Hunter College High School - Argus Yearbook (New York, NY)

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NOCTURNE EN years-almost eleven since he had left this same room. Ten years-making the difference between a boy and-almost a man. Richard had come home. He stood on the threshold of the room that had been his in 1918, the room he had left for France and drums and bugles and bally-hoo, the room he had forgotten, locked away in the cupboard with those other things that hurt. It was the same as he had left it-the sunlight playing thru the yellow curtains and on the creamy walls, sending shafts of beams over to the bookcase, making bright pools of maple light on the well-waxed floor. There was the rug, chewed a bit as to the end, fa memory of a perky terrier frisked across his mindj and the small mahogany bed, with its bright yellow cover. Dante and Beethoven still flanked the Winged Victory on the glistening top of the low bookcase. And there was a yellow canary Q surely not his gallant Coeur de Lionlj teetering and chirping at the stranger in his domain. It seemed but yesterday he had left, and here was his castle holding out its arms to him as if he were still the boy who had gone. It was, for an instant, an attack in an unguarded quarter, a breath-taking something ached in his throat, and a voice swelled from within, crying, Why?- Why?-Oh, God!--Why? That voice-for almost ten years it hadn't spoken-he had smothered it pretty thoroughly that first year in the hospital, and through the years had drowned its poignancy in a scintillant cynicism. Only a moment, then his well-schooled mouth twisted one corner and he gave a little bored laugh. He walked over to the window and stood, with his empty sleeve brushing the sill, looking out. He had forgotten, watching the sun in Italy, on the Riviera, in Spain, that the sun painted the streets of New York like this. Now he remembered, saw the familiar tracing of the cold autumn sunshine on the grey walls of the big apartment on the corner, saw it run in calm, preoccupied beams over the heads of the five little Dutch houses opposite. The street was placid, usual, unchanged. Here was something that had remained in his world of chaos. Ten years before the street had been the same, the room had been the same. A shy boy, with eyes deep with dreams, lost in the lovely maze of music, had studied there. He had stood at that window and watched the sun's painting, or the rain's sweeping line of march, and seen music and beauty. And when the sun had just set over the Hudson, when the sky was purpling crimson and the first stars were beginning to glimmer and the curb lamps were beginning to glow, he had played his beloved violin here- some tune to satisfy his mood-but most often the sweet Minuet in G, of Beethoven, or, torn by some grief that eighteen knows, played his own Nocturne He wondered if the distinguished-looking man with the twirled mus- tache, and the little girl with the brown curls, still lived opposite. They had Page Thirty-one

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ON READING THE DICTIONARY ROBABLY the last adjectives most people would think of applying to the perusal of a standard dictionary are exciting and inviting. Yet to the more imaginative not only are these true but they also find it a volume filled with mystic formulae. They find it not a book which limits by defini- tion but stimulates by suggestion. If you take up your lexicon with the intention of looking up a word- say Chasseur . You see that it means huntsman, but you permit yourself to glance down the page and you see Hchastel' and 4'Chastise. You won't have much difliculty in constructing your story. The tale of the young girl who meets the handsome hunter in the forest and loves him despite the inevitable wrath of her father may appeal to youg others may prefer ,the chaste wife, the chance encounter with the chasseur and the subsequent fury of her husband. There are many other combinations of words, some of which are amusing. Look up Homer and you will find honey , honeysuckle , honeymoon , Honolulu home and hooey l The shortest story in the world! And still another. Tho this one is more grue- someg in-law, innuendo, inquest, inquiry and inquisition. Doubtless, now, when someone asks you, What is the longest book in the world? you sniff and do not answer, The dictionary, as you did when you were younger. But there is so much truth in this joke that bad as it is, you are inclined to forgive it, you are scarcely inclined to think of so stolid a thing as a standard dictionary as a magic carpet, yet by the mere sound of some words we find ourselves transported to strange places. Do not the words saxaphone , harem , canteen and minuet bring definite pictures to your mind. The beauty of it is that each tale is of your own composition and therefore pleasing. And of course your vocabulary to be practical shows your choice of reading matter. It frequently happens that when you refer to the dictionary for one word you see lured on by ten others. Several are sure to remain in your mind, generally the original one is not among them. Helen Oberstein, C6 TO SHINE IN USE As swords were made to fight with, So souls were made to fight with. We need a cause to fight for With soul, just as with sword. Alice Kalousdian, B8 Page Thirty

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been friends, although the other two had never seen him and scarcely knew him. He had seen the brown-locked one often, racing and playing with a golden-haired child and several boys-but he never knew them. His mother did not approve of playing in the street, but he hadn't minded-not much, with his books and music. Now, he was too old and sometimes, when the childish shrieks pierced the air, shrilly happy, he wished that he could have been like that, and played and shouted-like that one young Indian, the captain. But he was eighteen, and they weren't more than eight or ten, so he only noticed them incidentally. But one day Colden-locks moved away. Stark tragedy for Brownie! Richard, looking down on the weeping children, clasped in each others arms, almost wept in sympathy. Finally the car and trucks departed and a forlom Brownie sat down on the little Dutch stoop, and cried with the great catch- ing sobs of a baby. Richard wished someone would comfort her. Where was the gallant band, where was the dashing captain, where was her father with his trim twirling mustache? The street was quiet with late afternoon shadows. Suddenly Richard drew his magic bow across the strings, and the little fairy-like Minuet danced down to her. For a moment she didn't hear, but slowly her head lifted, and she listened, still catching deep sobs. It was the first time she had heard a violin and Richard played everything that was elfin and hauntingly sweet and delicately beautiful. He played and she listened--with only the interruptions that came from the Main Street of the world, just around the corner. And when her father came home, he found her sitting on the cold stone, her face tear-streaked but rapt. Richard saw him lift her tenderly, and knew he was explaining the fairy music and comforting her in her loss. After that, whenever he saw her sitting quietly, he would salute her with Minuet,' and play for her some- times. Soon she noticed the slmset serenade and almost every evening found her listening shyly in the shadow of some window. lt pleased his fancy to charm her and he never knew of the disappointment when he failed to play. But he had forgotten her, forgotten his music, beauty, dreams, ,when a miracle had torn him away from all his ideals and had filled his mind with War. He had left his cloisters, had joined an outfit, fought in France,- and lost his arm. lt had been a hard fight after that-his, parents were game, though, and helped him fight. They didn't understand that the only way he could was through that shell with which he had surrounded himself. It had been pretty easy to keep up that front during those ten years abroad and he had dared to come home. He gave a little laugh at himself--he was getting sentimental again. He looked out at the street that had stayed the same, at the little houses opposite, a man was going up the stoop, and yes, it was the man with the twirling mustache, only it was white now. Brownie still lived across the way! At that moment the sun touched the Hudson. Richard turned, almost ran out of the room. He broke into the living room and drowned his thoughts in the Hood of syncopation that was blaring from the loud-speaker. as wk wk it wk 4: :tr Page Thirty-two