Tim Parks - Rapids

Vince sat up. What is this vigil for? He must sleep. I have eight hundred miles to drive tomorrow. He must find some way of not being alone in the car with Mandy. And Monday, the City, the fray. Mandy wants a ménage, he thought: the service flat during the week and her house with my kid and her two at the weekend. A man gets tied up to the ground. Stupid song! He shook his head, listened in the dark. There are always people chattering in campsites, distant pleasures and dramas. Quite possibly my daughter is having first sex this evening, Vince thought. She seems so adult. I asked not to go, she had said. She didn’t need the thrill of fear. She was quite happy with herself without going on a dangerous river expedition. Am I waiting to hear if Michela is okay? he wondered, a young woman I hardly know, with naive political views and a cripplingly dysfunctional background. She had been quite rude two days ago in the hospital waiting room. But this afternoon she put her lips against mine under the waterfall. What long eyelashes she has! And dark eyes. A man, Vince thought, whose invalid wife was always in and out of hospital, could surely be forgiven a little love affair with the diligent nurse who played tennis so well. El condor pasa .A bird of prey. Perhaps they never made it to the tennis courts. Mum was the soul of the party, Louise wept. I wouldn’t throw the first stone, Keith said. It was as if, all of a sudden, outside the tent, the mountain air was full of whispered conversations. How many photographs there were on all these paths of people who had died in falls and accidents! It would have been Gloria made the move, Vince thought. She was the hawk. It seemed he was overhearing snatches, debris of old conversations carried on the flood. Perhaps one day I will feel I was mad to imagine this. Mandy, he told himself soberly, most likely had an affair with Keith, but then wasn’t able to stop him going back to his wife. Keith wasn’t a widower. Somebody laughed low in the distance. It sounded like mockery. Monday I’ll be at my desk, Vince told himself for the thousandth time. Would his secretary notice the absence of the ring? Will people say, Ay, ay? What is this vigil for then, if I know what the future is; my office, my desk; if my daughter is beyond me, if I missed the moment when I could have been helpful to Michela. Again he saw the elegant neck bend towards the water. A swan. She was a swan. She gave herself to the water. Here and gone. She had turned the boat so she was facing back to Clive, to her man. She was punishing him. Then there was the downward rush of the stream. With extraordinary vividness, Vince was in it again. He was shooting down into the rapid. He felt the acceleration of the plunge. I want to do it again, he realised. If I could. That rapid, those impossible manoeuvres. The speed and wrenching when he dug in his paddle, the icy foam and the slam of the rock on his helmet and the wild slewing and turning to the limit of control and beyond. I want to do that again, Gloria. Gloria. Oh Gloria, I want to do it again!

Vince? This was more than a whisper. A voice called him softly. He was sitting bolt upright, knees drawn towards him. The zip squeaked. Vince, can I talk a bit?

Clive! How is she? What’s the news? In the dark light Clive’s bearded face showed surprise: I thought you were talking to someone. Waiting for Louise, Vince said. She must be out with Mark. All these youngsters, in love! Clive managed a faint smile. I need to talk a moment. I’ve got a favour to ask. I’ll get up, Vince said. There’s no room in here. Come to the chalet, Clive told him. He would put on a coffee.

The fly — sheet was soaked in dew. Vince headed for the bathroom first. The fluorescent light greeted him like an old friend. He wanted to burst out laughing. What a volatile state! If I only could. He was thinking of the rapid. Then, heading for the chalet, it was with a sense of wonder that he remembered taking the same path only yesterday, to spy on their erotic happiness. Perhaps my own marriage wasn’t so bad, he thought. He and Gloria had always shared the same bed.

Clive was making coffee on a gas ring. It’s a pretty big favour, he warned. He busied himself with the flame and the percolator, then began moving rapidly around the room gathering various bits and pieces. Leaning against the bed was an open backpack.

Vince sat on a stool by a counter along the wall. It was odd, he thought, how cluttered and at the same time impersonal the room was. There are no pictures or ornaments. It was all kit and tackle and clothes and papers. Ask away, he said. Clive went back to the coffee, shook out the dregs from two cups, brought a mug to Vince, then stood facing him. I want you to hold the fort here for a few days, while I’m away.

At once Vince felt alert; some animal intuition told him he was in danger. Standing before him, feet squarely planted, steaming mug held in both hands, Clive was searching for his eyes. His own were intense and persuasive, brightly blue. The thick beard and the strong tanned forearms thrusting from rolled — up denim sleeves made such a man of him. He didn’t seem tired at all. I have to leave in a couple of hours, he explained. For Berlin. I should be back on Thursday. Meantime, someone will have to stay here to be near Michela and visit her and so on. I thought, with you having your own car, you’d be best placed to do that. I’ve got to drive down to Bolzano, to the airport.

Immediately Vince said: Really, I’m afraid I must be back at work Monday. I’ve already been away too long.

Clive ran his tongue over his lips, half smiling, still looking directly into the older man’s eyes. He drank from his mug, then set it down on the counter, turned abruptly, crouched beside a small chest of drawers and began pulling out underwear. Vince’s mind is racing. How is she? he asked.

Clive pushed the clothing into his backpack. She’s going to be okay, I think. The scans suggest she’ll be out of the coma any moment. It isn’t deep. So they say. He spoke without emotion, then got down on the floor to straighten out the sleeping bag and roll it up. You can stay here in the chalet. It’s rented for the whole summer. I’ll show you where everything is.

Vince watched the man, his efficiency and hurry. He gave the impression of someone who has heard an urgent flood warning and is moving fast to get out, someone used to flood warnings. Or again of a soldier preparing his kit before action. There was a lithe quality to the man’s rapidity, a sureness and presumption that was seductive; and Vince was reminded how, during the walk to the glacier, he had looked up and seen Clive climbing quickly through the stones and the girl doggedly following. Exactly the man I’m not, Vince thought. The man who attracts women. He was half aware now that he had been thinking this all week, since the moment Clive had stood and leaned across the table to slap Adam’s face. Clive completely dominated Adam today on the river, he thought. In the end he won him over. Or at least wore him out. He won over the whole group. Only his will brought us safely down. Don’t you think, Vince said at last, that you should be beside her when she wakes up.

No. Clive didn’t turn to Vince, but had started collecting things and laying them on the table now: keys, a torch, a map. Actually, I’m the last person who should be there.

But …

She can tell you about it, Clive said. I’m not going to explain. I said at the hospital that her uncle would be arriving in the morning.

Her uncle?

Clive finally turned and grinned. That’s you. Look: these are the essentials for living here. The long key is for the door, the small one for the padlock on the gas cylinder under the window outside.

I imagine you’ve told her mother.

No.