by Tim Parks
Clive lit his cigarette, narrowed his eyes. Listen, I’ve been thinking about this all evening. Again he was searching for eye contact. I’d rather it was you, Vince.
Vince laughed. Clive, he said softly. He adopted the voice of the older wiser man addressing an over—enthusiastic employee. Clive, listen, I’m a bank director. I have just taken my longest holiday in ten years. I am expected back in the hot seat on Monday morning. There will be hundreds, literally hundreds, of e—mails to answer, reports to consider, a team of accountants awaiting my instructions. I have responsibilities, Clive. The person who has to stay here, with his girlfriend, is you.
Clive smoked. It is towards three in the morning. Around them the camp is quite silent, so that they can almost feel its silence and darkness tugging at them. I pulled her out of the water, he said. And now I’m going to do what she expects me to do. I have my responsibilities too.
Like shouting at a demonstration? I can’t imagine in her present state Michela cares too much about that.
I’ve got something important to do, Clive said evenly. She will tell you. Otherwise I wouldn’t be going. They both sat on their stools by the counter with the room’s one dim light reflecting in the thin glass of the window beside them. Vince could hear the other man’s breathing, then the whine of a mosquito. Both smiled. Vince waved his hand.
That was quite a river today, Clive said after a moment. You enjoyed it.
Vince nodded. But he was not a man people could just push around. All my old professional self is coming out, he realised. Getting to my position in life is not just a question of a way with figures.
Clive was studying him. At the beginning of the week, you’d never have been able to do it.
No, Vince admitted. No, it felt good today.
You’ve learned a lot.
Vince waited.
And it’s not just a question of the proper BCU strokes, is it? In a certain sense, it’s not even to do with paddling.
No, Vince agreed. It’s not just a question of paddling.
It has to do with the spirit, Clive said, breathing smoke. He hurried on. There’s no point in denying that, is there? So why be afraid of the word?
It’s to do with the personality, Vince said carefully. That’s for sure.
Clive told him: So, you keep an eye on Michela, then you can go out on the river again if you like. Go and ask at the rafting club; they’ll give you a guide. There’s always someone.
Vince laughed with exasperation. But I told you, I have a job.
Clive again blew out a ring of smoke. I chose you, he said, because the sheer fact is, that you want to stay. Don’t you?
No, I don’t. I’d be letting people down.
Crap. Clive checked his watch. He stroked his beard. Isn’t it a bit ironic, he began again, that a guy who supposedly has so much power and influence and money, a guy at the top of his career, isn’t even free to take an extra few days off when he wants? He’s in such a straitjacket, serving multinationals and the like.
Vince sighed. Clive, listen, to do anything, or become anyone, you have to get involved with a group, don’t you? You have to accept a yoke, something that allows you to gear into the world. Otherwise you’re just a loose cannon. Even in the kind of politics that you are in, you have to be part of a group. You can’t go and demonstrate on your own. You wouldn’t achieve anything. I chose the bank ages ago and I’m committed. Then he added: It’s like a marriage.
Clive immediately took a deep breath and raised his eyebrows. Vince himself wondered why he had said this. The other man sensed his confusion. It’s only four days, he said. At most you lose a week. If you’re really so important, they’ll wait. If you’re not, who cares anyway?
Now Vince thought: that’s actually true. Suddenly he wondered why he was resisting so much.
I should be back Thursday, Clive said softly. Towards evening.
What do you mean, should be?
The return flight is Thursday. The next group arrives on the Saturday. He added, If it’s really like a marriage, your job, a wife waits, doesn’t she? You’re not betraying anyone, are you?
Vince stared.
You’re not that kind of person, Clive said. Nor am I for that matter. The cigarette was down to a soggy butt drenched in tar. Clive dropped it in his mug and wiped his hands on his jeans. It really is important that I go.
If I’m going to stay, Vince said, you could at least tell me what’s going on between you and Michela, why you think she did it, how I’m supposed to behave.
Smiling broadly, Clive jumped to his feet. Thanks, he said. For just a moment, he took Vince’s arm and squeezed it. The grip was powerful, but somehow furtive too, an end, not a deepening of intimacy. I was forgetting. I must give you her health card. Any expenses— sometimes they have a charge for scans and things— keep track and I’ll pay when I get back.
Clive!
She can tell you, he said. His voice was petulant now.
You’re scared, Vince said quietly. If I am going to stay, you can do me the favour of telling me why you think she did it.
I’m not scared. Clive spoke abruptly. And I’m not going to tell you anything.
Why wouldn’t you tell me, if you weren’t scared?
Because it’s none of your business! And believe me if I was scared I’d tell you right away. Anything I’m scared of I do at once.
If I stay, it becomes my business, Vince said.
All at once, Clive seemed quite beside himself. He turned. Vince was still sitting, quiet and curved, on the stool by the counter. Are you going to hit me now? he asked.
Clive must have seen himself in the window behind Vince’s head. He stepped back. Sorry, it’s been a hell of a day, he said. I took a few knocks myself. Listen, Vince— he seemed to be thinking quickly, shrewdly— it’s been a big shock for me, Micky doing that. You know? It’s painful to think about. He pursed his lips, ran his tongue behind them. In the end, what can I say, it’s just a banal break—up, men and women, you know, different thoughts about the future. The sheer fact is, we were more together for the politics than anything else. Just a regular break—up.
That’s not true, Vince said. Anyone can see you two are in love. Both of you. The way you look at each other, the way you keep touching.
Clive had his lips set. A glazed look has come over his eyes. Think what you like, but I have to go.
Vince sighed. Show me the keys and things, he said.
Outside, the night had finally grown chill. He used the bathroom again, then walked back to his tent. Louise still hasn’t returned. Lying down, without even bothering to take jeans and sweater off, Vince tried to decide if he was pleased with this turn of events. Louise would be happy to sit beside Mark in the minibus. I have escaped Mandy, he thought. In the end, he had been lying awake waiting for something to happen, for some improbable transformation. The sparrow rather than the snail. Stupid words. You want to stay, Clive said. Do I? As before an exam in the distant past, or the night before his wedding for that matter, he had been keeping himself awake to avoid entering the gorge, the moment when all choice was gone. I’m a chubby chicken waiting for the chop! So now you’ve delayed it a few days, he told himself, a week. Big deal. I haven’t thought about Michela at all, he realised. I certainly didn’t jump at staying because of Michela. Unless Clive had guessed something about that moment when he and she had been together under the waterfall. How long was it? Thirty seconds. A minute? Why did I shout those things? You’re not betraying anyone, Clive said. He asked me because he senses I like her, perhaps. It was odd how strong and fragile the bearded man was. I chose you! As if he was Jesus after disciples. No, it was hardly, Vince thought, because of that kiss, that brushing of lips, that I threw away my wedding ring. Last place on earth, she had said of the waterfall. Now Vince remembered the photo of the girl who’d died up on the glacier. What was her name? Suddenly the obvious occurred to him. He jumped to his feet, crawled out of the tent, slipped on his sandals. Hi
s car was parked beyond the kitchen tent, beneath a tree. Sure enough, there they were. He peeped through a steamy back window. Only for a second. The seats were down and he could just make out their heads poking from beneath the old blanket he kept in the boot. It was pointless to wake them now. They’re not in love, he thought. They had wound down a window an inch to breathe. Should he wake Adam? The sound of a Jeep starting over by the chalets was star—tlingly loud. Headlights moved up the track, turning the tents to blue and orange transparencies. Clive escaping. No, I’ll pretend I don’t know. He waited until the noise had faded and the hushed flow of the river rushed back into the silence from beyond the trees. It was all a pleasure, he decided, going back to his tent. Gloria would have been furious.
TOD
No, I’m not her uncle, Vince said. He wanted that clear at once. It was a scandal, a complete scandal, Mandy had raged when he explained the situation. The mad morning bell—ringer was at work. The valley was full of sound. Vince smiled and kissed her cheek. Seven a. m. You’re a disgrace, Adam told his son. Your mother will kill me. You don’t tell her everything you do, the boy said. His nose was blocked from the swimming he had done yesterday. Everybody’s nose is blocked. Vince packed up the tent to clear their pitch, then set off to the hospital while the others were still having breakfast. Thanks Dad! Almost at once his daughter texted him. He had said nothing to her about her night out. Despite not having used it all week, his phone was down to its last bar. And almost at once she sent a second message. Can’t believe you’re not hurrying back to the office!
He hurried to the hospital. It had occurred to him Michela would need clothes, pyjamas, toiletries and so on. He unlocked the chalet and searched. Clive hadn’t tried to tidy or left any notes. How different from their own home where everything had always been ironed and ordered, where Gloria always left explanatory yellow Post—its on cupboard and fridge. Vince wasn’t even sure if the things he found had been washed. The intimacy excited him. There were toiletry products with Italian and German names. A complete scandal, Mandy repeated, running over to say goodbye again. I wish I’d been there to give him a piece of my mind. She was angry. She took both Vince’s hands. She is jealous of the girl, Vince knew. It was silly. Of a girl who had tried to kill herself. Our families are indissolubly linked, Adam said wryly. The man offered his hand. Steady on, Vince smiled. He wouldn’t open to him. Don’t worry, I won’t fight the water, he told Keith. The paunchy man had a twinkle in his eye. Wish I was staying, mate. He was enjoying Mandy’s rage. Please, Tom whispered, give her my love. This— he handed over a beer—mat with a scribble— is my e—mail address.
And now Vince was repeating to some sort of ward sister that he was not Michela’s uncle. He spoke very slowly and clearly. It was important to have that farce out of the way. I—am—not—her—uncle. No. The truth was he had only just learned her surname: Donati. But I would like to see a doctor about her. Yes. She hasn’t woken up, the nurse warned. The woman was grim. She shook her head under a green cap. Not voken, she repeated. And not all the staff were here on Sundays. Vince waited more than an hour in a corridor before a doctor took him into a small office to insist that they must inform the girl’s next of kin. They couldn’t discuss the matter with a stranger. As always, Vince explained the situation truthfully. He had put on the most serious clothes he had with him. Cotton trousers, a battered linen jacket. The doctor didn’t agree: On the contrary, I think it is very probable that she really wants her mother to know most. He too spoke with a strong accent. She wants to say, look, Mutti, I can kill myself too. For some children, this is a way of showing they have become adult.
Vince was polite. I can only tell you the very little I know, he said. His whole career had been built on a habit of complete candour. He didn’t trust himself to lie. From the one personal conversation I had with her, he said, I would say that seeing her mother might be counterproductive. She might react very badly. She was very angry with her family. The doctor pursed his lips, played with his pen. He was a small earnest man in his mid thirties. No doubt he knows the regulations. Her boyfriend, Vince repeated, the man she lives with, will be back on Thursday. He had to go to Berlin. The doctor shook his head. I don’t think so, Mr, er, Marshall, yes? I don’t think the partner of a pretty woman goes away at a time like this. What could be more important?
Vince offered no comment. They looked at each other across a metal table—top. You have hurt yourself too, I see? Just a couple of stitches, Vince admitted. Aren’t you a bit old for falling in rivers? This was irritating. I don’t think age has much to do with it, doctor. The doctor played with a pen. You have only known her a week, then? Five days, Vince said. And why are you the one to stay now? Her boyfriend asked me to; I was the only person with my own car. So you have no special relationship with her? Vince sighed. A friend, nothing else, a member of the same group. Then he added: People have a strong sense of solidarity, you know, doctor, when they do these things together. I’m sure that is true, Mr Marshall. Now, you will please inform the mother of this accident, or you will find the telephone number so we can inform, okay? Okay, Vince said. He hesitated. Can I see her, though? Should I leave my own phone number? I have a mobile.
To his surprise, he was allowed to sit by the bed. There was a cabinet to put her clothes and things in, but Vince decided first he would find a laundry. Michela lay as if deeply asleep. Her breathing seemed normal enough; the face, with its high cheeks and tanned skin, was transformed by a huge bruise beneath the eye. She’s sweating, he noticed. He wondered if perhaps they had covered her up too much. Gloria always had stories about the incompetence of nurses. I’m on Gloria’s territory, he thought. He picked up a hand and said, Michela. Michela? He wouldn’t call her Micky. Funny, her hands were quite unscathed. She hadn’t grabbed at anything. She hadn’t tried to save herself. The skin was cool and soft. Not the heavy cold Gloria’s had been.
After twenty minutes he left her and walked into Bruneck, but everything was closed. Church bells were clanging. He couldn’t buy a phone charger and he couldn’t find a launderette. He bought a coffee, a pastry, and sat out in the same square where he had been with Keith and Michela three days ago. I am waiting again, he thought, waiting to be someone new. But it had been a pleasure to use his old persona on the doctor, the quiet authority he knew he transmitted. When he returned to the campsite the others had gone. How hot it is, Vince realised, when you’re not spending the day on the river. The air in the chalet was stifling. He suddenly felt tired, uncomfortable. In Sand in Taufers he bought a Herald Tribune and discovered it was the warmest summer ever recorded. In France old people were dying like flies. Clive was vindicated, then. What could be more important at a moment like this than a summit on global warming? The markets seem stable enough, though. Vince didn’t study the figures. He glanced, but his mind wouldn’t focus. I’m still on holiday, he decided.
He drove to the river where it tumbled into the gorge above the town. This was where Clive had parked the minibus after their walk on the glacier. I can’t keep away, he realised. He stepped carefully down the steep path that followed the rapid, trying to remember not to grab at anything with his bad hand. Pushing through tangled branches, he found a place that allowed him to see the fifty yards of wild water he had traversed. There was the rock that had pinned him. Was it? He wasn’t sure. It was strange to think he had been upside down in that tumult. Tons of water crashed constantly against a black solid mass. I didn’t really take it in. But this was certainly the rock he had climbed out on. Yes. He recognised the dome—like shape, the way the stream swirled round and by. What happens to a ring under water? How far would it travel? Is this, perhaps, it crossed his mind, how the old tramp first started hanging about the river, after some accident? A death even. His wife had drowned. Or a child. Probably not, Vince thought. Probably he had fished on the river as a boy. It’s the natural place for him to be. And yesterday he had saved Phil’s life. How casual that seemed! The boy had forgotten almost
at once. Then Vince realised his phone was ringing. He liked to keep the tones discreet and the water was thundering. Mr Marshall, could you come to the hospital?
It was after three now. I can’t believe it! Michela was muttering. Her lips were pale. She was attached to a drip but nothing else. In the only other bed, beneath the window, an older woman was unconscious. Michela! Vince said. Again he was surprised they had left him alone. You’re awake! He felt an intense, nervous pleasure, an apprehension. Where’s Clive? she asked in a low voice. I thought they meant Clive was coming.
With no air—conditioning the room was stifling. The window was closed. The girl is confused, he realised, and sweating. She tried to sit up but fell back, as though oppressed by some invisible weight. Shouldn’t she be sedated, he wondered? Perhaps you’re not supposed to sedate coma patients. Why are you here? she whispered. Where’s Clive? Vince tried to be natural. He wiped a sleeve on his forehead. I don’t really know why, he admitted. Clive said he had to go to Berlin. He asked me to stay.
Vince wondered how much he should say to the girl, what allusions might upset her. The doctors hadn’t given him any instructions. I’ve brought your clothes and bathroom stuff. She stared at him. Actually, I’m not sure if they’ve been washed. I couldn’t find a launderette. Staring, she seemed to find everything he said incomprehensible. Again she tried and failed to sit up. She was pinned to the bed, panting. When’s he coming back? she asked. When can I see him?
He said he should be back Thursday.
A look of puzzlement clouded her eyes.
When Thursday, what day is it today?
The flight is due Thursday, that’s all I know. In Bolzano. Today is Sunday. He saw her fists clench on the bed. Until then, I mean, if there’s anything you need … Do you have a mobile, by the way. That might …
And that’s all he said? Is that all he said?
Vince was unprepared for this. It occurred to him that he had been spared any hospital scenes with Gloria. Only the morgue. Casting about, he told her: Actually he did say something about going because you would have wanted him to.
