On My Honor (2 page)

Joel reached over to take hold of Tony's bike, supporting his own for Tony at the same time. "Come on," he said. "Let's go."

It took only about ten minutes to reach the edge of town. On their way past the school, Tony stuck out his tongue in the direction of the sixth grade classroom where they had spent last year. Joel, deciding he might as well get into the spirit of the day, followed suit, though he liked school well enough.

The sun sizzled in a sky so blue it could have been created out of a paint can. When they left the town behind, they rode between stands of tall, whispering grass rising on each side of the highway. Meadowlarks called from the ditch banks.

Tony's exuberance knew no bounds. He rode in figure eights or in circles that occupied both lanes of the nearly deserted highway. Once he tried a square and nearly toppled off Joel's bike.

Joel moved ahead, and when he started down the hill into the Vermillion River valley, he leaned forward and pumped, pushing Tony's old bike until it hummed. This was the first of many valleys they would encounter, and Joel knew going up the other side would be tough. Maybe, he thought, with a sudden rush of hope, Tony would get tired before they got all the way to the park.

Soon the bike was going faster than he could pump, so he had to let it coast. Still it gathered speed. He tried, once, to glance over his shoulder to see how close behind Tony was following. His front wheel wobbled dangerously when he turned his head, though, so he kept his eyes forward, concentrating on keeping the wheel still. His tires buzzed against the smooth blacktop, and the wind swept through his hair, holding it back from his face as if by strong fingers. It forced his eyelids open and made his eyes feel dry and crackly.

By the time Joel got to the bridge, the lowest point between the two hills, he would be flying. With the speed he had built up, he figured he could be halfway up the other side before he had to get off to push.

Joel reached the bottom of the hill and shot across the bridge so fast that he didn't get even a glimpse of the river below. He knew exactly how it would look, though, muddy red with lazy, oily-looking swirls. As soon as the bike's momentum slowed enough that his legs could keep pace with the spinning wheels, he started pumping, measuring his distance on the upward side, standing when the pumping began to get hard so he could force each pedal down with all his weight.

When his legs began to feel rubbery, he climbed off and started pushing. Tony would probably pass him, still riding the Schwinn.

"That was some hill, huh?" He tossed the words over his shoulder. Getting no answer, he turned around to see where Tony was.

Tony was at the bottom of the hill in the middle of the bridge, the Schwinn leaning carelessly against the fat iron railing. He was hanging a long way out over the railing, peering down at the river.

"Bummer!" Joel said and, glancing up and down the highway to check for cars—even when he was mad at his father he couldn't help doing things like that—he U-turned, climbed back on, and began coasting again. Next time he wouldn't get more than a few feet trying to start up from a dead stop at the bottom. He would have to walk the entire hill. But of course Tony didn't think of things like that. Maybe it was time they traded bikes back again.

"What're you looking at?" he asked, as he popped a wheelie and spun next to Tony.

"The river," Tony replied, leaning out even farther. "I'm looking at Old Man River."

"No, you're not. Old Man River is the Mississippi. That's nothing but the Vermillion down there."

Tony didn't answer. Joel knew his correction didn't matter to Tony. If he wanted to call the Vermillion Old Man River, he would. He was that way in school, too ... even on tests. He drove the teachers nuts.

Looking at Tony leaning over the railing like some kind of acrobat on a trapeze, Joel suddenly had to turn away. He wished Tony would be more careful.

Beyond all reason he also wished, as he often had before, that Tony were his brother. They could be twins ... the kind that didn't have to look alike or
be
alike either. With so many other kids in the family, the Zabrinskys wouldn't miss Tony. If they needed a replacement, Joel would gladly trade Bobby-the-Whiner.

"You realize," Joel said, "that it's going to be a long walk up that hill."

Tony straightened up and grinned, his teeth bright against his already tanned skin. "We don't
have
to go to Starved Rock," he said. "Maybe I've got a better idea "

"Better than Starved Rock?" Was there a chance he wasn't going to have to argue with Tony about climbing the bluffs?

Tony did a little jig next to the bridge railing as if he could explain himself that way. "We've got lots of time. We can do anything we want."

"Sure we can!" Joel agreed enthusiastically.

"We could even go swimming."

Joel couldn't believe his luck. "All
right
!" he exclaimed, holding out the flat of his palm for Tony to slap.

Tony ignored the gesture and instead bowed, extending a hand in the direction of the reddish brown water slithering far beneath the bridge. "It's a great day for swimming," he said.

Joel stared. "In the river?" he demanded. "You want to go swimming in the river?"

Tony shrugged elaborately. "Where else?"

"You might as well go swimming in your toilet."

"Who says?"

"My dad says! That's who."

"'My dad says,'" Tony mimicked, his voice coming out high and girlish.

Joel decided to ignore the taunt. He decided, also, not to remind Tony of the promise he had been required to make to his father before they left. "You know we're not allowed to swim in the Vermillion. Nobody is. It's dangerous ... sink holes and currents. Whirlpools, sometimes! Besides being dirty."

"Alligators, too, I bet." Tony was suddenly solemn, though his eyes still danced. "The red in the water probably comes from all the bloody pieces of swimmers the 'gators leave lying around."

"There's no alligators in the Vermillion! Do you think I'm stupid or something?" Joel could feel his face growing hot, despite the fact that he knew Tony was only teasing. "And the color just comes from clay, red clay."

"That does it!" Tony said, crossing his arms and pulling his T-shirt over his head. "If there's no 'gators and no blood, I'm going swimming for sure."

Leaving Joel's Schwinn still perched haphazardly against the railing, he went whooping the length of the bridge and crashed through the underbrush along the side of the road. He was swinging his pale blue shirt over his head like a lasso.

"Come on, Joel," he yelled back. "The last one in's a two-toed sloth!"

Chapter Three

J
OEL WATCHED
T
ONY 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."