Rapids

LIKE GODS

I know this will sound a bit weirdy — beardy, Clive said, but I want you all to close your eyes for a minute, okay? Close them Phil. Moment’s sheer silence. You’re all kitted up, right, you’re in your boats, nice and tight, okay? You’ve got your hands on your paddles. Good. Now, take three or four long slow breaths, in and out. No, really slow. Fill your lungs and empty them. Mark? Slowly. And again. Okay. And while you’re doing that, I want you to remember the last time you did something really cool in your kayak, something you’re really proud of. Maybe it was the perfect tail squirt. Okay? You went vertical without capsizing. Or maybe you were surfing a busy wave, right on the crest, or you rolled up perfectly in a stopper. Some moment when you and the water seemed to go together like old friends. You were helping each other. The paddle was like a wand. Remember? Picture it. Keep breathing deeply, eyes closed, and picture that moment. Got it? The sheer magic, the well — being, you and the water. It was great. Right, now, on the count of three, I want everyone to say out loud, no, I want you to shout out loud: TODAY I’M GOING TO PADDLE LIKE A GOD! Okay? Then we’ll open our eyes and we’re away. Ready? But I want you to really belt it out, okay? Psyche yourselves up. Even Adam who hates this mystical stuff, he’s going to say it. Right Adam? Okay, on the count of three. One Two Three …

They were lined up on the bank. It had begun to rain, hard. The high plateau was flat here and the river seemed tame enough. I’m going to paddle like a god! they shouted. And again! Go for it! I’m going to paddle like a god! Great, now, everybody launch and eddy out river — right below the bend. Did I hear, like a clod? Max asked. Like a sod! Brian giggled. Your buoyancy aid’s not buckled, Adam muttered to his son. Buckle it.

Michela didn’t shout with the others. She hadn’t eaten breakfast. Enjoy yourself, Keith had told Vince by the kitchen tent. Remember, the leader said, the key to survival is to be totally alert and totally relaxed at the same time. The Louts were cooking bacon sandwiches. The Slobs prepared the packed lunches. Food in the boat today, guys! And never fight the water, the leader confided. Which is funny, I know, coming from a guy with his arm in a sling. But the moment you’re fighting it, you can guarantee you’ve lost.

Eat for energy everybody! Mandy shouted. The bacon smell was overpowering. Vince ate, but then felt sick. Shut that hamster up! Adam yelled. The tall chinless man went round with a cardboard box full of wine gums and jelly babies. Instant glucose, he promised. At least six packets in every boat. Believe me, you really don’t have to worry, the hamster sang. Mandy came to eat her bacon next to Vince, but now he had to get up for the first of his pre — trip craps. You’re going to have a great day, she told him. When they left, Tom still hadn’t appeared from his tent.

The minibus led the way pulling the trailer, while Vince drove behind in his car to run the shuttle. Entering the gorge, Adam asked Clive if there weren’t any places they should get out and scout on the way up, what with all the rain there’d been. The decision to include his son seemed to have settled the quarrel between the two men. They were both intent on the job. Can’t from the road, Clive said. We have to scout as we paddle down. Practise for the four — stars.

In fact, almost immediately above Sand in Taufers the road left the river to climb and wind spectacularly over the valley. Jesus, Mark whispered. Clive drove surprisingly fast beside drops of hundreds of feet. Jesus Christ! It was a landscape both massive and crumbling. From the seat behind, Brian plunged his hand down Amelia’s T — shirt to grab Wally. Not funny, she said. The boy couldn’t get the string over her head. You’re hurting! It had tangled in her hair. Her eyes were red. The minibus attacked another hairpin. Belts everybody! Adam shouted. Brian!

I hope I can keep my breakfast down, Vince was saying in the car behind. To his pleased surprise, just as the two vehicles were setting off, Michela had climbed out of the minibus and come over to his car. In case you get lost, she explained. Now she smiled, but without opening her eyes. She had her head back on the headrest. The nerves will go as soon as you are on the water. After a pause, she added: When you speak someone else’s language, you are always repeating what someone else has said. Vince was eager to please, but couldn’t understand. Her eyes still shut, the girl seemed to be elsewhere. What’s repeating on me is the bacon, he said. In front, the minibus had dived down a steep track towards the river.

After the kayaks had been lifted off the trailer, and everybody had changed and put their dry clothes back in the bus, Vince and Clive had to run the shuttle: that is, to drive both vehicles back down to the get — out point, then return in the car, so that minibus and trailer would be waiting at the bottom when the group arrived, tired and perhaps cold, in the late afternoon. So forty minutes later Vince would again be fighting his nausea as he drove up the steep road a second time, now with Clive beside him. The rain had begun to fall. Large sections of the landscape grew grey and insubstantial.

Any demonstrations planned? Vince asked. Talk of the river would only make him more nervous. There was the international heads of government summit on global warming in Berlin next week, Clive said. He drummed his fingers on the dashboard. And you’re going? Sure. With Michela? A bunch of people they knew, Clive explained, would be there to picket. We’re in touch through the net all the time. The cheap flights make it easier.

Then Vince said that, leaving aside the clash with Adam, he admired Clive for his commitment. Why do I keep telling them this? he wondered. He was thinking of the man lying on the wooden floor of the chalet with his reading glasses and stacks of photocopies while the pretty young woman stretched naked on the bed. He wanted to understand. So often, he started to say, people can see that a cause is right, you know, but it seems impossible actually to do anything about it. They were stuck now behind a tractor pulling a trailer loaded with logs. Like, up on the glacier, you were saying how all together we’ve managed to destroy it, without even really trying, but individually we feel powerless to reverse the process, our lives are so set. Clive leaned forward and stared into the rain. He wore a peaked cap on his long, tawny hair. This is one hell of a river, he said quietly. Let’s enjoy it. About twenty minutes later Vince got into his boat, secured the spray — deck and shouted: Today I’m going to paddle like a god! He didn’t even notice the nerves had gone.

Four — star assessment! Clive shouted. Rescues. Time out, guys. They had run about two kilometres of hectic river. The plateau ended in a narrow race of water bouncing through stones, eroding its way into the gorge. Vince’s right shoulder ached from the wrench it had taken yesterday pulling Mandy’s boat off the rock. All in all, though, the old body was holding up surprisingly well. Gloria would be proud, he thought. He’d learned so much so quickly. Up front, Michela paddled mechanically in Clive’s wake. The boys darted all over the place, crashing over rocks into stoppers. Wild, but manageable, Adam remarked, banging into Brian’s boat when they eddied out. We need volunteers, Clive said. Three swimmers to be rescued by our three four — star candidates. All you have to do is jump into the stream from the bank. Nothing dangerous here. The rescuers will throw you a line from the bank and haul you in. Important technique, kids, because we’ll probably need to do it in anger at least once today when things get trickier.

I’m on. Adam volunteered. He obviously enjoyed this registration of measurable achievement, the business of stars and certificates. Mark? he asked. Cold, the boy muttered. He was slouched in his boat. I’ll do it, Vince said. He beached and pulled his deck. Michela seemed hardly to notice what was going on. She didn’t offer to help. Amelia announced: Since I feel suicidal anyway, I may as bloody well. She climbed out of her boat. Clive picked up the sour catch in her voice. What’s the matter? The girl exploded: Don’t ask me what the fucking matter is, ask her! Without actually turning, she gestured in Michela’s direction. The young woman was arching right back in her cockpit so that her helmet rested on the deck behind her. The rain fell on her smooth cheeks and closed eyes, the boat turned slowly in the eddy.

Ask your friend! Amelia repeated. Then she said brutally: Are you bloody blind or what? The girl was on the brink of tears. Michela appeared not to have heard. Phil was watching with a twisted grin. Vince wondered if Clive had understood. He seemed puzzled. Come on, kids, he said determinedly, sheer concentration now. Where do you want me to jump from? Adam asked. Hobbling along the bank downstream, Brian called: I’ll rescue you, Melly. Count on me. Under a blue helmet, the boy’s round freckled face and chapped lips made him seem no more than ten years old. Don’t call me that, she snapped.

They jumped from the spur above the eddy. The rescuers had a good fifty yards to save them before anything serious could happen. It was a question of tossing a nylon throw — bag stuffed with rope, while holding the loose end of the line. Always throw just behind and beyond the swimmer, Clive explained. The rope floats faster than a body and naturally swings round to the bank you’re on.

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 been 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!

It was Max’s voice. He was hoarse. Shrieking. Unable to get along the rocky bank, the boy had climbed five or six yards up in thick bushes. Quick! He’s drowning. Quick. Oh God! Hurry. Help!

Clive thrust his boat out into the stream. Adam! With me. Everybody else, stay. The two men were out of sight in a matter of seconds. Max was crashing away again through the trees. About halfway through the rapid, the instructors found Phil trapped under a tree that had fallen, uprooted, across the water, its trunk just clear of the flood, the branches beneath forming an impassable sieve. This was a place to die in. But a man was already out there. Straddled on the trunk in a mass of broken twigs, he had got a hand under the boy’s shoulder, keeping his face just half out of the water. That crazy bloke was waiting there shouting, Max explained later. The boys had gone down over the pour — over, heard him yelling, seen the obstacle and tried to eddy out. But Phil must have planted his paddle exactly between two rocks as he turned. When he lifted it, the blade had gone. He hadn’t even felt it snap. The river had him. The boat was dragged beneath the tree. The water pulled him down into the tangled branches.

With a coolness that was the opposite of his reaction to the violence in Milan, Clive found two half — submerged stones to wedge his boat between, got out and tossed his tackle to Max who had arrived on the bank. In a moment he had brought Adam alongside of him. But for all their competence, with the strength of the current sweeping into the matted branches and the difficulty moving along the bank and then out onto the trunk, it took the men almost fifteen minutes to get the boy free. Meantime, the old tramp held onto his shoulder in the freezing water, shouting incomprehensibly, while the instructors secured ropes to the belt of his buoyancy aid.

Pulled clear, Phil retched and vomited. Never again. He would never get back on the water again. His gormless face was white, lips bloodless, and his whole body shaking. Never, never, never! He shook his head violently. It’s my fault, Clive told Adam. He studied the narrow gorge with its steep banks, the fallen tree. We’ll have to portage.

The kayaks were dragged out with ropes. They must find a way round. At this point it was clear that the person who really ought to have been excluded from the trip was Brian. Safest in the water, the crippled boy couldn’t carry his boat and couldn’t even walk unaided except on a fairly flat surface. Ask the guy if there’s a path, Clive told Max. Wie heissen Sie? Max asked. The man was squatting on a rock with his shoulder bag and rod, filthy khaki trousers soaking below the knees, a sodden raincoat. He had shaved perhaps a week ago. The stubble was white. Roland, he answered. There was a smell to him. He wore boots with no socks. Roland. He grinned now. I’m Max, Max said.

The man began an expansive monologue, gesturing constantly towards the tree. He seemed to be scolding them. Gibt es ein Weg? Max asked. Ein Wanderweg? The man pointed up. Tell him how grateful we are and ask him if he can help us with the portage, Clive instructed. We have someone who can’t walk. Tell him we’ll buy him a meal. Anything.

Max interpreted, but Roland didn’t seem to understand. Max repeated the offer. The man picked up his rod and opened his bag. It stank of fish. I think he’s saying he has to stay by the river. Cius, Roland stood up abruptly and without moving began to wave as though to people already in the distance. Auf wiedersehen, au revoir. It was clownish. We should have scouted ourselves, Adam said. But if his paddle hadn’t snapped … Max objected. We’ll debrief later, Clive said. We’ve been lucky.

The slope above the river bank was slippery with rainwater trickling down through roots and pine needles and patches of exposed rock. Having got back to the main group and then found a way up to the path far above, they arranged a pulley with the throw — ropes and hauled the eight boats more than a hundred steep yards through undergrowth and thickets. Clive lifted Brian on his shoulders and staggered zigzagging among the trees. Keep your helmet on, he told him. Good view, the boy said, ducking his head. Then they regrouped along the path. It was narrow but clearly marked, following the contour of the gorge through slim pines a couple of hundred feet above the river.

The rain still fell heavily. They hoisted the kayaks onto their shoulders. How far do we walk? Back to the minibus, Phil said. I’m not getting in the water again. The others were silent. Each boat weighed twelve kilos plus whatever kit they had. Emergency candy supply, Adam announced cheerfully. He still had a dozen packs of wine gums. Clive carried two boats, one on each shoulder. Brian used paddles for crutches. He seems undaunted. How far? Mark repeated. There’s a sort of chute here, Clive explained. He had run it twice. Too fast and steep to get back in on. Especially in the state we’re in now. About quarter of a mile. Maybe half.

Suddenly they were exhausted, what with the waiting around, the cold, the dragging the boats one by one up the slope. Everyone had a blister, a rash, scratches. Only Vince was still in a strange state of elation. Why had he behaved like that? He hadn’t even told himself he was crazy about her. So why had he shouted it? And why had she kissed him, then hurried off? But he wasn’t really thinking of Michela. He wasn’t sure at all that she mattered to him. His main thought is: When I wake up tomorrow, will I really have changed? Is it over, the paralysis of these awful months? The canoe bit into his shoulder. He didn’t notice. He wanted to speak to Louise, though he couldn’t tell her of course. Phil almost died, he chided himself. It didn’t seem important. Okay, here, Clive eventually decided. He put down the boats. We’ll try here.

Clive and Adam slithered down the slope to scout. They have found an understanding, Michela noticed. She sat apart from the others, her body numb, her mind fixed. I am not going back to the campsite, she decided, not to the chalet. Clutching her knees, she rocked back and forth in the damp pine needles. It was like the moment on the train between Brescia and Milan when she had told herself that she would never see her mother again. That’s it. I will never speak to you again. This clarity is a relief. She didn’t question the moment with Vince beneath that thunder of water. She didn’t see the wooded slope in the rain. Her head is leaden. But she knows: I’m not going back.

Do — able, Clive announced, but only if everyone’s feeling positive. While the instructors were away, Phil had been going over and over the accident with the others. When I started to go under the tree, I thought I was dead. There was like, this roar of noise. I was grabbing at the branches, shitting myself. I must have swallowed a bathtub full. From time to time, as he spoke, the boy had fits of shivers. Jesus, Jesus, Jesus, he shook his head fiercely from side to side.

They were sitting on their upturned boats on the path in their uncomfortable waterproof clothes. Now Clive appeared from the woods with his solemn smile, weighing them up. Time for a morale massage, kids, he said. You’ve got to tell yourselves that essentially nothing has happened and that you’re going to go on paddling just the same way you did this morning. Like gods. When no one replied, he said slowly: In the end, it’s all here folks, he touched his forehead just above the nose. It’s just a question of believing you can do it. It’s in your head. Phil, he went on briskly, you take my paddle and I’ll use the splits. It was a BCU rule that a trip leader carried a collapsible paddle. But Phil said no. He was shaking his head wildly. No way he was going back on the water. No fucking way. I’ve got a flask of tea, Adam told him. Warm you up. Come on. Then Mark said: Don’t chicken out, Phil. Suddenly Max was on his feet. Shut up! he shrieked. You fucking stupid wimp! How can you talk about chickening out? Phil nearly fucking died. He was choking. It’s a miracle that bloke was there. And you, you … Max seemed about to explode with frustration. You’re useless! You’re shitting in your pants the whole time.

Two years older, Mark muttered, I didn’t mean anything. I … Just stay out of it, Adam told his son quietly. He said nothing to Max. If you really can’t, Clive told Phil quietly, then I suppose you can climb up to the road and just wait for as long as it takes for us to come and pick you up. We’ll get someone else to volunteer to stay with you. But it can’t be me or Adam. There have to be two instructors with the group. Then Amelia said, actually, if she wasn’t mistaken, the road must be on the other side of the gorge. And she was right.

The pressure of the group now was to get the boy back on the water. There was some discussion. The leaders couldn’t decide how much of an emergency this was. The day hung in the balance. What’s the water like, Phil eventually asked. Adam said coolly: More or less the way you’ve always wanted it, Phil. Worst comes to worst, Clive said, you can ferry over to the other side and climb to the road there. But everybody remembered that the road had been dizzyingly high, right at the top of the gorge. As they set up a rope and sling to lower the boats down, Michela got to her feet and walked over to Vince. At once he was tense with expectation. She put her mouth to his ear: He wants to save the whole world and now someone in his own little kayak group is going to die. Vince was shocked. The girl’s face was pale with anger and scorn. Her dark eyes were gleaming. As he was trying to think what to reply, she turned away.

We should abort, Adam announced. Half an hour later they had got the boats lined up in a thicket of young saplings precariously rooted over a drop of perhaps four feet into a roar of muddy water. The river has come up two or three inches, Adam insisted, in the time it’s taken us to bring the boats down. I’ve got my mobile in the dry — bag, he said. We can call Keith and sort something out.

Michela said, Really, it’s fine. There’s nothing specially difficult from here on. Vince stared at the swollen water. A couple of small planks came tumbling down, part of a broken pallet perhaps. We should abort, Adam said firmly. Your dad’s scared you won’t be able to make it, Max taunted Mark. Max! Clive said. Shut it! Okay? Enough! Now listen, come round— they were huddled on the mud among the thin trees— listen, if we played it strictly by the rule book, I think Adam would be right. We can rig up a pulley across the river, do a rope — assisted ferry — glide, climb about a thousand feet and spend till midnight and gone getting the boats out.

He paused. The others were watching. Amelia was trying to press the water out of her hair. But I’m for running it, kids. The higher water will make it faster. A lot of the usual obstacles will have gone under, so it’s going to be less technical, just a bit wilder if you have to swim. He spoke calmly, but very intensely, turning his bright eyes from one to the other. All the afternoon’s poor light seemed to be drawn into his face. Obviously, one or two of us are at the limits of our ability here, but that’s when an experience helps you grow, doesn’t it? Now who’s for it?

Me, Michela said in a flat voice.

Me, Amelia echoed.

There was a powerful charisma emanating from the bearded man. I don’t want to put any pressure on anyone, he added. It was a lie.

Well, I’m not for walking, Brian grinned.

That made three, four with Clive. Adam cut in: The rule is, we don’t do anything beyond the ability of the weakest member of the group. Especially if there’s real risk of serious injury. And that’s undeniable. The weakest member of the group was clearly Mark, but Adam didn’t say this.

Okay, I’ll get back in, Phil said, I’ll try it. He grinned, but it still wasn’t his old voice. If you think I’m up for it, like.

Vince wavered. The water was frightening. It was only Clive’s will that was pulling them round. I’ll give it a go, he eventually said.

But Adam seemed extremely agitated. Had he promised something to his wife? I’ll stay behind with you, he suddenly announced to Mark. The boy hesitated. The launch looked daunting to a degree. There was no eddy here to hide in. They must push the boats through the bushes, climb in right on the edge, then plunge four or five feet straight into the brown flood with a rock to get pinned on only ten yards downstream.

You can’t stay if we go, Clive said calmly: the rules demand two instructors.

So you can’t go if we stay, Adam said.

The antagonism had surfaced again. But Clive seemed more relaxed and authoritative now than when the problem was politics. His face radiated that manly reassurance that had made Michela fall in love with him. I’m the river leader, he said quietly.

It doesn’t make sense to go, Adam said, if we think there’s a real danger.

There’s always a real danger, Michela said quietly. Just being alive.

Vince felt the anxiety of not understanding what was going on. The girl had been silent all day. What was at stake? Why did she insist now? Then, pushing his fringe from his eyes, raising his thin nose in a sort of defiance, Mark said, I wanna do it. He hesitated. Let’s hammer on down, he said. Let’s do it.

On one condition, Clive cut in quickly. We forget all arguments, okay? Max? Mark? Amelia? All individual niggles. Forgotten. Is that clear?

Alles klar, Max said. He turned and offered a hand to Mark. The boy took it. His narrow eyes were full of anxiety.

Community experience, Amelia said solemnly. She lifted two fingers in a V — sign.

We look out for each other all the time, Clive insisted. With no distinctions, no likes, no dislikes. We’re a team.

Right, Vince said. This was the delirium of the real thing, he thought, the highly levered gamble. Adam said nothing. One by one then, Clive ordered. His voice had the assurance of military command. Myself, Max, Brian, Phil, Amelia, Michela, Mark, Vince, Adam. Same procedure as this morning. I scout with Max. Otherwise, we’re three boat — lengths apart. And nobody ever out of sight. Okay? Sorted, Phil said. We’re going to paddle like gods; at the bottom you’ll feel like you’ve never felt before. You’ll have adrenaline coming out of every pore of your body. And tonight we’ll go out and get blind drunk, promise. The beers are on me. All of them. What a hero! Max applauded. May Wally protect us, Amelia announced. Adam said calmly: Okay kids, if we’re going, let’s go.

Somehow Vince’s boat got tipped the wrong way as it shot down the bank. At once he was over. The paddle was dragged violently down. His knuckles banged on something hard. They banged again and scraped. Keep calm. He has the experience now. There’s time. As the boat reached the speed of the current, the pressure on the paddle eased off. Vince crouched forward into position, swung his arm over his head. Coming up, he found Adam right beside him. All right? Just fine, Vince said. He even smiled.

Ten minutes later, Vince was only a couple of boat — lengths behind Mark when the boy tipped over in a swirl of water piling against a rock wall on the outside of a bend. It seemed the kid made no attempt at all to roll up, because his head was already bobbing in the water as Vince passed. Max had been placed on the bank at the first safe pool and tossed his throw — bag. Amelia and Brian were chasing the runaway boat, while Vince followed the swimmer into the bank. Okay? Max asked. Bash on the knee, Mark grumbled. Then he started to grin: Just one more thing to tell Mum. He’s lost his fear, Vince saw. He felt moved.

Half an hour later they had to portage again around a rapid that Clive felt was too much. There are risks and risks, he said. Adam carried Brian this time. From a well — trampled path they were able to see three six — foot drops in quick succession, twisting from left to right and back. Ex — treme, Phil breathed. His confidence is coming back. There was a general feeling that they had cracked it now. Fucking fantastic, Mark kept repeating as he carried his boat. Bet I could do that too, he crowed looking into the boiling water. Fucking fantastic, Dad! Language, Adam said mildly. And don’t start celebrating till you’re home and dry.

Amelia went down in the next rapid, it was her first swim of the holiday, but again Max was on the bank to pull her out. Am I a safe pair of hands or what? he demanded. As she scrambled ashore a long dark box floated by, banging on the rocks as it passed. Brian shot out into the stream to inspect the thing. Some kind of cupboard, he reported, shaking his head. You wonder how this stuff gets in the river. Clive told them to watch out. A knock from a log coming over a rapid can be fatal. This is the last stretch now, kids, he shouted. Remember, we go under the road bridge and it’s two hundred yards on your right. I’ll be there ahead of you. There’s that orange plastic strip on a tree too. On your right, just before the spur. You can’t miss it.

As soon as they launched again, Vince appreciated that the danger was over. The river was wider. The gorge had broadened and flattened before its next plunge into Sand in Taufers. He felt exhilarated, but also slightly disappointed. The tension that had seized the mind entirely was dissolving. Clive no longer went ahead to scout with Max. The line of boats grew more ragged as people chose their own routes through easy rapids. And the rain had eased too. The cloud was lifting, the late afternoon brightening. With the sudden change of temperature, a mist began to steam off the water.

Yee — ha! Phil ran straight up against a smooth flat rock, forcing his boat vertical. Adam shook his head, exchanged knowing glances with Vince. Clive has won, Vince thought. Michela was wrong, thank God. The Italian girl had dropped back a little and was paddling slowly down on her own. They glided under the road bridge. The water was barely turbulent here. I must thank the man, Vince told himself. Clive got it right. He is a man you can follow. Even Adam was radiant. Here was the orange ribbon fluttering from the spruce tree. The rock shielding the eddy was just beyond. Easy! Ahoy, canoeists! Max was already out. He had scrambled up to the vantage point where they had been yesterday. He waved his paddle. Paddlers, ahoy! Vince was just turning to pull out of the current when he saw that Michela was not stopping. She paddled straight by.

His responsibilities over, Clive was kneeling on the bank helping Brian to get out of his boat. The swelling on the boy’s ankle had reached the point where he could barely stand. The others were in the eddy or already beaching. A watery sun was brightening the patches of mist. Bringing up the rear, Adam was turning into the slack water right beside the big rock. With almost cartoon merriment he was whistling the hamster song. It was the biggest smile he had smiled all week. He banged his paddle on the water so that it spun up in the air over his head, caught it and held it there, using only his hips to control the turn and deceleration as the kayak crossed the eddy — line. Someone applauded. Epic! he laughed.

Hey! Micky! Micky! Apart fromVince, only Max had seen. What are you doing? This is the get — out. It’s here! Micky! Come back!

Everyone looked. The girl was still well within striking distance. She could still regain the slack water. And in fact she had swung her boat round to face them now, about ten yards down, but drifting rather than paddling. For Christ’s sake, Clive called, get to the bank! Sitting erect, the girl lifted her paddle and tossed it away into the stream.

Vince has never thought of himself as courageous. He is not a man of action. But with no caution now, he veered away from the eddy and set off straight for the girl’s boat. A clamour of voices rose behind him. Vince had no idea what warnings were being shouted. He knew what was waiting if he crossed the water’s horizon line, shimmering in the mist up ahead. But it seemed to him that since she had no paddle he must catch up with the girl before the drop, he would drag her to the side, somehow. Reach forward, was all the voice in his head was shouting. Reach forward! The kayak surged.

Using her hands in the cold water, Michela was keeping her boat turned upstream towards the others. Now she raised her arms, pulled off her helmet and dropped it in the water. She shook the water from her short hair. Vince was almost there. The girl’s drifting kayak began to spin. Grab the sling, he shouted. He released the thing from round his waist. Clip it on! He would tow her. But the girl had put her arms straight down by her sides. Her eyes are closed, Vince saw. It was the concentration of the diver on the high board. She leaned her head away from the approaching rescuer and capsized.

They were only a few yards away from the rapid now. The boom of the rushing water had drowned out any cries behind. Yet to the very brink the river was flat and calm, sliding mud — brown under a bright strip of surface mist. Two ducks flapped up as the red boat tipped over. They raced for the trees. Vince leaned to grab at the upturned hull. There was nothing to hold. He rocked it. She hadn’t pulled out. Now the stream was accelerating. There is no time. Leaning on the hull, he reached right under the water, found an arm and tugged. She wasn’t helping. Her hands were stiffly at her sides.

Quick! He pushed the boat away. For a few moments he back — paddled furiously, but only to get his bearings. He knew he was beyond the point of no return. The capsized hull went over. Turning his head a split second before taking the plunge Vince saw another paddler approaching rapidly. It would be Clive. Then he was on the brink looking down into a chaos of spray and stone. There was no time to choose a line. Relax, a voice sang in his brain. Don’t fight the water.

He fought. What else can you do? For two or three seconds he held his own. He had come over at a good spot. He planted the paddle way out to the left to drag the kayak away from a rock, tried to force it into an eddy as the water crashed between two boulders, failed, then leaned right out again to brace as the boat was dragged down in a deep hole of foam. Suddenly upside down, he rolled up at once. He was careering backwards now. The sight of the flood of water rushing towards him shook what confidence he might still have had. He thrashed the paddle. He was over again. A rock slammed against his helmet.

It was all frenzy now. His knuckles and wrists are scraping on the bottom. A desperate swinging of arms and hips unexpectedly tossed him upright. The boat was thrown against a wall and he was down again, pinned, head under water, the river piling onto his deck. I’ve lost it. Blindly, his fingers felt for the tab. Mustn’t panic. The spraydeck popped but the sheer pressure of the water had him trapped in the boat. He panicked. Yaaaah! Vince screamed away his last breath and every last ounce of energy to force himself out of the boat. Air. I need air. In the flood his knee took a tremendous knock. Boulders and branches rushed by. There was the log they’d seen. He was falling, then abruptly trapped against another rock, arms and legs outspread, stomach crushed on stone. But he had his head above the water. He could think. He found a hand hold. Clinging and slithering and fighting, he pulled himself up onto the round, rugged top of a boulder.

Vince was in the very midst of the torrent. Had anything been broken? Chunks of flesh were gone from his knuckles. Every muscle was trembling. I’m alive, I’m alive. His wetsuit was in shreds at the knee, the leg completely numb. His teeth chattered. His boat was gone. There’s something wrong with my neck. Can I move it. Yes, yes. Just stiff. Then Clive appeared. His yellow kayak shot down the rush from above. The man’s big torso and hands were moving rapidly, the shoulders swaying, the paddle flashing left to right, back and forth. But it was perfectly deliberate, even graceful. Vince saw the bearded face beneath the helmet. Clive! he shouted. Clive! Their eyes met. But there was no acknowledgement from the canoeist. The face was in a trance of concentration and as he slewed the boat around the rock Vince was on, leaning hard on his paddle, Vince saw that a sort of grim smile was playing on Clive’s lips. He plunged down the rush and was gone. Only then did Vince remember the girl. Clive was going after Michela. She must be dead, he thought.

Vince crouched on all fours. It didn’t seem safe to sit. He would have to put his legs in the water. He was afraid it would snatch him away. He was afraid if he stood he might faint and fall. I must wait for the others. How cold it was! He felt sick. How long would they be? I might pass out. They would have to throw him a rope. How will I hold it? Try to stop your body shaking, he ordered himself. Relax. Breathe. Breathe deeply.

The water thundered above and below. Even the foam was brown with mud. What is taking them so long! Then Vince realised that he was happy. He was euphoric. Something has shifted. He smiled. He couldn’t worry about the Italian girl. In a strange flood of emotion, he felt grateful to her. He was weeping. Grateful to his wife too. Gloria gave you this, he whispered. She died and I took her place on this trip.

Still crouching, shaking, he looked at his hands. They were bluish — white. The cold had stopped the bleeding. All the skin on the knuckles of the left hand was gone. He could see a bone. It was uncanny. Vince took hold of the ring on his fourth finger. It hardly pained him now to pull it off. The pale gold lay on the dead white palm and in a gesture he couldn’t understand, he let it fall into the fast brown water.

Oy! Vince! Wake up. Hey, Vince! It turned out they had been shouting at him for ages. Adam was in the brushwood on the bank, about ten feet above the water. Max was beside him. They had secured a line to a tree and were tying themselves to it in case someone should get pulled in. At the third attempt they managed to land a throw — bag directly in Vince’s hands. But his fingers wouldn’t move. He couldn’t tie it. Yelling over the sound of the water, Adam repeated his instructions. Pass an arm through a loop. Now, hold on tight and jump. Vince hesitated. Wrists and knees and feet and neck were all so stiff and numb. Trust me, Adam shouted. Vince looked across at the man. Trust me, do it.

Vince jumped. His head plunged into the dark water, but already strong arms were dragging him across. His face came up. He felt a surge of energy and when his feet banged into the rocks at the edge he was able to use the rope to climb out and up. Michela? he asked. He went down on his knees. Adam was looking at him curiously. I called the ambulance, he said. On the mobile. Max was opening a space blanket. He draped it over the kneeling figure. Wrap it round you. Come on. And he laughed. You don’t know how long I’ve been waiting to use this. I thought I’d never get my money’s worth.