David Palmer - Emergence

(In retrospect, doubt actual chassis movement [limited, of course, to slight suspension yield, tire sidewall squirm] exceeded quarter inch in any direction. Then, however, felt like major tectonic adjustment.)

Was suddenly conscious how very different trestle had looked from on foot: wider, solider, much more secure.

And wooden ties projecting from under tracks on either side appeared shorter now when viewed through windshield from driver’s seat, with river as background beyond, below — far below. Tie ends not visible, for instance, through side windows — nothing visible through side windows. Except distant ground, river.

Noticed van had stopped. Wondered briefly if due to wind also, until discovered (looking past white-knuckled hands gripping steering wheel) both feet apparently trying to push brake pedal through floorboard. Had forgotten clutch; engine dead.

(Probably just as well. With engine dead, could not yield to rash impulses: Could not attempt to back up. Mirror not placed to permit observation of exact rear-tire/rail relationship, nor could envision any practical means of doing so. Further, geometry inherent in reverse steering precluded making attempt to regain solid ground astern: Small angular changes at rear are product of large lateral displacements at front. Would have led to immediate bump-bump-bumping. Or worse.)

Became aware was perspiring all over. Felt spontaneous aching sensation in soles of feet, palms of hands. Eyes began to burn, tear. Noticed also mounting sense of suffocation.

Memory chose that moment to call up, play back lifelong accumulation of admonishments concerning Bridges, Premature Burning Of; Corners, Painting Oneself Into; Leaping Before Looking, etc. Cheeks grew hot; glad Teacher couldn’t see star pupil then, frozen at wheel amidst predicament created solely by own failure to consider all aspects of problem before charging in.

But wait — what if Teacher were watching…? From Above. Wouldn’t do to let him see funk continue. Momentary startlement probably barely excusable, considering circumstances, provided not carried beyond limits of good taste. If watching, Teacher would expect to see constructive signs of recovery soon. Or would look sorrowful; make entry in notebook.

(Said recovery no doubt expected to include movement of portions of completely paralyzed body — that would be hard part.)

With effort almost physical in character, managed to wrench gaze from river below. Turned perceptions inward, initiating code sequence leading to transcendental state. And reaped prompt dividends: Upon closing eyes, cause of optic discomfort immediately evident — probably hadn’t blinked for whole minutes! Likewise, shortness of breath alleviated by resumption of respiration…

And as meditative discipline took hold, thought processes again began to acquire semblance of coherence; acted to clamp down, brake churning emotions, restore control. Heartbeat slowed, perspiration subsided.

Opened eyes; focused on point at which rail disappeared under tire. Noted was perfectly centered under tread. Directed attention to left hand. Tried three times before fingers unclenched from wheel, shifted grip to mirror control rod. Readjusted mirror to inspect other tire, rail. Also centered.

Okay. Everything. Under. Control.

Returned mirror to left tire, rail. Without angles to allow for, offered more direct observation, clearer perspective.

Returned left hand to wheel. Eased right hand’s grip to point where feeling returned to fingers; moved to ignition switch. Took longer to get left foot from brake pedal, depress clutch. Turning key required act of raw will.

After being clutch-killed, engine started raggedly, settling into lumpy, galloping idle as gas-soaked plugs shorted, fired, shorted again. Torque reaction, transmitted through engine mounts to chassis, produced motion almost as scary as wind.

Ignored it. Moved right foot from brake pedal; placed gently on accelerator. Eased clutch out (had never taken out of gear); applied hint of gas. Forward motion resumed.

Applied fraction more power. Small fraction. Proceeded deliberately. About two-thirds mile across trestle, but in no hurry. Plenty of time.

Quickly learned driving not that difficult:. Merely question of keeping eyes fixed on rail disappearing beneath tire tread; steering precisely to keep centered; ignoring van’s frequent wind-induced shrugs. (Ignoring also scenery and own position relative thereto.)

No, not difficult at all. But rather tense work. And as initial session dragged on, began to feel effects of prolonged concentration; decided might be wise to stop, take breather. Did so, looked around — discovered had come barely hundred yards!

No, wasn’t difficult. But took best part of three hours to complete crossing.

And when finally cleared trestle, solid ground under rails beneath all four wheels (waited until could confirm in rearview mirrors to ensure wasn’t being fooled by optical-mistic illusion; do something silly while rear end still overhung void), wasted no time turning sharply off tracks, bumping over rails, driving down embankment to level ground.

Stopped, got out; walked back to cliff edge, breathing hard. Suddenly rubbery legs seemed to suggest another time-out. Sat abruptly. And as stared out over valley, down at river, up at bridge, found was reviewing incident in detail: Had saved minimum of week’s travel; and barring ever-present potential for untoward development arising out of mechanical failure (and despite recurring apnea episodes during crossing), probably not inherently dangerous. Reflected at length, totaling pluses, minuses.

Finally concluded: stupidest damnfool stunt have ever pulled…! What was all-fired rush? So might have had to spend another week circling river. Or month, for that matter. So what…! Not as if on schedule… !

Mechanical-failure risk real; but only then, sitting at brink, contemplating vistas conquered, did practical implications sink in: What would have done had tire gone flat midspan? Or engine quit? Or steering come adrift…?

Sum of potential failure through which could have been stranded or pitched into space at least equals, probably exceeds, total number of parts of which van constructed. Madness to hazard position in which ten-cent part’s failure could cause other than fleeting botheration.

Now, loss of van not disaster per se; replacements endlessly available, one form or another. But inconvenient; much semi-irreplaceable equipment aboard. (To which considerations might be added inconvenience attendant to dropping self, Terry into river, some bunchteen dozen feet below.)

However, when scrutinized under gimlet microscope of hindsight, incident not entirely devoid of redeeming aspects (apart from obvious: Yes, am across that river). No question now: Been blundering along, gripped by curious form of mental myopia. Tight grip, too: Even when glimmer of sense raised head (in form of blithering panic ten feet from safety), never entered head to abort — set brake, seize Terry, abandon ship through rear doors.

Few bridges thus far encountered standing actually physically impassable — to pedestrian. But for blinder-mindedness regarding van, could have walked across, carrying gear; then picked new vehicle on far side. Certainly no dearth of replacements.

Sure, would take several trips to move whole inventory. Probably hard work. But quicker than driving around each river found sprawled across (And surely easier on nerves than emulating Wallendas.)

But, incredibly, was first time concept crossed mind, even as most fleeting of notions. (Curious behavior for certified genius — perhaps should just resign gracefully; avoid humiliation intrinsic to being found out, summarily drummed from corps.)