Marx & Ford

By Luke Marusiak

This provocative fiction explores the consequences of twins choices. It is a riveting tale that follows the lives of twins John and Thomas Staid who are similar in every way, until they grow distant in their beliefs and the paths they take. From rural Pennsylvania to a gritty housing area in Pittsburgh; from a small private college to a glittering Silicon Valley start up - twins grapple with both their rivalry and the consequence of their choices. The reader ultimately will feel an affinity for one of the brothers thus the question which twin will you love, which will you hate? Readers will uncover surprises as the story unfolds. Marx & Ford engages the reader to an intellectual and intriguing literary adventure.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Xlibris US
• Release date: Mar 22, 2011
• ISBN: 9781456874988

Luke Marusiak

Luke Marusiak was raised in Western Pennsylvania. He served in the U.S. Army culminating with the 1st Infantry Division in Desert Storm. He has resided in the Silicon Valley since the early 1990s working in semiconductors, hard drive media, and vacuum chamber systems in positions from process engineer to chief operating officer and CEO. He draws on his family, friendships, and experiences for his writing.

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Marx & Ford

Luke Marusiak

Copyright © 2011 by Luke Marusiak.

Library of Congress Control Number:       2011903080

ISBN:         Hardcover                               978-1-4568-7497-1

                   Softcover                                 978-1-4568-7496-4

                   Ebook                                      978-1-4568-7498-8

All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic or mechanical, including photocopying, recording, or by any information storage and retrieval system, without permission in writing from the copyright owner.

This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places and incidents either are the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously, and any resemblance to any actual persons, living or dead, events, or locales is entirely coincidental.

This book was printed in the United States of America.

To order additional copies of this book, contact:

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Contents

I

GEMINI

II

SOLOMON

III

JUNGLE

IV

ODYSSEY

V

PHOENIX

TO MY SON DAVID

Preface

This novel is fiction in spite of references to actual events. The responsibility for inaccuracies in either interpretation or portrayal of those events is mine and mine alone. This novel is not meant to depict any actual person, organization, or event. Open it. Start on page one. Begin reading. Go along for the ride. If you’re entertained and engaged, then I will have succeeded.

I owe a debt of gratitude for many who helped me with this book. I would like to offer thanks to:

My wife, Diana, who encouraged me in this project from conception, read every chapter first while in its roughest state, and offered invaluable advice and counsel throughout. I can never adequately acknowledge my appreciation.

My son, David, for prodding me to finish the book; he has served and continues to serve as my inspiration.

My parents: my father for showing me the value of courage. I can only hope to live up to the legacy he left me. My mother for showing me the discipline needed to achieve anything through her insistence on learning how to swim. Additional thanks to them both for their love and encouragement of reading.

Lee Wilkerson, whose warm encouragement and support of the early chapters is one of the main reasons I continued writing Marx & Ford.

Anand Vasudev, Mike Wanebo and Steve O’Rourke, who began reading this manuscript when I was about halfway through. Their comments and encouragement were invaluable.

My military friends, who taught me much during my time in the army, with a special thanks to Colonel Walt Craig to whom I owe the greatest debt in teaching me leadership. I will never forget you personally pulling the electrical covers off of generators in the motor pool to make sure the soldiers knew how to make them work, traveling to any communications field site that needed help, and generally being in the thick of it regardless of the issue. I use your mode of leadership as my benchmark.

Ayn Rand for Atlas Shrugged, Robert Pirsig for Zen and the Art of Motorcycle Maintenance, and Victor Frankl for Man’s Search for Meaning.

Ken Zadegan for his 2010 interest in the manuscript, which stirred up enough attention to prod me to publish.

A person I knew in 1980 as Miss Kate Healy, who in the last weeks of my thoroughly unspectacular high school performance assigned to my senior Lit class the reading of the book Zen and the Art of Motorcycle Maintenance. That has made all the difference.

Finally, to my brothers Mark who is two years older and Matt who is three years younger. For all the experiences of sibling rivalry we always remembered to be brothers first and foremost.

—Luke Marusiak

February 21, 2011

PART I

GEMINI

Chapter 1

Lizzy held her squalling newborn twins to her bosom, sobbing with happiness at their health and the prospects of close siblings yet utterly unaware of the vastly different paths each would take. Alan smiled when he looked at his wife and his sons. This has been a long time in coming, he thought. Identical twins. Alan watched Lizzy gently rock the boys, and noted with satisfaction the calming effect. She’ll be a great mother, no doubt, he concluded.

Alan walked to the window and peered outside. Although nearly midnight, the moon shone so brightly that Alan could easily see Hugoville below. Small town hospital did just fine, he thought. John and Thomas . . . good names. He looked back at his wife and his gurgling sons. Thomas gave us a scare for a while, but he came through it just fine. He pursed his lips. The small town hospital handled a blue baby without missing a beat. He turned back to the window. Doubting Thomas, that’s what Lizzy called me when we weren’t sure the little fella would make it. I have to remember to tell Thomas how he got his name. John and Tom Staid, he said to himself with great satisfaction.

Alan marveled at the brightness of the night. This moon is incredible. I’ve only seen it like this one other time: the War. He thought back to the frozen German mud. The Bulge. He shook his head remembering. I was frozen and scared to death, a long way from Hugoville, Pennsylvania. The Third Army was nowhere in sight, and then came this full moon. He inhaled deeply at the memory. I looked at that moon thinking—no, knowing that Lizzy was looking at the same moon, and feeling that that moon was bright hope shining in the night. And it was bright hope, it really was.

The nurse came and took the twins to allow Lizzy some needed rest. Alan came beside his wife and clasped her hand.

Aren’t they just beautiful? Lizzy asked.

They are miracles. Two strapping young men, Alan stated proudly.

Ummm… Lizzy smiled and nodded off to sleep.

It’s been a long time coming, Alan thought once again. He stared at his wife for a few moments, stood, kissed her forehead, and walked back to the window. After the last twelve hours she deserves the rest. He scanned the town in the moonlight. There’s the theater I’ll take them to see movies. He squinted at the brightness of the moon. This is appropriate, he thought. My old ally the moon shining like this on this night.

Lizzy stirred and Alan turned and appraised her. Honey, you did beautiful. He silently thanked his good fortune and then his eyes rose to the clock above the door. 11:56 PM, he read. 11:56, May 21, 1962, I’ll always remember this feeling. After years of feeling older, he now had a youthful glow borrowed from his newborn sons. He smiled. I’ll always remember. Alan turned once again to the window. He reached his hand toward the moon and wiggled his fingers, noting the shadows created on the windowsill. You are my friend, he spoke to the brilliant orb. I will remember this night.

Alan continued to identify the town’s landmarks in the midnight luminescence. There’s the roof of the sporting goods store. I’ll have to get them fishing poles and hunting licenses. There’s the football stadium. I’ll have to make sure they’re on the team. He laughed softly to himself. Of course I do have some time to plan. Something at the edge of town caught his eye. He looked closer to make it out. What is that white line out there? Alan oriented the object with some other known points. It’s the flagpole, he finally realized. It’s the flagpole beside the pool. I’m used to seeing it with a flag, so I didn’t recognize it. He inhaled deeply. I’ve got to make sure John and Thomas learn how to swim, he decided. After all, if I’m going to take them fishing they’re going to have to know how to swim.

Chapter 2

The smell of chlorine permeated the air as the young swimmers huddled together.

Let’s go! shouted John.

Yeah. Let’s start our laps, chimed Tom.

Helen, the swimming coach, smiled at the enthusiasm of the group. Thirty-two laps. Nobody leaves until everyone is done, she boomed.

The swimmers ran to their lanes and methodically dove in to finish the practice of the day. Tom, fourth in line, launched long and far when he dove, offering his front side to the water. The resulting sting, rush of cold, and smacking sound served to ignite the quick freestyle stroke that had garnered him so many ribbons. He reached and stretched for a scoop of water and pulled back hard with each stroke, rolling right to gasp a breath every third pull. He immersed his face and followed the blurry outline of the black lane line mindlessly. Forty-nine yards into his first lap he violently tucked his head down and snapped his body into a tight tuck while rolling right. Halfway through his flip he completed his roll and planted his feet firmly on the black tiled cross of the pool wall. In one complete move, Tom lunged forward underwater, flinging his arms out directly in front of him, thumbs interlocked and springing off the wall as if shot from a slingshot. Without waiting for the glide generated from his powerful thrust to slow, he burst again into his powerful, methodical stroke. That’s one, he counted off to himself.

He completed thirty laps, slowing only slightly near the end. As soon as he kicked off the wall to begin his last two laps, he burst into a freestyle sprint, holding nothing back. He pulled five strokes between breaths and strove against the resistance of the water so hard that his muscles throbbed with ache and power. Upon touching the wall for the completion of his swim, he grabbed the edge of the pool with both hands and sprung out of the water, pivoting his feet between his arms and standing as soon as they hit the deck. He pinwheeled each arm backward once and shouted a loud Yeah! Looking for his brother, he noticed John standing three lanes to the right, grinning widely.

Beat you again, didn’t I, little brother? John asked.

The hell you did.

I’ve been waiting here for you for five minutes.

Tom bellowed a loud laugh and replied, You sure have a lot of water dripping off you.

I work up sweat over thirty-two laps. Don’t you?

The twins laughed and walked to the low wire fence where they had draped their towels and sweat suits. John glanced up and noticed his dad watching. He nodded to his father and felt an odd rustling of butterflies. I hope he thinks I did well, John thought. As they toweled themselves off, other swimmers, completing their laps, emerged from the pool.

The swimmers finished their laps and gathered around their coach. Oakridge meet is next week, Helen stated. Oakridge has a year-round team. Many swimmers from Oakridge go straight to college swim teams. She paused to let her words sink in. They’re looking at us as nothing more than a practice drill, but we can beat them.

The swimmers gathered around Helen were young. The oldest was sixteen. The twins, stars for their age group, were twelve. Swim team was a two-year-old idea that Helen, the lifeguard from out of town, implemented, organized, and coached. As time progressed the swim meets turned from a fun free-for-all where some individual swimmers won ribbons, to a serious venture where a group victory seemed possible. Helen’s words reached the twins and reverberated in their hearts. They ached to win.

If you really want to win, then we need to practice more, Helen continued. If you’re willing to do what it takes then be here tomorrow, Saturday, Sunday, Monday, and Tuesday morning at six o’clock. How we practice these last few days can make the difference.

The twins had caught the fever. They swam until their muscles turned to rubber in practice. They burned with the raw desire to compete, and beat a worthy opponent.

Alan and Lizzy drove their sons to the pool the big day of the meet. Alan noted that the boys were unusually quiet. How you guys doing back there? he asked.

I’m so nervous I can’t stand it, John stammered. I’ve never felt like this.

Me too, Tom echoed.

Good, Alan replied. What you feel is a nervous fear. He smiled. At a young age you get to face your fear. This is a good thing.

You boys are going to do just fine. Lizzy said. You two are wonderful swimmers.

Thanks, Mom, the twins said in unison.

The morning of the meet was cold but clear. It was the end of August and the weather was already beginning to signal that fall was about to begin and that school would soon start. John and Tom had to wait for the public address system to be hooked up. There was a delay as the Oakridge bus came in late and their swimmers were just warming up.

I wish we hadn’t warmed up so early, Tom commented to his brother while he watched the Oakridge swimmers warm up.

I know, John replied, still gripped by fear.

A good-sized crowd had gathered in the grassy area surrounding the pool. The Oakridge swimmers were bored, confident. Their insouciant swagger hardened the resolve of the Hugoville team. Practice ended and the meet began in earnest.

The first race was the signal to Oakridge and the gathered crowd of how the day was going to go. John was in the third lane. From the pop of the gun John was in first place. He swam as one possessed, taking a breath every sixth stroke and pulling harder and harder until he touched the wall. When he reached the wall for the win he gasped loudly, nearly fainting. As he clung to the edge of the pool, panting rapidly, the roar of the hometown crowd filled his ears. Tom ran over and grabbed his hands hoisting him out of the water.

Yooo! FIRST PLACE! John you did it, Tom shouted.

By this time John had regained his senses and began to feel the warm rush of the adrenaline-charged victory flush his face. He looked at the crowd that was cheering loudly, then ran back to the other swimmers with his brother. When he got back to the group, the swimmers nearly mobbed him with backslaps and congratulations. He looked for his parents, and when he saw their proud smiles, he felt shivers down his back. Twelve years did little to prepare him for the sweetness of victory and the adulation. It was a feeling so uplifting that John felt he could bask in it forever.

The next race interrupted John’s euphoria. He watched intently as his teammates competed. The first two places of the second event went to Oakridge. Tom raced in the third event, which was the backstroke. Tom, unusually gifted at this stroke, had won it almost effortlessly at every meet. This meet was no exception as no one threatened when he touched the wall. John ran up to greet him, and the twins slapped each other’s hands and gave a victory yell that the crowd relished. By this time everyone realized that this was going to be a close meet.

John and Tom’s early victories helped set the tone of the meet. The teams traded victories until no one was sure who was ahead at any given time. John placed second in the 100-yard freestyle and first in the fifty-yard breaststroke. Tom placed first in the 100-yard backstroke but faltered to third in the 100-yard breaststroke.

The last race of the meet was the 200-yard medley, where both John and Tom were swimming their strongest strokes: John was swimming fifty yards of freestyle, and Tom was swimming fifty yards of backstroke. The race started off well, with John finishing well ahead of the pack. The second event was the breaststroke, which yielded the lead to Oakridge. Tom was up third and gave the lead back to Hugoville with his dominating backstroke. The last event was a butterfly that finished with both swimmers nearly touching the same time, but Hugoville faster by the narrowest of margins. The crowd roared tumultuously; victory seemed assured.

John and Tom, confident that Hugoville had won the meet, ran up to their parents, flushed with the exuberance of a challenge met. We did it! Tom shouted. We beat these guys.

"You did great!" Lizzy said to her sons; her eyes shining with pride.

Everybody better just relax until they finish counting the score, Alan cautioned.

Tom looked at his father, who had turned to look at the scoring booth, and noted with satisfaction the deeply pleased look on Alan’s face. We faced it, Dad. We faced the fear and beat it, Tom thought, nearly bursting with confidence. Nearly fifteen minutes after the last race the scorekeepers announced that they would have to review the results because the scores were so close. This news dampened the mood of the Hugoville swim team. Helen was sequestered near the scoring booth, trying to find out the results. The announcement was ice water thrown on the twins’ mood, which cooled from exhilaration to anxiety.

If only I had won the 100-yard freestyle, I’d feel a lot better right now, John moaned.

How do you think I feel about coming in third in the 100-yard breast? Tom asked.

If we win, it won’t matter, John replied, trembling. I think we should… Didn’t we win more races?

Yes, we did, but it might not matter. When you came in first of the very first race, Oakridge placed second and third, Tom responded. If they finished like that every time, we might lose.

After what was an interminable wait to the twins, the PA system finally boomed to life.

The final score of the 1974 Hugoville Swim Meet is Oakridge, 716; Hugoville, 715.

What? Tom couldn’t believe his ears. We lost by one point?

John was just as stunned. How could we lose by one point? We don’t swim all those races and lose by one point. That just doesn’t happen.

The crowd was incredulous. The score was repeated over the PA system and all doubt was erased. The Oakridge swimmers were full of shame; they didn’t even want to acknowledge that they had won. A victory over Hugoville by one point was no victory at all.

Helen gathered her swimmers one last time. You all did GREAT! Next year we’ll WIN!

In spite of the ribbons they won, John and Tom’s hearts were just not in it. They walked to the car with their parents.

Arrrgh, how could I have come in third? Tom lamented. I could have made the difference.

One point? God Almighty, if I had come in first in the 100-yard freestyle we could have won, John repined. I should have tried harder. I could’ve somehow found more speed. If only I had known…

You boys did just fine, Lizzy said in an attempt to cheer them up.

You did more than fine, Alan agreed. You faced your fears today. You showed a little bit of courage. That’s what you need to take out of this.

John nodded. Thanks, Dad.

Thanks, Tom echoed in a melancholy voice.

I’ll take you guys fishing this weekend. That’ll cheer you up. Alan said in an upbeat manner. Although the twins couldn’t see it, their dad was smiling all the way home.

Chapter 3

John was concentrating on the movement of the stream. The sunlight shimmered against the water, creating an intensely bright ripple that obscured the bottom. The rustling of the stream filled him with peace and serenity. He looked left and saw Tom, absorbed in thoughts of his own. He edged downstream, noticing that he needed to cast again. With a smooth but sharp movement he arced the worm out onto the stream above him. The bait hit the water, and he felt a quick pull on the line. He countered the pull to set the hook, and felt the fish at the end of his line squirm vigorously. I got one!

John reeled his fish in. It was a chubby, an inedible, throwaway fish. He removed the hook and grasped the fish firmly, encircling its girth with his hand. He squeezed hard until he felt the dull crack of the spine being broken. He then released the fish into the water, where it floated lifelessly downstream.

Alan noticed the fish float by. Throw the chubbies on the bank after you kill them, he exclaimed. That way a fox or raccoon will have a good dinner. When you throw them in the water it spooks the other fish.

Will do, Dad, John answered. He wasn’t happy that his catch was just a chubby. It fought like it might be a trout, John thought. But you can never be sure until it’s in the net. He glanced left again and caught Tom smirking. John balanced his rod between his side and upper arm, grabbed the hooks, and extracted a worm from his bait box. He skewered the worm twice, dropped it in the water, and grabbed the rod with his free hand. He easily cast his bait across the stream and waited for the next opportunity.

The brothers worked their way down the stream, taking a few steps every cast. They were too impatient. The progress of moving made them feel as if they were accomplishing something even if they weren’t catching fish. Soon they found themselves next to their dad.

We’re too close together, Alan said. If you two are in a hurry, go on by, but don’t rush an experienced fisherman like myself.

Come on, Tom, let’s go past. The reason Dad always catches more fish is that he is ahead of us.

The reason I catch more fish than you two is that I know how.

Well, we’ll see about that, Tom echoed his brother’s sentiment.

John and Tom went past Alan and began to work the stream the way they had always wanted: fast. When they rounded a large bend, Alan was out of sight. They kept up the pace.

Wait a minute, John. We’re not catching anything.

We will. Remember where Uncle Don caught that sixteen-inch brownie last week?

You mean under the bridge?

That’s where the fish are. We’ll get there before Dad and clean up.

John, we’re on the wrong side of the stream if we want to fish that hole right.

No problem. We’ll round the next bend and find a shallow spot to cross.

If Dad catches us trying to cross the stream when it’s this high, he’ll have our hides.

We’ll stay out of sight and he’ll never know.

Let’s get a move on.

The brothers reeled their bait in and concentrated on moving quickly. They stumbled over large rocks in oversized waders. They tried to cross at several places, but as soon as they got away from the bank the water reached the top of their hip boots, nearly knocking them off their feet. It was spring and the stream was engorged with the rushing water from the snow melt.

The hole that they were moving toward was eight feet deep, six feet wide, by twenty feet, and created by change in the stream’s course caused by a bridge abutment. The one-lane bridge had concrete pillars topped by a steel structure that was pure utility. The naked beams and tension wires could be seen from underneath. When a vehicle drove across the bridge, small stones cascaded down into the stream through the open steel mesh.

If not for the fact that Uncle Don did catch a fish there the previous week, no one would have thought that the hole would be a prime spot to cast bait in. What the brothers forgot was that Uncle Don caught his fish after dark and long after the last car had crossed the bridge. It was only two o’clock, and the traffic on the bridge was still brisk enough to spook the fish away. The brothers didn’t think of any of this. Instead, they were obsessed with the big fish that one of them was bound to catch.

Tom, this water is not that cold. I’m going to go across even if I get wet.

I’ve been thinking the same thing.

They rounded a final bend in the stream and saw the bridge.

There she is, John. We better cross now, the water gets even deeper on this side if we go much further.

Okay, let’s do it.

There was no pretense of fishing. The brothers flung their fishing packs across their backs and used their poles as balancing rods. John stepped into the water and began a ratchety gait across the stream. When he got four feet from the near bank, he found that the water was rushing swiftly at the top of his hip boots. He looked left at Tom beside him. The tear on Tom’s face and John’s pounding heart verified the danger.

Are you ready, Tom?

YEAH! Tom tried to bellow away his fear. Courage, Tom pleaded to himself. Courage, courage, courage.

A strange thought occurred to John. If I crouch down and get wet that way then I won’t have to worry about falling in. He looked at Tom and smiled. He then crouched down suddenly, letting the water rush into his boots. He stepped forward and was up to his waist in the rushing water. He gasped out loud from the shock of the cold. He looked left and saw Tom careen face-first into the water. Horrified, John braced his legs and grabbed Tom’s fishing pack. Tom righted himself quickly, sputtered, and inhaled long and deep.

You said this water isn’t cold, Tom gasped.

Hell, I didn’t know you were going to dive in to find out.

The brothers, now halfway across, panted for a moment to catch their breath.

If this water gets any deeper we might be in trouble.

The deafening rush of the water muted normal conversation, and the brothers had to scream at each other to be heard. John took another step. The bottom dropped further, and he found himself up to his chest and spinning slightly in the torrent. He faced downstream, attempting to move diagonally across the stream. He knew that the moment he tried to stop he would be knocked off his feet.

John shuddered as the water rose, and he obsessed about the safety of the shore. Another step and he sank still deeper. He shut his mouth, held his breath and swung his foot in front of him as the force of the current slid him downstream. His foot struck the sharply angled bank of the stream bed and he flung himself toward the shallow water. The current spun him further, tilting him backward. Don’t fall or you’ll drown! he exhorted to himself in desperation. He dropped his pole, and although spinning, threw his shoulder forward into the water. He splashed face first into the shallow water, and wildly thrashed about until he regained his balance.

Panting, John looked up and was surprised to see Tom standing in knee-deep water in front of him. The anxious concern on Tom’s face matched his own.

WOW, where’s my pole? How did you get across? John sputtered.

Damn, John, I thought you were going to drown. You must have walked right through a deep spot. I took a step and was back up to my waist. Tom looked at his brother and shook his head. When I saw you, all I saw was your mouth and nose above the water.

Whew, John exclaimed loudly, attempting to minimize his fear. I’m okay now. I just need to find my pole.

The twins looked back at the deep part of the stream that John just traversed, and could see nothing but the glittering surface of the water. Tom edged closer to the deep portion and cast his bare hooks into the hole and reeled in. He tried this several times and eventually snagged John’s pole. He reeled the line toward John, and together they pulled the fishing pole from the water.

I was beginning to worry there, John said, smiling. Alan was nowhere in sight, so they could make a run at the hole under the bridge. I’ve got to get this water out of my boots, John asserted. He stood in front of Tom and swung his right foot backward, where he grabbed it, tilting his boot to let the water run out. Tom steadied his brother by hanging on to his fishing pack, and after John had emptied his other boot, he grabbed Tom’s pack as he did the same.

Well, we made it. I’m soaked, but no harm done, John said. Let’s get to the bridge so we can catch the big one. His enthusiasm for attacking the fishing hole had returned.

There better be more than one big one under there after what we just went through, Tom answered.

Don’t worry, Tom, there are probably plenty in that hole.

The twins splashed their way to the hole, and standing in knee-deep water, marveled at the deep-green fast-moving water just twenty feet away. The stream was extremely shallow directly underneath the bridge on their side of the stream. The other side was fast and deep. They baited their hooks and began casting.

Wait a minute, John, first let me cast. When I’m reeling in then you cast.

Okay.

A car rumbled across the bridge, splattering the brothers with a shower of small pebbles.

Ow! I just got hit in the head with a rock, Tom said.

I know, so did I.

How come we haven’t gotten a bite yet?

The car that just went by didn’t help.

I know there’s fish in there. Let’s keep trying.

First Tom then John cast their bait into the hole and let it settle to the bottom. They reeled in slowly to allow any lurking fish to strike. Ten then fifteen minutes went by; still, neither got a nibble.

John, I’m going to go a little closer.

I’ll go with you.

John watched Tom go to the edge of the fast-moving water. John was behind his brother when Tom flung his pole back to cast.

Watch it! I’m right behind you, John shouted.

Tom checked his backward movement. His bait continued its arc, only now in a straight up direction since backward motion of the pole stopped. It hit one of the tension wires and spun around the taut wire several times, firmly attaching it to the bridge. Tom, unaware, swung his pole forward. The sharp jerk on the pole’s motion threw Tom off balance. John saw Tom teetering and stepped forward. He managed to grab Tom’s fishing pack just as his brother slipped, and both were swept into the water.

John reacted to the shock of the frigid water as it rushed over his face, tilting his head back. He saw nothing but the shimmering brown surface as his feet hit bottom. With all of the strength that he could muster, he sprung upward. He broke the surface and gasped a feeble Help! before the weight of the water in his boots dragged him down. Since he tried to call for help he had little air in his lungs, and the cold stab of panic tightened in his stomach. Oh GOD I’m drowning, I’m drowning, I’m DROWNING! His feet struck bottom again, and for the second time he kicked off. His mouth broke the surface, and this time he gasped a gulp of air before being pulled back under water.

John had no idea where Tom was and terror gripped him. After a longer wait, he felt the bottom and tried to kick again. He kicked into soft mud. He felt the sucking of the mud as it momentarily held his boots in place but the current continued to move him and the mud released its hold. He kept his mouth firmly shut, but his lungs began to convulse. He felt the bottom once more. He kicked off and this time his feet were on rocks, so he surged upward. His entire head and both arms broke the surface, where he gasped a long breath of air and frantically slapped the water with his arms. It was no use. The weight of his water-filled boots dragged him down. Looking up, he saw the brownish tint of the surface darken as he submerged. At the mercy of his own panic, he blotted out all thoughts save one: I’m DROWNING, I’m DROWNING . . .

He struck the bottom for the fifth time and weakly kicked. A twinge of calm resignation overtook him. He rose toward the surface and struck a large boulder that jutted from the edge of the stream just under the waterline. Desperately he clung to it, popped his head above the water, coughed, and choked. While coughing he saw Tom hit the same boulder and cling to it as he had done. Through the haze of semiconsciousness, John saw his brother choke and choke and then finally begin coughing and breathing. Tom looked white, and his face was contorted in panic and pain.

John’s coughing slowed, and he sucked in as much air as he could. Side by side the twins convulsed and coughed until they could breathe again. After catching his breath, John began sobbing.

Tom… you’re… okay… stupid… we’re so STUPID…

John’s panic and fear melted into a feeling of helplessness that destroyed his self-esteem. He began crying as the feeling of powerlessness swept over him. He heard Tom sobbing as well. The brothers clung to the submerged boulder that had saved their lives, and cried a cry of mortality. Tom and John had discovered just how fragile their lives were.

Slowly, ever so slowly, Tom edged across the submerged boulder to the bank and flung himself down on his back in the mud. John followed. The twins began to calm down but couldn’t shake the sense of loss, the sense of mortality. They drank deep and long of the fresh air, grateful for every breath. John slowly sat up, cold, scared, and sticky from the mud. He looked upstream and noticed Tom’s fishing pole dangling from the tension wire of the bridge. He smiled weakly. We were idiots, he thought.

Tom, look, John said as he pointed to the pole.

Tom sat up, noticed his pole, and humphed. Well, at least I won’t have any trouble retrieving it.

John realized that his pole was somewhere in the hole that had tried to claim his life. I don’t know or care where mine is.

John coughed again to clear his throat. He sighed deeply and then heard Alan’s loud voice.

What do you think you’re doing?

Both John and Tom scrambled to their feet. There was no way that they could hide what happened.

We fell in, John replied.

Fell in? You’re lucky you didn’t drown. The moment I think I can trust you, you do something like this.

Their father’s rebuke was salt in the wounds of their bruised egos. There was no place to hide, no place to sort this out. John looked under the bridge where Tom’s pole dangled. He glanced back at Alan, who came closer where he could really let them have it.

I’m ashamed that you two are my kids, Alan scolded. Don’t you have any more sense than that?

John felt the warm tears well up in his eyes and the burning in the pit of his stomach. He turned and looked at Tom, who was staring at Alan defiantly.

We nearly drowned… Tom chided.

Come on, let’s go.

Back at their fishing camp Lizzy immediately knew that something had gone wrong and knew what was needed. She suggested that the boys get some water. Let them get away from their father, Lizzy thought. They need to sort this out without facing any more of his wrath. John and Tom took a water jug apiece and began the two-mile hike to the spring with Lizzy at their side.

Tom, that was stupid. We’re so lucky, John said solemnly.

The sound of their feet padded quietly into the wet earth. Lizzy shuddered as she watched her sons struggle to make sense of their newly discovered mortality.

Tom sighed. It’s kind of like we should have drowned. I don’t know why we didn’t.

Maybe God has other plans, Lizzy told them. Her stomach was roiling in turmoil from the incident, but instinctively she knew that scolding would not work.

Yes, I’m sure of it, Tom answered. But remember he has other plans for both of us, John. We were together through all that.

Good, Lizzy thought. Let them bond and be partners forever.

That’s right, bro, that’s right, John said quietly.

After a pause Tom turned to his brother. When I fell in, why did you go with me?

I can’t believe you even asked me that, John answered in indignation. You know that if I see you slip I’m gonna be there.

Tom nodded and beamed. If I ever see you slip, I’m there for you too, John, don’t ever forget it.

John clasped his brother on the shoulder and felt warmth sweep over his body. He smiled. Nothing mattered anymore. The whole damn world could cuss or spit at him, it didn’t matter. He had a brother.

Chapter 4

The twins conquered their fear of drowning by becoming lifeguards. By 1978, both were sixteen, wild, and exuberant. The money earned from lifeguarding allowed each to buy a car. The privacy of youth was found in cars where the agenda was sex. The sex was a passionate, sweaty adventure; full of panting, ecstasy, and discovery, but without awe or love.

John, how was Crystal? Tom inquired.

None of your damn business.

Come on, I want some details. You didn’t steam up the windshield of your Barracuda for nothing.

Me? What about you and Cheryl?

Cheryl is a perfect lady in every sense of the word.

Don’t feed me that bullshit. Tell Dad you have a girlfriend that you’d like him to meet.

Right! Tom exclaimed.

John laughed. God! If Dad even suspected what we were doing he’d freak.

The twins had just returned from a memorable evening at the drive-in. As they approached their house, their dad met them.

What are you two doing coming in at this hour? Alan asked.

Just coming home. We had dates tonight, Tom answered.

Dates, huh, that last till midnight. Watch yourselves or you’ll end up poor.

What? John asked.

Never mind. Do you want to play a round of pinochle?

Tom turned and looked at John, who was smiling broadly. He answered. You bet, Dad. If you don’t mind losing some money.

Ha! Alan responded.

Let’s deal ’em, Dad, John said. The three went into the kitchen, broke out a six-pack of beer, and sat down at the large table. The game was one of the great pleasures that Alan enjoyed with his sons. They played for a dollar a game and fifty cents a set (where one bids more than one gains in points in a hand), and the money was just enough incentive to keep everything interesting. Lizzy and the common uncles and aunts would know if someone really got cleaned out or got rich when the Staids played pinochle. The beauty of the activity lay not in the skill it demanded but in the atmosphere it created. If Alan wanted to say something to John and Tom, he could do so over a couple of shared beers, victories, and defeats as the cards hit the table.

So you kids feel lucky tonight?

I could use a few extra bucks, Tom commented.

Cut the cards.

Alan won the first two games. Neither Tom or John played badly; in fact, they played the good hands as well as anyone. It was the average hands that gave them trouble. They would wait for the good cards and not capitalize on the few points that they could gain from the so-so hands. This was a mistake that Alan didn’t make. The games were interesting and close enough so that the brothers had a legitimate chance of winning, but they always seemed to lose by a couple of points. The competitive atmosphere was softened by the beer, and after a half an hour Alan began to talk of things unrelated to the card game.

Have either of you found time to read your books? Alan asked.

What books? Tom asked.

"Your birthday presents, Profiles in Courage."

Tom looked at John and then swung his glance back to his father. Not yet, he replied.

Courage, Alan said, that’s what it’s all about. Courage. You kids think the world is yours. You feel powerful.

Tom noticed John’s raised eyebrows. This is odd, he thought.

There is something special in that book, Alan continued. Courage, moral courage, both of you will need a lot of it in the years ahead. John F. Kennedy was one of our greatest presidents because he knew about courage. That’s what he wrote about in his book. In that book are examples of what it is like to feel pressure and face it and do the right thing. I hope you two slow down enough to read it.

We will, Dad, we will, John answered seriously.

There will be times in the very near future that each of you will face evil. I don’t mean the easily recognized evil, I mean the easy-to-fall-into evil. You’ll know it because you’ll feel uncomfortable. There will always be an easy way out. Rarely is it ever the right way. It’s only then that you’ll know the real meaning of courage.

Tom frowned at the seriousness of the conversation. Dad, what is it you’re afraid of for us?

"The world is going crazy. There used to be a time when people cared. They don’t anymore. You have to care, though, and try and fail, and try again. Alan raised his bloodshot eyes toward his sons. And try to stay together."

Come on, Dad, John chided. Tom and I will always be close. You know that.

No, I don’t know that, and neither do you. Alan sighed deeply. I want you to read that book. It will give you a clue to what I’m talking about.

Dad, John and I will read it. We’ll read it this week so if you want to talk about it next weekend we’ll be ready.

Good.

At that the game abruptly ended, and Alan announced that he was turning in. Tom and John were left with their thoughts.

"Wow. What got