"Come on, Joel," he yelled back. "The last one in's a two-toed sloth!"
Chapter Three
JOEL WATCHED TONY YELLING AND FLAILING his arms as he ran down the steep hill to the river. He shook his head. That patch of shiny green leaves halfway down that Tony was romping through was probably poison ivy.
He glanced over at his bike. Tony hadn't even bothered to hide it in the weeds along the side of the road. Joel propped Tony's old bike against the railing and wheeled his own off the bridge, laying it gently in the weeds beneath the structure. He considered, for a moment, leaving Tony's bike right where Tony had left his, out in the open where anybody could steal it. He didn't, though. If Tony's bike got stolen, he might never get another.
Swimming in the Vermillion! Of all the crazy ideas! Maybe even crazier than climbing the bluffs. Joel shook his head as he laid Tony's bike next to his own; then he started down the hill.
"You see what I mean ?" Joel said when he arrived next to Tony on the riverbank. "It's really dirty. And the worst of the stuff, chemicals and sewage, you can't even see."
Tony ignored him, stripping off his jeans and his underwear. He had already dropped his shirt and kicked his sneakers off before Joel arrived. "It's wet, isn't it?" he asked.
"Like I said," Joel replied, "so's your toilet."
Tony stepped into the river at the edge, and the dirty water lapping over his feet made them disappear entirely. He turned back to Joel and grinned. "Not enough water in my toilet. I tried it once to see."
"You would," Joel replied. He wanted to sound grumpy, but he could feel the answering smile breaking through.
"You coming in?" Tony called back when the water swirled around his knees.
"I'm waiting for you to drown," Joel answered. "I just want to see it so I can tell your folks."
"Keep them from worrying," Tony tossed back.
"Keep your mom from waiting supper," Joel replied.
They both laughed then, and when the laughter had faded, Tony said, "Well, are you coming in, or are you just going to stand there and gawk?"
"Who's gawking?" Joel pushed one sneaker off with the toe of the other. "You're nothing to look at."
The water was just right, cool enough to raise gooseflesh at first but not cold enough to be numbing. The flow past Joel's legs felt like a refreshing massage. He hadn't realized, though, that the current was so strong. It seemed as though the water were barely moving when he looked down from the bridge.
"Watch out for the current," he called to Tony, standing several feet upriver from him.
"Agh!" Tony cried, grasping himself by the throat with both hands. "The current! It's got me. It's going to suck me under. It's going to swallow me up!" And he toppled over backward, howling. His head disappeared beneath the foaming water he churned up.
Joel stood where he was, waiting. When Tony stood up, he was a prehistoric monster emerging from a swamp. Joel could tell that was what he was by the way he stood, water streaming down his face, arms hanging low, head hunched forward.
"Come on," Joel said. "If we're going to swim, let's go back to the pool. It'll be better there."
Tony straightened up. "Why? This is fun!"
"But there's a sliding board at the pool. And there's other kids, too."
"Who needs a sliding board ... or other kids?" Tony replied. "Besides, I'm swimming now." And he plunged into the water, face first this time, but thrashing just as much as before.
"Doesn't look like he even knows how," Joel muttered to himself, but then he wiped away the idea. It seemed disloyal. Tony went to the pool with him now and then, and he did the same things everybody else did. They spent most of their time going down the slide into shallow water or splashing one another.
Joel eased himself deeper into the water and dog-paddled a few strokes. He didn't want to put his face down to swim properly. He'd take the artificial blue of a pool and the sting of the chlorine any day. The river smelled of decaying fish.
"Maybe we ought to come down here every day, work out. We could be on the swim team next year in junior high," Tony was saying.
Joel stopped trying to swim and stood up. "We'd get caught for sure if we started coming down here every day."
"Who's to see us?" Tony asked.
"I don't know, but somebody would. Somebody driving over the bridge, probably." Joel looked up toward the highway bridge, but there were no cars in sight.
Tony shook his head. "Sometimes, Bates, you sound just like your old man."
Joel could feel the head flooding his face. "What's wrong with that?"
"'Be careful in that tree, son,'" Tony mimicked, "'you might get hurt. Watch Bobby when he crosses the street. Those drivers never pay any—'"
Joel had been moving closer to Tony as he spoke, and now he gave him a hard shove. Tony was expecting it, though, and he didn't even step backward. He countered with a push of his own.
Joel swung his arms to keep his balance, and he felt the bubble of anger that had been with him all morning expand inside his chest. What right did Tony have to make fun of his father? "At least my dad doesn't go around hitting kids with a belt," he said, stepping closer to Tony and clenching his fists.
Tony went white around the mouth, and Joel was instantly sorry that he had picked on Tony's father. He didn't know that Mr. Zabrinsky had ever really hit Tony with a belt anyway. He had only seen him take off after Tony once, snaking his belt out through the loops with one hand and holding his pants up with the other. Actually, Joel had thought it was kind of funny at the time ... in a scary sort of way.
Tony took a wide swing at the side of Joel's head. Joel ducked it easily. Tony was bigger and heavier than he was, but he was slower, too.
For a moment they stood glowering at one another, breathing hard, their fists raised; then Tony turned and began to slog through the water toward the riverbank.
"Where are you going?" Joel asked.
"To Starved Rock," came the reply. "I'm gonna climb the bluffs ... by myself."
Joel's heart sank. He didn't especially want to bike back to town alone, and he certainly didn't want Tony climbing the bluffs by himself. "Aw, come on, Tony," he pleaded. "We can stay here. This is fun."
"Like swimming in your toilet," Tony replied without looking back.
Joel answered with the first thing that popped into his head—"Toilets aren't so bad"—and to show Tony that he meant it, he plunged into the water, immersing his face and taking several strokes so that when he stood up he was in front of Tony again.
Tony grunted. He still looked pretty mad. "You're just saying that because you're scared to climb the bluffs."
Again the irritation flared. "Who's scared?" Joel demanded. "You're the one who's scared. Why, I bet you wouldn't even"—he hesitated, looking around for something to challenge Tony with, something he wouldn't mind doing himself—"swim to that sandbar out there." He indicated a thin, dark island of sand rising out of the river about a hundred feet from where they stood.
Tony narrowed his eyes, gazed in the direction Joel pointed. "Why should I be scared of that?" he asked scornfully. "I'll bet the river doesn't get deeper than this the whole way." The water divided at Tony's waist in a sharp V.
"I'll bet it's deeper than this lots of places," Joel said. "River bottoms change. That's one of the reasons they're so dangerous."
"I wouldn't be scared even if it was ten foot deep."
Joel stepped closer. "You willing to swim it then?"
Tony's chin shot up. "Sure. Unless you're too chicken to swim it, too."
"We'll see who's chicken," Joel said.
Chapter Four
JOEL PUSHED OFF WITH A BREAST STROKE. After a few of those and a couple more dog paddles, he gave up and put his face down so he could swim properly. He kept his eyes closed underwater, though. Every few strokes he raised his head, glanced toward the sandbar, and realigned himself. The current was pushing him downstream, and if he wasn't careful he would miss the sandbar entirely.
<
br /> He could hear Tony splashing wildly behind him, puffing and spewing water, his hands flailing. He couldn't figure out why he had never noticed what a poor swimmer Tony was before now.
Joel touched bottom for a moment to catch his breath, peering back toward the riverbank, wiping the water from his face and trying to forget how dirty it was. Tony came to an agitated stop behind him, and Joel faced him. "If you can't swim any better than that, you'll never make the swim team next year."
Tony's chest was heaving. He gasped for breath as if he had been swimming for miles. "That's why I want to work out every day. You and me. I'll get better. We both will."
"How about working out at the pool?" Joel asked, feeling reasonable and somehow older than Tony, the way he often did. "It's cleaner, and we won't get into trouble for going there."
"How about working out in the middle of Main Street?" Tony replied. "Then everybody can see." He was still breathing hard.
"What difference does it make if anybody sees?"
"All the difference in the world. Do you want Rundle and Schmitt noticing what we're doing? If they see, then they'll want to try out for the team, too."
"So ... let them try out. Who cares?" Joel couldn't figure out what was going on. This wasn't like Tony. He was always everybody's friend. So much so that sometimes Joel couldn't help but feel a little bit jealous, wanting to keep Tony to himself.
Maybe Tony knew his form was bad, and he was embarrassed. He'd probably never had lessons at the Y like most of the kids, and the last thing in the world he was ever willing to do was admit that there was something he didn't know.
Joel could still remember the time Tony had claimed to be an expert at hang gliding. He'd jumped out of his upstairs window with a sheet tied to his wrists and ankles. Tony said, afterward, that the reason it hadn't worked was because he hadn't jumped from high enough. The doctor had said Tony was lucky to have gotten off with only a broken arm.
"Come on," Tony prodded. "You said out to the sandbar. Are you giving up?"
"You sure you'll make it?" Joel eyed his friend's still faintly heaving chest meaningfully. "You look pretty tired to me"
Tony gave him a shove, almost caught him off balance. "Swim," he commanded, and Joel plunged into the water and resumed swimming. Tony started beside him but immediately dropped behind. Joel could hear him, blowing and puffing like a whale.
It's not so bad, Joel said to himself, beginning to get his rhythm, discovering the angle that made it possible to keep gaining against the current. Maybe Tony was right and this river swimming would be a good way to practice ... now that his father had decided he was old enough to be allowed a bit of freedom.
He started the side stroke. He could watch where he was going better that way, keep tabs on how far he still had to go. He couldn't see Tony coming behind, but he didn't need to see him. He could tell he was there, because he sounded like an old paddle wheeler.
Only about twenty more feet. Joel caught a toehold in the bottom for a second to look ahead. The water foamed and eddied around the sandbar as if it were in more of a hurry there than other places. He put his head down and began the crawl, angling upriver against the current.
He was gasping for breath each time he turned his head. He wasn't really tired, though. A little nervous, maybe. In the pool the side was always nearby, something to grab on to. Still, he was a pretty good swimmer, and he was doing all right. He might be good enough for the swim team by the time he got to junior high in the fall.
He should have thought of practicing in the river himself. It had been a good idea. Tony was full of good ideas. When they both reached the sandbar, he would apologize, tell Tony he was sorry for what he'd said about his dad. He'd tell him he was sorry about saying Tony would be afraid to swim a little ways, too.
"Made it," he called out, when his hand scraped bottom with his approach to the sandbar. He stood up. "And I beat you, too!"
There was no answer. Joel turned to check.
Behind him stretched the river, smooth and glistening, reddish brown, but there was no sign of Tony. There was nothing to indicate that Joel wasn't alone, hadn't come into the water alone to start with. Except, of course, he hadn't.
He started to walk back, pushing through the water impatiently, as though it were a crowd holding him back. "Tony," he yelled. "Where are you?"
A faint echo of his own voice, high like the indistinct mewing of a cat, bounced back at him from the bluffs, but there was no other reply. Joel kept walking forward, pushing against the wall of water.
Maybe Tony had turned back; maybe he was hiding in the bushes somewhere along the bank, watching him, waiting for him to come unglued.
"All right, Tony Zabrinsky. I know your tricks. Come out, wherever you are."
There was no answer, not even a giggle from the bushes or some rustling.
"Doggone you, Tony, if you mess with my clothes..." But he could see his clothes, the pile of them, lying where he had left them, his red T-shirt marking the spot.
"Tony!" He began to move forward in lunges, gasping for breath, half choking. Tony had to be hiding. He had to be just off to the side somewhere ... laughing. There was no other possibility.
It was when Joel stepped off into the nothingness of the deep water, the river bottom suddenly gone from beneath his feet as if he had hit a black hole in space, that he knew. As he choked and fought his way to the surface, he understood everything.
Tony couldn't swim—not really—and Tony had gone under.
Chapter Five
JOEL TREADED WATER FOR ANOTHER FEW seconds, looking across the deceptively smooth surface of the river. There was nothing there, no faint difference in the appearance of the water, nothing to give a hint of danger. How wide across was the hole? Where did Tony go under? Would he still be where he went down, or would the current have carried him away by now? How long could a person be underwater and still live?
The questions came at Joel in a barrage, leaving no space for answers, if there were any answers.
There wasn't time to wait for them anyway. He made a lunging dive, pulling himself forward and under with both arms, his eyes open and smarting in the murky water. He couldn't see more than a few inches in front of his face, so he reached in every direction with his hands as he swam, feeling for an arm, a leg, a bit of hair. Anything! He found nothing until he touched something slimy and rotting on the bottom and sprang to the surface.
He ducked under the water again, reaching on every side, looking and feeling until the river sang in his ears and he burst through to the light, pulling raggedly for air.
The current would have pulled Tony downstream. He let the river carry him a few feet farther on and tried again.
Nothing.
When Joel dove for the fourth time, letting the current carry him farther from the shore, he found himself caught in the grip of that hurrying water. It sucked at him, grinding him against the silty river bottom. As he struggled to rise, grasping at the water with both hands as if he could pull himself up by it, his hand touched something solid.
Was it Tony, floating just above him? He thrashed toward the object, only to have the current draw it from his reach. Then he was swirling, spinning, being pulled toward the bottom again while a dark, boy-shaped object pivoted above him, facedown in the muddy water.
Tony was dead ... dead! And he, Joel, was going to die, too. He couldn't breathe. His lungs were a sharp pain. The air came bursting from his chest like an explosion, and the water rushed in to take its place. The form that had ridden above him brushed against his arm, his side. It was rough, hard, no human body. It was a log. Joel grabbed hold, and his head broke through the light-dazzled surface just as the rest of his body gave in to limpness.
He lay for a few minutes, coughing, spitting water, being moved without any assistance on his part from the eddying whirlpool to the slower, straighter current close to the riverbank. When the river bottom came up to meet his feet, he stood.
The sky was an i
nverted china bowl above his head. A single bird sang from a nearby tree.
Shut up, Joel wanted to shout. You just shut up. But he didn't. He didn't say anything. Instead, he bent over double and vomited a stream of water. Strange that river water in small amounts looked clean.
Joel could see everything with a sharp, terrible clarity: the river water he vomited, the bare roots of a tree thrust above the water, the steady progress of the river toward ... where did it go? Toward the Illinois River. And the Illinois River emptied into the Mississippi. Didn't it?
They had studied rivers in school, but he couldn't remember.
He looked around. Still nothing disturbed the smooth surface of the water, and nothing skulked along the bank, no hidden form. He might have been the only human being alive in the entire world.
If he found Tony, if he found him hiding somewhere on the bank, he would beat him to a bloody pulp. He would never speak to him again, never do anything with him again. It was a dirty trick, the dirtiest trick Tony had ever pulled.
A shiver convulsed Joel, though the sun was still bright and hot, and he began to move woodenly toward the spot where he had left his clothes. He would get dressed and—
He stood there over his pile of clothes. Tony's clothes were scattered on the ground, exactly where he had dropped them. Tony couldn't have gotten out of the water. Not even Tony would be running around stark naked ... just for a joke! Joel turned back to face the river again, squinting against the sunlight that glinted off the rippling surface.
It wasn't possible. It couldn't be. It was all a terrible dream from which he would awaken any moment.
Far above him, a car rumbled across the bridge.
"Wait!" Joel screamed, coming out of the trance in which he had been standing over Tony's clothes. "Stop! Help!" He ran toward the bridge, flailing his arms, but the car was too far away for anyone to hear ... to see. It moved smoothly up the hill on the other side of the bridge.
On My Honor Page 2
