Rapids (29 page)

When Vince went to the car for the inflatable mattress, she called, Vince! He already had it under his arm. You may as well sleep with me.

I told you— Vince began.

It’s not an invitation to have sex. She was giggling. It’s a big bed. Keep your clothes on if you like.

I’ll be waking you up. I always go to the loo a couple of times a night. He was pleased with himself for having admitted this.

I don’t think I’ll sleep anyway, she said.

And when Clive arrives …

He won’t. She seemed quite certain now.

But if he does.

You’re not doing anything wrong. You slept in the same tent as your daughter last week. Anyway, he doesn’t own me. He wasn’t even sleeping with me.

There were still cars pulling into the campsite from time to time. Headlights swung across the curtainless windows. The wooden walls whiten and spin. Vince had lain down on the bed fully clothed, his hands behind his head, his legs crossed. She had changed into pyjama shorts and top. She didn’t hide when she took off her clothes as his daughter did, and even his wife in her way, but she was quick and discreet. She got under the bedclothes. He glimpsed the long legs, the lithe stomach. She too turned on her back and lay still, listening to the last of the campsite noises, a tinkle of low music, a drunken voice. Vince’s mind had just begun to drift, when she said: I’m afraid. At once he was awake.

What of?

Afraid he’ll come back, afraid he won’t come back. She sighed. Afraid he’s dead. Afraid he just left me without even the courage to say so. She sighed again, turned and found Vince’s hand. Afraid in general. What will I do now? I was so sure of him, she whispered, so sure. It was like, everything was decided. Then first he cuts me off. He won’t sleep with me. Now he disappears, right when this group is arriving. I don’t even know if he has disappeared.

Again there came the sound of a distant car. They waited. Then a door slammed, there were low voices. She laughed softly. Her fingers squeezed his unresponding hand. When I heard you on the phone earlier, talking about your job— this, that, give precedence, we can rely on so and so— I felt so jealous, the way you know who you are. You have a place. Her voice was a thread now. I’m not even the romantic girl who killed herself. After all, if I’d really wanted to die, I wouldn’t have done something so useless as trying to drown myself within a hundred yards of a guy who’s spent his whole life teaching white—water rescues. She laughed. She is on the brink of tears.

Vince opened his hand and let hers slip into it.

I’m afraid of everything really. The dark and the intimacy had freed her to speak. I’m always afraid something won’t happen, you know, and at the same time I’m afraid it will. I was afraid Clive would want children right away, and afraid he would never want children. I’m afraid the planet will burn up and afraid they will prove us wrong, it won’t burn up, and we’ve wasted all our lives protesting for no reason. She paused. I’m afraid of being weak, and terrified what it would mean to be strong, to take the lead. Clive always said, Be strong. Be strong. But I was always following. I think that frightened him. When we were paddling he would invent little tricks to make me go up front and take a rapid first.

Again headlights crossed the room. This time they didn’t even listen carefully.

Maybe, in the end, we weren’t really that different. Again she laughed softly. She lifted her head from the pillow. You’re being very quiet, Mr Banker.

I’m listening, Vince said.

You’re dirtying my sheets with those jeans, she said. Take them off. What are you afraid of? It’s the woman’s supposed to be afraid. I know you’re not going to rape me.

I’m afraid of giving the wrong idea.

Take them off, she told him. Don’t be uncomfortable.

Vince let go of her hand, climbed out of bed, removed his jeans. She was curled towards him. It was disturbing. He climbed back in.

I think, she resumed, so many of these people who do dangerous things on rivers and mountains are afraid. It’s funny, but I’m pretty sure. Afraid of dying, afraid of settling down. Afraid of life beginning really, and afraid it will never begin. These sports are something you do instead of life. Suddenly, she propped herself up on an elbow. Do you see what I’m trying to say, Mr Banker? They’re things people do instead of living. Really, you should tell your bank to invest in all these high—risk sports because it’s what everyone really wants. Hang—gliding, deep—sea diving. To feel they’re really living, when they’re not in danger of living at all. She lay back on her pillow. Clive’s problem was, he had seen through it. It didn’t work anymore. That’s why he was so sad. But you should invest your money in these kinds of things, she finished. You could get rich. Now she was running a finger softly back and forth in the hair of his forearm.

Vince said: How would you like to run the upper Aurino with me. Just us two.

The finger stopped. You what?

Tomorrow We could run the upper Aurino again. You do the shopping early. I sort out the paddle and the guide at the rafting centre. We should have about four hours before the party arrives. If we don’t take any breaks, we can do it.

After a thunderstorm?

It can’t be any worse than it was last time.

She was intrigued. You have to drive to England, she reminded him.

If I drive through the night, tomorrow, I’ll still be back Saturday morning.

In fine condition for a sixteen—hour working day.

Right, Vince laughed. Let’s do it.

Suddenly, she threw an arm across his chest and snuggled towards him, her cheek was on his shoulder, her lips only inches away. My old banker wants to kill himself.

I want to run that river. With you. You lead.

You really don’t want to go back at all, do you?

Vince was silent.

At that point, we may as well just make love, she said. Her arm tightened round him.

No, Vince said.

Why not? It’s not so dangerous as running the upper Aurino, and it’ll eat up less of your precious time. You can leave as soon as we’ve finished.

I can’t.

She laughed. I know you’ve grown old counting all that money, but not that old.

I’m terrified, Vince said.

The girl’s grip softened a little, but the arm stayed where it was. After a minute or two, he said quietly, I would like to run that river again.

You can count me out, she whispered. I’ve chosen to live.

The minutes ticked by. The air coming through the window was chill now. Soon someone would have to close it.

Listen, Vince eventually said. Are you listening?

Ye—e—e—es.

If Clive doesn’t turn up, tonight, before lunch tomorrow …

Which he won’t.

I think he probably will.

Let’s say he might.

Well, if he doesn’t, what about …

Ye—e—e—es.

Vince hesitated.

Mr Banker will try to make love to me?

No. No. What about … if I stay. He stopped.

What do you mean?

I stay and run these summer courses with you. I phone the bank, tomorrow, and tell them I’m resigning.

Again she lifted herself on an elbow. She was looking down on him. You’re not serious.

I wouldn’t say it if I wasn’t. He smiled. I’m always serious.

Well, you’re mad then. You’re more suicidal than I am.

The only thing I want to know, he said, is whether you would like me to stay, or not.

Don’t make me responsible, she objected quickly.

It would always be my decision. You haven’t forced me to do anything. You haven’t even invited me.

Where would you stay? she asked.

I have my tent, Vince said. My airbed.

You can’t spend the whole summer in a tent.

Why not?

Not at your age.

Go to hell. Now, would you like me to stay or not?

And afterwards? When summer’s over?

I don’t know. I haven’t thought. I want to do something different. I’ve got enough money in the end. I don’t need money. I’ve decided I want to do something different. Work for a cause even. I don’t know.

Not because of me?

Vince hesitated. Maybe partly because of you. Does it matter? I know there can’t be anything serious between us.

Why not?

You’re in love with Clive. He’ll be back in the end. You just said how old I am. And there are thousands of nice young men.

Michela sank back on the bed. She shook her head, then giggled. Funny if he arrived now.

So? Vince asked.

I won’t say, she said. It’s your decision, regardless of me.

But you won’t stop me.

I’ll tell you after you’ve phoned the bank and resigned.

Vince thought about this. Fair enough, he says. I’ll call as soon as someone’s in.

They lay in silence for perhaps five minutes, then Vince got up to go to the loo. He closed the window and let himself out. The night was bright with stars and the gleam of a crescent moon. The glow of the sky made the mountains loom darker. Vince stopped and gazed. Was it that all life until now had been a tired spell, from which he was suddenly released? Or was it this situation that was snatching him from reality? The lights of the bathroom came on as he approached. He emptied his nervous bladder. Or each state was a form of enchantment, worth as much or as little as the other. Every place is its own spell, Vince thought. Walking back, something again forced him to stop and look around. The sheer bulk of the mountains imposes a sense of awe, he thought, looking away to the jagged silhouette of the peaks. I’m impressionable, he decided.

Entering the chalet, he found to his surprise that Michela had fallen asleep. She has invaded his side of the bed. He climbed in and lay beside her. He is cramped. I’ll never sleep. What if Clive had killed himself. It must be so horrible for her. Very lightly, he allowed his fingers to push her short fringe across her forehead. We haven’t really taken this in yet. The skin round the eyes tensed, wrinkled, relaxed again. Michela, he whispered, not to wake her. It is impossible to imagine the girl will ever be his lover. She is playing with me. She likes to mock. To lose such a woman would be terrifying, he thought. Yet, Clive had thrown her away. Clive, Clive, Clive. His mind drifted. You were always awed by men like Clive …

Then, towards dawn, there was a sudden explosive clatter and the door banged open. A hot wind rushed in. Vince is sitting up, rigid, staring. Clive! The man seems appallingly dishevelled, grizzled. Wally is swinging from his neck. Vince, what the hell are you doing here? Vince looks down. The girl is still asleep. Vince can’t open his mouth. He shook his head. We haven’t. It’s not … Clive swung off his backpack and banged it on the floor. He was laughing, a loud, booming laugh. Well, you should have, mate. While you had the chance. And he began stripping off his clothes. He is going to get in the bed too. There is a strange smell in the room, Vince noticed. Rather boldly, he said: So you didn’t blow yourself up, then? Clive stopped. Yes, I did. Of course, I did. Vince stared. What do you think that smell is? It was burning. Clive’s hair is smoking. Wally too. The air is full of ash.
Gefahrlich!
he shouts.
Draussen!
His clothes are black. His legs slipping out of his jeans are charred stumps. There is ash on the floor, ash on the bed. You throw a handful of ash in the river and it comes back in clouds. Vince can taste it on his lips. Do you think, Clive laughs, I’d be afraid of blowing myself up? Thrust close to him now, the face is blackened bone around gum—less, grinning teeth.

Vince! For Christ’s sake. His waking eyes met Michela’s. She’s leaning over him. God, I thought you were having a heart attack. Vince breathed deeply. Stupid nightmare, he told her. What about? He collected himself. Nothing. The usual angst. She is on her elbow, smiling. Without thinking, he said, You’re beautiful. I beg your pardon? Beautiful. She laughed: No sooner do you show a man you trust him than the flattery begins! Vince shook his head. I’m sorry, if I woke you. No problem. She resumed a sleeping position, turned her back to him. Then she said softly: I do know you’re only after a nurse for your decrepitude. Yes, I’m ancient, he told her. Like the planet. Well, she was still teasing, I can’t look after both of you.

Vince lay still. Outside the light was brightening. What time was it, five, six? Soon the bells would ring. In just a few hours he would have to make that call. The fact is, she went on, an old guy like you could pop off any minute. I could wake up with a corpse in the bed. He found this too cruel. Don’t worry, I’ll be in the tent tomorrow. Oh I don’t mind, she laughed. Better than a man who sleeps on the floor. After a moment’s silence, thinking of his dream, Vince said: He probably just had a problem with the car or something. I don’t know, a flat tyre. Please, she said. Please. Let’s sleep.

Vince knew he wouldn’t sleep now. Again he found himself looking at her. Above all, the long neck, the soft V of glossy hair growing on the nape. How careful, it suddenly occurs to him, how careful I’ve always been! With what caution his life had been planned, his career. How they had gone back and forth, back and forth over the business of Louise’s school, the possibility of a move to London. Then Gloria was taken. She was there one minute and gone the next. Just the one phone—call. Those thirty seconds of intimacy. I’m so, so sorry, she said. They had blocked out everything that came before. Vince gazed at this white neck, the wonderful pattern of that cropped hair. It is a miracle. Do you think, he asked then in a low voice— do you think it would be crazy of me if I asked if I could hug you? She didn’t reply. She must be sleeping. Michela? he whispered. After thirty seconds or so there came a low chuckle. Sorry, I thought you must be talking to someone else. Well? Hmm. On reflection, yes, I think it would be crazy. The light was growing steadily now, sharpening the angle of her shoulder, colouring her hair. Yes, it would definitely be crazy, Mr Banker. You promised to stop calling me that. Only when I see you’ve phoned the office and resigned. I’m a sceptical modern girl. Hug me, he said then. She lay still. Oh, did you say something? Hug me. Sorry, what was that?
Hug me!
Just a hug, mind, he added. She turned and all at once her arms are round him, her cheek pressed against his. Vince held the girl quite tightly and waited.