CHAPTER 2

May that year was extremely warm and dry. The earth had been deprived of rain for at least a couple of months. Everywhere the grass was turning the ugly colour of brownish yellow. My favourite cherry tree in the front yard was beginning to shed its leaves, its blossoms fell to the ground, littering my mother's well manicured lawn.

And on that particular day at mid-month, the sun was especially hot. The air was still, there was hardly any breeze at all. Nothing moved, not even the blade grass growing in abundance in the cemetery. The starched collar of my mourning garb had long wilted. All present were standing motionlessly. Occasionally, suppressed little sobs escaped the mouth of some bereaved souls, followed no doubt by dabs of handkerchieves on the cheek to wipe away tears mixed with sweat.

We were all sombrely waiting for the casket to be lowered into the ground. It was a modest casket, one that a family with a modest income could afford. Inside, a small body, dressed in a smart blue outfit, lay rigid and lifeless. KC was my best childhood friend.

We went to the same grade school, KC and I. Although he was two years older and was never in my class, we became very close. We did practically everything together. It was easy to like KC. His head always teemed with eccentric plans, his eyes full of mischief. He taught me how to ride a bicycle, and when I had finally managed to balance the two-wheeled contraption, he would suggest that we ride to the beach. To the beach we went, although it was twelve miles away. We would go hiking at Peacock Hill, although it would take us at least two hours on the bicycle to reach the famous municipal landmark. He taught me how to climb trees, in what he said Tarzan the Apeman's style.

That, I could never master. So many times I would disappoint my mentor and as many times I would find myself kissing the hard ground, my arms having failed to reach the intended branch. Each fall would give me a fresh scratch or a broken rib, but it did not stop me. I supposed I wanted to be as good as KC was.

There was however one thing that I could do better. I could swim faster, always outpacing him everytime we went swimming at the local community pool. I was also a more graceful diver. I knew KC was not pleased at times but he would never show it. He would secretly go to the pool after school and practised his backstrokes and repeatedly dived from the board until Aunty May summoned him home for dinner.

One Saturday afternoon, I was idling away in a hammock in the backyard when the familiar ring of his bicycle bell brought me rushing to the front porch.

"What's up?" I asked, when I saw him grinning in the driveway, his dark eyes twinkling. His "Oh, nothing" quickened my heart by a beat or two. It was never nothing with KC. He was definitely up to something, but I did not want to give him the satisfaction and tried to look disinterested. A minute went by. Two. As I was starting to hum my favourite tune, KC leapt onto his bicycle and asked me to go get my swimming gear. I rushed into the house, snatched my swimming trunks, shot "I'm going swimming, Ma" at my mother and raced after KC. "Be back before your father does!" I think that was what my mother said. I was by then too far to hear her properly.

KC did not slow down as we approached the swimming pool. "Not here!" he yelled at me over his shoulder when he saw me getting ready to stop. "We are going to some place different today." Too out of breath to argue, I complied. It was ten minutes later that I realised where we were heading. I stopped dead in my track. He did, too.

"What's wrong, now?" he asked.

"Are you sure you want to go there?" I asked him back, suppressing a feeling of uneasiness rising in me.

"Yeah, why not?"

"I don't know. It's dangerous!"

"Not really. Says who?"

"I don't like it, KC... My father would wear me out if he knew about this."

"And who's going to tell him?"

I was fighting a losing battle. "Ohh, all right. But only for a short while, OK?"

Maiden Tear was the name local folks gave to the lake, a legacy left by a mining company after it could not find any more precious tin ore in Princess Valley. I was too young to remember exactly when the company left town. In any case, enough years had gone by for nature to turn the tear-shaped machine-made lake habitable to many species of plants and other living organisms. Blue hyacinths thrived in the lake, cat-tails grew wild along its bank. A local fish farmer had released hundreds of little tilapias, catfish and other types of fish in the lake, which by now had also become a favourite hangout for anglers.

"Well, come on. What are you waiting for?"

KC was already tearing his shirt off his back. A moment later he was tugging at his pants and hobbled to the water's edge. Gently leaning my bike against a boulder, I paused and took in the scenery. The place was quite deserted except for a couple of older teenagers trying their luck fishing at the far end of the lake, quite oblivious to our presence.

I slowly slipped into my swimming trunks, as a strange anxious sensation came over me.