“Michael, wake up!”
“Gah! Gimme back my blankets!” Michael Madsen pushed his twin brother, Mikkel, away.
“Keep your voice down. If you wake Malthe up, he'll want to come too.”
Michael sat up to look across the small bedroom at their six-year-old brother, Malthe, still sound asleep. Moonlight bright enough to cast shadows filled the room. “What are you doing in here?” he whispered. “If Mama catches you —”
“I'm supposed to be sleeping in the barn. I'm not sleeping, so it's okay that I'm in here.
His logic was irrefutable, at least to Michael's ten-year-old mind. “I guess … Wait, he'll want to come where?”
“With us. Come on, let's go fishing.”
“In the middle of the night? Mikkel, you're nuts!”
“No, no, Uncle Villads told me full moons attract fish to feed at night, so the full moon gives the best night fishing. And look at the moon right now!”
“Aunt Margrethe told me that moonless nights are best because the fish think birds and things can't see them.”
“Oh, come on. Fish aren't that smart. Please, Michael, please come fishing with me. If we catch a bunch of fish, maybe Mama will forgive me. It's awful cold in the barn.”
Michael huffed in annoyance. He didn't feel guilty — well, not very guilty. It was Mikkel's fault the sheep had gotten out, not his, after all, but he did suggest that it would be fun to teach Alrik the sheepdog some tricks …
Even with the bright moonlight, the boathouse was full of shadows.
“Where are the life jackets?” Michael asked. The cork life jackets were heavy and bulky, especially for half-grown boys, so they wouldn't wear the jackets unless someone saw them. Still, the punishment if they were caught fishing in the middle of the night would be bad enough; he didn't want to think what would happen if they were caught in the boat without life jackets.
“I already threw them in.”
After confirming that they also had fishing rods and bait, since Mikkel couldn't be trusted to remember such details, Michael eased open the outer door and peeked around before waving Mikkel to push out the rowboat. As the boat slid by, the two boys jumped in and rowed for the middle of the pond, grinning at each other in the moonlight. Even in their warm clothes, they shivered as a cloud passed over the moon, but neither looked up, and neither noticed the clouds building beyond the trees west of the pond.
“Five to me! And only three to you!”
“Keep your voice down,” Mikkel reminded him yet again. “Sound carries over water.” He held open the live-well as Michael dropped in a pike.
When Michael bent down to fetch new bait, the boat rocked and he dropped the minnow as he grabbed for the gunwale. “Hey, be careful! Don't dump me overboard just because you're jealous.”
“I'm not.” Michael turned, puzzled by the change in his brother's voice. “Uh, oh,” Mikkel went on, “I think we'd better hurry back.”
Michael followed his twin's gaze up and up. Clouds black and bulging with rain swept towards the moon from the west. Trees beside the lake shuddered, their branches bent and broke, and leaves flew free as the gust front struck them. The boys grabbed for the oars as the first rain hit them. In his haste, Mikkel knocked one overboard. Both lunged to grab it before it floated away, and their weight, combined with an unfortunately timed gust, capsized the boat.
Michael broke the surface of the icy waters, sputtering, and gave a frantic look around. He himself could swim, but Mikkel couldn't coordinate arms and legs well enough to do more than tread water. In these rough, white-capped waves, with sheets of rain beating down on them, could he even do that?
“Mikkel! Mikkel!” One life preserver bumped hard into Michael's head. He grabbed it, swearing, and used it to support him as he swam to capture the other. “Mikkel!” The rowboat floated upside-down nearby, and he thought with a flash of fear that his brother might be under it, knocked unconscious and drowning even as he searched in the faint moonlight that sneaked through the storm. “Mikkel!”
A splash behind him, not quite like the sound of waves. He twisted, saw a white hand groping for the surface, and flung a life preserver towards it. Not close enough; he had to swim, towing the other cork vest by a strap.
A hand caught his sleeve from underwater and yanked his arm down. The other hand snatched at him as Mikkel tried to climb up him into the air he desperately needed. “Let g—!” Mikkel's weight pulled him down; a wave hit him in the face.
He still clung to one vest and the other floated nearby. Michael dragged the life preserver down, forced it underwater, and pushed it blindly towards where he thought Mikkel was. The vest hit something hard: Mikkel's head, he thought. His twin seized it with both hands. Released from that deadly grip, Michael kicked his way to the welcome air. His brother surfaced beside him, gasping and choking, clinging to the cork vest with panicky strength. Michael swam through waves and rain to retrieve the other life preserver; in this wild water, he would need its buoyancy. He went under twice while wriggling into the vest.
He swam back to his brother and felt around in the roiling water, finding a strap from Mikkel's vest. “Listen, I'm right here. You can hold on to me while you put on the vest.”
“I c-can't let go. I'll lose it.”
“You won't. I've got hold of it. Come on. Put on the vest.”
With much splashing and a grip on Michael's arm that left deep bruises, Mikkel struggled into his vest.
“Good,” Michael clenched his jaw to stop his teeth from chattering. “Now we've got to swim —”
“I can't! You know I —”
“It's okay! I'll guide you. Just kick. We've got to get to shore before we freeze.”
“The boat. It'll sink. We have t-to right it.”
“We can't do anything about the boat. We'll freeze first! Come on, now. Kick!” Michael swam awkwardly, pulling his twin behind him by the strap. The pond wasn't wide, but they swam through white-capped waves in the pouring rain. Unable to see their goal, Michael feared they were swimming in circles. His arms and legs were tiring, and his right hand was so numb with cold that he no longer felt the strap. He looked back several times to check that his twin was still with him.
“You idiots!” Their father's voice carried even over the storm. “Where are you?”
Michael shouted, “Here! Here!” Still clinging to Mikkel's strap, he hung in the water, supported by the cork vest, awaiting rescue. And punishment.
A rowboat appeared through sheets of rain, Uncle Preben and Uncle Villads rowing and Michael's father, Morten, leaning over the prow. The men wore their bulky life preservers, and Michael felt absurd relief that he and Mikkel had gotten theirs on. At least they wouldn't have to admit to leaving the vests in the boat instead of wearing them.
Morten hauled Mikkel in first, then Michael. Mikkel huddled at Preben's feet, coughing. Michael put an arm around his shoulders as their uncles turned the boat and rowed back for shore. Both boys shivered in their wet clothes.
“Whose idea was this?” Morten demanded.
“Mine,” Michael said instantly.
“Is not.” Mikkel coughed again. “Is mine. All mine.”
“Stop protecting your brother.” In the faint moonlight that seeped through the storm, it was impossible to see which boy he addressed, but they knew. They knew. “He'll never do better if you keep shielding him from the consequences of his actions.”
Michael hugged his twin a little tighter. They were identical in appearance, but so different in abilities and personality. Mikkel was much the stronger of the two, but he was slow and clumsy where Michael was quick and deft. There was nothing wrong with his twin, Michael thought defensively; things just didn't seem to work out for him.
Like this fishing expedition. If not for the storm, they'd have brought back eight — or more! — good fat pike, and Mikkel would have been forgiven for letting the sheep out. And how much harm had that really done? Mikkel and Michael and their cousins had had a good time chasing them all down, and if Christian had fallen and gotten a bloody nose, what of it? Why should Mikkel have to sleep in the freezing barn for a week just for that?
No one spoke for the rest of the journey back to the boathouse. There, the men tied up the rowboat and jumped out, nearly as soaked as the boys. Preben and Villads left — fled, one might almost say — while Morten led the two boys through the driving rain to the farmhouse.
“Your sons,” Morten told their mother, Freja, and stalked away, dripping, down the central hallway and up the stairs.
“What am I to do with you?” Freja asked, closing her eyes and shaking her head as the boys stood before him. “If Villads hadn't been out — who knows what he was up to out there — and heard you talking …” She shook her head again. “Mikkel.”
“M-my idea,” Mikkel said through chattering teeth. “I m-made Michael go with me. My fault.”
She heaved a sigh. “Of course it's your fault. What am I to do with you?”
“Don't make him sleep in the barn,” Michael burst out, unable to keep still any longer. “It's too cold. All he wanted was to catch some fish for you so you'd forgive him and he could sleep inside.”
“Is that true?”
Mikkel bowed his head, shivering. “Yes. That's all. I'll go now.” He turned away, defeated.
“Wait.” Mikkel stopped at his mother's word. “You're soaking wet. You must be freezing. Both of you.” Mikkel turned to face her, clasping his shaking hands together. “Go dry off and put on some pajamas while I make you some hot tea. You can sleep in your bed. At least for now.”
As Mikkel opened his mouth to thank her, Freja shook a finger at him. “There is a lot of work to be done, and you two are big enough and strong enough to do it. The barn needs repair, for one. Now go!”
Later, as the boys lay snug and warm under the covers in their respective beds, Mikkel murmured, “Uncle Villads was right. The fish do bite better under the full moon.”
“Shut up, Mikkel. Next time I'll let you drown.”