Rapids

by Tim Parks

  Vince leaped into the swirl. To his surprise his feet hit the bottom hard, jarring his hips— there must be a ledge— then the current took him. Even in full kit, the body felt the shock of the cold. He assumed the textbook position, on his back, feet downstream to meet any obstacles. There was a sudden acceleration as the water rushed round the spur. Now, now, now, his mind sang. He is in it. Now is always the important moment. This water, in this part of the river. Now! Max shouted. The bag fell perfectly, so that the yellow rope unravelled across the water just half a yard behind. Vince had it. Feet braced against a rock, the fifteen—year—old hauled him to the bank. Easiest fishing ever, he joked. His thin arms were strong and sure. Impressive, Vince told him.

  Phil then pulled out Adam with similar ease. But Amelia wasn’t concentrating. She swirled round the spur, lifted an arm for the line, floundered after it, seemed to have it, then lost it. Brian, who had sat down after throwing, the better to brace his lame foot, now stood to shout instructions. He limped and hopped over the boulders along the bank. The girl was sliding past. When she finally grabbed the rope it was with such a tug that the boy lost his balance and crashed forward into the water. Clive scrambled down the bank and got hold of him.

  Who’s the fucking wally now! the girl hissed as she got a foothold on the stones. Brian was nursing his ankle. He was in pain. Amelia relented. Not your fault. At the top of the bank, she turned to Michela: I hate you! she screamed. She took off her helmet and shook the water from her black hair. I fucking hate you!

  Waiting quietly in her boat beside Mark, the Italian girl looked bewildered. Vince saw it. She doesn’t understand. Better than a seat at the opera, Max quipped. Amelia hit the boy hard. Idiot! But now she had hurt her hand on the buckle of his buoyancy aid. Shivering and shouting, she began to cry.

  Amelia! Adam said. Kids! His voice took on a pained authority. Enough. Come on now. Putting an arm round the girl’s shoulders, he turned her away from the others and spoke quickly and quietly. Vince thought he heard the words, your mother. Clive was still at the water’s edge, squatting beside Brian, holding the boy’s bad ankle in both hands, gently flexing the joint. Back in your boats, Adam eventually called. Let’s hammer on down.

  Only days later would Vince have time to reflect that the following hour and a half had been one of the happiest of his life. Never had his mind thought so intensely and lucidly, never had thinking been so dissolved and extended into every part of his body— shoulders, spine, wrists, hips, feet— the way sky and mountainside, as they pushed off from the bank, were dissolving now into driving rain and all the world pouring into the river where the kayakers were no longer eight individuals picking their separate ways through a wide flow, but a closely knit team signalling each other forward along the only line possible, every paddler constantly watching two others, protected by two others watching him.

  These are more serious rapids now, Clive warned. He gave orders. Sometimes they leap—frogged from eddy to eddy. Or Clive got out on the bank with Phil or Max to scout ahead, to check there was no debris, to choose a line. Then the four—stars went with him and Clive placed one boy behind a rock at some tricky point to signal the way to the others as they passed and one at the end of the rapid on the bank with a throw—bag ready for possible swimmers.

  Rafted together in an eddy upstream of these perils, the others looked for a paddle blade to appear above the horizon line where the river began its plunge. There! Adam saw it. Okay, Amelia, go! Wait. Okay, Mark, go! Even Michela seems to have been drawn in to the urgency of it. She woke up. She made the signals, became part of the group. She poured a pack of candies into her mouth for energy. Now, Vince, go! And stay relaxed!

  Vince’s eye read the water intensely, the snags, the pull of something beneath the surface, the turbulence of a broken eddy—line, the bright rippling that marks a sudden shallow. And his muscles reacted immediately to what the eye saw and the brain interpreted, planting the paddle left and right, his whole body wired and attentive for those hazards the eye had missed: the pull of a hole, the smack of a wave, a sudden swirling round to the left against a rock wall that is dangerously undercut. Stopper! It was Clive’s voice. Paddle! Pad—dle!

  Phil was on the bank beyond with a line. A great curve of water arched down before him into the boil. Vince crashed through. How different, his mind was singing as he waited in the calmer water for the others, how different from the knowledge of the financial institution, from discrete units of measure to be added and subtracted, the mind racing but the body only a burden in its frustrated inertia. To everyone’s delight, it was Adam who was first to swim. He pulled out, trapped in a hole. Max tossed him a line. The man didn’t seem upset. Wipe that grin off your face, he laughed to his son. Shit happens.

  Should they stop for lunch? This was the place Clive had chosen, a small clearing on the left bank where a stream plunged in. But Adam was worried that the river had started to rise. And with this rain still teeming down it’s getting muddier every minute, he pointed out. Clive reflected. The kids needed a break, he decided. We’re tired. Also, there was a waterfall to see here. Something they really shouldn’t miss. Stretch our legs. Afterwards they would still have a couple of hours jammed in the boats.

  Everybody had replaced one of the two buoyancy bags behind the kayak’s seat with a dry—bag full of food and drink. Clive had no buoyancy at all, only every conceivable item of tackle crammed into the stern of the boat. Time for the Kiss You! he announced. I beg your pardon, sir. The what? Unpacking a bag no bigger than a stuffed coat pocket, the instructor produced a large cylinder of some thin nylon fabric perhaps four yards long by two in diameter. K—I—S—U, Adam explained. Don’t build up your hopes, kids. Karimore Instructor Survival Unit. As the cylinder flapped open, the wind snatched at the edges and the rain streamed on its waxy surface. Bundle in, Clive ordered. He spread it on the flattest patch he could find. The ground was coarse sand, shale and pine cones. Everybody in!

  As soon as you were out of your boat, the body began to chill. Their wetsuits steamed. Mark’s teeth are chattering. My feet are numb, Amelia wailed. But inside this nylon cylinder, they immediately began to warm up. Clive arranged them sitting down in two lines of three, facing each other. At the ends, he and Adam pulled the material closed round their shoulders. Now they were in a strange blue space, breathy and damp, with the fabric held up only by their bent heads as they ate their sandwiches. First to fart gets lynched, Phil threatened. Where’s me air—freshener, Max quipped. The neoprene of their kit was rank. Don’t you think they could sell wetsuits with more attractive fragrances? But Vince was startled by the sudden intimacy of it. Six faces were less than a foot from each other as they chewed, eyes constantly meeting, knees pressed against and between each other.

  A steady breeze nagged at the fabric where it was loose, and where it was tight the rain pattered sharply. Michela had ended up opposite Amelia. All morning her face had been blank. Now, forced into contact, she leaned forward a little so that their foreheads were almost touching. I didn’t think, Michela said. Honestly. She spoke softly. I’m so sorry.

  Amelia looked down. Sitting beside her, Vince heard and held his breath. I’m so sorry, his mind echoed. Amelia rummaged in her dry—bag, found another sandwich. Guys, she announced suddenly, Wally says someone here has got really foul breath. She shook her hair. Isn’t that right Wally? The protecting bear was tied on a loop in her cag. She kissed it on the nose. And he hopes it isn’t Adam, since that’s who’s going to be looking after him tomorrow. Dead right! Mark crowed. Instructor level two fails to roll up in simple hole. What a wally! Max was shaking his head: When boys are men, the men will be boys. All in a day’s chaos, Adam smiled. Actually I was just testing the rescuers. There were loud groans. Everyone’s doing brilliantly, Clive told them. Sheer genius. Like gods.

  Vince chewed his food. Michela had said those same words, but instead of plunging him into misery and isolation, it was as if the phrase had been exorcised
on her earnest young lips, dissolved into the warm steamy atmosphere of a new family. So sorry. Amelia hadn’t acknowledged or rejected the apology. Vince turned to see if Adam had noticed, but the man was laughing with his son at his own misadventure. They were all curiously one, in the damp, blue air, in the suffocating intimacy of the KISU. Then there was a rude shout, right beside his ear. From outside. A hand grasped the fabric and shook it. A drunken voice.

  Adam released the edges he was holding, rolled backwards. Excuse me? In a moment they were all fighting their way out of the flapping cloth. Vince recognised the man he had seen that first day at his shack by the river. He held an old fishing rod, a battered bag, a bottle. He was shouting, shaking his head, turning to point theatrically down the river. He bent down and spread out his arms and moved them outwards as if touching something low and long.

  Leave us alone, you’re drunk. Adam was abrupt and sharp. Hang on, Clive said. Listen, he asked, speaking slowly to the man. Want some food? Eat? He had his lunchbox in his hand. The man stank of spirits. He started shouting again. His eyes were mad. Max understands German, Vince said. Everybody is shivering. The bloke’s drunk, Adam insisted. Come on, then, Max. But the man’s voice was slurred, he was shouting and yelling in dialect. The only thing I can get is gefàhrlich; the blonde boy shook his head. Ge—what? Phil asked. We know it’s gefàhrlich, Clive said patiently. The man knocked the sandwich out of his hand. He seemed angry. He stared at them all, gesticulating at the sky, along the river. His movements were jerky and unnatural. He says the river’s dangerous today, Michela said. But the visitor had already turned and was picking his way along the bank downstream, his body bowed, jerky but oddly agile.

  Clive watched him go. We’ve got about fifteen minutes to visit the waterfall, then we’d better get moving. You could see from the mud in the water, he said, that the river was coming up fast. Are you sure there’s time? Adam worried. This is an important experience, Clive repeated. Quite a find. You’ll need your helmets, Michela warned. Brian said he couldn’t walk. His foot was hurting. I’ll stay with him, Amelia offered. Oh Kiss You! Max shouted as the two pulled the makeshift tent around them. Hope the old pervert doesn’t come back, or you’re dead meat.

  The little group climbed steeply for about two hundred yards among tall trunks, their knuckly roots fastened into the rock. Everything was twisted, crushed, flaking, leaning, broken, sharp. Everything dripped and drizzled. Phil began to throw pine cones. What did that word mean, ge—what—sit? It means absolutely—fucking—terrifying, Max lied in his poshest voice. I wish, Phil sighed. Don’t worry, he said the same to me, first day, Vince remembered. I think he has trouble imagining there are people who can’t speak his language. Or people mad enough to kayak, Mark muttered. A cone bounced on his helmet. Then they met the stream tumbling down and saw the waterfall about fifty yards ahead where the slope ended abruptly against a wall of rock. I’ve seen bigger, Adam remarked. The water poured down steadily in a broad sheet. Wait, Clive said.

  They had to scramble up in the stream itself now. The rocks are slippery, but they have their wetsuits on and rubber shoes. Use your hands, folks! Clive had to shout over the noise. Can’t afford any injuries now. Sometimes a leg sank in up to the thigh. It was definitely colder than the river. Oh my poor bollocks! Phil sang. Look at this! Max had found something jammed between two stones: a sheep’s skull. Attractive fellow, Adam said. Friend of Wally’s no doubt, Max declared. Pioneer of canyoning! He threw the thing at Phil, who dodged to let it rush off in the stream. Vince offered Michela his hand as she jumped from one boulder to another. She refused it.

  At the top, at the foot of the rock wall, the falling water had hollowed out a pool about fifteen feet across. Clive waded round and climbed out on a narrow ledge just to the left of the fall. Instead of the rain, a fierce icy spray blew into their faces here. A strong breeze was rushing down with the water. The roar was so loud they had to put their heads together to talk. Adam— Clive challenged the man— why don’t you walk across and see what’s behind. Walk under the water? That’s what I said. You’re joking, Adam told him.

  It was difficult to say from close up, with the spray stinging their eyes and the trees dripping gloomily all around, how high the waterfall might be. Forty feet perhaps. That’s why I said to bring helmets, Clive explained. There was a deep chill in the air. I thought it was for the pine cones, Max laughed. But how do I know the water’s not too deep? Trust me, Clive told him. Glistening with bright drops, his bearded face suggested both prophet and explorer. There was a glint in his eye. He looks older than he is, Vince thought. Mark was watching his father. Go on, Clive yelled. I’ll give it a whirl, Phil offered.

  Adam immediately stepped into the water. His leg sank to the knee, then the thigh. The water crashed on his helmet. Leaning forward, his hands supported on the rock behind the fall, he edged along with nervous slowness. There was no regulation way of doing things now. The waterfall is perhaps twelve feet across. The man had reached the middle when suddenly he stumbled forward through the curtain of white spray and disappeared. Jesus! Mark breathed. For about thirty seconds there was no sign of him— Don’t worry, Clive laughed— then Adam reappeared further along and began to climb out from the water. From the opposite bank he turned and shouted something, held up a thumb. Now you, Clive told Phil, and try to enjoy it more than he did.

  One by one the group inched along the ledge, then, with nowhere to stand on the far side, people began scrambling back down the slope to the boats. Vince was second to last with only Michela behind. As he stepped into the falling water, he was astonished by the force of its downward thrust beating on his helmet. His neck tensed to resist. Nobody said I wouldn’t be able to breathe. The air was all water. His eyes are blind, ears full of sound, cheeks stinging with cold. His hands advanced, pressing numbly on the slippery rock behind the fall. Then, as he imagined, the resistance suddenly disappeared. There was no wall. He stumbled forward through the heavy water and stood, thigh—deep, in a space that might have been the size of a tall wardrobe. So little light filtered through, it was impossible to make out what was above him. Vince stood there breathing deeply.

  Why didn’t he just hurry on then, as the others had? Was it guile? Suddenly, it seemed essential that he should have come here, that he should know this cold, roaring place, at the heart of everything, he thought, but dark and hidden. It’s important that there are places like this. He couldn’t think why. But he knew the Italian girl would be coming. Any moment. He waited, breathing the saturated air. Sure enough, she suddenly blundered forward through the water and against him. He could just make out her pale face as she yelled something inches away. What was it? He couldn’t hear. He started to edge out, but she is holding an arm. He turned to her. She pulled him against her. Her hands had fastened tight on his jacket. Their cold wet faces are together now. Still she was yelling something. The water thundered. He shouted: I’m crazy about you. Absolutely crazy! He was shouting at the top of his voice knowing she couldn’t hear. I do nothing but watch you. She shook her head. Their eyes had caught each other, gathering a faint brightness from the shadow. Something was quivering there. She put her hands behind his head. Their helmets banged. And for perhaps three or four seconds she pressed her cold lips to his. Then she let go. She pushed him. He turned. Stepping outwards, the weight of the water was again so unexpected he lost his footing on the ledge and fell outwards. The pool was up to his neck and he had to swim. By the time he reached the shallow water, Michela was already ahead, hurrying down after the others.

  Mystical experience? Clive asked Adam as they got into their boats again.

  Claustrophobic, Adam replied. He had his sardonic smile. Place could use some good garden lighting.

  Bit of a toilet, if you ask me, Phil sneered.

  Vince?

  Can’t describe it. He shook his head. What could he say? A great wind was blowing through him. Like a place, he hazarded, I kind of always knew existed but had never be
en to. Does that make sense? He didn’t look at Michela as he spoke, but saw Clive lift an eyebrow in her direction. There was a squint of anxiety in his expression. The Italian girl’s voice came very flat and clear: Last place on earth, she said. Terminal.

  Did we really miss anything? Amelia was demanding of Max. And has anybody got any lipsalve?

  Rapid poke in Mother Earth’s old womb, Max said. Core of the universe kind of thing.

  Earth’s what?

  For Christ’s sake, Phil, where have you been, where did you come from? The womb!

  Cunt to you, Brian explained, checking his spraydeck.

  Kids, Adam began.

  Not exactly, Amelia protested. She pressed a stick of Vaseline against her lips.

  Thereabouts, Brian said. And just as wet by the sounds.

  You should be so lucky, Max told him.

  Cunt is warm, Phil objected.

  Unless you’re into necrophilia.

  Kids, I said enough!

  Then they were on the water again. It was distinctly dirtier now as the rising streams brought down earth from the mountain sides. There were the first bits of debris. A broken branch, a dead bird. Yuck, Amelia said. Bugger off, foul fowl. The creature rolled over softly in the eddy—line, limp feathers outspread. How quiet the valley seemed, Vince thought. The dull roar of rain and river made a strange ferocious hush.

  Just before the first rapid, Clive told Phil and Max to go ahead together and scout. First sign of anything really tricky, out of your boats and check it from the bank. This is the definitive four—star test, okay?

  The boys paddled off and disappeared over the horizon line. The others chattered. Adam acknowledged that the little cave behind the fall was worth a visit, but didn’t see why Clive wanted to insist on the word mystical. Michela stared glassily into the water: because it was where she and Clive had kissed so passionately three weeks before, she thought. Amelia was asking Brian if they would let him have his four—star even if, with his bad foot, he couldn’t do this scouting business. Then Mark shouted, Listen up!