Ties Stronger Than Blood

Chapter Three

The only time Marko ever had a room to himself on the road was when a host family couldn't be persuaded that he'd 'be just fine on the couch'. He was never lodged privately the few times they had to make use of motels. He'd find himself sharing a room with one, two, or sometimes three of the group's musicians. He had a feeling that if Ruth ever realized that he'd begun, in the last few years, to get occasional erections that could be directly traced to how tight the sleeping arrangements were, that would change. Here in Santa Carla, he was sharing a room with two of the musicians--each one of them supposed to rotate to take the cot while the other two had the single beds. Their second evening in Santa Carla, his sleeping arrangements did change, but not because Ruth thought he was facing temptations. Marko knew that he was being punished for his bad judgment the previous night.

"We can't afford the expense of that extra cot," Ruth informed him, "and the other group members are already sleeping two to a bed, so it seems that you'll have to sleep in the bus again." She lifted her chin, watching him sternly, waiting for some protest.

She wasn't going to get it. The bed in the bus was just a mattress on a platform, so it wasn't the most comfortable place in the world, but it was private. He kept his face carefully repentant, but he was crowing inside. Once Mother Ruth was asleep, she didn't get up for anything but a piercing scream, a fire alarm, or Gabrielle's horn, and none of his other traveling companions would rat him out if he took a nocturnal ramble. Mother Ruth was cordially hated by everyone she dealt with, and they'd all be happy to keep a secret from her, as long as there was no personal risk. In this case, they could simply claim ignorance.

Marko could see that she was waiting for some sort of response, and he decided that a small complaint would only make her more determined see him isolated on the bus. "It's getting chilly."

"Don't whine," she said with satisfaction. "I'll see that one of the others gives you a spare blanket. Just be sure that you take care of your business before everyone is in bed. I don't want you waking people up. They'll need their rest."

Marko knew that the musicians were probably going to spend all the time they weren't practicing watching television, playing cards, or sneaking off to bars so they could drink or chase women. Ruth was fairly sure that all her employees were paragons of temperance and morale rectitude, positive that if they didn't have the fear of God, they certainly had the fear of Ruth Tallmadge. But for a fairly intelligent woman, she was remarkably ignorant of true human nature. Marko was counting on this. He hoped to turn eighteen and be gone before Ruth even knew he had rebellious leanings. Marko remembered Dwayne's words last night--'We're great at promoting rebellion.' He started to smile, but noticed Ruth's eagle-eyed look, and turned it into a resigned look.

Finally satisfied that her grandson was properly contrite, Ruth let the subject drop. "John and I have been invited out to supper by one of the local pastors." Marko knew that the invitation had probably been for the entire trio, but Ruth felt that 'children should be seen and not heard, and seen only as much as necessary.'

Marko was pretty sure that she kept him away from the public as much as possible because she was worried that she might slip and correct him too severely in public. Her image was that of a stern, but loving, disciplinarian. *She sure as hell has the stern part down,* Marko thought. She would have made some excuse for Marko--probably that he was exhausted by the trip, or had a sniffle that needed to be nursed. She might condemn liars to hellfire, but she never considered any untruths she might utter to be lies.

Ruth was fishing in her pocketbook. "Here." She handed him a bill, saying severely, "Try to eat something at least marginally healthy, and I'll expect the change back."

He nodded. *Like that's unexpected.* Before his parents had passed away Marko had received an allowance. Every week he was given five dollars to spend any way he saw fit. He wasn't even required to save a portion of it, or only spend it on 'sensible' things, like some of his friends. Once he was in Ruth's custody the allowance had stopped. When he'd dared mention it, he'd gotten a harsh lecture on ingratitude and greed. Marko knew very well that he was a working member of the Glory Singers, and that his performance probably inspired a good portion of the 'love offerings' that were given above and beyond their usual fees, but he was never given anything but pittances to buy a meal or snack.

As soon as John and Ruth left in the group's van, the musicians scattered, and Marko headed for the boardwalk. He knew very well that his grandmother had intended for him to go to one of the fast food joints on the same block as the hotel, but he could see the tops of the roller coaster only a few blocks away, and he started walking. *After all, she said to try to find something a little healthy.*

He finally settled on pancakes. He figured that pancakes might not be healthy (especially with the heavy fat and cholesterol doses from the sausage, bacon, and eggs he added), but at least they were wholesome. The place had the advantage of not being a chain. He was very tired of the overly bright, overly plasticized, generic places. The place on the boardwalk looked like an old fashioned diner. The sign on the window said UNDER NEW MANAGEMENT, but whoever they were, Marko was happy that they didn't seem to be heavily into renovation.

He knew that his grandparents were unlikely to be back before nine, and any minute he didn't spend eating could be spent exploring--acting like a normal person. He finished eating quickly, then exercised another small rebellion by leaving a tip. The waitress had been efficient, and he knew they worked hard. Ruth was of the opinion that they 'didn't deserve anything extra for doing what they were paid to do in the first place'. She had, on occasion, left a religious tract instead of a tip. Marko was of the opinion that this had likely turned more people against Christianity than it had saved soles. He left a two-dollar tip, and received a sweet, tired smile in return.

He checked his watch and estimated that he had at least an hour and a half before he had to start back toward the motel. Night had fallen while he was eating, and the boardwalk was crowded with weekend visitors. Marko watched the happy, chattering people, wondering what it was like to just go out to enjoy yourself whenever you felt like it. The last time he could remember a purely pleasure expedition had been his last birthday, when John and Luther had taken him bowling. Ruth had complained about the waste of money, saying that the simple cake and gifts should have been enough to make any modest Christian boy happy. Marko snorted at the memory. Gifts. *Socks, underwear, a shirt, and a Bible study guide.* He'd been past due for new clothes, anyway, and he already had a stack of study guides.

There had been two real gifts, though. John had given him a copy of American Rider Magazine, promising to buy him an issue every month for a year 'since we don't have an address for them to ship subscription copies to'. And Luther had given him a model kit--a 1957 BMW motorcycle with a Steib sidecar. "I wasn't sure what kind you like," he had said almost diffidently, "But I thought this one looked ..." he shrugged sheepishly, "cool?"

Marko loved it. The fact that Luther wasn't his blood relation, but still cared enough to buy him a gift that would really mean something to him made it even more special. The only downside was that Ruth had something else to hold over his head. She'd made ominous noises about the time he was wasting meticulously putting together the kit, so he'd spent an extra half-hour every evening memorizing Bible verses. It had been worth it.

*It actually had some benefit,* Marko thought. *She doesn't know it, but I memorized some extra verses. Now if I decide to take some time off, I won't be caught flat-footed if she wants me to recite something new for her. You've taught me well, Grandma. Your pious insistence on having me memorize what amounts to gibberish to me has taught me how to be devious. I was never like that with my parents. I never had to be.*

He found himself in front of the row of booths that housed the games--ring toss, water balloon shoot, fishing. Everyone seemed to be having a good time.

"Which one are you good at?"

Marko turned to find David standing close behind him. He couldn't have repressed his smile if he'd wanted to--and he didn't want to. "None of them."

"Oh, c'mon, you don't strike me as a klutz. There has to be one you're a little better at than the others."

"No, none. I've never played a game of chance."

Dwayne and Paul had come up behind David. Dwayne said, "You're kidding, right? You mean you never, like, played blackjack or roulette?"

"Nothing. Pool, darts, bingo... all games of skill, and therefore suspect. And these..." He gestured at the bright stuffed animals and air brushed T-shirts, "you can win prizes, so they're obviously gambling."

"That is so tilted," said Paul.

Marko shrugged. "It's not my opinion. I'm just quoting the party line." He thought for a moment, then said, his voice solemn, "Then the soldiers, when they had crucified Jesus, took his garments, and made four parts, to every soldier a part; and also his coat: now the coat was without seam, woven from the top throughout. They said therefore among themselves, Let us not rend it, but cast lots for it, whose it shall be: that the Scripture might be fulfilled, which saith, they parted my raiment among them, and for my vesture they did cast lots. These things therefore the soldiers did." The other boys were staring at him. He smiled. "John nineteen, verses twenty-three and twenty-four." He pitched his voice higher, but still managed a hellfire-and-brimstone tone as he scowled, saying, "Would you have cast lots for Our Savior's coat, Mark?"

David smiled, and Paul and Dwayne burst out laughing. "You got the old lady down!" said Dwayne.

"Hey," said Paul. "It that all real? You know, is that really in the Bible? You remembered it all?"

"Oh, yes. It's accurate, too. I have to be careful about getting things right. She checks me periodically."

"How much of that shit do you know? Hey!" Dwayne had slapped Paul on the back of the head. "Sorry," Paul mumbled.

"It's okay. I don't think it's shit, but..." He hesitated, biting his lip. "I don't know how to explain it but to say that I've learned it, but I don't understand it. I don't really feel it the way everyone seems to think I should." He shrugged. "Maybe it's because I've been doing it for so long. I couldn't understand it when I started memorizing it, and I've become so sick of it I don't even want to make the effort now."

"That's sort of sad," said David. "I thought religion was supposed to be a comfort to people."

"I'm sure it is. I mean, some of the people I meet at the churches and the performances? They really seem to be getting something out of it, you know? They have sort of a glow. Their eyes are peaceful. I guess it's partly because they didn't have it shoved down their throat every minute of the day." He sighed. "There aren't all that many of that sort, and Mother Ruth darn sure isn't one of them."

Paul laughed, and Marko gave him a sharp look, wondering what was so funny about what he'd just said. David seemed to know, and explained. "It's your choice of words, man. 'Darn'?"

"You're so cute," Paul chuckled.

Marko smiled. "The habits of a lifetime are hard to break. I might as well be cautious--I'm less likely to slip while I'm around her."

David gestured at the row of booths. "Go ahead and indulge yourself. They're just games, man, no matter what she says."

"I'd like to, but I have to bring back change, or she'll want to know why. Besides, even if I won," his voice was wistful, "I couldn't keep a prize. I'd never be able to explain how I got it. If I said someone gave it to me, I'd be in trouble for taking charity from strangers."

David's expression tightened. "Hard woman to please isn't she? I tell you what, brother..." Dwayne and Paul exchanged significant looks, then turned pleased gazes on Marko as David continued, reaching into his pocket. "This one's on me."

Marko felt touched. "Thank you, but I couldn't ask you to..."

"You're not asking me," David assured him. "I'm dragging your butt into it. That's what you tell the old fart if by some alien happenstance she finds out." He pulled out a dollar bill and waved it. "What'll it be?"

"You can win a live goldfish at the fishing booth," Dwayne offered.

"I'd never be allowed to keep it. Besides, Ruth would gripe about the expense of getting a bowl and fish food. I used to wish I had a dog or cat, till I realized it would have to live with her. She's of the opinion that if you can't eat an animal, it's a waste of resources, giving nothing in return for the expenses you rack up. I said something about it paying back with love," his voice became dry, "and she said that was one of the most ignorant, selfish statements she'd ever heard. Anyway, it would be hard on an animal, traveling the way we do." He sounded like he was trying to convince himself.

"Let's forget about Madame Ruth for the time being," said David. "What do you want to do, Marko? What looks like fun?"

Marko considered the games thoughtfully, then said almost shyly, "I like water pistols."

"Hey, a sharpshooter! Good choice. Let's go."

They walked up to the counter. There were five water pistols mounted on the counter, and each of the boys took one. A twelve-year-old boy took the last one, even after receiving a hard stare from Paul, who was next to him. The barker gave them the spiel about how the guns wouldn't be powered up till he said 'go', aim for the clown head's mouth, and the first one to make their balloon inflate to the point it tripped a buzzer was the winner. "Go."

Marko jerked hard on the trigger, squinting at the target, muttering anxiously as his first burst dribbled down the clown's cheek before squirting into the open hole. He was concentrating too hard to notice that all the other boys were holding their guns just slightly off kilter, so that the streams splashed over, under, and around the intended target. All but the young boy on the end. He had good aim, and his balloon was inflating steadily, neck-and-neck with Marko's. Paul noticed, and shifted. His feet very unconvincingly tangled around each other, and he lurched against the boy, knocking his grip loose from the water pistol. The stream of water swung crazily, while Marko's aim stayed true, swelling the balloon. When the kid reached for the gun again, Paul grabbed his arms, as if to steady him, saying, "Hey, little buddy, are you okay? Didn't mean to bump you..."

"Let go."

"Are you sure you aren't...?"

The boy was trying to pull loose. "Let go, or I'll lose!"

The buzzer went off, and Marko crowed. "I did it! I won!"

The kid looked at Paul, and hissed, "Cheater!"

Paul held his hand down by his hip, showing the kid two dollar bills. The boy looked at them, then looked up at Paul, who nodded. The kid smirked, snatching the money. "Yeah, you sure did. Boy, what a hotshot!" He pelted away to try his hand at the dart game.

"Nice shooting," said the barker. "You can have anything on the bottom half of the wall, or anything on the green shelf."

Marko considered this carefully. He couldn't remember ever winning anything, and he wanted to get exactly the right prize. "Well, I'm a little old for stuffed animals."

"Aw," said Dwayne. "I kind of thought the small Barney was 'you'."

David casually hooked an arm over Marko's shoulder. He didn't miss the slight shiver that ran through the smaller boy's body, but he pretended not to notice. Instead he pointed to the items on the back shelf. "Lots to choose from, Marko. There's a glow-in-the-dark yo-yo, Fred Flintstone pencil sharpener, WWF poster, Japanese paper fan..."

"They have sunglasses," Marko said quietly.

David smiled. "They sure do. Which do you like? Aviator style, Rayban knock-offs, or John Lennon round ones?"

"What are those kind that Tom Cruise wore in Risky Business?"

Dwayne mock gasped. "Grandma let you see Risky Business?"

"Of course not," said Marko absently. "An R rated movie--one that featured drinking, fornication, prostitution, whoremongering, and perhaps most importantly disobeying and lying to your parents?"

"If you didn't see it, how do you know about this?" asked Dwayne curiously. "And how do you know about the Raybans?"

"I can read reviews," Marko pointed out, "And she couldn't keep me from seeing movie posters. I think I'd like those."

"Your finest pair of faux Raybans, m'man," ordered David.

The barker bowed, then presented the sunglasses to David with a flourish. "Now would you good gentlemen either play another round or move along? I have rubes to skin."

David bowed, and they moved a few yards down the boardwalk. "Let's see how you look in these." When Marko reached for them, David unfolded them and said, "Allow me, handsome." He slipped the glasses on Marko's face.

"How do I look?" The younger boy looked around. "Is there a mirror anywhere around here?"

"Nah," responded Dwayne. "One of the things we like about this place."

"You look cool," said David.

"Really?" The idea pleased Marko. The last thing he'd ever imagined being accused of was being cool.

"Sunglasses at night?" David smiled slowly. "Definitely your look."