First Descent

by Pam Withers

  Even after days of being with him, she found it a thrill to witness the way he tackled impossible-looking rapids. But she feared for his life in the canyon and felt desperate to talk him out of paddling it. Not because she wanted to escape with him – no, she’d given up that idea. She didn’t have the guts to pursue a university education, after all. She wanted him to portage the canyon because she was sure it would kill him. Then again, the rapids he was paddling right now looked to her like they should kill a kayaker, so maybe the canyon was possible.

  She found a level patch, where a broad eucalyptus tree sheltered her from the rain, and stood there enjoying a moment of being dry. Rex was obviously taking his time playing upstream, giving her more time than she needed to get into position. She loosened the rescue bag’s drawstring and readied it for a throw. While she waited, she listened to the drumming of rain on the ground, breathed in the forest scent, and gazed at the pretty wildflowers on the far riverbank. No one lived near the river over there, she knew. It wasn’t far upstream from where people said the guerillas had their secret headquarters, and it was probably littered with land mines. She scanned the trees out of habit and froze as she saw something move.

  The soldier came into full view, his gun pointed to the ground, his eyes locked on her.

  “Alberto!” she almost cried out, but he was holding a finger to his lips. He wouldn’t be alone, she realized, as goose bumps formed on her arms. His unit would never allow him to wander far from his fellow guerillas. She should retreat; she should warn Rex. But just as Alberto refused to budge, so did she. It was the sadness of his face and the slump of his shoulders that kept her rooted to the spot and made her heart sink to a depth she hadn’t known. Neither one dared call out to the other, but she could read volumes from the way he stood and watched her. He was homesick; he was unhappy; he was depressed.

  A shout from the forest behind Alberto made him jerk back to attention. He mouthed something to her, spun around, and disappeared. She was sure he was trying to protect her from being sighted and hassled.

  Myriam sank to the ground and struggled to keep tears from spilling. He’d mouthed “I love you.”

  Her head was still down when Rex pulled up.

  “Myriam, are you okay?”

  “Yes,” she whispered, leaping up. “Don’t stop here. Keep going.”

  He looked at her with concern. He was a kind boy, and she was more than aware that he was attracted to her. Occasionally she even felt tempted to give in. But the rules in her community were very, very strict: Dating a non-indígena was forbidden. And, anyway, he was leaving today.

  She ran back up the bank to find the trail, her hands wiping the tears from her face. It was a mistake to join the guerillas, Alberto. Papá tried to tell you. I tried to tell you. And when the paramilitaries figure it out, they’ll punish our community. And … and I miss you.

  She found her bike, jumped on it, and dashed down the trail, her head twitching right, wishing that whoever had built the trail had put it within view of the river. She needed to be ahead of Rex to get into position. In one of the few places she could see El Furioso, she slowed down as she spotted him.

  Rex was paddling very slowly. Then she noticed he wasn’t moving at all. No! His boat must be stuck on a rock just below the water’s surface. She watched him try to bounce his kayak off the snag. It didn’t work. She watched him lay his paddle down on his boat so he could place his big hands on the rocks on either side of the boat to free himself without climbing out.

  Oh-oh! He came off the rock and capsized! And his paddle, which slid off the boat as he went over, was floating ahead of him. He has no paddle to roll up with! Both the paddle and Rex, in his upside-down boat, were headed down the rapid. He’ll drown, he’ll drown! But no, he rolled up with his hands – an amazing trick he’d never told her about – only to find himself heading down the rapid with no paddle.

  Pedal, Myriam! she told herself. As soon as she was well ahead of Rex and his runaway paddle, she dropped her bike and sprinted for the river. Throwing off her hat, she reached for the paddle as it floated towards her near the bank. Seeing she was going to miss it, she stepped into the river and extended her arm and body as far as she could. There! I’ve got it! Abruptly, the current pulled her off her feet and swept her downstream.

  The water wasn’t cold, but she was fully doused head to toe as she bobbed and flailed to the surface. She wasn’t a good swimmer and she wasn’t wearing a life jacket, but she had an iron hold on Rex’s paddle, which afforded a bit of flotation. As the river flung her towards a midstream rock, sticking half a foot out of the water, she lunged for it. Grabbing hold, she struggled until she could pull herself up on it.

  Shaking, she spun around on her wet stomach and saw that Rex was still upright, but battling for control by hand-paddling and pushing himself away from rocks as he slithered past them. It was only a matter of time before he’d tip over again.

  “Rex!” she shouted, standing up on her rock and waving his paddle.

  “Yes! Throw it to me!” he called. She aimed the paddle like a spear and threw it through the rain, drumming down harder by the minute.

  The paddle flew through the air. He caught it and slap-braced with it as a wave tried to knock him over. Then he dug its blades into the water and powered himself to the riverbank across from her rock. He leapt out of his kayak, cupped his hands, and shouted, “Are you okay?”

  “I’m fine,” she called back, loosening her sash and holding the rescue bag in her hands.

  “Yes, toss it to me the way we practiced.”

  She tossed it, holding on to the end loop. It unwound as it flew through the air. He caught the bag.

  “Wait until I say,” Rex directed, drawing in the slack rope until the length between them was taut. “Now slip into the water and hold on to that loop. Don’t let go!”

  I’m not about to, she thought as she sat down on the rock, shivered, then lowered herself into the churning water.

  The current was strong, but so was his hold on the rope. Just as she’d done for him in practice, he pulled her neatly towards shore. Water splashed up her nose; rocks bruised her hips and tailbone as she was dragged halfway across the river. When she found herself in an eddy she could stand up in, she reached up to grab his extended hand.

  Hardly had she regained her feet than he wrapped his arms around her and led her to higher ground. He sat her down on a rock and fetched her hat.

  It wasn’t all that cold, but she found herself shivering uncontrollably. That’s when he leaned in, hugged and kissed her. His chest and lips were warm. She forgot to protest.

  Sitting back on his heels, he smiled sheepishly. His voice was husky. “I can’t believe you kept a hold on my paddle, Myriam. That was heroic.”

  “Mmm,” she said, glancing across the river to make sure there had been no witnesses to their embrace. “I-I-I …”

  “You’re still shivering,” he said. He pulled his paddling jacket off and wrapped it around her. Even though it was wet, it kept the breeze off, so she pulled it around her tighter. He kissed her again, longer this time. They looked at one another. He reached into his kayak and pulled his camera out of his waterproof bag. After he snapped a photograph, he sat down beside her, holding the camera at arm’s length and taking a photo of the two of them. Then he handed her the camera and said, “Take a few of me as I go down the river, okay?”

  She stuffed it into her jeans pocket and smiled. “When I first met you,” Myriam began, squeezing water from her braid, “I thought you were a jerk.”

  “Me? A jerk?” he teased.

  “Then I was hoping to run away with you.”

  Rex’s eyes grew large, and an astonished look appeared.

  “I don’t mean romantically,” she said hurriedly. “It’s just that … I’ve been accepted at university, and I had no way to get there without someone’s help. Indígena girls don’t travel alone.”

  “But,” Rex looked confused, “how can I help
you when I’m in a kayak about to go into a canyon and you’re …?”

  “I know. It never made any sense. Anyway, I can’t do it. I can’t disobey my family and leave my community. I don’t know why I ever thought I could. And I don’t know why I’m telling you this.”

  “Because you want to escape Colombia and go to Canada with me?” he asked, moving closer. “We could meet at the market when I finish the canyon. My grandfather will be shocked, but he doesn’t run my life anymore.”

  She stiffened. She’d given him the wrong idea altogether. “No! Why would I ever leave Colombia?”

  He looked hurt.

  “I mean, I didn’t like you at first, and now I do, but not in that way.” His hurt look deepened, and she felt a stab of guilt. She also felt irritation at herself – and at him. I only kissed him because I’d been thinking of Alberto, right?

  “Rex, forget what I just said. I had this stupid idea about running away to university so I could be a reporter and tell the world about … just forget it, okay? I’m sorry.”

  He slowly turned away and stared for a split second at his kayak, which the wind had blown from a riverbank rock down into the eddy below it. Rex leapt up to rescue it before it headed downstream.

  The rising wind blew against her as the rain continued to pelt down. Myriam pulled his paddling jacket around her more tightly. She felt an uncomfortable bulge in it against her neck. Without thinking, she ran her hand upwards, squeezed the lump, and slipped her fingers into the pocket to pull out whatever was in there.

  Her mouth dropped open as the necklace of her grandmother’s stories spilled out. She’d know it anywhere, even if she’d never laid eyes on it. It was a necklace that should have been hers. He’d had it all along. He’d never said a word. Rage shook her.

  “Myriam? Myriam, I can explain,” he said, his rain-spattered face pale.

  CHAPTER FIFTEEN

  Myriam rose, flung Rex’s paddling jacket away from her, and ran up the riverbank towards the bike. She had to get away from him. Had to think. Had to do something with all that anger.

  “Myriam!” he called, chasing her.

  “Leave me alone!” she shouted, doubling her pace, splashing through puddles.

  “I was going to give it to you!” he wailed.

  She left the trail to lose him, running as fast as she could in the pouring rain even as sharp, wet stones cut into her bare feet. His neoprene boots slapped against the ground, gaining on her; she’d have to hide. Spotting a tree trunk that had blown half over, she ducked beneath it and sat on the ground, her head pressed up against the trunk’s inner arc of rotting wood, appreciating the momentary shelter from the rain. A spider crept down her forehead. She brushed it off and felt a small sting as it dropped onto her ankle. She flicked it into the wet grass. Sitting tucked up with her hands around her ankles, she listened to the rain and for the sound of Rex’s footsteps.

  As her rapid breathing subsided, she examined the reddening patch on her ankle from the spider bite. That’s when Rex appeared. He was panting, his face so flushed it almost frightened her. His eyes went to her ankle.

  “Myriam! You’ve hurt yourself?”

  “Spider bite.” As she said it, she became aware of a hot throbbing sensation, which distracted her from being angry. He sat down beside her under the fallen trunk, reached gently for her foot, and inspected it.

  “Ow!”

  “Sorry. Wish I had my first-aid kit.”

  “I’m fine. Do you have any water? I’m thirsty.”

  “I’ll just run back to the boat to get my water bottle.”

  He leapt up and left her before she could object. She tilted her head and looked warily into the empty spiderweb above her. Why did I try to run and hide from him? Because he has a necklace that Abuela had given his grandfather years ago? It’s not mine to demand back.

  As he disappeared towards the trail, Myriam stayed where she was. She didn’t like being alone here, in the woods. And though she was out of the rain for the moment, she was utterly soaked. She shivered as treetops swayed in the wind and rain. For most of the past week, she’d been close enough to her people to whistle or radio if in danger. But she and Rex were beyond that region now, just across the river from guerilla territory and not far from where her people had been approached by paramilitaries – a few weeks ago, on their way to market. She startled as something moved in the bushes behind her. Her throat dry, she twisted around to look.

  A tiny bird hopped out and peered at her, cocking its beak as if concerned.

  She sighed and stood up to stretch. Her ankle was swelling. Will I still be able to help Rex this afternoon and bike home afterwards? A minute ago, she’d been too angry to carry on helping him, but somehow – remembering that this was his last day – she felt the anger drain away. She walked a few steps to test the foot. It hurt, but she was mobile. She sat back down and tried to ignore the throb.

  It seemed a long time before Rex returned. As she strained to see or hear any sign of him, what was left of her anger entirely evaporated. She stood eagerly as he jogged towards her, water bottle and waterproof pouch with lunch in hand.

  He handed her the water bottle. She drank eagerly. “Hungry too?” he asked. He held open his pouch. She took a small piece of cheese. They ate their lunch in silence.

  “I really am going to give you the necklace at the end of this trip,” he finally said. “I was putting it off because … it’s just that, well, I’m kind of superstitious about it. I have this feeling it keeps me safe.” He lifted his eyes to hers as if pleading for understanding.

  She stiffened. “Let’s not talk about the necklace.”

  He looked so pained that she wondered for a moment if he really had planned to give it to her. But superstitious? How dare a white boy think that an ancient indígena necklace all but stolen from my people has any power to protect him?

  “Ready to go back to the river?” he asked after a long period of silence.

  “Yes.” Her ankle was throbbing like crazy, and she could feel the poison making it swell, but he didn’t have to know that. If only she’d accepted her abuela’s offer to learn herbal medicine, she could find something right here in these woods that would stop it from getting worse. Instead, she’d just have to bite her tongue and get herself through the day. Abuela would treat it once she returned to their village.

  She followed Rex back to the trail, frowning. The rainstorm was starting to get to her. Once he was in his kayak, she mounted the bike and rotated the pedal with her good foot, avoiding any pressure with the other. This worked fine for downhill sections. Where the trail flattened for any length, she got off the bike and pushed it, leaning on it heavily as she limped along.

  After several rounds of duty below rapids, she waved him over.

  “You okay?” he asked.

  “No,” she admitted.

  He stepped out of his kayak and studied her ankle. “Whoa. It’s all swollen. Must’ve been a poisonous spider.”

  She sank down on a rock beside the river and let him touch the red, angry-looking mound on her ankle, which was pulsing with a beat that seemed to extend all the way to her head.

  “Why didn’t you say something? And why, why, why did I give away my first-aid kit?”

  “It’s okay. I just need Abuela to put something on it.”

  “You need it treated right away, Myriam,” he urged. “I’ll hide the kayak and bike you home.”

  She wanted to protest, but couldn’t. She’d watched a bite like this nearly kill a cousin a few years ago. Abuela said that the cousin hadn’t come to her in time.

  She limped to the bike and waited for him. When he’d positioned himself on it, she lifted herself up to the handlebars, crying out when her ankle brushed against the front wheel.

  For hours, then, Rex labored to pedal the two of them, mostly uphill, towards the village as Myriam slumped on the handlebars, wiping rain from her brow. They were still three miles from the community when the front tire we
nt flat.

  “Never mind!” Rex said, easing her down. “You sit here, and I’ll fetch Abuela.” Myriam sank to the ground and sat cross-legged on a wet rock beside the discarded bicycle. He sprinted away.

  A long time passed before he came walking back, Abuela shuffling along beside him with her cane, wearing a plastic poncho.

  “Abuelita, it was too far for you to walk,” Myriam greeted her grandmother as a sense of relief washed over her.

  “Nonsense,” Abuela said, kneeling beside her granddaughter and opening her fiber bag of herbs. Rex produced the first-aid kit he’d carried for Abuela from the village, but she ignored it.

  Myriam held her ankle out to her grandmother. While it didn’t surprise her that Abuela had found the strength to make the long walk to help her, Myriam knew the old woman would suffer tomorrow.

  Rex hovered and Myriam stayed sitting as Abuela shook her head, checked her bag of herbs, and clucked her tongue. She swiveled her head left and right to scan the forest floor. “Wait a minute,” she ordered Myriam in their language, ambling towards the river, her cane helping her over the uneven ground.

  “What’s she doing?” Rex asked.

  “I think she needs a plant that grows by the river.”

  “Oh. Should I follow her?”

  “No. She knows what she’s doing.”

  Rex sat down beside Myriam as Abuela disappeared from their sight. He lifted a hand to feel her forehead. Then, without warning, he took her in his arms. “Myriam, Myriam,” he said, rocking her and kissing her brow.

  A shout prompted them to pull apart. Myriam shuddered as she saw Abuela standing stock-still just down the bank, freshly picked plants in her hand, her face livid.

  “No, no, no, no!” she screamed, walking towards them with her cane pointed accusingly.

  Rex leaped up and moved a short distance away, where he stared at the ground. Myriam, still sitting, felt sweat break out on her forehead and drip down her face. Thunder sounded as the rain intensified.