The Gemini Contenders Read Free Page A

it possible for his brothers and sisters to get what schooling they could. And one brother got more. Not for the family, but for the glory of God.
    The Lord God tested men. As He was testing now.
    Petride bowed his head and the words seared through his brain and out of his mouth in a whisper that could not be heard.
    I believe in one God, the Father Almighty, maker of all things both visible and invisible, and in one Lord, Jesus Christ, Teacher, Son of God, Only begotten of the Father. God of God, Light of Light, Very God of Very God, begotten not made
.…
    They reached the sidings at Edhessa; a switch was thrown by unseen, unauthorized hands, and the freight from Salonika plunged into the northern darkness. The Yugoslav border police at Bitola were as anxious for Greeknews as they were for Greek bribes. The northern conflict was spreading rapidly, the armies of Hitler were maniacs; the Balkans were next to fall, everyone said so. And the unstable Italians were filling the piazzas, listening to the screams of war mouthed by the insane Mussolini and his strutting
fascisti
. The talk everywhere was of invasion.
    The Slavs accepted several crates of fruit—Xenope fruit was the best in Greece—and wished Annaxas better fortune than they believed he would have, especially since he traveled north.
    They sped through the second night north into Mitrovica. The Order of Xenope had done its work; a track was cleared on which no train was scheduled and the freight from Salonika proceeded east to Sarajevo, where a man came out of the shadows and spoke to Petride.
    “In twelve minutes the track will be shifted. You will head north to Banja Luka. During the day you’ll stay in the yards. They’re very crowded. You’ll be contacted at nightfall.”
    In the crowded freight yards at Banja Luka, at precisely quarter past six in the evening, a man came to them dressed in overalls. “You’ve done well,” he said to Petride. “According to the dispatcher’s flagging schedules, you don’t exist.”
    At six thirty-five a signal was given; another switch was thrown, and the train from Salonika entered the tracks for Zagreb.
    At midnight, in the quiet yards of Zagreb, another man, emerging from other shadows, gave Petride a long manila envelope. “These are papers signed by
Il Duce
’s
Ministro di Viaggio
. They say your freight is part of the Venice
Ferrovia
. It is Mussolini’s pride; no one stops it for anything. You will hold at the Sezana depot and pick up the
Ferrovia
out of Trieste. You’ll have no trouble with the Monfalcone border patrols.”
    Three hours later they waited on the Sezana track, the huge locomotive idling. Sitting on the steps, Petride watched Annaxas manipulate the valves and levers.
    “You’re remarkable,” he said, meaning the compliment sincerely.
    “It’s a small talent,” replied Annaxas. “It takes no schooling, just doing it over and over.”
    “I think it’s a remarkable talent. I could never do it.”
    His brother looked down at him; the glow of the coals washed over his large face, with the wide-set eyes, so firm and strong and gentle. He was a bull of a man, this brother. A decent man. “You could do anything,” said Annaxas awkwardly. “You have the head for thoughts and words far beyond mine.”
    “That’s nonsense,” laughed Petride. “There was a time when you’d slap my backside and tell me to tend to my chores with more brains.”
    “You were young; that was many years ago. You tended to your books, you did that. You were better than the freight yards; you got out of them.”
    “Only because of you, my brother.”
    “Rest, Petride. We must both rest.”
    They had nothing in common any longer, and the reason they had nothing was because of Annaxas’s goodness and generosity. The older brother had provided the means for the younger to escape, to grow beyond he who provided … until there was nothing in common. What made the reality unbearable was that Annaxas the Strong