“I’ll go with you next time,” he offered. Another, shadow part of him said, Are you out of your mind?
“You want to?” Leda asked, and stopped, and looked at him closely. “Thanks,” she said, and squeezed his arm. “That’s nice.”
He was pleased with the squeeze and nursed the feeling for a while.
They continued walking, and he asked where they were going. Leda said the cave with the bats. Did he know about it? She’d show him.
How did she know about it? Karel asked. She said David had taken her.
The sky was red and violet in streaks. He walked along thinking of the endless number of things in this town he knew nothing about. Leda stopped opposite a shallow-looking niche in an exposed rock formation. She said, “It’s late. But we won’t go far.” She sat on the ground and then lay back and edged sideways into the niche. She disappeared.
“Come on,” she called, her voice muffled. There was some scraping. Karel sank to his hands and knees and saw a much darker slot deep in the niche, through which the top of her head bobbed. He crawled in, trying to stay low, and banged his shoulder on the rock. His exclamation of pain echoed around him. At the slot he slid over sideways and his legs tumbled down onto Leda shoulders, and he apologized until she said it was okay, already.
They settled themselves in a black oblique space as big as a car backseat. He was excited at being this close to her. She was moving stones. He spread both hands on the dark rock around him and said something inadequate to express his enthusiasm. This was amazing. She was a girl. She said, “This part’s narrow,” and started in feet first on her back, using her elbows on the sloping sandy floor of the tunnel. With everything but her head and shoulders in, she hesitated, and twisted around to look back at him. “You sure you want to do this?” she asked. “You won’t be scared? The bats if you see them are pretty ugly.”
Karel made a dismissive spitting sound. He asked her if she wanted him to go first. She shook her head and slipped into the darkness, making a light scraping noise. It reminded him of a shovel being drawn over sandy soil.
He eased himself into the hole feet first when he judged her far enough ahead. It was cold on his back, and he took a last look through the entrance up at the sky, already deep blue in the twilight, and then began edging downward.
He could just make out the rock face, three or four inches over his. He could raise his head only a little, and couldn’t see over his feet down into the darkness anyway. He thought of scorpions and heavy bird spiders, and the back of his neck prickled. How was it she wasn’t scared? “Hey,” he said, trying to keep his voice level. “Hey.” He stopped.
There was a rustling ahead and then silence. “What?” Leda said.
“How are we going to see anything?” he asked.
“I’ve got a candle,” Leda said. Karel could hear her crawling again.
He scrabbled downward for minutes, trying to estimate the distance they were traveling, his rear and elbows thumping along. He wondered what sort of reptiles they might come across. Some skinks, some blind lizards, the sort of translucent, helpless-looking things he saw in books. It was stupid, he supposed, to just climb into places like this, but then he told himself that if Leda knew about it, it must be pretty well traveled. He kept crawling, not very reassured. He thought about finding and bringing back a new species of something, docile and unique. He thought he should have brought his hoop snare and specimen bag. He passed a part of the wall that was dripping, and he felt colder. He could smell guano. He hoped that that wasn’t what he was feeling along the walls and floor. “Yick,” Leda said, ahead of him.
He bumped his tailbone painfully on a ridgelike rise. He stopped, easing down off his elbows and lying flat on his back.
“Hey,” he said again. He could feel cold air sweeping up from below, over him.
“What?” Leda said, a little exasperated. She was much farther ahead.
“How much farther is this?” he asked.
“We can go back if you want,” Leda said. The guano smell was much stronger. Then she said, “You hear that?” Her voice came up the shaft like a whisper.
He stopped and rubbed his lower back, chilled. He craned his head up as far as he could and looked over his feet down into the darkness. He listened.
“What is that?” Leda asked. Karel couldn’t hear anything. He strained, frightened. He began to pick up the faintest puffs, bursts of air, chuffings, like someone in a distant room displacing air with sheets of paper. There was a scratching, and Leda lit her candle and the yellow glow radiated up the circular tunnel. Karel could see his feet and Leda’s head, and her hand cradling the flame. The walls around him were covered with long sheetlike stretches of guano. He groaned.
“It’s the bats,” Leda said, and one spiraled up the tunnel with supernatural finesse, planing over her head and looping and undulating right over Karel with a whispery sound, its tiny black eyes glittering.
He was going to remark on that, delighted, when down the tunnel a huge wind seemed to be building, and Leda gave a cry. Another bat fluttered by, faster, like some black, wrinkled fruit, and he looked down and the roaring grew louder and the bat shapes exploded out from below the darkness, extinguishing Leda’s candle and filling the tunnel top to bottom and roaring all around them. He jerked back and crossed his hands over his face. They were a torrent, unbearably thick and furious in the darkness, colliding with the walls, the ceiling, his head, rocketing and pinballing by and landing on him everywhere, piling up in confusion below his feet, climbing him awkwardly, stumbling as others buffeted them from behind. He felt them squirming into his pants legs and he shrieked and thrashed. The crawlers were reaching his head and arms, fighting for position and leaping into flight, tensing their little claws on his forehead and ears, propelled by his violent twisting. His cheeks were brushed and swept with fur and leathery flapping, and he revolted, turning left and right, slapping and clawing at his face. He could hear even through the din Leda’s sobbing. He tried to get to her and couldn’t. He turned his face to the rock and tried to submit, but they didn’t let up, and he was suffocated by the smell and the sound and the overwhelming feeling of being crawled on everywhere, and he cried out for her and for help and wanted to bang his head against the rock wall until it stopped, and he stamped and kicked the walls and scraped his hands until finally, suddenly, they began to subside. He could hear again, the volume dropping steadily, and then there were only a few stragglers flitting by, or laboring up his shirt front. He beat them off, hurting himself with his violence. They made tiny squeals.
Leda was still sobbing. He shivered and shook and furiously scratched and rubbed himself. He crawled down to her and tapped her with his foot, to reassure her, and she shrieked and started crying again. He rested a foot on her shoulder, unable to reach her with his hands. Together, after a wait, they climbed back up the tunnel. The darkness beyond the cave was complete enough now that they had to negotiate their way out slowly, sniffing and choking, by touch. Outside the cave they held on to each other, sobbing, and then Leda pulled away from him and ran home.
His father helped him clean up. He was covered with scratches and dirt and guano and acrid bat urine. He explained he’d been in a cave, and there’d been bats, but couldn’t bring himself to say any more, and he started crying, waving his arms fruitlessly and ashamed to be so childish.
His father patted his shoulder and sat back on the edge of the bathtub, looking at him glumly. “What a mess, huh?” he finally said. He got up and opened the bathroom door softly, as if out of consideration. “What a mess your mother left me with,” he said.