Tim Parks: Rapids

No one laughed.

I’m Brian. Same as Max really. Oh, I’m sixteen. So’s Max. Come for the obvious reasons: drink, drugs, sex and underwater swimming. The boy stopped and blushed.

Be just like being at home then, Keith said generously.

Sex! Gormless Phil sniggered. Our Brian, sex!

Quiet kids, Adam protested.

I’m Amal. The Indian’s voice was embarrassingly high-pitched. I love Waterworld. It’s like a family for me. I’m seventeen. I’ve done plenty of white water in an open canoe — I did the Canadian trip — but this is my first time in a kayak. I’m sure it’ll be a doddle.

Bloody open-canoeists, Max said.

Then in the straining light with the sound of low drums still beating in the fresh alpine air and the moths circling the gas lamp, attention shifted to Michela. There was a short pause; it was the first time perhaps that people had had a chance to see what a beautiful creature she is. Her black hair is cropped tight around a white, perfect oval face where the eyes are steady and dark. I’m Michela, but please call me Micky. Me and Clive here have been setting up this trip for you. We’ve scouted the rivers which are not traditionally much used for kayaking, so we won’t have any problems with traffic. We’ve sorted out what level is what and who can go where. Or Clive has. He’s also selected and bought fifteen good Pyranhas and all the equipment, so this is quite a big moment for us. I’ve mainly been doing things like booking the campsite, accounts, paperwork and so on. We really care about your having a good experience in a beautiful environment, leaving it as you found it and hoping it will change you for the better.

She stopped. Hear, hear! Keith said. You English? Caroline asked. The fat girl was squatting on her haunches, elbows on her thick knees, chin on hands, chewing. Michela hesitated: I’m Italian, she said, and turning quickly to Clive she asked him what he wanted to add.

As the others also turn, they find themselves looking at a powerful man with a thick beard and broad forehead. I was one of Keith’s first pupils years back, he says. His thinning blonde hair is shoulder-length. And I survived to tell the tale. Somebody titters. Clive sits cross-legged, hands forward as if warming himself at a trekker’s fire. I’ve always thought kayaking was more than a sport. I mean, more than playing squash or tennis or something. It teaches you to respect nature, to read it carefully and understand it. One day your life may depend on how well you read the river. Then, when you spend time by the river and on the river, you can’t help but understand how dull and squalid a lot of so-called civilised life is. That’s why Michela and I have been trying to make it our job to get people involved. He paused.

Anything else? Keith asked. Want to give us some kind of idea about what we’ll be doing?

Clive still hesitated. It was the first time Michela had seen him address a group. She couldn’t imagine he was nervous. The river Aurino, Clive said, or Ahrn as the Germans call it, rises in the glacier above Sand in Taufers. He gestured with a thumb up the dark valley. On the Austrian border, more or less, about twenty miles away. It’s what the Italians call a torrente, rather than a river. Until Taufers it’s fast and wild. There’s a stretch there we might try on the last day, with those of you who are up to it, that is. But I’m warning you, you’ll have to convince me and Keith that you really are up to it. The water is powerful and there’s no space to breathe. Either you make the eddies and break out perfectly or you’ll be carried straight down the river and trashed on the rocks. Anyway, we’ll start by working the stretches downstream of Taufers. Plenty of interesting rapids, but usually a good space to roll up and generally relax afterwards if you’ve got the worst of it. Further down, between Bruneck and Brixen, there are stretches where you’ll have to deal with a lot of volume. One day we’ll have a go on a slalom course on the river Eisack, north of Brixen. That’ll be a bit of a drive.

Any waves? Maximilian asked. He has a public — school voice. Stoppers? Phil wanted to know. Holes? So far they had only heard tell of holes.

Plenty of everything, Clive promised. But actually, what I really wanted to say was …You see, last week, Michela and I were at the anti — globalisation demonstration in Milan, you probably heard about it, where two people were killed. I don’t know, maybe we’re still a bit upset. Anyway, I’d like you to know that we feel the work we’re trying to do here is part of the same campaign. You know— to help people respect the world before it’s too late.

Yes, that’s an interesting thought, Keith said. There was a pause. Adam said: Actually I’m not sure I can go along with that. My own impression is …

Okay, okay, Keith intervened. No politics, not on the first night. We’re here to help each other and learn about the water. Now, let’s have the Wally of the Day nomination before we break up.

It seemed every evening— Michela could never have imagined this side to Englishness— that a small furry toy of vaguely teddy — bear shape called Wally was to be hung around the neck of whoever had done something particularly stupid during the day. The culprit would then have to perform some demeaning act, after which he or she must keep Wally about him until the following evening and be constantly ready to show it on request. Failure to show Wally at any time, even in the kayak, would lead to further humiliations.

Who gets today’s Wally award?

Mandy nominated Keith himself for the incredible cock — up he had made reading the map outside Mainz, as a result of which they had gone west instead of east and arrived two hours late. Maximilian proposed Adam for having tied the kit on the roof so badly. A suitcase had slipped onto the windscreen just before Munich. It wasn’t me, Adam quickly explained. It was too, Dad! protested the boy beside him. Yes it was! said Caroline. From a strictly legal point of view, Maximilian said, your name was on the duty sheet, Adam, so it was your responsibility. Oh shut up. The instructor was irritated. But the majority voted Keith. Punishment: a performance— Mandy proposed— of Ken Charles, Outdoor Activity Director for Kent County Council, giving his famous awards speech. Keith jumped to his feet. His glassy eyes shone. He is overweight, his cheeks round and red as a child’s. He fixed Wally sideways under his chin like a bow — tie and ruffled up his hair. Ladies and gentlemen, he began, in a pompous bass, strutting back and forth. Everybody cheered. If you had but the teeniest inkling of what your dear offspring have achieved at Waterworld this week, you would be agog with wonder. Drinks! Max jumped up to shout. Everybody to the bar for drinks before it closes. Alrighty, sir! Phil was on his feet. No alcoholic beverages for the under — sixteens, Mandy ordered. Is that clear. I promised your parents.

The group moved quickly off through tents and caravans to where there was still music coming from the top of the campsite. Karaoke perhaps. Michela and Clive went with them. Then, towards midnight, in one of the site’s chalets where they had lived for some three months now, Clive watched his girlfriend climb into their bed. He was seventeen years older than her. Aren’t you coming? she asked. He kept pottering with bits of equipment. There was a spraydeck to mend, a repair kit to sort out. She waited. He was smoking more than he usually did. The room was rough wood with only the barest necessities. They had to share the outdoor bathrooms with the rest of the site. What’s wrong? she asked. You just sleep, he told her. Then he said: What a prick that guy Adam is! Can you believe we’re going to have to spend the week with a chinless wonder like that. What’s wrong? she repeated softly. You can just see he’s a prick, Clive insisted. A tight — arsed prick. Bet he’s an estate agent or something.