John had been worried about him. Yes, of course he had; that was why his face had looked so funny, so—shrunken. John thought he was frightened, was worried about his self-control, his ability to carry on. Well, David told himself, he had every right to worry; but all the same he felt ashamed that his weakness was so obvious. Even in a position like that, perched so perilously, David’s mind was far more concerned with the other boy’s opinion of him than with thoughts of possible disaster. And it never once dawned on him, not for a moment, that John might really only be worried about himself…
Almost as if to confirm beyond a doubt the fact that John had little faith in his strength, his courage—as David hung there, breathing deeply, preparing himself for the next stage of the venture—his friend‘s voice, displaying an unmistakable quaver, came to him again from behind: “Just another twenty rungs, that’s all, then you’ll be able to climb up on to the walkway.”
Yes, David thought, I’ll be able to climb up. But then I’ll know that I’ll never be like you—that you’ll always be better than me—because you’ll carry on all the way across! He set his teeth and dismissed the thought. It wasn’t going to be like that, he told himself, not this time. After all, it was no different up here from in the playground. You were only higher, that was all. The trick was in not looking down—
As if obeying some unheard command, seemingly with a morbid curiosity of their own, David’s eyes slowly began to turn downward, defying him. Their motion was only arrested when David’s attention suddenly centred upon a spider-like dot that emerged suddenly from the cover of the trees, scampering frantically up the opposite slope of the valley. He recognized the figure immediately from the faded blue shirt and black trousers that it wore. It was Wiley Smiley.
As David lowered himself carefully into the hanging position beneath his rung and swung forward, he said: “Across the valley, there—that’s Wiley Smiley. I wonder why he’s in such a hurry.” There had been something terribly urgent about the idiot’s quick movements, as if some rare incentive powered them.
“I see him,” said John, sounding more composed now. “Hah! He’s just an old nutter. My dad says he’ll do something one of these days and have to be taken away.”
“Do something?” David queried, pausing briefly between swings. An uneasiness completely divorced from the perilous game they were playing rose churningly in his stomach and mind. “What kind of thing?”
“Dunno,” John grunted. “But anyway, don’t—uh!—talk.”
It was good advice: don’t talk, conserve wind, strength, take it easy. And yet David suddenly found himself moving faster, dangerously fast, and his fingers were none too sure as they moved from one rung to the next. More than once he was hanging by one hand while the other groped blindly for support.
It was very, very important now to close the distance between himself and the sanctuary of the gap in the planking. True, he had made up his mind just a few moments ago to carry on beyond that gap—as far as he could go before admitting defeat, submitting—but all such resolutions were gone now as quickly as they came. His one thought was of climbing up to safety.
It had something to do with Wiley Smiley and the eager, determined way he had been scampering up the far slope. Towards the viaduct. Something to do with that, yes, and with what John had said about Wiley Smiley being taken away one day…for doing something. David’s mind dared not voice its fears too specifically, not even to itself…
Now, except for the occasional grunt—that and the private pounding of blood in their ears—the two boys were silent, and only a minute or so later David saw the gap in the planking. He had been searching for it, sweeping the rough wood of the planks stretching away overhead anxiously until he saw the wide, straight crack that quickly enlarged as he swung closer. Two planks were missing here, he knew, just sufficient to allow a boy to squirm through the gap without too much trouble.
His breath coming in sobbing, glad gasps, David was just a few rungs away from safety when he felt the first tremors vibrating through the great structure of the viaduct. It was like the trembling of a palsied giant. “What’s that?” he cried out loud, terrified, clinging desperately to the rung above his head.
“It’s a—uh!—train!” John gasped, his own voice now very hoarse and plainly frightened. “We’ll have to—uh!—wait until it’s gone over.”
Quickly, before the approaching train’s vibrations could shake them loose, the boys hauled themselves up into positions of relative safety and comfort, perching on their rungs beneath the planks of the walkway. There they waited and shivered in the shadow of the viaduct, while the shuddering rumble of the train drew ever closer, until, in a protracted clattering of wheels on rails, the monster rushed by unseen overhead. The trembling quickly subsided and the train’s distant whistle proclaimed its derision; it was finished with them.
Without a word, holding back a sob that threatened to develop into full-scale hysteria, David lowered himself once more into the full-length hanging position; behind him, breathing harshly and with just the hint of a whimper escaping from his lips, John did the same. Two, three more forward swings and the gap was directly overhead. David looked up, straight up to the clear sky.
“Hurry!” said John, his voice the tiniest whisper. “My hands are starting to feel funny…”
David pulled himself up and balanced across his rung, tremulously took away one hand and grasped the edge of the wooden planking. Pushing down on the hand that grasped the rung and hauling himself up, finally he kneeled on the rung and his head emerged through the gap in the planks. He looked along the walkway…
There, not three feet away, legs widespread and eyes burning with a fanatical hatred, crouched Wiley Smiley. David saw him, saw the pointed stick he held, felt a thrill of purest horror course through him. Then, in the next instant, the idiot lunged forward and his mouth opened in a demented parody of a laugh. David saw the lightning movement of the sharpened stick and tried to avoid its thrust. He felt the point strike his forehead just above his left eye and fell back, off balance, arms flailing. Briefly his left hand made contact with the planking again, then lost it, and he fell with a shriek…across the rung that lay directly beneath him. It was not a long fall, but fear and panic had already winded David; he simply closed his eyes and sobbed, hanging on for dear life, motionless. But only for a handful of seconds.
Warm blood trickled from David’s forehead, falling on his hands where he gripped the rung. Something was prodding the back of his neck, jabbing viciously. The pain brought him back from the abyss and he opened his eyes to risk one sharp, fearful glance upwards. Wiley Smiley was kneeling at the edge of the gap, his stick already moving downward for another jab. Again David moved his head to avoid the thrust of the stick, and once more the point scraped his forehead.
Behind him David could hear John moaning and screaming alternately: “Oh, Mum! Dad! It’s Wiley Smiley! It’s him, him, him! He’ll kill us., kill us…” Galvanized into action, David lowered himself for the third time into the hanging position and swung forward, away from the inflamed idiot’s deadly stick. Two rungs, three, then he carefully turned about-face and hauled himself up to rest. He looked at John through the blood that dripped slowly into one eye, blurring his vision.
David blinked to clear his eye of blood, then said: “John, you’ll have to turn round and go back, get help. He’s got me here. I can‘t go forward any further, I don’t think, and I can’t come back. I’m stuck. But it’s only fifty rungs back to the start. You can do it easy, and if you get tired you can always rest. I’ll wait here until you fetch help.”