into the sixth grade, we walked to Casey Canal to look for snakes. Tim was wearing a red-andwhite-striped jersey like he’d seen on Pablo Picasso in photographs. We carried Kmart machetes in scabbards on our hips.
We floated an old door in the canal and called it a raft. It overturned. Tim dunked and his army cap spun on the surface. He broke water and snatched the cap and paddled to the shallows, spitting brown water. He fell onto the bank and lay there staring at me, dazed.
“I just learned to swim,” he said. “This is a great day. I taught myself to swim.”
“That was dog-paddling,” I said, rather kindly. I peeled my shirt off and wrung it until water splattered. “It was instinct. You couldn’t have kept that up for long.”
“Hug a nut, Francis. I have never swam before in my life, and I just swam through water that was over my head.” He shook his hair out and grinned. “It’s true what my dad says, whatever doesn’t kill you makes you stronger.”
“Okay. So you swam.” I wriggled back into the chilly shirt. My nipples were like BBs.
“The next deep part we get to, I’m going to swim all the way across to those woods. I don’t have the slightest fear anymore.”
We waded along for a while. Then Tim froze, cursed sharply, drew his machete, stared at the water.
“What?” I asked.
“Water moccasin!” He slashed the water around him. Some creature slid over my ankle. We slaughtered the water, laughing hysterically, and the water slowed the fat blades and turned them against us. I whacked my knee underwater. I heaved up on the bank, laughing, and Tim flopped beside me, and every root and fallen limb was a snake now. My knee leaked watery blood. My kneecap, though nicked and bruised, had kept the slice shallow.
“It was probably just a catfish or gar,” I admitted. “It’s kind of cold for moccasins.”
“We’d better stay out of the water anyway, now,” Tim said, pleased that real blood had entered into this. “We don’t want to attract sharks.”
“There aren’t any sharks in canals,” I said, thinking him bigcity ignorant. The grass prickled the backs of my bare legs. The wound was hurting less. “This is fresh water, so-called.”
“Yes, I know that, Huck Finn, but there’ve been freak shark attacks in fresh water. I can show you the books. Go ahead and take the chance if you want. You could get an infection too.”
Anyway, I was cold. So we walked, poultry-skinned, our nipples beaded, teeth clicking.
“I’m starving,” Tim said.
“Me too. But I don’t have any money.”
“Me neither. We could find a store and steal something.”
This was new to me and seemed mortally dangerous. I dug my fists deep into my pockets.
“But we’re wet and muddy and bleeding,” Tim said. “Carrying weapons. They’d be suspicious.”
We walked on, sneakers mushing, our breath beginning to trail in the November chill. We were in the black section now. Wooden houses swaybacked from decades of gravity, paint curling off like shavings. Wire and scrapwood fences held back the scruffy dogs. A rooster fluttered out from beneath a house and fluffed itself bigger at the fence, raising leg spurs at us. People called this Niggertown, the poorest neighborhood outside of the projects. We shouldn’t have been there, but Tim was brave and naive, and this was part of my paper route.
“I’ll get us some money,” I said. “I can collect from some of my customers.”
I tried six houses, fumbling with various crippled gates, before someone answered a door. A TV was flickering the window shades blue. The door peeked open, a vertical slice of black lady, two inches wide including an eye. She decided I wasn’t a threat, and the door swung in to the extent of a chain latch, wide enough that I could’ve squeezed through. The woman’s ankles bulged over the sides of her Keds, and her breasts were big as cabbages. Inside smelled something like dried sweat.
“I was afraid you was another
We floated an old door in the canal and called it a raft. It overturned. Tim dunked and his army cap spun on the surface. He broke water and snatched the cap and paddled to the shallows, spitting brown water. He fell onto the bank and lay there staring at me, dazed.
“I just learned to swim,” he said. “This is a great day. I taught myself to swim.”
“That was dog-paddling,” I said, rather kindly. I peeled my shirt off and wrung it until water splattered. “It was instinct. You couldn’t have kept that up for long.”
“Hug a nut, Francis. I have never swam before in my life, and I just swam through water that was over my head.” He shook his hair out and grinned. “It’s true what my dad says, whatever doesn’t kill you makes you stronger.”
“Okay. So you swam.” I wriggled back into the chilly shirt. My nipples were like BBs.
“The next deep part we get to, I’m going to swim all the way across to those woods. I don’t have the slightest fear anymore.”
We waded along for a while. Then Tim froze, cursed sharply, drew his machete, stared at the water.
“What?” I asked.
“Water moccasin!” He slashed the water around him. Some creature slid over my ankle. We slaughtered the water, laughing hysterically, and the water slowed the fat blades and turned them against us. I whacked my knee underwater. I heaved up on the bank, laughing, and Tim flopped beside me, and every root and fallen limb was a snake now. My knee leaked watery blood. My kneecap, though nicked and bruised, had kept the slice shallow.
“It was probably just a catfish or gar,” I admitted. “It’s kind of cold for moccasins.”
“We’d better stay out of the water anyway, now,” Tim said, pleased that real blood had entered into this. “We don’t want to attract sharks.”
“There aren’t any sharks in canals,” I said, thinking him bigcity ignorant. The grass prickled the backs of my bare legs. The wound was hurting less. “This is fresh water, so-called.”
“Yes, I know that, Huck Finn, but there’ve been freak shark attacks in fresh water. I can show you the books. Go ahead and take the chance if you want. You could get an infection too.”
Anyway, I was cold. So we walked, poultry-skinned, our nipples beaded, teeth clicking.
“I’m starving,” Tim said.
“Me too. But I don’t have any money.”
“Me neither. We could find a store and steal something.”
This was new to me and seemed mortally dangerous. I dug my fists deep into my pockets.
“But we’re wet and muddy and bleeding,” Tim said. “Carrying weapons. They’d be suspicious.”
We walked on, sneakers mushing, our breath beginning to trail in the November chill. We were in the black section now. Wooden houses swaybacked from decades of gravity, paint curling off like shavings. Wire and scrapwood fences held back the scruffy dogs. A rooster fluttered out from beneath a house and fluffed itself bigger at the fence, raising leg spurs at us. People called this Niggertown, the poorest neighborhood outside of the projects. We shouldn’t have been there, but Tim was brave and naive, and this was part of my paper route.
“I’ll get us some money,” I said. “I can collect from some of my customers.”
I tried six houses, fumbling with various crippled gates, before someone answered a door. A TV was flickering the window shades blue. The door peeked open, a vertical slice of black lady, two inches wide including an eye. She decided I wasn’t a threat, and the door swung in to the extent of a chain latch, wide enough that I could’ve squeezed through. The woman’s ankles bulged over the sides of her Keds, and her breasts were big as cabbages. Inside smelled something like dried sweat.
“I was afraid you was another
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