Twenty-One Mile Swim Page 8

  “No. It’s just what he had said to me over the phone one day. He said he knew I would chicken out.”

  “Strong words. So that’s why you’ve changed your mind. He challenged you.”

  He nodded. “Yes. But not only him, either. I’ve reconsidered my values. I’m going to do it for the same reason I had planned on doing it in the first place.”

  “You’re going to prove you can perform a feat that a lot of guys in this world can’t.”

  “Not only guys,” he corrected. “Girls, too. After all, a woman swam across the English Channel. Maybe someday a woman will swim the twenty-one miles of Oshawna Lake.”

  “Maybe it’ll be me,” she said, and smiled. “In a pig’s eye! I wouldn’t even swim across the lake.”

  “Why not?”

  “I have no desire to. It’s not my worldly ambition.”

  “What is, Yo?” he asked her. “What is your worldly ambition? ‘ ‘

  They never had talked about ambitions before. Hers or his.

  She lifted her shoulders, swung around so that her dress spiraled around her legs, “Teach music. Getting married. Having a couple of kids. Preferably one of each.”

  “Nothing wrong with that,” he said, and suddenly imagined two tiny tots running around, shouting at him, “Hey, Uncle Joey! Look!”

  “Yeah, that’ll be fun,” he said, smiling.

  That Friday evening Joey’s father said that he was planning on going fishing the next morning if the weather was fair.

  “Want to go with me, Joey?” he asked.

  “I will, Dad!” Gabor piped up fervently.

  “I asked Joey,” said his father.

  “Sure, Dad,” replied Joey. “I’ll go. I haven’t been fishing for a long time, anyway.”

  His father smiled. “You sure you can break away from your training for a few hours?”

  Joey smiled back. “I’m sure.”

  They got up at six a.m. the next morning. The sky was clear and the lake smooth. They packed their tackle and rods into the boat and took off, both trolling at a slow speed as they headed south on the lake.

  “So you have changed your mind,” said his father, fixing his blue eyes on Joey.

  “About swimming the lake? Yes.”

  “Why? Because you are still hurt that some people call you Peewee and such names as that?”

  Joey thought carefully before he answered. “A little bit, Dad, but that really doesn’t bother me half as much anymore as it used to. I think it’s boiled down to two things: I made a promise to swim it, so I want to keep that promise. Number two, I want to satisfy myself that I can do it.”

  “Good,” said his father. “I’m glad. You know, I would not tell you this before, but when I found out that you had decided not to swim the lake, I was disappointed. I thought that here is my son — no bigger than a pea, like his father — training every day, working his hind end off to prove to the world he can do something very few other people can. Then, all of a sudden, I see you would not go through with it. I was surprised, because I was sure you were very determined to do it. In bed your mother and I would talk about you swimming the lake. You think we did not think much about it? Oh, yes! We both were afraid for you, but she especially. Your mother is a very sensitive woman. She loves you children so much she worries her head off when any one of you gets just a scratch. Can you imagine what she thought when she heard you wanted to swim the lake? The long way yet? The whole twenty-one miles of it?

  “But we talked about it and talked about it, and I told her I know how you must feel. Being smaller than most other boys your age is tough. When I was a young boy, my friends called me madár. You know what that means?”

  “Bird,” said Joey.

  “Yes. Bird. In a play our class put on in school, I was the Baby Jesus because I was the smallest one in it.”

  “In a play in the first grade I was the Littlest Angel,” said Joey.

  “Yes, I remember that.” His father laughed, and happy tears blurred his eyes. “But is it different today? No! I am Little Napoleon! Little La Guardia! Little this! Little that!” He shrugged. “But what the hell. I laugh it off. These men who call me such names do it because they like me. I know that. We are good friends, everyone of us. All but that s.o.b., my boss. He is the one who takes the advantage. He is the only one of them all who can call me a bird and make me feel like a cockroach. Someday...” He shook his head sadly. “Oh, I don’t know. I want to find another job, but it is hard. Very hard.”

  “Well, he’s got to retire someday, Dad,” said Joey. “Or maybe he’ll die first.”

  “I might die before he does,” replied his father, smiling to make a light joke of it.

  “No, you won’t,” said Joey. “You’re too good to die early. There are too many of us who love you. We want to see you grow real old.”

  His father put an arm around his shoulders, leaned forward, and kissed him. When he leaned back to straighten up in his seat, Joey saw tears in his eyes again.

  “I love every one of you, too, Joey,” he said, his voice almost breaking as he spoke. “You are all good children. And you are right. I don’t want to die right away. I want to see you all grow up, and be healthy and happy. That is what your mother and I want to see.”

  Joey nodded, and they settled back into silence as they waited for the fish to bite. As the sun warmed the air, Joey leaned back and relaxed. He’d remember this morning for a long time.

  3

  ON MEMORIAL DAY Joey swam across the lake and back. The water was about sixty-eight degrees, warmer than usual at this time of year because the weather had been exceptionally warm.

  “How do you feel?” Yolanda asked him as he stood in knee-high water and waded to shore. She had ridden the boat alongside him during his swim, taking Mary and Gabor with her.

  “Okay,” said Joey. “But I hit some real cold spots out there.”

  “It’s too early for a swim like that,” said Mary. “It’s better to wait until next month.”

  “That starts day after tomorrow,” reminded Gabor.

  They laughed.

  Joey went to the house and found, to his dismay, that Aunt Liza was there. She was clutching her purse as if she might be leaving soon.

  “Are you swimming today?” she said, staring at him as if he had lost his mind. “Joey! The water must be like ice!”

  “Almost, but not quite, Aunt Liza,” he said, giving her a smile as he went past her, water dripping from his trunks.

  “I shall never understand your letting him go swimming like that, Margaret,” she said, addressing her sister-in-law. “Never.”

  “He’s not a child, Liza,” said Joey’s mother calmly. “And he’s a good swimmer. Very good.”

  Joey’s smile lingered as he headed for the bathroom to shower and change.

  The news that Joey was going to swim the length of Oshawna Lake spread through the school. Kids took bets on him. Most of them were against his succeeding. They ranged from two to one to ten to one, with five to one the most common.

  “You got to make it for me, Joey, ol’ boy,” said one of the guys who had made a bet that he’d succeed.

  “You quit before the twenty-one and I’ll dunk you,” warned another, jesting.

  Joey promised them not to worry. What other promise could he dare make?

  He met Paula in the hall on his way to Chemistry II.

  “Hi, Paula.”

  “Hi, Joey! Are you popular! Hear the bets being made on you?”

  “Crazy,” he said.

  “I think it’s cool,” she said. “I’ve got a bet on you, myself. I’m betting five to two that you’ll do it.”

  “Five dollars?” He stared at her incredulously.

  “No. A dollar and a quarter to fifty cents. Big gambler, aren’t I?”

  He grinned. “Safe, anyway,” he said, feeling better. “I hope Mr. Thomas doesn’t hear about this. He’ll want to confiscate the winnings.”

  “He’ll have to wait
until fall,” she said, her eyes laughing. “By the way, can I ride in the boat with Yolanda when you make your next long practice swim? “ she asked hopefully.

  “Of course. But I don’t think that’ll be until next month. The water’s quite cold yet.”

  “Will you let me know?”

  “Sure.”

  “Thanks, Joey. Oh, I think it’s so exciting” she said, squeezing up her shoulders.

  They were at the doorway of the Chemistry II classroom. Joey opened it and followed her in.

  Exciting? I don’t know, he thought. I had never realized it was going to create such repercussions. If I had ever dreamed that there would be bets on me swimming the lake ... I don’t know.

  It was a good thing he enjoyed chemistry. There was enough going on throughout the entire class to keep his mind off swimming for at least one period during the day.

  When exam time came, he passed them all, though just squeezing by in ancient history. He just couldn’t care about the collapse of the Roman Empire or the cradle of civilization.

  The next Saturday, a hot, muggy day that sent the thermometers shooting up into the high eighties, was the best yet for a swim in the lake. Sticking to his promise, Joey called Paula and said he was going to try a long swim at about two in the afternoon — maybe ten miles.

  Okay, she said. She’d be over about five to.

  She was, and the three of them — neither Mary nor Gabor cared about going with them this time — rode the powerboat down to the south end of the lake.

  “It’s such a gorgeous day, I’d be tempted to shoot for the twenty-one,” said Paula, gazing at Joey through her dark sunglasses.

  “I’ve thought of it,” said Joey. “But I’m not ready for it. I’ve got to get in the mood.”

  “In the mood?” Paula echoed. “Suppose we had another hot day like this — we’re bound to, you know — and you didn’t get in the mood?”

  “I’ll be in the mood when I make up my mind to be,” promised Joey, putting one leg over the side of the boat. “Anyway, I’ll start in the morning. I figure on swimming it in about fifteen hours — approximately.”

  He dove in.

  The water was cool. But Joey’s body temperature soon adjusted to the water, and he became comfortable with it as he began his long, freestyle strokes.

  The yards went by. Eventually a quarter of a mile . . . a half-mile . . . a mile passed by. He felt good. The smooth surface of the water made the swim easier, too.

  He didn’t know how much time had gone by when he suddenly heard Yolanda’s voice: “Two miles.”

  Good, he thought.

  Sometime later he heard it again: “Five miles, Joey.”

  He swam on, taking his time, not pushing himself, resting a few seconds, resuming the swim.

  He went by the seven-and-a-half-mile landmark and thought he heard a distant rumbling. He glanced up at the sky and saw the normal array of white clouds he had seen earlier. Their shapes had changed, of course, but they seemed to be moving more noticeably now, and it made him suddenly aware that the surface of the lake was no longer smooth as it had been when he had started his swim. It was getting rough. Damn! he thought.

  He saw the sky brighten up briefly as a flash of lightning split the sky behind him. Thunder rolled like distant drums.

  “Joey,” said Yolanda. “I think you’d better call it quits.”

  “The storm’s coming this way from the south,” observed Paula.

  He looked behind him without losing a stroke and saw the darkening clouds merging into one another, twisting, curling, leashing into each other as if they were strange, wild animals of another kingdom. Again a flash of lightning lit up the sky, and thunder boomed.

  “Joey!” cried Yolanda. “Come on! It’s dangerous being out here with that storm coming toward us!”

  Damn the storm! he thought disgustedly. Why couldn’t it have held off for another few hours?

  He turned and headed for the boat, grabbing the ladder as the craft started to go slowly by him.

  Paula smiled at him. “You swam about eight miles,” she said. “How do you feel?”

  “Good,” he said, taking a deep breath as he relaxed on a seat.

  “Thirsty?” She began reaching for the gallon thermos filled with cold lemonade.

  “Yeah. I’ll have a glass of it,” he said.

  She poured him a glass, and he drank it down slowly.

  “Hey, I felt some drops,” she said, and turned to look at the blackening southern sky. “Oh, man, look. I bet it’s pouring down there.”

  “Goose it, Yo,” said Joey. “I don’t mind getting swamped; we’ve got swimsuits on. But I don’t like that lightning.”

  She shoved the throttle as far forward as it would go, and the boat responded, its bow cut ting through the waves like a knife blade through butter. The rain began to pelt them before they got the boat to shore on its sheltered hoist. Soon they were running to the deck below the steps. They stopped and let the rain drench them as they watched the swiftly approaching clouds and the display of lightning that streaked across the sky.

  “You know what that’s going to do?” Joey said, gazing with despair at the white-capped waves.

  “What?” asked Paula.

  “Cool the water back to what it was in May.”

  “Why are you griping?” said his sister. “Old man sun will come through. He hasn’t failed us yet, has he?”

  He didn’t find her remark funny. “Come on,” he said. “Let’s go up to the house.”

  4

  IT WAS a perfect Thursday morning in late July when Joey started the long trained-for twenty-one-mile swim. He had gone to bed early the night before and had a good night’s sleep. In the morning he had a light breakfast of orange juice, cereal, and milk and was in the water at exactly five minutes after six.

  Accompanying him in the powerboat were Yolanda and Paula. Both of them had brought their cameras and enough orange juice, water, and food to keep the three of them supplied for a full day.

  None of them had told anyone else — except members of their own families — that he was going to start the swim this morning. It wasn’t until two days ago, anyway, that Joey had decided that this morning would be the day. He had been keeping an ear close to the weather reports, and that good man, the meteorologist, had promised ideal weather for the next twenty-four hours. It could change abruptly, of course; sometimes it did. But in this case Joey felt that he had to accept the forecast as final.

  The morning couldn’t be clearer. There were hardly any clouds in the sky. The air was still, the lake calm. Sea gulls glided around in wide circles overhead. Some sat on the water, ruffling their wings and bathing. The water temperature was seventy-eight. Joey couldn’t ask for anything better.

  A mile . . . two miles . . . and then five finally lay behind him.

  Joey took his time, gliding through the water smoothly, left arm up, over, back, right arm stretching forward, then down, fingers close together, pressing down into the water, sweeping him forward. He lifted his head just enough to breathe at every stroke of his left arm. He had found breathing easier this way. It was less tiresome, more comfortable than taking two or more strokes before he breathed. Left arm stroke — breathe. Right arm stroke, left arm stroke — breathe. He rested a while. Swam on.

  “It’s noon,” Yolanda said, breaking into his quiet thoughts. “Want something to eat?”

  “Okay,” he said, and treaded water while he partook of a small glass jar of beef stew. He finished it, handed the empty jar to his sister, drank a few ounces of milk, rested a while longer, then swam on.

  The midday sun shone on his back and arms and danced off the water that splashed from his hands as he lifted them in a smooth, steady rhythm, first one and then the other. One . . . two . . . one . . . two . . .

  “We’re opposite the Girl Scout Camp,” announced Yolanda a short time after he’d eaten lunch.

  He didn’t bother to look, but he knew the landmark. A la
rge, rust-colored building some sixty feet from shore. A playground was in front of it. Small, rustic cabins set in the woods beyond it.

  He had swum eleven miles or thereabouts.

  Only ten more to go. Oh, man.

  He swam on, and little by little he began to feel the telltale messages of pain in his arms, his shoulders, his thighs, and his calves. He tried to ignore them, knowing that thinking about them might only begin to disillusion him. He forced himself to think of other things — of home, of his family, of Paula.

  Paula.

  Would she go out with him? he wondered. Would she like to be my girl? Does she have any idea how I feel about her?

  Now and then the aches interfered with his thoughts, and tiredness began to take a firmer hold of him.

  Hunger finally gnawed at his stomach again, and he was glad when he heard Yolanda say, “It’s six o’clock, Joey. Want something to eat?”

  Six o’clock. He’d been swimming almost exactly twelve hours.

  “You kidding?” he said, stopping to tread water. “I’m starving!”

  This time he ate two small glass jars of peas and tunafish, a bar of candy, drank a glass of milk, and got going again.

  Later, he saw the sun beginning to lower over the western hills, the clouds in front of it looking like stretched sugar candy.

  He began to glance now and then at the shore some two hundred yards to his right, at the high cliffs that separated the lower areas where cottages and all-season homes stood only a few feet above the lake’s edge. Steps led in some cases from a boat dock to a home up on the plateau.

  When he saw the one with a wide platform midway up he knew where he was, and from a previous calculation determined that he had gone about eighteen miles.

  “Yo!” he cried, enthusiastically. “Only three more to go!”

  Both girls looked wide-eyed at him.

  “How do you know?” his sister asked.

  “Those steps,” he said. “The one with the wide platform halfway up.”

  They looked at the landscape. “I see it,” Paula said.

  “I do, too,” replied Yolanda.

  The boat was slightly behind him and to his left side, at a distance that had hardly varied since they had started.