Tim Parks - Rapids

One by one the kayaks drop below the horizon. Each hull with its bright colour slips suddenly away, then the helmet. Louise’s helmet is white. Number seven is gone. Next to last, with only the expert Adam behind him, Vince dips into a slalom of rushing water and rock. The acceleration is dramatic. For the first time he finds himself actually looking downhill, in the water. No time to be frightened. The boat is flung to the side. The boulders come very fast. Vince steers and turns and braces. His mind is absolutely concentrated, his body is wired and reactive. Suddenly, a boat is blocking his path. Mark is pinned against a boulder to one side of the narrow central chute. The water is piling on his deck. He’s shouting. Vince crashes into the boat. Mark is bounced free, but capsizes in the rush. Somehow, Vince does something instinctive, some strange banging of paddle on water, an unexpected elasticity of ageing hips, that keeps him upright in the race. Now he is plunging down into the terminal stopper. The water is frothing. Paddle! a voice shouts. From the eddy behind a rock, everybody is shouting. Paddle hard! The churning white water grabs hold of him. The stern is pulled down, as if arms under there had clutched him. They want him under. Paddle, for Christ’s sake! Vince paddles and the boat rears and pops out. Safe.

Vince enjoys, then, as on waking every morning, about two or three seconds of complete contentment. He fights his way out of the white water. He sees his daughter’s radiant pink face. She is rafted up against Tom in the eddy. My daughter is bursting with excitement and happiness! Their first real rapid. What a rush of adrenalin! Then after this flash of pleasure, the dark returns, with an awful inevitability. You give everything to work, Gloria would say. You have no other life. Bizarre phrases come to his mind. I am excluded. He wants to shout the words. Gloria excluded me. I’m so so sorry, she said. What did she mean? Vince is boiling with rage. Whipping the boat round as he crosses the eddy — line, he sees only now that the instructors have passed a rope across the river at the stopper and Clive is in there pulling out Mark. I forgot the boy. I forgot him! Mark is retching. His face is white with panic.

That evening everybody began to drink. The afternoon had been uncomfortably warm and Keith insisted on splashing and playing the fool and putting everyone in a party spirit. How could the idiot get himself pinned in a grade — two rapid? Adam kept repeating of his son. Three more rapids were run without incident. In the spaces between, Amal insisted on pairing up with Vince and chattering in his queer, high — pitched voice. His father had died ten years ago, his mother was obliged to work all hours in his uncle’s shop. Waterworld is like a family to me, he repeated two or three times. Amelia had been his girlfriend when they were both on the Canadian trip. She was nice. That was open canoes. But they had agreed to split up.

You run a bank, don’t you? he said. They were paddling the last tame stretch to Geiss between high banks of brushwood. Your wife taught me once, he explained. My two — star. She was the one with her hair in a bun, right? And she worked in a hospital. That’s right, Vince said. Good teacher, Amal said. Very strict. Didn’t let you get away with doing things even slightly wrong.

It was curious how good — looking the Indian boy was, with bright dark eyes and high cheekbones, and how completely the shrill voice and over — eagerness to please undercut this attraction. My brother Vikram is handicapped, he said. He can’t kayak except in those special day — out things they give handicapped people, you know. Louise is improving, though, Amal said appreciatively. She has a great hip — flick. Vince felt oppressed, the day was really too warm. Everyone was dipping hands and arms in the water to cool off. He couldn’t decide whether to call the office the following morning perhaps. He couldn’t see any way forward, only his old self, his old life. Wally, Amal was explaining, is supposed to be the spirit of a drowned paddler, you know. He protects us, like. But only if we protect him. Is that so? Vince managed. That’s why it’s so important not to lose him, Amal said. The older man wanted to scream.

Then, checking the duty rota back at the camp, Vince read: PIGS, Wednesday, Shopping. See list. In twenty — five years of marriage, he had hardly shopped at all. Perhaps I let Louise go, he wondered, because I was scared of shopping. Team! he called. Hey! Pigs! He assumed the joking voice everyone else was using, the holiday voice. We’re on shopping. In the car, team! We’ll use mine. He had Amelia, Tom and Max.

Do you know where to go? Tom asked. We can’t buy this lot at the camp shop. The list stretched to two pages. Micky! Sitting in the passenger seat the young man buzzed down the window. Michela was standing in the no man’s land between chalet and tents. Micky! Vince moved the car a few yards. She crouched by Tom’s window and gave directions. I can come, if you need help, she offered. Oh, us Brits have a long tradition of bossing about the natives, Max assured her. He was wearing his straw hat, a yellow cotton shirt with button — down collar. As they drove up the rutted track, Vince watched the young woman bob in and out of the mirror. He didn’t like the way she called herself by a boy’s name. It seemed wrong. Nice girl, Tom said. The young man’s powerful hands rested on his knees. For a Wop, Max agreed. She’s Clive’s girlfriend, isn’t she? Amelia reminded them. By the way, can someone give me the shopping list? Sure, Vince said. Am I the only one, he asked, with a pain when they rotate their elbow? Amelia leaned forward between the seats: Tom, why don’t you choose the beer and all the crisps and snacks? That’ll save time. Me the whisky and bog paper, sang Max.

Beyond the campsite, a fast road ran through an area of warehouses and light industry. Timber milling, it looked like, building materials. Ahead, where the valley narrowed above the cluster of the small town, a castle dominated the scene, a schloss, shamelessly picturesque on a tall spur of rock with the dramatic mountain gorge behind. It was hard not to feel you had seen it in some film. How old is your daughter, Mr Marshall? Tom suddenly asked. I mean Vince, sorry. Fourteen, Vince said. I’m almost sixteen, Amelia remarked. You are not, Max objected. Only three months! You could be dead before then! the boy shouted. Max, please, Vince begged. Age is so much to do with how you behave, though, isn’t it? Tom said sagely. Badly! Max shrieked. Shut up, the girl hissed.

Then they were in Sand in Taufers: swept streets and big square Austrian — style houses, all with the same steep roof, the same wide, pine — fronted balconies, the same fierce geranium displays blazing in the early evening light. Everywhere there were Zimmer frei signs and gift shops, a general impression of regimented colour, authorised souvenirs. Posters in three languages proclaimed a festival of traditional horn music. A photograph showed a bearded man in lederhosen blowing into a horn at least six feet long, resting on the ground in front of him. The little supermarket, when they found it, was called EuroSpin, its windows plastered with international brand names, credit card signs. It was curious, Vince thought, how nothing seemed unfamiliar anymore, excepting one’s state of mind, perhaps. He found it strange how at ease he felt with these kids.

A stiff little man in a white coat, his eyes bloodshot, turned from stacking Nestlé’s snacks. Guten abend, he said throatily. Velcum to mai umble ‘ome, Max whispered. Are we in Italy or what? Guten abend ,Tom replied politely.

Vince found a trolley. Remember, everything we get is for fifteen, okay? Almost at once the youngsters were giggling at the sausage section. Great curved turgid things wrapped in red and yellow cellophane. You don’t see these in England. Wurst und wurst! Amelia cried, picking up a particularly obscene example and waving it at Tom. The shopkeeper shifted from the doorway to keep an eye down their aisle. You choose, Amelia was telling the boy.