The Coming of the Storm.

           Thisiswhathappened.OnthenightthattheworstheatwaveinnorthernNewEnglandhistoryfinallybroke-thenightofJuly19-theentirewesternMaineregionwaslashedwiththemostviciousthunderstormsIhaveeverseen.

           WelivedonLongLake,andwesawthefirstofthestormsbeatingitswayacrossthewatertowardusjustbeforedark.Foranhourbefore,theairhadbeenutterlystill.TheAmericanflagthatmyfatherputuponourboathousein1936laylimpagainstitspole.Notevenitshemfluttered.Theheatwaslikeasolidthing,anditseemedasdeepassullenquarry-water.Thatafternoonthethreeofushadgoneswimming,butthewaterwasnoreliefunlessyouwentoutdeep.NeitherSteffynorIwantedtogodeepbecauseBillycouldn’t.Billyisfive.

           Weateacoldsupperatfive-thirty,pickinglistlesslyathamsandwichesandpotatosaladoutonthedeckthatfacesthelake.NobodyseemedtowantanythingbutPepsi,whichwasinasteelbucketoficecubes.

           AftersupperBillywentoutbacktoplayonhismonkeybarsforawhile.SteffandIsatwithouttalkingmuch,smokingandlookingacrossthesullenflatmirrorofthelaketoHarrisononthefarside.Afewpowerboatsdronedbackandforth.Theevergreensovertherelookeddustyandbeaten.Inthewest,greatpurplethunderheadswereslowlybuildingup,massinglikeanarmy.Lightningflashedinsidethem.Nextdoor,BrentNorton’sradio,tunedtothatclassical-musicstationthatbroadcastsfromthetopofMountWashington,sentoutaloudbrayofstaticeachtimethelightningflashed.