Tremolo

by Aaron Paul Lazar

  Whenever he nailed it I’d say, “Oh, man! You’re so lucky.”

  He’d scoff at me, look down his nose, and reply, “It’s not luck, Gus. It’s skill.”

  I kicked the dirt near the car’s rear tire, making a dust cloud, and then squinted up at William through the morning sun.

  “Hey, William. Did you really eat nine hamburgers at one time?”

  He looked at me and laughed. “Who told you that?”

  “Your mother said you did. Did you really?”

  He smiled, straightening when Mr. Johnson emerged from the cabin. “Yeah. I guess I did. Did she tell you I had a hollow leg, too?”

  I nodded and grinned, then backed away politely as Mr. Johnson approached. I sauntered toward the rope swing hanging from colossal twin pines in the center of the dirt parking area. The trees were over sixty feet tall and at least two feet in diameter. My grandfather made the swing for me two years ago, and I’d loved it ever since.

  I grabbed the thick ropes and sat on the shiny wooden seat, pushing off from the flat rock beneath me. As I watched Mr. Johnson take a green bill from his wallet and press it into William’s hand, I pulled hard and soared into the air, inhaling the scent of balsam and pine. The wind whistled past my ears and I flew higher and higher until my Keds pointed straight up to the blue sky.

  “Hey, squirt!” William yelled. “Come on down!”

  “Okay.” I let the swing slow to half speed. At just the right moment, I let go and launched myself from the seat. Flying into the air, I landed lightly on my feet, beaming at William.

  “Nice job!” he said. “That’s farther than last time.” He dragged his toe across the ground, drawing a line to mark the spot.

  “Thanks.” I stared at the green bill in his hand. “How much did you get this time?”

  He opened his hand to expose a crisp, five-dollar bill.

  “Holy smokes! Five whole dollars!” I yelled. “What are you gonna buy with it?”

  He reached over to cover my mouth. “Shh! Not so loud. If my parents hear you, they’ll make me put it in the bank.” He glanced furtively around the lot. “I’ve got my eye on this Thunderbird model with green metallic paint at Anderson’s. Wanna walk up there with me later?”

  I nodded and he slowly removed his hand from my mouth.

  Mr. and Mrs. Johnson descended the cabin steps with their final armloads of clothes and a birdcage with their pet cockatiel, Lilly Belle. The waitresses ran indoors to grab pots and long metal spoons. My grandmother handed me the brass bell. William and Grandpa each ran over to parked cars and opened the drivers’ doors. As the Johnsons got into their Chevy Bel Air, started it up, and backed out into the drive, everyone yelled “Goodbye! See you next year,” to the tune of honking horns, ringing bells, and rattling pots and pans. I thrilled to the traditional send-off and rang the bell long and hard until the Johnsons’ car disappeared around the corner.

  Chapter 7

  The camp girls walked out of the laundry building with stacks of clean linen piled high in their arms. Their carts were filled with dusters, rags, Pinesol, and Comet Cleanser. Separating at the top of the pathway, Betsy and Annabel walked briskly up to the cabin just vacated by the Johnsons. June headed down the trail toward Number Fifteen.

  I idly wondered about the special guest due later in the day. My grandfather treated all guests with the same level of decorum, so it was unusual that he’d give such “special” instructions.

  William emerged from the Icehouse with a large block of ice on his shoulder. He wore leather gloves and balanced the block with ice tongs. He’d thrown a burlap bag over his shoulder to insulate from the cold and to maintain some friction.

  “Wanna help?” He cocked his head at me, balancing the block on his bony shoulder.

  I ran to his side. “Sure.”

  Glancing back at the Icehouse, he said, “Close the door for me, will ya?”

  “Got it.” I ran back and closed the heavy door. It latched with a thud. He’d already started down the path toward the lake and I ran to catch up with him.

  “Who’s getting ice so early, William? Don’t you usually do the ice at 3:00? Why are you–”

  He grunted and repositioned the block on his shoulder. “A special guest is coming into Number Fifteen. Your grandmother wants everything to be all spic and span and ready for them.”

  Cabin Fifteen was set back in the woods away from the other cabins. One of the better cabins, it was equipped with a sink, stove, and small bathroom with its own bathtub and shower.

  Situated on the back trail, it stood about a hundred feet up from Wee Castle, the lakeside cabin my family called home during the summer. Number Fifteen was built with whole logs stripped of their bark and it sported a full front porch with a view of the lake.

  I ran up the steps and opened the lid of the green wooden icebox sitting beside the door. Just before William lowered the block of ice, I snatched the ice pick out of the box. When he laid it down, I closed the lid and jabbed the pick into the pitted surface.

  “Thanks, Gus,” William said.

  He drew a red bandana from his dungarees and wiped it across his brow, flopping down on the porch steps. After a moment, he stuffed it in his pocket.

  I sat beside him listening to June’s transistor radio inside the cabin playing “The Girl from Ipanema.” The sun began to warm the air, chasing away the morning chill. I rolled up my sleeves and yanked out my shirttails. It was hot on the steps. I thought with disappointment about the loss of our boat and the limitations it would bring to our summer.

  As if reading my thoughts, William said, “Did you get in trouble last night? For wrecking the boat?”

  “Not so much, they were more worried than mad. They know how fast that fog can come in. My dad said it happened to him once when he was courting my mother. They got stuck out on the lake for hours.”

  “Were you scared?”

  “Sure I was. I mean, we hit Big Blue an’ all. Made a huge hole in the skiff. It went down wicked fast, William.”

  “Wow… And you saw that missing girl? Running away or something?”

  I glanced over at him. I’d wanted to confide in him all morning, but didn’t know how to broach the subject. The fear from last night returned when I described her. “Yeah. I did. She was running away from someone, not something. He was a big guy. Really drunk, too. He almost saw us.”

  “Her father?”

  “I guess so…but, William?”

  “Yeah?”

  “I think she was running because he hit her. Her mouth was all bloody.”

  He turned his serious blue eyes to mine and stared. I could tell I’d upset him. Before he could respond, my grandmother appeared at the top of the hill carrying a tray of drinking glasses and a fresh arrangement of flowers from her cutting garden.

  William and I leapt from the steps and ran to help her with the heavy load. I grabbed the flower vase and William commandeered the tray.

  “Thank you, boys.” She leaned on the porch railing, catching her breath. “That was heavier than I thought.”

  I looked at my grandmother curiously. She ran her hands over her fine gray curls and patted them into place.

  “Flowers, Gram?” I was confused by the flustered look on her face. She was going through a lot of trouble for this particular guest.

  Smiling at me indulgently, she patted my arm. “Yes, honey. Just want the place to look nice. Now you run along. I’m sure William has plenty of work to do, so why don’t you go see if the twins are awake?”

  I shrugged. “Okay. But—”

  “See ya later, squirt.” William jogged up the hill to attend to his next chore.

  Still puzzled by my grandmother’s unusual behavior, I reluctantly sauntered down the hill toward Wee Castle with my hands in my pockets, softly whistling the tune from “The Girl from Ipanema.”

  Shadow lay curled in a ball on the sunny porch, snoring loudly. When he heard me approaching, he lifted his snout in the air, tail thumpi
ng slowly on the porch boards. He stretched lazily before trotting over to greet me.

  I sat on my heels and rubbed his long soft ears, singing snippets from the song to him in a voice I was sure imitated the singer on the radio.

  I tried hard to forget the haunting face of Sharon Adamski.

  The Marggranders’ shades snapped up. I waited fifteen minutes for them to eat breakfast and get changed, then couldn’t wait any longer. I jogged over to their porch and started up the steps.

  Before I could knock, Mr. Marggrander came to the door. Dark circles swam beneath his eyes and he spoke in a raspy voice. “The twins left a few minutes ago, Gus. They went that way.”

  Before I could thank him and without another word, he withdrew into the cabin and shut the door.

  He’s mad at me for almost drowning his children last night.

  He’d never been a super friendly man, but he was at least made an effort to be polite and occasionally asked me how I was.

  Not today though.

  I cringed inside, feeling guilty again, and then skipped down the porch steps and retraced my steps to the communal living room, jumping over the roots that crisscrossed the path.

  Relieved, I found Siegfried sitting on the porch glider with a math workbook. I approached him and plopped down beside him, listening to the sounds of a Bach fugue floating out the window.

  Elsbeth’s playing had progressed to incredible levels in the past year. Although we both took piano lessons from the same octogenarian in East Goodland, New York, she had rapidly surpassed me in skill and already decided that her only path to happiness was through the career of a concert pianist. Her fingers flew as she coaxed the music from the old spinet that my grandparents had bought at an auction the year before.

  Her brother sat with his head down, busily pushing a short yellow pencil over the booklet on his lap.

  I waited a few minutes, but when he didn’t acknowledge me, I said, “Hey, Sig.”

  He glanced up at me and flashed a tired half-smile, then turned back to his booklet. “Hi.”

  We sat on the glider for a few more minutes in silence. I waited for him to look up again.

  “Doing more math, huh?”

  “Ja. Derivatives. If I want to get into advanced calculus next year, I need to master this stuff.”

  I nodded as if I understood, but to be honest, I was totally confused by the exotic math topics. While I struggled with fractions in fifth grade last year, he had been placed in math classes with high school kids. The teachers had whispered, “genius” when I walked down the hallways with him.

  I was proud of my friend, but wondered where it all would end. Would he graduate early and leave me behind? The idea scared me. Siegfried and Elsbeth were my two best friends in the world and I couldn't imagine life without the two of them by my side.

  Elsbeth increased her tempo. She played long and hard as the notes exploded from her fingers. Siegfried finally put the booklet away and looked out over the lake, sighing. He ran his fingers through his long blond locks and moaned.

  I wondered what kind of reception he’d received from his parents in the privacy of their cabin last night. “Why’s she pushing herself so hard, Sig?”

  He turned to me and shrugged. “When we got home last night we were in big trouble. Papa hit us. Then Mama went crazy. You know how she does sometimes.”

  My insides dropped. It was my fault that they came home so late. I took them to Moosehead Island and didn’t pay close attention to the weather. I should’ve taken them home at the first sign of the darkening sky.

  A sick feeling pooled in my stomach. “Geez, Sig. I’m really sorry. It’s all my fault.”

  He looked at me through his long forelock, shook his head, and then smiled. “No, it wasn’t. It wasn’t anybody’s fault.”

  I reached into my pocket and pulled out a roll of sticky cherry Lifesavers, offering him one of the last two in the roll. He took it eagerly.

  “Danke,” he said.

  “Is your mother okay? Was it about the war again?”

  “Ja. It was Buchenwald. The camps. She has nightmares, you know?”

  I nodded. Brigit Marggrander was held in the Buchenwald concentration camps as a young child during World War II. She lost her entire family to cruel violence and disease, emerging in 1945 to be raised by her aunt, Mrs. Frieda Hirsch. She met and married Mr. Marggrander eight years later. They were smuggled out from the Wall in East Germany in 1959 with their two four-year-old twins and settled in the farmhouse just down the road from our property. We’d been inseparable ever since.

  “Will she be okay?” I asked.

  Siegfried got up from the glider and walked to the porch railing, leaning over and staring at the water that lapped the granite boulder below. “I hope so.”

  The music suddenly stopped. Elsbeth emerged through the screen door and dropped beside me on the glider. Her shoulders slumped and she kicked her feet without saying a word.

  Reaching into my pocket, I offered her the last Lifesaver and was rewarded with a puzzled smile.

  “But it’s your last one,” she said.

  “Go ahead, Elsbeth. I saved it for you.”

  She reached over and daintily picked it up from my hand, tossing it into her mouth. She rolled it around noisily as she sucked on it. “Mmm, cherry. Thanks, Gus.”

  Chapter 8

  We swung on the glider for another half hour, and then moved to the dock to lie in the sun.

  Twenty lazy minutes later, I said, “Anyone wanna go for a dip?” I sprawled on my back with my knees up and my hands laced behind my neck. Shadow snoozed beside me, his head resting on my stomach.

  I reached one hand down to stroke his ears. A motorboat purred in the distance and the gray wooden boards of the dock felt rough beneath my skin. I kicked off my sneakers, rolled up my jeans, and unbuttoned my shirt. The sun had risen quickly in the sky and was nearly unbearable.

  “Okay.” The twins answered in unison. Their voices were laced with molasses, sweet sticky stuff that held them motionless under the sun.

  They didn’t move. Elsbeth lay on her stomach with her arms hanging over the dock. She tickled the placid surface with her fingers. Siegfried lay on his side with a boat cushion beneath his cheek and his eyes closed.

  A blue dragonfly buzzed overhead and landed on the dock beside me. I leaned on one elbow, studying its dazzling metallic wings. They quivered and winked in the sunlight.

  Shadow repositioned his head on his paws, deep in his dog dreams.

  Elsbeth suddenly looked up with an impish expression. She smiled innocently, and then reached down and cupped a handful of water. Carefully raising her hand, she shot water through the air toward me.

  It landed on my bare chest with a splat.

  “Elsbeth!” I laughed and leapt up, galvanized into action. Racing to the end of the dock, I grabbed a metal pail and scooped it full of lake water.

  Before I could reach her, she jumped to her feet, grabbing Siegfried’s hand and towing him toward the shore.

  Uncontrollable laughter bubbled from my lips. “I’m gonna get you guys!” I chased her with the pail. The water sloshed onto my legs as I ran over the bumpy trail.

  She and Siegfried made the turn, leapt up the wooden stairs to the living room porch, bolted across the boardwalk, and tore down the path, hopping over the roots like sure-footed gazelles.

  I raced behind them, legs soaked from the now half-empty pail.

  They reached the porch of their cabin, winded and laughing. Just before she slammed the screen door behind her, Elsbeth yelled, “Meet you in ten minutes back at the dock.”

  Shadow and I arrived seconds later. He trotted toward Wee Castle and I dashed the remaining contents of the pail onto a large fern.

  I smiled to myself. It’s gonna be a great summer.

  Chapter 9

  Darting into my room, I changed into my damp bathing suit, and then reached under the bed for my sandals, swim fins, and mask. Racing out of the c
abin, I shouted into the air, hoping my parents could hear me. “Goin’ swimmin’ with the twins.”

  I spotted my mother waving to me from the clothesline at the back of the cabin. The white sheets billowed around her, flowing and ebbing in the hot breeze. I waved back, and then snatched my towel from the porch railing, racing to the Marggranders’ cabin.

  Siegfried and Elsbeth emerged as I arrived. Siegfried looked tall and skinny in his bright red trunks. He towered over Elsbeth, who stood petite in her yellow-peach colored suit with ruffles. They both carried masks and well-worn towels.

  Siegfried shouted, “Last one in is a rotten egg.”

  He raced toward the dock with his towel snapping behind him in the breeze. His long legs ate up the ground, leaving us in the dust. Elsbeth and I rose to the challenge, laughing hysterically while streaking along the path and up the stairs to the boardwalk.

  Sig had a ten-foot lead by the time we reached the living room porch. The dock closest to it had the best swimming of all, since the lakebed at the deep end was clear and covered with golden sand.

  I noticed with satisfaction that all of the boats had been rented. The dock was wide open. For the time being, it was ours.

  Siegfried rounded the corner and flew down the dock. Elsbeth and I pounded along the porch, closing in on him. We reached the dock seconds behind him. I dropped my towel, mask, and fins and kicked off my flip-flops, scarcely missing a beat.

  Siegfried raced to the end and plunged into the lake. Elsbeth and I followed, leaping side by side into the clear green water. I held my nose and opened my eyes, watching Elsbeth’s hair billow around her head like curly dark seaweed. She smiled at me behind a screen of yellow, bouncing bubbles. A sunfish swished between us, his blue and yellow scales glistening in the water. I reached to touch him, but he darted away. Siegfried made a goofy face, and then pushed back up to the surface.

  My feet touched the soft sandy bottom and I immediately pushed up again, rising through the cool liquid and back into the sunlight.