Tim Parks - Rapids

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.