Timon's Tide

by Charles Butler; George Smith

• ISBN13: 9780689825934
• ISBN10: 0689825935
• Format: Hardcover
• Copyright: 2000-06-01
• Publisher: Margaret K. McElderry

Summary

Six years ago, Daniel's older brother, Timon, was killed, presumably in a drug-related crime. Timon had always been in charge, with Daniel as his faithful sidekick. But since his death, Daniel has been concerned that -- because he once failed to carry out

Excerpts

Chapter One Above the long ribs of sand the moon winked: a banner flying out from the wharf had flapped across it. There were so few lights on the river, so many dark windows, and the tide was out. The sand ribs were spread with their own granular moonlight, and pools of water, molasses thick. You could smell the sea. Half a mile away the cranes reared high above the dock."I don't want to drown," said Timon.Five minutes' walk from here (if your legs were free for walking) people could be found in bars and bistros, and all the harlequin lights glittered. Voices spoke of wine and money. A taxi cruised for fares. Good times. Others begged from blankets, and their thin dogs scratched. But it was no use shouting."I don't want to drown. Kill me first, if you have to.""Perhaps you won't drown. The rats may oblige you."They worked hard with stakes and mallets. Three men, one hardly more than a boy. Plastic cords bound wrist and ankle. No one spoke after that.At length the eldest stood for breath. He tugged the last stake and found it firm, then squatted beside the youth spread-eagled on the sand."The stars are out.""I've learned my lesson. Let me go.Please.""But you're missing the point, Timon. Youarethe lesson -- see?"A length of tape stopped Timon's mouth. The man patted him on the cheek then, with a salt-damp palm. "You take care now. Be good."He turned to go, and tramped over the sand. The others followed."Be careful -- don't lie too long!""Tide's turning!""Good-bye, Timon."They shambled off, departing revelers. The daring of it all had made them a bit drunk. In the morning they would spew out the horror, and sit with shaking limbs in front of the television, thinking of what they had done, waiting for news. When someone knocked at the door they would jump. They would not sleep. All except the eldest, and he would be thinking it was a pity, sure, how it was always the smart ones who tried to break the rules. But it passed off well enough, he would say. And Timon March won't be taking him for a fool again.That was one way of imagining it. There were others, other ways of writing Timon's name in the dust. Daniel knew them all. He had lived and died them: felt the cold water lap his heels, the rats' scuttering feet. Timon had played a dangerous game and lost. But just what had he done, whom had he offended? There were answers to these questions, too many to sort out, and Daniel did not know how. Six years ago the tide had sluiced away his brother's body, pulling stakes from the sandbar like pins. By difficult currents it had been carried out to sea, and landed a good two miles away on a rocky beach. And there imagination lost its grip, for that story -- of police, inquests, reports -- belonged to other people, and in a thousand official forms they had told it. Timon's life was over. That was the point.Daniel slid out of bed. He couldn't lie there any longer. He was getting afraid of the stillness, and what sleep might bring. It was now just four thirty. His cold nose prophesied a chill. He dressed quickly, two sweaters and Max's old weatherproof jacket. One finger slid the length of the banisters. The mood still clung to him as he descended. Something to do with water, and broken surfaces.In the dining room everything lay as it had the night before, the remains of his mother's and Max's party. Plates were piled at the side, wine glasses paddling in blue candle wax. He saw the bottles, three or four of them -- the wine that made Max so talkative, and more so last night than usual. Last night, and something Max had said, teased at his brain. Later the cigarette smoke would bring on one of Ruby's air-freshening attacks, with windows open and a horizontal breeze. Daniel made a sandwich from yesterday's cold roast, and went to the garage for the fishing gear. He filled a plastic box from a writhing bucket of live bait, fed on some concoctio