Josh took three strong strokes and caught the wave at its crest. As the face of the wave sucked up the water beneath it, he stuck out his left arm and carved an angle down the eight-foot wall of unbroken water. As the water shallowed, the rocks and coral beckoned, large and sharp.
The exploding white water behind him grabbed at his fin. Now at a forty-five degree angle to the breaking wave, he knifed to the bottom of the wave. Then, as the wave lost its curve and thundered over into a crushing wall, he ducked his shoulder into the watery wall and slipped out the back.
Thirty yards closer to shore, where the rocks gave way to sand, Paul stood waist-deep, his fin dangling from his wrist. When Josh’s head popped up, a smile playing on his lips, Paul cupped his hands around his mouth and shouted, “I’m going in.” Josh nodded and held up a single finger, pointing out at the open water.
It was unseasonably warm for May. The temperature had been in the 90s for the past two weeks, causing early fire alerts for the mountain communities. Josh and Paul, who had been up in the camp for the entire heat wave, had spent the morning with Clark and the others, clearing back the drying bush that surrounded the camp and widening the firebreak that circle it an additional twenty yards
When Clark called a lunch break, Josh had proposed taking the rest of the afternoon off and doing a few hours around dinnertime. Given the heat, the camp had been eating at eight or nine each evening, so that still left three hours of work if they got going at five. Clark looked up at the sun, then over at William and Lucky, leaning heavily on their shovels. “Back at five.”
A series of storms originating in Mexico had raised the water temperature into the low 60s. It also brought steady surf that had been increasing in size for the three hours the brothers had been at the beach. As Paul watched from the shore, Josh stroked into the largest wave of the day, a solid 10-foot wall that massed in a single length, rather than the curling motion of the previous waves. Paul watched as Josh pulled his head up slightly, assessed his situation, and took a hard, diving line down the face of the wave.
Halfway down, the wave collapsed, leaving Josh no escape. The lip of the wave caught him and threw him to its bottom, driving him viciously beneath the surface. When Josh didn’t immediately surface, Paul started walking towards the water. When over twenty seconds passed and still no sign, he started running, the water now up to his knees. As he bent to put on his fin, Josh’s head broke the surface, a good thirty yards from where he had gone under. Paul’s shoulders relaxed and he waved, receiving a weak gesture in response. He turned and headed back to shore to wait for Josh. But as he took his seat on the sand, he saw Josh stroking back to the take-off area.
Two locals walked up and stood near him. The taller one nodded out to the surf. “That Josh?” When Paul nodded, the man shook his head. “He’s pushing his luck today.”
The ocean was in the relative calm between sets. Josh lay back and floated, his face turned to the sun. The second bodysurfer spoke up. “We were out this morning. Good shape and building. But the rips kept pulling us towards the cliff. We thought we’d come back at low tide and see if it had cleaned up. But that…” he nodded towards the ocean, with a large set now building on the horizon. “No thanks.”
Outside, Josh eased over the first incoming wave, then the next five. As the last and largest wave began to peak, he pivoted, letting the wave pull him up its massive face, then he took four hard strokes. Instead of taking the forty-five degree angle towards the safety of the bottom of the wave, he struck a path that kept him near the top of the wave.
“He’s going high side,” the first one said.
“Not gonna make it,” his partner said.
Paul’s entire body tensed as he watched. Josh’s position on the wave was so critical that, if he didn’t hold the line or the wave changed form, he would freefall to the bottom of the wave, where the crush could either snap his back or force him underwater long enough to drown him.
But the wave held its form, as did Josh’s line. His body, like a virtual surfboard, glided just ahead of the breaking curl for almost fifty yards. His ride now having taken him to the bottom of the wave, he ducked his shoulder as the wave finally collapsed and popped out the back of the wave.
As he leaned down in the waist-deep water to slip the fin from his foot, the three spectators collectively put their hands above their heads and clapped. He grinned back and started towards shore, moving slowly against the strong rip.
The taller man patted Paul on the shoulder. “Tell your brother he’s got more balls than brains.” And the two headed towards the parking lot. Josh finally reached the shore and shrugged off the shoulders of his wetsuit. The departing men honked at him and he waved back. Then he walked up to join Paul, who had two cold beers waiting.
Josh nodded out at the waves. “I think we found its limit today.”
“My limit was a bit smaller than yours.”
“That last one you took, that was a solid six feet.”
“And I almost took a dump in my wetsuit when I looked down. That was my cue to come in.”
Josh shrugged and kept his eyes on the surf.
Josh woke up from his nap and looked over at Paul, who was lying on his back, his face covered by a towel and a high-numbered sunblock. A tan was one thing in his profession, he explained, but too much and he started to get leathery, a look which only worked for the over-50 set.
He had been up at Moetown for almost three weeks, the longest period of time he’d spent up there since his release. It had been five months since his last visit, but, with all the commotion surrounding Donna, his absence had gone largely unnoticed. As had the fact that there had been no offers to join him on location.
Josh sat up, his hands wrapped around his knees. He stared out at the ocean, at the heavy lines of advancing surf, now turned by the wind and incoming tide into long walls of collapsing water.
“Would you go out in that? If we just got here and that’s what we found?” Paul was propped up on his elbow, looking past Josh to the surf.
“No. It’s lost its form. There’s no line to take.”
“But if it were clean. The size doesn’t scare you?”
“A bit. Why?”
“That last wave you took. I’ve been lying here trying to visualize myself doing that—taking that last stroke. And I can’t. And that bothers me.”
“Why? I’ve got a lot more experience at this than you, after all.”
“That last wave, it bounced me good, knocked the air out of me. And then it held me down. I tried to remember your advice about going limp in those situations, letting the wave work me over and then move on. But I panicked. All I could do was claw at the water and hope I was heading towards the surface. So when I made it to the surface, I couldn’t get to shore fast enough.”
“That’s just common sense.”
“That’s why I felt good when you got crunched on that huge wave. I knew you were going through the same thing that I’d just gone through—that you’d be coming in and joining me on the beach. Instead you swim back out to the point and take off on the biggest goddamn wave of the day.” He shook his head and looked down at the sand.
Josh looked over, his eyes soft. “What’s going on, Paulie?”
“You make me feel like a coward sometimes, Josh. It’s tough to love you at times like that.” He clenched his teeth and looked away. “You’re braver than me. You’re a better person than me. It bothers me.”
“I’m not saying I agree with you, but even if I do, William’s a better person than me. That doesn’t bother me.”
“William’s not your little brother,” Paul said, his voice a knife. “When you look at Will, you’re not reminded that you protected him when the two of you were growing up, and now it’s the other way around. And you’re not reminded how William had to put a knife into someone for you.”
Josh reached into the cooler and brought out two more beers, but Paul shook his head. Josh put one of the beers back. “How did we get from this nice beach to prison?”
“Because prison’s always just under the surface. You should know that. Look, I love you for everything you’ve done for me. But I resent you at the same time. You understand?”
“A little. I don’t know what I’m supposed to do about it, though.”
“Nothing. I just wanted you to know.” He reached across Josh and grabbed the beer that Josh had put back. “Let’s change the subject.” He nodded at the ocean. “Let’s go back to the waves. I don’t know if I can learn it or not, but I want to know how you can take off on something that can kill you.” He looked back at Josh. “I’m serious.”
Josh considered the question, his brow tensing. “It’s all about experience and instinct. The experience is what you’re getting now—you start with two and three-footers, graduate to five-six feet, like you did today. And you go from there.”
“But a three-footer can’t kill you. Or snap your back and leave you in a wheelchair. At some point you’re crossing a line with waves that big. What do you do then?”
“That’s where the experience ends and instinct kicks in. The experience is in reading the wave and whether it’s ridable. And if it is, which line to take. The next thing is instinct—you have to let it take over, let your mind relax. Because if you think of all the negative things that could happen, you’d never take off. Then you stroke like hell and let them both take over.”
Paul’s eyes were on the sand, where he was drawing patterns with his finger. “Okay, so transfer all that back to prison. Experience, instinct.” He looked up. “I’m serious. I want to learn how to be like you.”
Josh put his fingers together and rested his chin atop them. “It’s the same thing. When we ran with the gang back in Baltimore, we learned a few things about taking care of ourselves. Call that the two-foot waves. Then when I went inside to the youth camp, I learned some more things. Three-footers. Then, when I turned eighteen and they transferred me to the prison, all of a sudden I was in heavy surf and had to learn a new set of skills. Fast.”
He took a sip of beer. “But eventually you’ve got enough experience and it’s time to rely on instinct. Inside, when someone was coming at me, I taught myself to stay calm. To relax. I’d hold the knife behind my back and think how much easier the time was going to be once I’d finished with him—about all the books I’d be able to read without having to wonder who’s going to come to my cell after lights out.” He looked over. “Then, as they got closer, I let instinct take over.”
Paul nodded, as if he were taking notes. “And if someone’s got a knife to your throat, what’s your experience tell you?”
Josh looked over and considered his brother for a long moment. Then he sighed. “Here’s the first lesson about being brave: You can’t be brave if you’re dead. So you do whatever it takes to stay alive. Whatever it takes.”
“Did you ever have a knife against your throat?” When Josh nodded, Paul continued. “What did he want from you?”
“What you’d expect.”
A pause. “And did he get it?”
“To a degree. He kept the knife at my throat while he told me what he wanted from me—what I was going to let him do and what I was going to do to him. My experience told me he knew how to use the knife—and had probably used it before—so resisting would probably prove fatal. So I had a choice: either to submit—and remember, that’s always an option—or try to take him by surprise. So I started whimpering, asking him what I could do for him. He told me to suck him off.”
He shrugged. “I’d have done it, if I had to. But I told him I wanted to stroke him first, get him nice and big. And I did. He starts moaning and talking trash, and I felt the knife relax. I grabbed his wrist and turned the knife back on him. Sliced his sack almost in half.”
Paul shook his head. “I’m trying to put myself in that position,” he said, then he stopped. “Hell, we both know I’ve been in that position. I couldn’t have done what you did. Not in a million years. Just before I made my move I’d think of everything he could do if I fucked up. Cut up my face. Stab me in the gut over and over. I’d freeze.”
Josh reached over and touched his arm. “I’m not trying to sound like Socrates here, but you’ve got to know who you are and what you’re capable of. And I mean know. Then accept it and adjust. I’m not good with people—not the way you are—and I accept that. You’re not as vicious as I am. And that’s a good thing. Most of the time.”
“You’re not vicious.”
“I think Baltimore settled that, don’t you think? And if it didn’t, being inside did.”
Paul hesitated. “We need to talk about Baltimore, Josh. There are things…”
“No.”
“It was one night. And you’ve been punishing yourself for…”
“I said no. Look, I’ve learned to live with what I did. But I won’t relive it. Got it?”
Paul looked at the set of his brother’s face. “Got it.”