Twenty-One Mile Swim Read online

  “Well, hi, Joey,” his father greeted him, taking a curve-stemmed pipe out of his mouth. “We watched you ride on that sailboat. It looked like a lot of fun.”

  “It was,” said Joey.

  His father backed into the living room, and Joey followed him. He was slightly taller than Joey, but heavier. His hair was brown, cut short. “Come in here. Your mother and I have come to a decision.”

  Joey saw his mother sitting in an armchair, working on needlepoint. She glanced up at him, her round face breaking into a smile.

  “Yes, sure,” she said. “We have come to a decision. Ha-ha! He means he has. I just approved.” She pronounced “we” as “ve.”

  “Okay, I’ll bite,” said Joey, smiling. “What’s Dad decided that you approved?”

  “He wants to buy a boat,” said his mother. “You know that. For weeks he has been talking aboutit.”

  “Yes, but —”

  “I saw an advertisement in this morning’s paper,” interrupted his father. “The boat is for sale for seventy-five dollars.”

  “Seventy-five dollars?” Joey echoed. “It can’t be too big at that price.”

  “It’s big enough for what I want,” said his father. “It’s ten feet long. The oars are included in the price.”

  Joey smiled. The boat was less than half the length of Ross Cato’s sailboat. But, as his father had said, it was big enough for what he wanted.

  “Have you called the person?”

  “Yes. I said I’d be coming over sometime this afternoon to see it.”

  “Okay. Let’s go.”

  They drove to the opposite side of the lake where the seller of the rowboat lived in a small home with a dock leading some fifteen feet out into the water. A sixteen-foot Chris Craft outboard, resting in a hoist near it, captured Joey’s eye.

  “That’s what we ought to have, Dad,” he said.

  “Maybe someday,” said his father, hopefully. “Today, though, we’ll settle for a little rowboat.”

  It was an old one. How old Joey couldn’t guess. But the paint on it was peeling and the sides were rough from a lot of use.

  “I’m sorry,” said his father to the man selling the boat. “It looks pretty old. I don’t think it’s worth seventy-five dollars.”

  “How about seventy?”

  “Make it sixty,” said Joey’s father.

  “You play a hard bargain,” said the man. He was tall, gnarled looking, and in his sixties.

  “Take it or leave it,” said Joey’s father with finality.

  “Okay, I’ll take it,” the man said drily.

  “Thank you,” said Joey’s father and wrote out a check.

  They were able to tie the boat on the roof of the car, and then they drove home and parked alongside a gray two-door Ford parked in the driveway.

  “Aunt Liza’s here,” observed Joey.

  “I see,” said his father. “And I can already tell you almost everything she has told your mother about my buying a boat.”

  “Why? Doesn’t she like boats?”

  “She likes nothing to do with water,” said his father, turning off the ignition. “Ever since her boy Janos drowned, just thinking about water scares her to death.”

  Joey wondered what she would have thought if she had seen him riding in the sailboat, especially during those moments when it had heeled at such a precarious angle that it seemed it might tip over.

  They got out of the car as the other children came running out of the house. Joey and his father took the boat off the roof and, with the other children’s help, carried it down to the lake.

  “Where you going to keep it, Daddy?” asked Gabor.

  “When it’s not in use, on shore. Right here, far enough from the water so that the waves will not get to it and maybe work the boat down into the lake. Anyway, it will be tied so it won’t get away.”

  Gabor put an arm around his father’s waist and hugged him. Then his father picked him up, and Gabor gave him a kiss on his cheeks.

  “I love you, Daddy,” he said.

  “And I love you, Gabor,” said his father.

  “Oh, boy,” said Joey, grinning. “You know what that was for, don’t you?”

  They returned to the house and found Aunt Liza’s reception just as lukewarm as Joey expected it to be. She was his father’s sister, a dark-haired, plump woman in her early forties, who, like her brother, had been born in Hungary and immigrated to the United States before she was in her teens.

  “You must be crazy, Gabor,” she exclaimed, talking to him in Hungarian. “After what happened to Janos, I thought you would think twice before you bought this place by the lake. Now you go and purchase a boat. Wasn’t Janos’s drowning lesson enough?”

  “Accidents can happen no matter what you do,” Joey’s father replied tersely.

  “But you need not put yourself in a place where you know it could unexpectedly happen,” she came back at him. “Janos was a good swimmer, yet he —”

  “Enough, Liza,” her brother cut in sharply. “I like to fish, and I like to fish from a boat. I won’t be swimming while I fish.”

  Joey, understanding the language better than he could speak it, sympathized with his aunt, although he could not agree entirely with her. What’s more, what was done was done, and trying to change his father’s mind now was like trying to change the course of the sun.

  Aunt Liza made some comment in Hungarian that Joey didn’t catch. But apparently his father did, for a grin suddenly laced his face as he said, “That’s not nice, Liza.”

  Both Liza and Joey’s mother laughed, easing the situation somewhat. Sometimes he wondered about some of the words that they deliberately said in such a way that they were difficult to hear. Perhaps they did it purposely so that certain ears couldn’t catch what they were.

  It wasn’t until noon on Monday that Joey saw Paula long enough to talk to. They sat in the school cafeteria, and they lingered over their lunch.

  “Thought any more about learning to swim better?” Paula asked.

  She was wearing a blue jumpsuit which, Joey thought, complemented her green eyes perfectly.

  “Oh, sure,” he said.

  “I’m sorry about the way Ross talked to you,” she went on. “He’s not the most modest guy in the world.”

  “He’s a good sailor,” said Joey.

  “And a better swimmer,” Paula said. “He knows it and shows it. He hasn’t lost a meet in the three years he’s been competing. But you know what I wish?”

  He looked into her large eyes. “What?”

  “That someone would come along and beat him. His head will never shrink back to its normal size until that happens.”

  Joey shrugged. “Something I can’t understand,” he said. “You talk like that about him, yet you go with him.”

  “Wrong. I don’t go with him. Riding with him in his sailboat now and then doesn’t mean I go with him.”

  “Sorry.”

  They ate in silence for a minute.

  “You know that Gatewood’s going to build a new school, don’t you?” she said.

  “Yes. In a year or so, isn’t it?”

  All he had heard about it was some talk among the kids in school.

  “Right. My parents are going to have a meeting at our house in a couple of weeks. I think your parents are going to be invited. At least I heard their names mentioned.”

  “Probably,” said Joey. “Since we live only a few doors away from you.”

  “Three,” she said, to make it definite. “And a new swimming pool is going to be an issue.”

  He frowned at her. “A new swimming pool?”

  She smiled. “Yes! Wouldn’t it be great to have a brand new school and a brand new swimming pool? I can hardly wait!”

  “I just hope that I can swim better by then,” said Joey calmly.

  3

  JOEY, Yolanda, Mary, and Gabor — all wearing new swimsuits — went in the lake that following Saturday afternoon. The June sun was hot and b
right, but it was still too early in the year for it to have warmed the water to a point where swimming was comfortable. It would take another two or three weeks yet before that would happen, providing the weather didn’t turn cold again.

  None of the four knew how to swim well. Their father had bought Mary and Gabor flotation vests, and of the four children, they were having the most fun. Yolanda was struggling to keep afloat by dog paddling and kicking her feet. Joey worked at the crawl, the freestyle method of swimming, a little of which he had learned before, and which he preferred over any other. The backstroke, breaststroke, and the other styles of swimming could come later.

  Most of Sunday, and then every day after school during the next week, he put on his trunks — a bright red pair with white trim — and went into the water. He found that each time he went in was easier than the time before. He was becoming acclimated to the temperature of the water, and, more important, he was determined that he’d become an expert swimmer as soon as he could.

  He had been thinking about why he was so anxious to do so, but wanted to keep the reason to himself for a while. One thing he was able to admit, though, and that was that he owed this new ambition of his to the person he couldn’t care less if he ever saw again. Ross Cato. Ross had done nothing against him. On the contrary, Ross had done something for him; he had given Joey a ride on his sailboat. But Ross had also humiliated him by implying that just because he was shorter than most other boys his age, he would be a born loser when it came to swimming competition.

  “You might do all right against those seventh and eighth graders” Ross had said condescendingly. “Most of them are about your size.”

  Well, even though the conversation had taken place weeks ago, those words had been etched into his mind. A lot of nights he had gone to bed thinking about them.

  What can I do to make that wise guy eat his words? Joey had asked himself several times since then. He’ll have graduated from high school by the time I’ve really become a good swimmer. But even good won’t mean that I’d be fast enough to beat him. Ross’s long arms and legs are to his advantage. There must be something else that I can learn to do well and beat him at.

  Just last night it had come to him what that could be.

  “How about tomorrow morning, Joey?” his father asked him at the supper table Friday evening. “You want to wake up at six o’clock and go fishing with me? Maybe we can give each other luck.”

  His father had gone fishing every evening for an hour or so since Monday, and all he had caught were eight perch, three smallmouth bass, and one lake trout. Two of the perch were too small to bother with, and one of the bass was under legal size, so he had thrown them back into the water, leaving him with a total of nine fish. All were cleaned and put in the freezer, left for more to accumulate to make a fish cookout for the family of six worthwhile.

  “Okay,” said Joey. “We’re not going to be gone all day, are we?”

  “Noon at the latest,” assured his father.

  He had planned on spending most of Saturday in the water. But it was the first time his father had invited him to go fishing with him, and he had thought about trying his luck at it sometime, anyway.

  They finished supper, one of Joey’s favorite meals — majorannás tokány — beef stew with marjoram. For dessert there was still almásrétes — apple strudel —left from yesterday. His mother always called the foods she prepared by their Hungarian name, and probably would for the rest of her life.

  Half an hour after suppertime, he and his brother and sisters went swimming until sundown. The next morning his father awakened him at six. What a short night, he thought. But, uncomplaining, he dressed, had a breakfast of two scrambled eggs, toast, and milk, and went fishing with his father. They trolled a few miles northward on the east side of the lake, and Joey’s father caught two smallmouth bass. Then they crossed the lake and went in the opposite direction for a few miles. This time Joey landed a sixteen-inch northern pike, which, while he was reeling it in, fought hard and bitterly trying to throw the hook that had nabbed it.

  “Good boy!” exclaimed his father proudly. “I said you would bring us luck!”

  They caught a few small perch, which they threw back, and then returned home. It was close to eleven o’clock, and the sun, almost over their heads now, was getting unbearably hot.

  They showed their prize catches to the family — Joey proudly describing the struggle he had pulling in his while they all listened with awe. Then his father cleaned the fish at the dock, tossing the fins, innards, and heads back into the water for scavengers to devour.

  “Tonight, my dear Margaret,” he said to his wife who stood by watching with the children, “we will have fish.”

  She smiled. “Tejfeles suit ponty” she said, the words rolling with a smooth, musical sound from her lips.

  “Yes,” he said. “Baked in cream. Ah, yes! I told you Joey would bring us luck, didn’t I?”

  “Maybe he is a natural fisherman,” said his wife.

  “Don’t count on it,” said Joey, amused.

  She made them an assortment of sandwiches for lunch. After lunch and what seemed a reasonable lapse of “digesting” time, Joey put on his trunks and went swimming. The water was shallow next to shore. And in checking the depth of it, he found he could walk out almost a hundred feet before it reached his chin. The water was cold, but no matter, as long as he could stand it.

  He turned and retraced his steps toward shore until the water was up to his chest, then dove in, and swam the rest of the way. He was still only able to swim about twenty feet before he was tired and out of breath. But after standing for a minute or two, he pushed himself back into the water and continued to swim until he was tired and out of breath again.

  He could see that the girls and Gabor had progressed in their swimming, too, although not as much as he. But, then, he was sure that none of them had the determination that he had. None had the purpose to learn to be as good as possible as he. One of these days soon, he would tell them his secret ambition. For a while, though, he would keep it to himself.

  They had been in the water only about half an hour when Joey heard one of the girls cry out a name. He looked toward shore and saw Paula Kantella coming down the steps. He felt his heart jump. She was wearing white shorts and a halter. Her hair was loose around her shoulders, being teased by the breeze that was blowing from across the lake.

  Another girl was with her. Cindy somebody. Joey had seen her in a couple of his classes but couldn’t remember her last name. What he could remember about her was that she talked a lot. She was of slight build, had black hair, wore green shorts, and had skinny legs.

  Garfield. That’s who she was. Cindy Garfield.

  Yolanda and Mary left the water to greet the girls, leaving Gabor behind. He hardly noticed because he was in his glory splashing in the shallow water some ten feet off shore, his flotation vest buckled on him.

  Joey went on swimming, taking long overhand strokes while a small part of his mind hoped that Paula would watch him and notice how much he had progressed in the short time since she had last seen him. He still wasn’t able to swim far, however, and had to stop, stand up, and catch his breath.

  “Joey! Come here a minute!”

  He looked toward shore and saw Yolanda motioning to him.

  “Be right there!” he called back.

  He swam part of the way in, then waded the remaining twenty feet or so. “Hi, Paula. Hi, Cindy,” he greeted the girls.

  “Hi,” they said.

  “There’s a swim meet at Merton High that starts at two o’clock,” Paula went on. “Would you like to see it?”

  He thought a moment. “I don’t know. What time is it now?”

  She looked at her wristwatch. “One forty-five. You still have time. Anyway, even if we’re late, there are quite a few races we’d see.”

  “If you’ve never seen a swim meet you’ll love it,” said Cindy, squinting one eye and looking at him through the narrowe
d lid of the other as the sun beat down on her face. “And if you’re not a good swimmer you’ll learn a lot, too, just by watching.”

  So Paula’s told you I’m a poor swimmer, he wanted to say to her. Can’t be you were looking a minute ago while I was out there, Cindy kid.

  “Maybe I would,” he said.

  “You’ve improved a lot,” Paula said to him. “I saw you out there.”

  He shrugged.

  “Well, I —”

  “He’s been out there every day this week,” Yolanda broke in. “He’s crazy, I tell you. You’d think that’s all he has to do.”

  Paula smiled.

  “Well, will you come? We can either ride our bikes, hitchhike, or my mother can drive us there.”

  “I don’t have a bike,” Joey said.

  “I’ll have my mother drive us,” Paula decided. “Why don’t you and Mary come, too, Yolanda?” she invited politely. “I’m sure you’ll enjoy it.”

  “No, thanks, Paula. I’d rather stay here and swim.”

  “Me, too,” said Mary. “And we’ve got to keep an eye on Gabe.”

  Paula shrugged. “Okay. See you all later.”

  Joey hurried to the house to change. He had two reasons for going. One was that he did want to see the meets, and the other, well, he kind of liked being with Paula.

  The swimming pool inside Merton High was a glimmering rectangle of blue. Black lines were spaced out at an even parallel on the white bottom to accommodate eight swimmers at a time.

  They missed the first event but were in time to see the second, which was already in progress.

  “They’re in the breaststroke event,” observed Cindy as they hurried to find a seat in the already well-packed hall. A couple of kids shouted greetings at them, other kids from Gatewood Central. They waved back and said, “Hi!”

  They found three seats halfway up the east side of the pool. Joey sat next to Paula, hoping that Cindy would sit next to her. But Cindy sat beside him, leaving him in between them.

  The crowd was a mixture of parents and students, with the students outnumbering the parents by about eight to one. The huge room was a bedlam of chattering voices and yells. It was hard to tell whom anyone was rooting for, unless the student was wearing a shirt with the name of his or her school on it.