Tim Parks - Rapids

Vince! It was his turn. He paddled to the top of the eddy and out. Do I have the angle right? The boat was tossed up, thrust sideways. Now he was paddling like mad on the downstream side to keep the angle. The further bank was slipping by. Already he was downstream from Amal. He was working, sweating in the heavy jacket with its double layer of rubber. I’m inefficient. I’m messy. The hull scraped on a thick branch poking out in a swirl of brown water. For a second Vince was unnerved by the sheer volume of the water piling at him, so muddy and broken. Finally, he fought his way into an eddy a good fifty yards down from the Indian boy.

What do you think is wrong with my paddling, he had asked Louise last night in the tent. After the ridiculous argument between Clive and Adam, there had been a long and tedious conversation with Mandy about her divorce and difficult teenagers— she seemed determined to compare notes, as if a separation could be compared with a bereavement— and when at last he had managed to get back to the tent he had lain in his sleeping bag, waiting for his daughter’s return. In the shadows, a glint caught his eye. Something yellow. He switched on the torch. On her copy of The Lord of the Rings, in the corner by her pillow, Louise had lined up the contents of her cosmetics bag. A thin oval bottle was catching the light. There was a yellow liquid inside. Suddenly the idea of femininity was intensely present in the soft curves of the glass, the pale colour of this cheap scent. Beside it lay a puff of pink cotton wool. Vince thought of Michela and Clive. They will be in each other’s arms. My daughter won’t want to share a tent with me next year, he decided.

Crouching to push between the flaps, Louise stumbled. Sorry, Dad. Were you asleep? It was past midnight. He told her about the argument: So then Clive just leans across the table and whacks him one, I mean, really hard! What idiots, the girl said. I’d never go for an older bloke like that, if I was Michela. They’re in love, Vince said. He’s not that old. Sitting on her sleeping bag, the girl had put on a long nightdress and was removing things from underneath. It was something her mother had always done. Love! the girl snorted. She even sounded like her mother. Well, Tom isn’t exactly your age, Vince suggested. Louise giggled. She was brushing out her hair. I’m only doing it to piss off Amelia. Suddenly she was indignant. The way she’s acting, you’d think he was already her property! Vince asked: Now you’ve seen me for a couple of days, what do you think is wrong with my paddling?

Don’t be boring, his daughter said.

No, tell me, I’m getting obsessed.

Probably that’s the problem then. With sports, the more you think about it, the more you screw up. Phil is such a prick, though. She was studying her toenails with the torch. He kept downloading these dirty pictures and trying to get us to look. Honestly. Then there’s the fact that you never wanted to do it in the first place.

What?

Kayak, silly. You only started because Mum forced you. God knows why. And you only came on this trip to be on holiday with me. Probably you’d rather be at the office.

But now I’m here, I want to forget the office, he told her.

God, I’m exhausted. I’ve got a blister on my thumb. She threw herself back on her sleeping bag. This is so bloody uncomfortable.

Lying in the dark— his daughter had started to tell him some news from her cousins, something about her having to change room while they decorated— Vince thought back to that odd period when his wife had absolutely insisted he try this sport. There had been an atmosphere of crisis in the family, but with no substance, as when the market crashes without even a rumour of bad news. Perhaps that was why he had finally agreed. It seemed so much more important to her than he could understand. He began to take lessons Saturday afternoon, out on the estuary. But not long after he started, Gloria had stopped. You don’t want me always telling you what to do, she said. She concentrated on her tennis. In the blue dark of the tent, Vince announced: I’ve been thinking it would be nice to live together again, next term, Lou. Me and you. His daughter didn’t reply. Are you asleep? A patter of rain had begun to fall on the tent.

Vince followed Amal down the river. Whatever it was he was supposed to learn, he thought, had to do with the boy’s calmness. His muscles were perfectly relaxed as a wave smacked into the boat. When he slalomed between stones, the upper body swayed in supple response. This is something more easily observed than emulated. Ahead, Tom was thrashing with determination. He is trapped into being a man to the girls. Amelia, Louise and Caroline were always beside him, pestering, giggling, offering themselves. Mark tagged doggedly after them. Vince rather likes Mark. Adam was precise, steady, executing textbook strokes. Phillip looked for every opportunity to turn his kayak on end, spin it round, force it over a rock and into the stopper behind. The skull and crossbones are visible on his helmet. Max and Brian were splashing each other. But Amal seemed to flow around the obstacles like the water itself. A safe pair of hands, Vince had begun to repeat to himself as he paddled. A safe pair of hands. More and more he would allow his consciousness to be submerged in the rhythm of the repeated phrase. Don’t fight the water, go with it. Don’t fight, don’t fight. Behind him, Michela performed every manoeuvre as if it had been learned, very correctly, only moments before. She is a determined disciple in the wake of her guru. Clive has said not a word today. He is stony, silent, embarrassed by last night’s madness. From bend to bend, eddy to eddy, they descended the river in a plastic line until, shortly before lunch, Keith injured himself.

Let’s learn something new, kids, their leader shouted. Tail dips, Keith proposed. His eyes had their glassy brightness. We’re late for lunch, Adam objected. People are getting tired.

Okay, so what we’re going to do is to use this rock to push the tail under the oncoming current where it pours over.

The rock was about two feet across with the current pressing hard all round. Keith allowed his boat to be drawn up the eddy, then turned it and paddled backwards so that the tail of the boat was pushed under the water pouring over. The effect was immediate. First the stern was sucked down, into the oncoming rush, then quite suddenly the whole boat was forced vigorously upward and forward as if launched from a catapult.

Wey hey! Keith shouted. It was a pantomime of adolescence. With the exception of Mark and Caroline, the kids were enthusiastic. Cool! But Clive was shaking his head, arms folded in resignation on his paddle. Vince was torn between his interest in the manoeuvre itself, and his awareness that both of yesterday’s antagonists disapproved. They don’t want their sport to be a game.

Should be able to go vertical, Keith announced, if you get the entry right. He repeated the performance. His face glowed with a sort of second youth. This time, as the tail was sucked under, Keith let his heavy, paunchy body go right back with it. The boat rose, higher and higher until it seemed to stand still a second, vertical on its tail, then toppled backwards into the rush. Oh yeah! The kids clapped. Ace!

With enviable ease, Keith rolled up at once. He had hardly been under water a second. But he let out a loud cry. Across his wrist was a long deep gash. Swinging the paddle, he had caught a rock edge, or something very sharp. More than two inches of skin had opened up wide, ragged, deep and red. Keith stared. Oh! He was bleeding profusely. Already Adam was beaching his boat in the shallows. He had a first — aid kit under his seat. Blood was pumping out of Keith’s arm. There were squirts of it. Eventually a bandage was found. They tied it tight. But the man must go to hospital. Suddenly the day has a purpose.