San Ramon Valley High School - Kernel Yearbook (Danville, CA)

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V ' -- Y -f ---- 1- , -1 - I.-7 -.,. ' ! I z tifi ff N learned that the golden box which we valued so highly, had been stolen from a certain African tribe and was destined to bring death to whom- ever it belonged unless returned to the tribe. We began to understand the queer antics of the natives. We shivered at the thought of that twisted mind that had nursed a school grudge to become this vengeance. He, of course, had known the shadow that hung over this rarity and on learning the doetor's prediction had searched for an enemy to inherit this death warrant. The bitter ache of his school fe1low's taunts was still raw in his heart and the one most scornful of the fellows had been I. . Two days later Stipo returned. We found him cleaning a bird he had trapped for our dinner. He made no explanations and when Alice questioned him about the incident of the murder, his stolid unintelligence was clearly a guilc. Stipofre- dicted every native disturbance, learned every scrap of jungle news within a hundred mile radius but he was strangely uninformed as to the murder of the man who came to steal the golden box. ?rize Story Dorothy White

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57 W upon herself to question Stipog a long tongue weary- ing and unsuccessful process. A One evening, several months later, we were abrupt ly aroused by the muffled beat of the tom-tom and the piercing wails of human voices in the distance. It was Alice who again enlightened me. Stipo had made her understnad in his few English words, that this was the brief interval when all of savage Africa laid aside its barbarous hunting habits to worship at the feet of its many gods. Hours seemed heaped on hours before the monotonous rhythm of their dance brought them nearer our hut. With their coming we became aware of the sickening odor of burning flesh which came in nauseating waves through the thin walls of the hut. Feeling strangely ill we sought refuge on the beaten mud and thatch square before the hut. But it was heavier there. At last as though drugged we dropped to the ground to sit huddled in an agony of nausea from which there was no escape. A Some hours later we arose to go inside. The air was clearer and the odor less noticeable. As we neared the doorway something new issued forth, causing a stinging sensation in our nostrils. The odor was entirely different, as was the giddy feeling that it produced. Something was wrong! I lit a match to discover that the whole room had been thoroughly ransacked. In one corner I stumbled over a small object, and upon a closer investigation, I identified it as an incense burner from hence - curled a smoke, the fumes of which filled the room. Quickly extinguishing it, I opened the small case on a box near by which so far had enclosed the golden box. It was gone: There was a slight draft then which caused the tiny flare of the match to waver and go out, leaving us in total blackness. I fumbled for another match, and upon lighting it touched it to the wick of the small oil lamp which was near-by. Alice screamed and pointed to- ward the opposite corner. There lay the crumpled figure of a man, the smooth, dark skin across his chest stained with blood. In horror I recognized the smooth and bronze face that had been reflected in the clock dail. Stipo had disappeared! From one of the servants that remained we

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SANCTUARY Moonlight steeped the moor. The low grasses murmured in the wind. Otherwise all was silent, the lonely and deathly silence that is felt only in the vast waste lands. Silent and lonely as the moor itself, an ancient convent stood at it's edge. Moon whitened and ghostly, it's many towers gleam- ed softly through the black shadows of the cypress. Oh, ancient, dismal structure, how many des- pairing hearts have come to your patient portals seeking no more than solace and peace? A girl knelt beside an open windowg her pale cheek pressed to the cold iron bars. iShe was dres- sed as a novitiate of the order. The long months of penance were passed, and resignation marked the gentle beauty of her face. In her passive fingers hung a rosary. Thoughts of the past had stopped the telling of her beads. The lovely, stately sister whom she had loved, and the lover who had held so lightly the passion of her undisciplined heart--that dreadful night when she had seen them together on the bal- cony--had heard their whispered words and seen her betrayal in their embraces. Concealed behind the draperies she had watched him leave, and her quivering rage had been maddened by the smile on her sister's face as she sat on the balcony rail- ing. Would time ever erase from her memory that terrified shriek--the fall? But her sister had not died--God had been kind ---- or unkind. In the darkening silver sky, the stars trembled faintly. Over her pale cheeks the tears globed and fell. Tears that momentarily washed clean her soul, taking with them bitter thoughts and regrets. Soon down among a distant city's poor ---- where poverty brought it's desperate train, she would find her place---sister of mercy. A cloud passed across the moon. The cold wind blew about her. She instinctively drew her cape closer. The beads slipped through her fingers one by one as in the deepening shadows she murmur- ed her prayer. Willise Main