Driving back, below the gorge at the entry to Sand in Taufers, he stopped the car at the sign ‘Rafting Center’ to the left of the road. In a small closed yard stood rack after rack of wetsuits and life — jackets. A tall, blonde man was loading gear into the back of a van. Do you know of any kayak guides I could contact? Vince spoke clearly and slowly in English. Not for myself, he explained. There was a group who already had their own instructors, but they might need a guide to show them round the local rivers. An expression of caution and recognition crossed the young face. You are with the English people, right? The girl who is nearly … He made a comic, choking expression. Right, Vince said. My name is Gerhard. The young man reached out a damp hand. She is okay? I helped to pull her out of the water. Very pretty girl. Vince gave his name. How much would a guide cost? he asked. It occurred to him now that there might be some local resentment of the English canoe group moving in like this on their pitch. We could have to talk about that, Gerhard said. I could have to see who is … who can help. Okay. Vince explained that he would only know on Thursday if their own guide could come or not. Then the work would be from Sunday onwards. I’ll call you Friday morning. Gerhard gave him the Rafting Center’s pamphlet, with a phone number.
The protestors have set a deadline of Wednesday evening at six o’clock, the radio said. Tomorrow. Vince listened stretched on the bed. It was early evening. There is one demand: a commitment to reduce greenhouse — gas emissions in line with Kyoto. Outside the open door of the chalet, the campsite sounds reminded him of the previous week: the singing, the shouts of children playing, radios, the occasional drumming. A diplomat who spoke in some unrecognisable tongue was translated as saying that his country would never be seen to reward terrorism. They were calling it terrorism. You have to keep a clear head, said an American. Vince was struck by the idea that the men at the railing might have very clear heads. As they saw it. Certainly they were keeping their nerve, despite the heat. How clearly I saw everything as the boat tipped down into the rapid. The image is sharper in his mind than any photo. What does clarity mean exactly? All those years doing the accounts, how clear — headed I was! How blind. Police spokesmen said they were taking the bomb threat very seriously. Vince looked at his watch. I could go and have a drink with Roland again, he thought, and get thoroughly muddled. Instead he fell asleep easily and early and woke in the night to hear the radio crackling voicelessly and feel the cool air drifting in through the open door. I didn’t even close the door. Returning from the bathrooms, he was aware that his mind felt peculiarly healthy and purposeful, but without quite knowing what the purpose was. Caught yourself smiling, he muttered.
On the Wednesday morning he drove down to Bruneck, stopping at Geiss to check the bus timetable. He had put a change of dry clothes in the car. If someone like himself, he thought, could paddle the easy section of the lower Aurino on his own, then, in the event, there would be no guide required until the Monday.
Arriving at the hospital, he found the ward sister and asked her if she could tell Fraulein Donati he was here and would she be willing to see him. About five minutes later Michela appeared in the corridor, belting up the towelled robe he had brought her three days before. What are you doing here? she asked. I thought you’d gone. The bruise on her cheek has drained to yellow. She is standing very straight. Vince only shrugged. We can talk in the garden, she said brusquely.
Turning, she walked away so quickly he had to hurry to catch up. Her sandals slapped down two flights of stairs, along a corridor and out into a courtyard with five or six benches. I told you not to bother, she repeated over her shoulder. That’s why I sent the nurse to ask if you were willing to see me, Vince answered. Michela went to a bench in the shade and curled herself up right in the corner, arms folded, knees drawn in under them. But Vince could sense she was better now. Her body had a quick feminine lightness as she moved. You look well, he said. Not because I want to, she told him.
He waited. The so — called garden was just a few square yards of lawn and shrubs with a near life — size Madonna, carved in wood, on a pedestal in the middle. Has Clive been in touch? she asked. No. He sat uncomfortably with his hands on his knees. Again it was fearfully hot. He was sweat — ing. Actually, I was wondering if either you or he had mobiles, you know, it might be useful. He hates them, the girl said. What do you need to call us for anyway? Vince let it pass. Also, I thought you might need some money, but I couldn’t find a wallet or anything, in the chalet. I don’t have one, she told him. Clive left some money for me with the doctor.
Vince was surprised at this level of dependence. Again he waited. He wasn’t going to tell her anything, if she didn’t know. Eventually she said: They’re letting me out tomorrow morning.
So you’ll be there when Clive gets back.
Right.
Casually, he asked: You don’t know if he had any special plans for while he was in Berlin?
No. At once she was more alert. Why?
Oh, I just wondered what on earth these demonstrators could actually get up to for four whole days.
She relaxed. If it’s like other things I’ve been to, there’ll be a kind of alternative conference in some abandoned warehouse or other.
Catching a smile in her voice, Vince turned to look at her. A soft irony was playing round her lips. He raised his eyebrows. Quite unexpectedly, she reached across the bench and took his bandaged hand. Is it bad? Vince couldn’t hide from himself a sudden flutter of excitement. Just a couple of stitches. He didn’t say he was planning to take out a boat this afternoon. So why haven’t you gone back? she repeated. I wasn’t very nice when you came last time, was I? Vince bit his lip, cast about. I promised Clive I would stay. Then I thought, you know, I might as well take advantage of the chalet for a couple of days. He wasn’t so much lying as speaking at random. You’re sad, aren’t you? she told him. He hesitated. Not especially. Yes you are. One night I was sitting outside, behind the kitchen tent, and I saw you walking to the bathrooms. Really late. You had your shoulders bent— she sat forward and mimicked, cruelly, her face comically gloomy— like you were carrying something that wasn’t there. Something pretty heavy. Oh, that’s just old age, Vince said. He had expected to talk about her problems, not his. She laughed. Not true, you’re sad. Why not admit it? Your wife died, didn’t she? That’s right, he acknowledged. The girl was looking at him. Did you love her?
Vince was unprepared for such a direct question. Yes. I did, he said. Of course I loved her. Poor fingers, she muttered. She was still holding his hand. And did she love you?
Yes. Listen …
You do know there was a nasty story going round?
Vince turned and looked straight at her. He pulled his hand away. She shrugged her shoulders, pursed her lips. She had done it deliberately. Her eyes are glinting. But he won’t rise to it. Speaking very quietly, he asks: So what have you been up to these last couple of days?
Nothing. Lots of neural tests and scans and things.
Results?
Apparently I could be an athlete.
Great.
She didn’t reply. She still has a mocking smile in her eyes. I suppose, Vince tried after a moment or two, the hospital must get pretty boring when you’re not really ill. I mean, people must end up watching the TV and listening to the news the whole time.
There is a TV room, but I haven’t been, she said. I can’t bear TV voices. I can’t stand the way the world talks. I … but she stopped. She was repeating things Clive said. Oh, and a counsellor came to see me, of course.