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During night's murmur |
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Rain and clouds.
Streams of muddy water flush off the cliffs above and splash around
him. At his feet the water pools into
puddles. Raindrops slap against his
helmet with a hollow plastic sound, a constant tap-tapping, but he
doesn't hear them. Something grips his
throat and limbs, filling his ears like the howl of the wind, filling the canyon with a physical
force, pressing on him so that he can hardly breathe. A roar, gray and merciless. He
climbs along a narrow rock ledge above a river.
On all sides cliffs rise out of the water until they disappear in
misting heights. Cautiously, feet and
hands slide up the rock, slip, then catch on unseen
edges. Urgency crackles up and down his
body. He is alone. What is this place? The
ledge ends. Balance wavers while thin
air reaches for him. His throat
tightens. Stop. Another step and you're dead. Below, in front of him the canyon narrows,
dark walls squeeze together and the river disappears around a craggy
corner. Behind him a steep ramp runs
down to the restless water. A boat at
the bottom is clipped to a small horn of rock -
a slim yellow form resting on the black slab.
Thoughts swirl like the water and he gropes after order, but the roar is
inside him. His hands shake. The boat must be mine. Thoughts
scatter. He wills them into form,
forcing them together one by one. All
his focus is inward and he doesn't see the dark forms that surround him, hiding
above and below. He looks up but they
avoid his stare, lingering just beyond sight in the darkness, in the air, the
mist and cliffs. He can sense them
threatening and muttering. They dart
toward him when he looks away, swelling closer and closer like a wave about to
break - disappearing with a twinge when
he turns back. Little jabs spout like
cracks in a dam. He feels the push from
behind them, huge, looming - a dark and
foreboding presence. Questions appear
and trail off in ripples of confusion. Where
are you? Nothing makes sense. Struggling to keep his balance, everything he
reaches for slips away. Dangers. They are all
around - obvious, objective
problems. He ticks them off
matter-of-factly, as if driving down a busy street. Watch your balance. Don't slip. There’s a loose block under your right foot,
don't shift any more weight. The boat is
roped in, you won't lose it. Don't
get so cold you can't downclimb. But underneath there is more. A shiver and the hair on the back of his neck
stiffens. Something
is wrong. What is it? His ears
are ready for the sound. A thin
cracking far above, muffled first, then snapping closer and closer, irregular
and louder. Move. NOW!
He lunges and presses close to the cliff wall. Loosened by the rain in the broken layers
that rim the canyon - rocks are
falling. Leaping in great arcs,
bouncing and clattering, they smash against the loose vertical bands that jut
out like broken steps. Barely protected
by the slight overhang, they plunge past him with a loud whrrrumph
vibrating the air, and explode on the ledge below. Their fragments ricochet and crash into the
water. The water. The source. Below
it's slate gray and alive. Its gray claws
well up and swirl against the rock walls.
Squeezed together by the walls it brawls within itself, currents and
whirlpools within currents, then erupts into the
rapid. He peers down, squinting,
straining, but it's dark and misty. He
can't see the crux. The rain
patters. Small pebbles click and smack
from above. His insides are
fragmenting, peeling apart. Be
calm. Focus. He steadies himself, but there is no logic
here. You have to get down the canyon. Urgency rises inside, burning a hole. He swims in a pulsing and surging sea where
there is no direction. The rain is cold,
the gusting wind chills, the mist hides
everything. There is a relentless force
pulling... You have to make a
decision. Details
dissolve, other things shape themselves within the roar and he peers down
again. A
feeling of cold familiarity stirs, faint as if a memory from far away. He has been here before, long ago - alone in a place where every move is filled
with doubt, where threats hide everywhere.
As he stares downward, figures appear in the water, turbulent faces with
strange cries, and all the questions he ever asked rise around him, flitting
like bats from the crevices, reaching out of the mist and the gray water. Ghosts. They are all
here, every one of them. You never
got rid of a single one and now they've returned. He closes his eyes and leans against the
wet rock. The raindrops hit with their
endless tapping... You're
scared, aren't you? You usually don't
admit it except to yourself. Even when
you try to be honest, confidence is powerful.
Strength and control are powerful.
But they don't solve the problems, they blind you. He can
see his three-year old son, sobbing and frantic when left in the basement. You left me alone! Each one of the children’s nightmares
comes back and he hears them cry out.
What did they see in the dark? Daddy,
help me, help me! Black spiders crawling on my legs. I can't get them off. A snake. It will bite
me! A giant snake on a
high mountain. Mom! You were dying! Men were
hurting Daddy, and I couldn't help him. And others, many others.
Worst of all, one that is formless and nameless. The one that is everywhere in the dark and
can't be fought. Who hasn't cringed
before it, weak and helpless? It is a
mountain whose roots reach deep into the earth, whose shadow reaches across the
years. It is a river flowing - fluid, changing, taking every shape. It is an unseen creature - powerful and terrifying, lurking in the
darkness and ready to attack. Daddy! I'm afraid. But what
are you afraid of, little one? The dark. Why? I don't
know. He had
laughed afterward with his wife, but they knew better. They had their own worries, their own
anxieties and fears. She,
checking the noises in the basement, and you - what is your fear?
When he could finally look, there were so many. Of losing control, of being
helpless. And the children - closeness laying him bare to pain like an
open wound. They are so vulnerable, he is so frightened for them - what if something happens? A friend, strong and
capable, the water throwing him helplessly like a rag-doll, fighting for life,
dragged under and drowning. He
watched in horror with every fiber straining to help, but there was nothing he
could do. The fire - a man dying, burning to death and he couldn't
help. Their cries echo and echo. The
ghosts circle like a mob, edging closer.
They waver, dancing grotesquely, feinting and threatening. They reach toward him, his sleeping
children, and his friends. The points
jab, flames sear and blister his skin.
The pain, the pain... The
rapid must be unrunnable. There's no way to portage or climb out. The roar is everywhere. All his strengths, all his years of training
and experience feel like nothing. He is
next to the boat, hunching against the cold, wet rock. The roar goes on and on. It has filled him. Cold and shaking, his arms are heavy,
impossible to move. The river pushes
relentlessly and there's no way to reverse anything. What is the truth? It is
dark and you are alone. What is
here? Everything
you fear. More
rocks crash into the water, hitting on either side of him with a deep kaboom and a huge splash. I didn't even hear them coming. A faint clattering sounds from far above,
barely discernible. More are
falling. I'm
totally exposed. He shivers
from the cold, and the rain slants down with its incessant tapping. Fog shrouds the upper reaches of the
canyon. It's windy, growing darker. The clatter above races
nearer and nearer. I'm going
to get hit... He is in
the boat, but this is not a river. There
is no escape and no way out. Escape is
meaningless because only one direction has ever been possible. And so he slides into the living power, out
into this river that is not a river. Into the uncertainty and unknown. Into the roar. ***
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