Also he remembered that there was a trail behind their small log house that led away from the village along the lake, rutted by foot travel and later with the few dirt bikes that everyone shared. There was a bluff eroding into the lake, like sugar cakes held under the faucet, and the trees leaned out over the water. Some daredevil had climbed the trunk of one and tied on an old piece of tow rope, and the kids from the village used it to swing out above the water.

It was summer and Simon took Lester from the house for a swim. Lester was too young to swing off the rope, only five years old, but old enough to splash along the shore, old enough to want to swim. They took one towel and Simon dressed Lester in his underpants. They had no shoes, and punished their feet on the hot sand until they turned on the trail. Simon’s feet were burning in the July sun and he hotfooted his way ahead of Lester and waited for him where the trail veered from the road. Lester scurried along and caught up, grabbing Simon’s hand for guidance over the ruts and roots on the path.

When they got to the lake Lester was too scared to swim, he didn’t dare climb down the tall bank with Simon and instead stood on the trail as Simon tried to cajole him into walking down the bluff. Simon blew his sweat-stuck hair from his eyes. They sat for a few minutes. Lester was content just to be with his brother. Simon eyed the water. There was no wind. He stood and unhooked the rope from the tree branch and readied himself for a swing. Lester looked serious, as if witnessing a significant act. Simon choked up on the rope, leaned back, and swung out over the lake. The wind rushed past his ears and as he swung out from the shade into the sun the water sparkled and jumped. He held on and swung back and dropped into the lake on the second pass.

He swam to the surface and shook the water out of his hair. He searched the trail for Lester and saw him standing where he had left him. Lester was crying. The towel hung forgotten from his left hand, and he was drying his tears with his right. He looked toward Simon, scared that he’d hurt himself, terrified he would not emerge. Simon yelled that he was okay, that he wasn’t hurt, and half-laughed at Lester’s fear.

He didn’t take a second swing. Instead he climbed the grass-grown bluff and dried himself with the towel. Lester slowly quit sobbing and wouldn’t let go of Simon’s hand. They walked back to the cabin.