Twiss was sitting on a broken wooden bench, casting breadcrumbs to the pigeons and sparrows. The small enclosed Park had been sorely neglected, with rubbish strewn everywhere and weeds growing green and proud as if they knew they were never going to be cropped. Twiss became aware of the occasional thud and echo of a football hitting a wall and being punted by a boot into a makeshift goal at the far end of the Park.
Suddenly the ball rolled between his feet and stopped. Twiss looked up and found himself looking into the puzzled face of a young boy.
“Can I have my ball back Mister?”
“Only if I can play too,” said Twiss.
“Well, I don’t mind, but how can you play Mister?”
“Well, why not?” said Twiss in sheer astonishment.
“Well, you’re an old man and you cannot run and kick like me.”
“What! What! I’m a young boy like you, can’t you see that?”
The boy screwed his face up, pondered his next question and then said cautiously,
“If you’re a boy, how comes your hair is grey and your face is old and wrinkled?”
“My hair is blond and my face is a harlequins mask of mirth and grief.”
The boy could not conceal his own amusement and said spontaneously,
“Blond eh. I suppose you could call white, blond, if you don’t like grey. The rest of what you said don’t make no sense to me Mister.”
“I’ll go in goal. Bet you can’t get many past me buster. I was the best goalie in the school and my regiment. That’s before I bad to start dodging bullets and bombs.”
The boy did not ask Twiss any more questions, but he was becoming intrigued by this peculiar old man, who apparently seriously believed that he was a young boy.
Twiss waited with his bandy legs splayed apart as the boy kicked the ball towards the goal in a looping arch. Twiss caught it easily and the boy grinned with surprise.
“You’ll have to do better than that, coz I was the best and you’re gonna find out.”
The boy realising that Twiss was a lot more athletic than he had anticipated started to try various shots from different angles. Twiss managed to save most of them and the boy decided that it was time to let loose with his suppressed power. The shot was so hard and powerful that it nearly lifted Twiss clean off his feet as the ball nigh on buried itself in his stomach. He dropped to the floor, moaning in pain. The boy walked over, knelt down beside him and said apologetically,
“I’m sorry, I almost forgot that you’re old. I shouldn’t have expected you to catch that.”
“I’m not old, I told you. I’m a young boy, just like you. Help me take my jacket off, I’m sweating like a pig,” he gasped.
The first thing the boy noticed as he helped Twiss remove his jacket was the ugly black mark on his shoulder, because Twiss had no shirt on underneath the jacket.
“What’s that black mark on your shoulder Mister?”
“Oh, that’s my prize tattoo called Jones. One of my only prize possessions.”
“I can’t see the name, Jones, only a horrible black mark.”
“Well you wouldn’t. Jones died right here in my arms, catching the vital bullet of life or death that had my name on it, but must have decided in a millionth of a second that I was too young to die. I can still feel Jones in my arms and I can still see his eyes flickering as his lights were switched off, only to shine in another time and place.”
The boy was now becoming fascinated by Twiss and was slowly realising that he was in the presence of something or somebody fantastic and mysterious.
“Where’s Jones now, what’s he doing?”
“Well his body is buried deep in the soil of a far off land with thousands of other young boys like us. And his blood is feeding the poppies and flowers in fertile fields.”
The boy was feeling slightly guilty about flooring Twiss and was wondering if this old man that thought he was a boy was nothing more than a stubborn old grunt.
“Sorry about knockin’ you down, I’m a striker in the school team. Should’ve told yah.”
“That’s okay, the sun got in my eyes. Would’ve caught it otherwise,” said Twiss.
“The sun’s not out. It’s cloudy and the sun was behind you anyway, behind a cloud.”
Twiss winked and let a wry smile creep across his face and said,
“Well, that’s why I came here today. I usually go for my regular swim out to widow’s rock, but it’s just too drab and cloudy today and not quite as warm as it’s been.”
“You don’t expect me to believe that. It’s even dodgy for me to swim out to widow’s rock, even at low tide and a flat, calm sea. You’re too old to even get halfway out and back. Even boys older than me know how dangerous swimming out there can be.”
Twiss drew his shoulders back and began to posture and pose almost theatrically.
“How dare you! I’m as young and as fit as you. I can swim out to widow’s rock and back at high tide, with waves breaking over my head, and I can prove it.”
Now the boy was beginning to winder if Twiss was mad. But there was something in his manner and bearing that told the boy that Twiss was deadly serious about this boast.
“What’s your name then boy?” asked the boy almost sarcastically.
“I am none other than Twiss. Twiss, as wild and free as the wind and sea.”
“You must have a first name? Everybody’s got a first name.”
“Well, I don’t know. I forgot to ask Jones, Evans and Davies, before they left me alone. Maybe my wife remembered it, but forgot to mention it to me before she left.”
“Where’s your wife now Mister Twiss?”
“She’s in the cemetery, her grave hidden by ivy and nettles. Please don’t call me Mister…. It doesn’t sound right for a boy of my age.”
“I’m sorry, maybe I’m askin’ you too many questions.”
“That’s okay, she’s a young gal again. I can feel her with me in the night.”
“Who are Evans and Davies? I know who Jones was.”
“Oh, we were all friends, until their lights were turned off. Turned off, turned away and turned to dust. They’re probably young boys now, just like us, with other boys.”
The boy thought he caught a glimpse of a tear in Twiss’ eye as Twiss blinked, shook his ragged head of grey hair, then stood up.
“Where do you live Twiss?”
“Oh, I live in a caravan, up amongst the oak trees, on the edge of the wood.”
“I know where it is. So it’s you who lives in that caravan! I’ve always wondered who lives there. Can’t even see it in the summer when the leaves cover it.”
“Well, tomorrow it’s gonna be a fine day and I can swim out to widow’s rock again. The day I can’t do that, then I’ll know that I must be getting an older boy.”
“Can I come and see you? I can’t believe that you can make it out there and back.”
Twiss looked at the boy as if this remark was a veiled challenge and said,
“I’ll leave my caravan at eleven o’clock sharp. If you don’t believe me, I’ll prove it.”
“Okay, I’ll be at your caravan in the morning, but remember, it’s high tide at twelve and the sea’s been really rough this summer. Don’t try it if it’s too rough.”
Twiss laughed with delight and said,
“My young mask of mirth and grief has been turned to the side of mirth. The bigger the waves, the rougher the sea, the stronger the wind the better the challenge.”
“Well if you can do it I can. I musta done it ten times last summer and six this one.”
“But did you do it when the sea was rough, the tide was high and a strong southwester’ blowing, with waves dancing and twirling like the devil himself?” asked Twiss.
“No,” replied the boy sheepishly.
The boy did not sleep easily that night. The brief encounter with Twiss was meddling in his slumber. The voice of Twiss was taunting him and his peculiar countenance and strange manner was haunting him. An old man that seriously believed that he was a boy.
As the boy approached the caravan that was nearly covered by over hanging branches and greenery, he was beginning to wonder if he had made a mistake. But the challenge was too irresistible and the feat simply too tempting to resist. Suddenly a voice shouted.
“Hello boy, I thought that you’d not back down. I knew you were a competitor.”
The boy looked around, trying to trace where the voice was coming from.
It was coming from above, high in the boughs of an ancient oak tree. He only saw Twiss when he came swinging from the branches in a great looping arc, hanging on to a long rope. Any doubts he had as to whether Twiss was mad or not, swung decidedly on the side of mad, as he watched Twiss soar into the air when reaching the full arc of the ropes length and swing back and forth until he could comfortably drop to his feet.
“Wow! How did you climb up there? How did you do that?” asked the boy in awe.
“It’s easy, you can do it if you want. You must be as young and fit as me.”
“I came along the beach on the way here and the sea’s really rough. Maybe we should try tomorrow, when it calms down a bit,” said the boy.
Twiss laughed out loud and said,
“Good, good! I’ll just grab my towel and be with you in a minute.”
The wind was blowing a steady southwest draught as they descended the path that led down to the cove. Widow’s rock could be clearly seen, dark and foreboding with white foam sweeping and climbing up her black skirt. The sea was indigo blue, swelling and flexing like a disgruntled sleeping giant, who was trying to roll over into a more comfortable position. The boy, who was quietly taking stock of all this was now beginning to feel ominous pangs of fear and trepidation. He had also noticed that Twiss appeared to be completely indifferent to this spectacular panorama.
Twiss quickly stripped down to his trunks and tiptoed across the pebbles, shale and slippery seaweed. The boy did the same, but he was also taking stock of the waves that were crashing on to the stone lined shore. The waves were dragging the smaller stones out with them on their decline, making a threatening rattle and grinding noise. The swell further out, warned the boy very candidly that the current was at its full strength.
The first wave lifted Twiss clear off his feet and dumped him rudely in the shallows. But he just laughed with joy, picked himself up and blundered back into the mighty battalion of charging waves. Sheer excitement and awe had now snatched the boy’s emotions from the jaws of fear as he realised that Twiss meant to do exactly what he had boasted. The current was indeed extremely strong as the boy followed Twiss out into the depths. As the swell lifted and dropped, the boy lost sight of Twiss’ grey head as it dipped and rose on the swell.
But Twiss was maintaining a steady, stabbing front-crawl with grim determination. Each time the swell lifted the boy up into a great height he noticed that Widow’s rock looked an awfully long distance away, but he still pressed on, following Twiss with precise self-discipline.
Finally on the crest of a particularly high wave the boy sighted Twiss clambering on to the dark lower plinths of Widow’s rock. Gasping for air the boy found his footing and gratefully grabbed hard stone with trembling hands. He had done it and so had Twiss.
The old man that thought he was a boy was sitting, perched proudly on a rock at the summit of the grotesque and bleak rock formation, waiting for the boy to reach him.
“Well I told you I could do it and I knew you could,” was the first thing Twiss said.
“Yeh, but it’s really rough, I would never have tried it, but I didn’t believe you would even dare to try it, I’ve never known it so rough. You must be mad!”
“I’ve known it a lot rougher and I’m not mad. I’m only a boy taking up the challenge of another boy, who had the audacity and guile to doubt my youthfulness.”
The boy looked around and took stock of the wild elements that he had just challenged, mastered and conquered, then looked at the barking mad, Don Quixote like figure, who was proudly looking out to the wild panoramic view and said,
“Well if you’re not mad, I must be. I’m not sure if I want to do it again.”
“Oh yes you will. I thought just like you, but I simply could not resist the challenge. The challenge and ultimate conquest that keeps you young, just like me.”
They stood side by side and watched the deep blue surge sweep and roll around the base of the rock, and both absorbed the sweeping wind twirl through their hair and caress their faces and bodies. Two young boys sharing a deep primeval feeling of unspeakable joy and freedom.
Twiss had been right, the boy could not resist the challenge of swimming out to the rock in all conditions. Sometimes he would lead, sometimes follow and sometimes even race Twiss out, making Twiss wild with the daring and affront of the dual. He learnt to swing high from the boughs of the trees, overcoming his fear of heights with dogged determination. His subconscious theory and maxim became, if Twiss could do it, so could he.
But Twiss had begun to show clear indications of struggling and noticeably began to show signs of fatigue. Whether it be trying to intercept a football that had been rocketed at him, or doggedly swimming out to the rock. But he would not give up. That is why the boy wanted to try to dodge swimming out to the rock on a day when the wind was teetering on the edge of gale force, and the sea was stormy and violent in its countenance and intent. The howl and snap of the wind as it racked through the branches outside of his window had interfered with the boy’s sleep all night. He was hoping it would drop, but it hadn’t. Instead, it had greeted him with a groan and an atmospheric growl when he opened his eyes. He knew that Twiss was not a man to tantalise or question about anything that could be deemed as a challenge to his youth, so he tried to broach the subject as deftly and cautiously as possible.
“Twiss, let’s give it a miss today. I haven’t slept well, this wind wouldn’t let me.”
“Ah Ha, so you don’t think that you can rise to the challenge today, aye?” said Twiss.
“It’s not that, just look at that, just look.”
Twiss looked out towards the sea, blinked and shrugged his shoulder nonchalantly. The boy quietly observed his manner and scanned the same view. The sea was bobbing and jumping erratically, like an army of mighty fists trying to punch their way out of an elastic blanket. White foam was being skimmed off the top of the water and being swept over and up in a frenzy of spray. The boy was right, nobody in their right mind would dare to try to and swim out to the rock in this. But before he could try to reason with Twiss again he was already stripped down and trundling down to the water edge on his bandy legs. The boy had little alternative but to follow suit, still desperately hoping to persuade Twiss that it was nigh on impossible to swim out to the rock today. Before he could cast his eyes out towards the dark austere figure of the rock and back towards Twiss, he had disappeared into the foaming mass.
“Twiss, Twiss, don’t do it please. You don’t have to prove anything to me, I believe everything you say. Both of us are gonna drown Twiss, you selfish old bastard!”
Despite his anger, fear and frustration he followed Twiss out. He could see his grey head lunging up and down and disappearing under the water for long spells. He was going to drag Twiss back in, even if he had to strangle him doing so. Any sentiment or thought of jeopardising their friendship had blown away in the wind.
Twiss was trying to maintain his steady rhythmic stroke that had served him so faithfully in the past, but he was being thrown all over the place. Blind fury had engulfed the boy now and he became like a man possessed. Some frightening inner strength and power had exploded in his heart and after saving Twiss he was going to personally murder him. He powered into robust front-crawl of Olympian standards.
“You won’t have to worry about gettin’ old when I get my hands on you Twiss. I’m gonna kill yah, you rotten, self centred, mad old bastard.”
It was then he noticed that he had dramatically closed the distance between Twiss and himself, because Twiss had stopped, and was drifting underneath the shadow of the rock and floating away from it. The heart attack had paralysed Twiss and he was powerless to make the final stretch approaching the rock. With a thrust and a lunge the boy grabbed Twiss by the neck before he sank out of sight. Twiss tried to speak through purple and pallid lips as if he was making a confession and final testament to the boy, who by now realised with horror that Twiss was dying.
“Let me go boy, let me go. You were right, I’m not a young boy, but a foolish old man. I should have gone many years ago with Jones, Evans and Davies. And then I may have become a young boy again, somewhere else. My wife was born with a heart of a poet and her words and eloquent verse will haunt me forever. She would tell me that the human heart is looking for love throughout its short flowering life. Like a bee searching for a blossoming flower on barren and hostile land. Hoping that a blinding light would shine down on gossamer wings of the soul, probing down deep into the heart. Then shine back in a golden glow and every colour of the rainbow, telling the light that I am with you and thank you for seeing me. Yet the light never sees us, but shines down into the black hearted void of empty dreams. And then we realise that our dreams are nothing more than illusions. To love and to be loved in return she would say, and even she left me alone. If only you knew the loneliness boy, if only you could feel the barren abyss and dark labyrinths of loneliness. Then maybe you could understand why I deceived, duped and convinced myself that I was a young boy, like you. Goodbye boy, and thank you for your company and tolerance. You were a very worthy competitor.”
With those final words Twiss died and the boy not being able to hold his lifeless corpse had to let him go. He turned towards Widow’s rock and knew that Twiss was right, he could make it just like a true competitor.
He grabbed the hard base of the rock and probed around with his feet to find a firm, solid footing. Climbing to the summit and facing the wind he looked down into the whirling, sweeping sea and shouted,
“Twiss, where are you? Twiss, I didn’t mean to doubt you. I know you’re really a young boy. Twiss please don’t leave me. Twiss…Twiiiiiiiiiss…”