into her long ago. Nonetheless, it is n—ice, and here she enjoys the vision. H—er thought this is as close as it comes to words is, Who will he be who gives me aU this? Ted? She frowns to herself. —So, everyon—e mills around until Sunday School lets out late today and the children come out to claim parents. Because there are a lot of fond old-timers here today, there is also a lot of ohing and ahing by the grandparents' groups, and this the children endure with as much good grace as possible. After all, the Lord said to be kind. Then Bobby and Cindy and Barbara get into the station wagon to go home and go swimming in the river on whose banks the Adams house is built There i—s a last item. As they get into the rather flossy wagon it is air-conditioned and has—tinted glass and pretty much the whole option sheet they find their way out momentarily blocked by pickers. This is a group of migrant workers walking along the country road on foot.— — Nearby ^it is woodsy hereabouts ^there are com- mercial orchards, and at this late time of summer, the pickers arrive and harvest the fruit. It is hard work, back-bending work, and very poorly paid. Nonetheless their arrival signals the end of the summer, and when they have gone again like a flock of dark Latin birds, fall will begin. "Who are they?*' Barbara, with 425 cubic inches of piston displacement under her small foot in the family wagon, is impatient "I dunno." "Pickers," Bobby says. **Nobody." 4
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