“What?”
“If you travel that tunnel,” he said. “How long can you go with no breathing?”
Wide-eyed, she stared at him. “As long as anybody.” All at once she breathed hugely, holding the air in.
Macie and the boys scrambled close to see. Everything was still. The girl’s eyes began to pop and tear. She held out while none of them moved, until at last her breath burst through her teeth. She fell back, panting.
“That was long!” Harper said.
“Maybe forty-five seconds,” M.C. said. “Not long enough.”
The girl sat up again.
“Try it once more,” M.C. said.
“You don’t think I can do it,” she said.
“I’m not thinking a thing. It just has to be longer,” he said. “Long enough to reach the pool.”
“Well, I don’t know,” she said, her voice edgy. She searched M.C.’s face.
“If you’re worried, don’t try it,” he said.
Then she was smirking at him. “Sure think you’re something, don’t you?” she said. “I saw you on that pole. Not just with the fire, but in the daylight. Sitting up there with nothing to do and no place to do it!”
Her anger shot through him. It hurt him and he didn’t know what to say. He hadn’t meant anything bad by what he said.
“The tunnel is fun,” he said quietly, “but you have to have the lungs to hold out.”
The girl sucked in her breath again. M.C. kept his eyes on the pool. He didn’t want to be watching her if this time she failed. He tried just to feel when the time was long enough. But in spite of himself, he began counting in his head.
When he knew she would have to breathe, he turned to her. Still she held out. Tendons and veins stood out on her neck. Her eyes were squeezed shut. Her cheeks and mouth were twisted in an awful face.
She exploded, bursting with air and squirming on the ground, trying to breathe again. Uncomfortably, M.C. turned his face away.
“You did it!” Macie yelled. Lennie Pool grinned and Harper clapped his hands.
“M.C., she did it!” Macie screeched. “Didn’t she?”
He nodded at Macie to let all of them know. But he was wondering if he had forgotten something he should have remembered to ask.
Never taken someone through that tunnel, he thought. Maybe I shouldn’t.
“Are you going to swim it right now?” Macie asked the girl.
But she couldn’t answer. She seemed to be having that cold, sickening feeling that came from holding your breath too long. M.C. knew this. Drying sweat caused his skin to itch again.
“We maybe can swim it later on,” he said. “Give you plenty of time . . .”
The girl shot up from the ground. Even though she looked weak, she stood with her hands firmly on her hips. “You think I can’t do it.” Her eyes snapped at him.
M.C. couldn’t get himself loose from those eyes, they were so pretty. Slowly he got to his feet.
There grew a silence between them that separated them from the children. They stood close together, watching each other.
“You have to do just as I say,” M.C. told her.
“Why?”
“’Cause I know how to get through.”
She thought a moment. “Okay,” she said.
They were in a world all their own, where she was older but he was the leader. He knew why she had to try the tunnel.
Not because I’ve done it. ’Cause I’m the only one.
He turned and led the way over the rocks to the lake. The girl followed close on his heels.
The lake lay as serene and peaceful as when they had left it. Way down at the other end was the ridge. In between the ridge and the rocky end where now he and the girl crouched was the tent, like an intruder in the sun. All around them were pines, undergrowth, greens and browns closing in the magical shimmer of the lake.
He and the girl hung onto rocks just above the water line. The children were clinging a foot above them.
“The tunnel’s right down there,” M.C. told her. “About eight to ten feet down. Maybe twelve feet long and that’s a couple of body lengths.” He paused, looking out over the lake. “Now I lead,” he told her. “I lead and we hold together like this.” With his right hand, he took hold of her left arm, forcing her to balance herself with her back against the rocks. “Hold on to my arm just above the wrist.”
“Like this?” She grabbed his arm with fingers stronger than he’d expected. So close to her, he felt shy but calm.
“We jump here, we get more power,” he told her. “We get down faster but it has to be done just right.”
“How?” she said.
M.C. didn’t know how. He was figuring it all out as he went along, working fast in his head the best way to jump and the quickest way to get through the tunnel.
“Best way is . . . if I jump backward and you jump frontward.” He spoke carefully. “See, I hit and go in facing the tunnel. I have your left arm and you are pulled over. You follow in just in back of me. Now. In the tunnel, you have your right arm free and I have my left.” They would use their free arms to push them through if they had to, and they could kick with their feet.
“Tunnel sides are moss,” he said. “Push off from them when you bump them. It’ll feel slimy but it won’t hurt.”
“Okay,” she said.
“Pay no mind to fishes,” he went on. “Most times, they’re but just a few. They don’t do nothing but get out of your way.”
She nodded. M.C. could feel her tension through her arm.
“You all ready?” Macie asked from above them.
M.C. looked at the girl. “I’m ready,” she said.
“You have to hold out for most of a minute.”
“I can do it,” she said.
“If you lose air, just stay calm,” M.C. said. “I can get us out.”
“I said I can do it!”
Her anger cut through him again, making him ashamed, he didn’t know why.
“Macie, you count it off,” he said grimly.
“She always get to do something,” Harper said.
“He told me, now shut,” Macie said.
“Stay out of the water. Wait for us at the pool. Now,” M.C. said.
“Ready!” Macie yelled. “Get yourself set. . . .”
The girl grew rigid.
“You have to stay calm,” M.C. told her. He held her arm as tightly as he could without hurting her. Her fingers dug into his wrist.
“Watch your nails!” he warned. They both sucked in air.
“Go, y’all!”
They leaped out and plunged. They hit the water at the same time but M.C. went under first because he was heavier. The girl turned facing him before her head went under. That was good, but pulling her after him slowed M.C. It seemed to take forever to get down to the tunnel level. Water closed in on them. Sounds became muffled and then no sound at all. They were alone as never before. And there was nothing for M.C. to do but get it over with.
9
M.C. LIKED NOTHING better than being in the deep, with sunlight breaking into rays of green and gold. Water was a pressure of delicious weight as he passed through it, down and down. It was as if feeling no longer belonged to him. The water possessed it and touched along every inch of him.
He pulled out of his downward fall at the sight of the gaping tunnel opening. He no longer felt the girl next to him. He knew she was there with him by the impression she made on the deep. And he would remember her presence, her imprint, on this day for weeks.
Bending her wrist forward, he stretched her arm out straight as he kicked hard into the tunnel. Here the water was cooler and cast a gray shimmer that was ghostly. Pressure grew like a ball and chain hanging on his right shoulder. It was the girl like a dead weight.
Kick with your feet!
With a powerful scissoring of his legs, he tried to swim midway between the ceiling and bottom of the tunnel.
Push off with your hand!
Her dead pressure dra
gged him down. His knees banged hard against the bottom. His back hit the tunnel side as he realized she was struggling to get away. Fractions of seconds were lost as he tried twisting her arm to pull her body into line. Fishes slid over his skin, tickling and sending shivers to his toes. They must have touched the girl. For he had no moment to brace himself as she shot up on her back toward the ceiling.
Won’t make it.
Horror, outrage stunned him. He had taken for granted the one thing he should have asked her. For the want of a question, the tunnel would be a grave for both of them.
She kicked futilely against the tunnel side and rose above him, twisting his arm straight up.
Yank, like Macie will pull down on a balloon.
If he could get the girl turned over, they might have a chance. But his breath seemed to be gone.
Not a grave, it’s a tunnel.
In his lungs, emptiness was pain. But the will not to fail was there in his burning chest, in his free arm pushing hard against the deep. His legs were still loose and working. Then a sudden surge of strength, like a second wind.
Be M.C. Higgins, the Great.
He yanked the balloon down—he mustn’t break the string. At the same time he propelled himself forward, knowing she would follow as she turned over.
An awful pounding in his head snapped his brain open. M.C. shot out of the tunnel like a cork from a jug of cider. And arching his back, he swung mightily with his right arm.
Dark balloon to the light above.
He hadn’t the strength to hurl her to the surface. But he was right behind her. Before she could struggle down again, he was there, pulling at her. She opened her mouth in a pitiful attempt to breathe. He pounded her back, hoping to dislodge water. And held her close a split second to calm her. She was rigid.
Girl, don’t drown.
Swiftly he caught her ankles and tossed her up over his head. She broke the surface. He was there, feeling sweet air just when he would have to open his mouth or have his lungs collapse.
M.C. fought against dizziness, aware he had his hand on her neck in a bruising clasp to hold her up. He had to let go or break it.
The girl was gagging, trying to breathe. He heard his own breath in a harsh, raw heaving. He was daydreaming a distant cheering. Then he saw the children, feet jumping up and down on the grassy bank. A swirl of rocks before he realized the girl was sinking. He must have let her go. But he had the sense to catch her again around the waist.
Still M.C. Still the leader. He had taken her through the tunnel and they were back in the world together. Still all the blame was his. But he could fix it. Could keep the children from knowing about her.
Moaning cry, coughing, she clung to him.
“No.” He knocked her hands away. With just the pressure of his arm and shoulder on her back, he forced her flat out. As though she were dog-paddling, he glided her into the land. The feet jumping on the grassy bank fell back and were still.
Macie stood there on the bank, closest to M.C.’s head.
“She’s weak,” he said to Macie. “See if you can help pull her some . . . my wind is gone.”
Macie clasped the girl’s arms. M.C. had her by the waist. Halfway out of the water, she kicked M.C. away. She slithered and kneed her way over the bank. On the grass, she hunched into a ball, and struggling to breathe, closed her eyes.
Dark balloon.
M.C. climbed out and crawled a distance to collapse on his back. He was away from the girl, with the children between them, but he kept his eye on her. They were close together in his mind, where a vision had started. Day after day, they swam the lake. Hour upon hour, they sunned themselves on the shore.
M.C.’s chest wouldn’t stop its heave and fall. His mouth watered with stomach bile as the pounding ache spread out across his forehead.
None of them moved. For a long while neither Harper nor Macie asked a single question. Lennie Pool never did say much.
M.C. felt as if every muscle were trying to get out of his skin. He was sick with exhaustion. But light out of the sky bore into him, warming and relaxing him. It was a healing band on his eyelids. As the ache in his forehead moved off, tunnel and water filled his mind. His eyes shot open, blinding the awful memory.
Seeing that M.C. was awake, Macie came over to him. “You did it!” she said happily. “Were you scared?”
He knew he would vomit if he tried to talk. He swallowed hard.
“You sure took your time. Was it any trouble?” Macie went on.
“Just took it easy,” he said finally.
The girl brought up pool water she had swallowed. Half an hour later, she sat up shakily on her knees. In a slow, mechanical sweep, she brushed grass and twigs from her drying clothes.
M.C. raised his head. “You all right?” he asked her.
When she stood, the children stood with her. M.C. was on his feet as well, as though he moved only when she moved.
Slowly she seemed to change. He watched her grow stronger, throwing her head back, thrusting out her chin.
“I went all the way through that tunnel,” she said, smiling vaguely. “I could have drowned—I can’t even swim a lick.”
The children gaped at her. Shocked, they turned to M.C.
“And you took her down?” Macie gasped. “You took her clear through . . . you didn’t even know!”
The kids began to giggle, jostling one another, with the girl looking solemnly on.
M.C. felt the heat of shame rising in his neck. Only this one secret between them, but the girl wouldn’t have it. She made him stand there with the kids laughing at him. He stared at his hands, at the jagged nails which he bit down to the skin while sitting on his pole.
“I can’t stand a lying kid,” the girl said.
Worse than a slap in the face, but he said evenly, “I’m not any kid. And I didn’t lie.”
“You told your sister we took it easy,” she said, smirking at him.
“I took it easy,” he said. “If I hadn’t, you wouldn’t be here, girl.”
The children stared at him soberly now. The girl looked uncertain.
“It’s no joke not to tell somebody you can’t swim,” he said.
“Somebody didn’t ask me,” she said sullenly.
“Didn’t need to ask—you should’ve told me!”
“I just wanted to see it. I didn’t know it was going to be so long.”
“So you want to see something and we almost drown?” He was shaking now with the memory of the tunnel. “Ever think of somebody but yourself?”
The girl shrank back. Uncomfortably, they watched her. M.C. hadn’t meant to make her appear stupid. But she was quick to apologize.
“I’m sorry,” she said simply. “You told me you were some M.C., the Great. . . .”
The look she gave him, as if she knew only he could have saved her, made him feel proud. He had to smile. “You have some good nerve. A lot of real good nerve,” he said at last. But then he couldn’t think of anything else to say. He stood there, feeling uneasy, until he thought to change the subject.
“You a friend of Mr. James K. Lewis, with the tape recorder?”
“Who told you that?” she said.
“He did. He was around to hear my mother sing.”
“I just gave him a ride,” she told M.C. “Traveling alone like I am, it’s good to pick up somebody going all the way down the road.”
Slowly they began to talk. M.C. walked away from the pool, the children and the girl following. He headed over the rocks and presently stood on the lake shore.
“Ride with an old guy and folks think he’s your father,” the girl went on.
M.C. had just his toes in the lake. The children bunched around him. The girl talked almost freely. She was smiling, speaking about the dude:
“He’d point out some nice clean place to eat. We’d stop and he’d order me some breakfast—man! And then we’d stop for lunch and he’d pay for that, too. I sure didn’t mind taking him down the road.”
Bewildered, M.C. couldn’t picture the road. “Which road you talking about? What do they call it?” he asked.
She laughed. Leaning toward him, she studied his face as if reading a map. “I bet you’ve never been out of these hills.”
M.C. brushed his hand over his eyes where his head ached dully. Waves of feeling for her came and went, leaving him speechless.
“I knew it,” she said. “You have cities all over the place and you haven’t seen a single one. You have Covington and Portsmouth. Louisville.” She looked out over the lake. “Aren’t you curious?” The air above the water quivered with heat. “But I do know people in Cincinnati,” she said, “haven’t even been downtown, let alone Cherry Grove. Some of them, born on one street and never even go but two blocks away their whole lives. I don’t know how they stand it.”
She peered at M.C. again. “But I found out about you all before Mr. Lewis ever did. You find out things from watching the kids of a place. Least, you find out faster.”
“Find out what?” he asked.
“Well,” she said, “find out what there’s to see. What there’s to know, just to be knowing.”
M.C. was silent. Every word she spoke sank deep into his mind. He remembered first talking to the dude. Blocks of cities mixed with his thoughts of the prairie. He wondered how a traveler figured out which way to go and what road to take.
How would he and his mother and the kids find the way? But, of course, they would have the dude to guide them.
A harsh yodel broke over the lake. It sounded clear, yet coming from a distance. It was M.C.’s father telling him something. Jones was moving, M.C. could tell. He wasn’t calling the children home.
M.C. listened. The call would echo loud as it bounced through the hills. But coming at them, it would fade in midair. Jones was heading toward the river.
“It’s my daddy,” Macie explained to the girl. She turned brightly to M.C.
M.C. cupped his hands around his mouth. He pitched his yodel as loud as he could in answer. And the pain in his eye sockets broke open and spread. It stopped him for only a second before he let Jones know he had the children with him.
M.C.’s yodel was better than Jones’s. It began and ended with the same hard strength and quality as Banina’s. It could carry for a half-mile and Jones had to hear. Sure enough, presently he called back a last word to M.C.:
M.C. Higgins, the Great Page 13