DANDELION WINE
It was still dark, and the town was still sleeping. Summer was felt in the warm early morning air. You had only to get up, go to the window, breath in and know that this indeed was the first real time of freedom and living, this was the first morning of summer.
Douglas Spaulding, twelve years of age, awoke in his third-story cupola bedroom. He let himself idle a little on this first early morning of a long summer ahead. Lying in bed in the grandest tower in town, he felt the tall power it gave him, riding high in the June wind. Now a familiar task awaited him.
One night each week he was allowed to leave his father, his mother, and his younger brother Tom in their small house next door and run here, up the dark spiral stairs to his grandparents’ cupola, and sleep in this magician’s tower with thunders and visions, then wake before the crystal tinkle of milk bottles and perform his ritual magic.
He went to the open window in the dark, deeply breathed in, and exhaled.
At once, the street lights went out. He exhaled again and again, and the stars began to disappear.
Douglas smiled. He started to point a finger in various directions, and yellow house lights began to wink in the darkness.
“Everyone yawn. Everyone up.”
The great house awoke below.
“Grandpa, get your teeth from the water glass!”
He waited some time. “Grandma and Great-grandma, fry hot cakes!”
The warm smell of frying cakes drifted through the house and stirred the boarders, the aunts, the uncles, the visiting cousins, in their rooms.
“Street where all the Old People live, wake up! Miss Helen Loomis, Colonel Freeleigh, Miss Bentley! Cough, get up, take your pills, move around!”
“Mom, Dad, Tom, wake up.”
Clock alarms tinkled faintly. The courthouse clock boomed. Birds flew up from trees like a net thrown by his hand, singing. Douglas, conducting an orchestra, pointed to the eastern sky.
The sun began to rise.
He smiled a magician’s smile. Yes, sir, he thought, everyone jumps, everyone runs when I order. It’ll be a fine season. He gave the town a last snap of his fingers.
Doors opened; people stepped out.
Summer 1928 began.
Douglas Spaulding felt that this day was going to be different. His father’s words, as he was driving Douglas and his ten-year-old brother Tom out of town toward the country, also meant that the day would be different. His father said that some days were just a mixture of smells, nothing but the world blowing in one nostril and out the other. Other days, he went on, were days of hearing every sound and trill of the universe. Some days were good for tasting and some for touching. And there were days that were good for all the senses at once. This day now, he said, smelled as if a great orchard had grown up overnight beyond the hills and filled the whole land with its warm freshness. The air felt like rain, but there were no clouds. In a moment, a stranger might laugh in the woods, but there was silence…
Douglas watched the land along the road. He smelled no orchards and sensed no rain, for he knew that without apple trees or clouds they could not exist. And as for that stranger laughing in the woods…?
But nevertheless, Douglas knew – this, without reason, was a special day.
The car stopped at the very center of the quiet forest, and they got out.
“Look for bees,” said Father. “Bees hang around grapes like boys around kitchens.”
They walked through the forest, and soon, Father pointed and said that there was where the big summer- quiet winds lived and passed in the green depths, like ghost whales, unseen.
Douglas looked quickly, saw nothing, and felt tricked by his father who, like Grandpa, lived on riddles. But… But, still… Douglas paused and listened.
Yes, something’s going to happen, he thought, I know it! We’re surrounded! he thought. It’ll happen! Come out, wherever you are, whatever you are! he cried silently.
Tom and Dad walked on ahead.
Now, thought Douglas, here it comes! Running! I don’t see it! Running! Almost on me!
“Fox grapes!” said Father. “We’re in luck, look here!”
Don’t! Douglas gasped.
But Tom and Dad started to pick up wild berries. The spell was broken. Douglas didn’t feel the magic running force any more. He dropped to his knees and started to pick up wild grapes.
“Lunch time, boys!”
With buckets half full with fox grapes and wild strawberries, they went to sit on a log followed by bees. Father said the bees were the world humming under its breath.They sat on the log, eating sandwiches and trying to listen to the forest the same way Father did.
“Sandwich outdoors isn’t a sandwich anymore,” Father said, “tastes different than indoors, notice? Got more spice. Tastes like mint and pinesap. Does wonders for the appetite.”
Douglas chewed and didn’t feel any difference, it was just a sandwich.
Tom chewed and nodded. “I know just what you mean, Dad!”
Douglas thought about that strange feeling that something was running on him. Where is it now? Behind that bush! No, behind me! No here… almost here… He touched his stomach secretly.
He decided to wait; he knew it would come back. He also knew somehow that it wouldn’t hurt him. But what was it?
“You know how many baseball games we played this year, last year, year before?” asked Tom without any reason. Douglas watched Tom’s quickly moving lips.
“I wrote it down! One thousand five hundred sixty-eight games! How many times I brushed my teeth in ten years? Six thousand! Washing my hands: fifteen thousand. Ate six hundred peaches, eight hundred apples. Pears: two hundred. I don’t like pears very much. I’ve got statistics for everything! When I add up all things I’ve done in ten years, it will be billion millions.”
Douglas felt that unknown something coming close again. Why? Tom talking? But why Tom? Tom continued his statistics, enumerating books and matinees he had read and seen.
“During that time I think I’ve eaten four hundred lollipops, three hundred Tootsie Rolls, seven hundred icecreams…
Dad asked, “How many berries you’ve picked so far, Tom?”
“Two hundred fifty-six!” said Tom instantly.
Dad laughed and lunch was over and they started to pick up fox grapes and wild strawberries again. And again Douglas felt something was going to happen. He thought yes, it’s near again! Breathing on my neck, almost! Don’t look! Just work, fill up the bucket. If you look you’ll scare it off. Don’t lose it this time! But how do you bring it around here where you can see it, stare it right in the eye?
“Got a snowflake in a matchbox,” said Tom, smiling at his hand, red with berries juice.
Douglas wanted to yell at him, to stop him talking, but he thought the yell would scare the Thing away.
Then he noticed that the more Tom talked, the closer the great Thing came, it wasn’t scared of Tom. Tom attracted it with his breath, he was part of it!
Tom continued to explain how in February during a snowstorm he had let one snowflake fall in a matchbox and put the matchbox in the icebox.
The thing was close, very close. Douglas stared at Tom’s moving lips. He wanted to jump