In the Heart of the Canyon (20 page)

“I can when I’m on the river!” she said angrily. “Stop being such a gloomy Gus! I’m on antibiotics now! You’re off the hook!”

Sam came up, holding a few more pills, including another Cipro.

“See?” said Ruth triumphantly. “Now we have five! You can’t call for a helicopter when I have half the medicine I need! And who knows, we may find even more. Come,” she ordered the dog, and he slunk around JT to sit at Ruth’s side. He nuzzled her face and licked her neck.

“He was just doing what a dog does,” she told JT. “Now say you’re sorry for smacking him. Come on,” she said. “Say you’re sorry.”

“I’m not.”

“Oh, but he is,” she told the dog, smoothing his ears back. “He can’t say it out loud, but he is.”

Without replying, JT set about re-dressing Ruth’s wound, using the new bandage they’d gotten from the hikers. Ruth felt chastened by his silence. She wished he would say something. Was he still thinking of evacuation?

It seemed not, because when he was finished wrapping her leg, he stood up and brushed the sand off his knees. “Let’s get this show on the road,” he shouted to the group. “I want everyone ready to leave in ten minutes sharp! Pack it up!”

He turned and offered her a hand. She pulled herself up and watched as he repacked the medical kit.

“So …,” she began.

JT latched the kit. “No helicopter,” he said flatly. “Not this morning, anyway.”

“Thank you,” Ruth said meekly. JT shrugged and walked off. Ruth looked down at her leg.

Heal, you old coot
.

I
t’s not about the rapids, JT always emphasized to his passengers. It’s about the side canyons. Its about sleeping beneath the stars. Its about layers of rock, and quiet currents, and jungles growing out of hot red rock.

But try convincing twelve people not to get too excited about running the biggest white water on the continent. Try telling a parent it doesn’t matter how much experience a particular guide has. There’s no getting around it: ninety-three miles downriver from Lee’s Ferry, it’s about the Big Ones.

That morning it was clear that most everyone already had a certain seat in mind. Mark wanted to paddle—in fact, he felt entitled to paddle, having spent so much time pumping water instead of, say, drinking gin and tonics. Mitchell felt entitled too, not just because he knew more than everyone, but because he was sure his brawn would be needed for whatever split-second commands Abo might fire at them. Jill wanted to paddle, but she wanted the boys to ride with JT because she was sure he was the more competent oarsman; which raised the question of whether she should be in the same boat as her children, for perhaps she could somehow prevent them from falling overboard, should it come to that. And Peter was torn between wanting Dixie to see just how skilled a paddler he was in the Big Ones, and being available to rescue her should she happen to fly overboard.

After settling things with Ruth and her leg, after sending everyone off to pack things up
pronto
, JT drank the last of the muddy coffee and broke down the kitchen. Then he gathered everyone back together and spread out his map on the sand. The hikers had already left, and
Abo and Dixie worked in their boats, lashing gear with somber looks. JT found a stick and squatted.

“First one coming up is Granite Rapid,” he told them. “Its got a good strong lateral that well try to side-surf toward the right, just enough to avoid the hole at the bottom. What we don’t want is to hit the cliff over there, but if we do, keep your hands in the boat. I don’t want any broken bones.”

“Can I stand up in this one?” Sam asked.

JT squinted at the boy. “If you even
try
to stand up, I will put you on groover duty for the rest of the trip.”

Sam smiled sheepishly, but with pride, for once again he had gotten noticed, and Matthew hadn’t. JT turned his attention back to the map.

“Now: right after Granite comes Hermit, one of my favorites, with some very nice roller-coaster action.” He did not tell them that he personally was planning to cheat this one and run it to the right to avoid the wave train. This was not the trip to play around with that fifth wave, not with Ruth and Lloyd in his boat. Abo and Dixie, they could decide for themselves.

“Next up is Boucher,” he went on, “not too big, just a read-and-run. And then it’s Crystal. That’s right,” he said, holding up his hand to forestall an eruption of chatter, “the one you’ve all been waiting for. We’ll scout from the right, although I don’t expect much has changed since three weeks ago. Big thing is to avoid the Hole and hang on tight.”

A low murmur of excitement stirred through the group. A Monster, some of them had read. King Kong. The Maelstrom. Its nicknames were well earned. Crystal was one of the two biggest rapids on the river, a hydraulic traffic jam that could make even the most seasoned guide quake with fear.

“There’s a lot of hype with this one, and it’s well deserved,” JT told them. “But more often than not, we manage a nice smooth run down the right, and it’s over before you can blink. Ruth and Lloyd, I want you in my boat. Abo? Did you figure out who’s paddling?”

Abo sprang from his boat onto the sand. “Yes, I did, Boss,” he declared, wiping his hands on his shorts. “I want Peter and Mitchell
up front. Susan and Jill, you’re about the same weight, you take the middle. Mark, I want you in the rear. That leaves one space. Who wants it?”

As it turned out, a lot of people wanted the space, so Abo had them draw straws—or rather, strips torn from an empty cereal box. In the end, it was between Sam and Evelyn. Abo fanned the two strips. Sam wiggled his fingers, then drew. Then Evelyn drew, and they compared.

“Whoo-hoo!” Sam shouted.

(Have I not taught my children any sense of grace? Jill wondered.)

Evelyn made a valiant effort to disguise her disappointment. “Fair and square,” she said brightly. Then she sat down and took her sandals off and focused intently on a complicated strap adjustment.

“I tried really hard to picture the strips next to each other,” Sam told Jill as he buckled his life jacket. “I closed my eyes and looked into my brain really hard, and there they were, lined up right beside each other. I think I have ESP. Do you believe in ESP?”

“Jill?” said Mark. “Can we have a word?”

Frowning, Jill followed her husband away from the group. As he spelled out his concerns, she simply listened. She thought she knew her husband well, but as she heard his proposition, she was taken aback.

“So we’re in agreement on this?” Mark said. “Trust me,” he said before she could reply. “It’s the right thing to do. Trust me and we’ll talk about it later.”

“But it’s—”

“Just trust me, Jill,” he said, and he walked back to the group. Jill followed, seething, and she wanted to say something more to him, but Mark had already put his arm around Sam’s shoulder.

“Sam,” he began, “we want you to rethink this.”

Sam eyed them both warily.

“See, Evelyn’s been waiting a long time for this trip.”

“So?”

“And she’s older.”

“But I won.”

Now Mark placed both hands on Sam’s shoulders. “Sam, I want you to put this into context,” he said. “You’re twelve. You’re going to have other chances to come down the river. But Evelyn’s fifty. This may be her only shot.”

“You said fifty wasn’t old.”

Mark scratched his neck.

“So she might have another chance,” said Sam. “And
I
won,” he reminded his father.

Mark straightened up. “Just because you won doesn’t mean you have to claim the prize. Right, Jill?”

Jill felt herself seething inside. In a way she knew Mark was right, but in a larger way she thought that Sam had just as much right to the spot; and this feeling of hers had less to do with age and chance and more to do with simple filial loyalty, something Mark, she now saw, obviously found morally wrong.

She repositioned the boy’s baseball cap. “Well, Dad’s got a point,” she said, “but it’s up to you. If you really want the spot, you can have it.”

Sam, sensing the cleft, crossed his arms.

“But you know what would be the right thing to do,” Mark added.

He cast a dark look at Jill, and suddenly she found it impossible to censor herself. She nudged his arm—actually, batted it was more accurate—and stalked away from the group again.

“Look at it from Evelyn’s perspective,” Mark said as he followed her. “She’s not going to have unlimited chances to do this trip.”

“And Sam is?”

“Sam only wants it because everyone else wants it.”

“Easy for you to say,” said Jill, “you with your sure spot in the paddle boat.”

“Are you forgetting about last night? Someone puking in the tent?”

Jill stopped. “What in god’s name does that have to do with Sam giving up his seat?”

“He could stand to be punished,” Mark said.

“Sam drinking and Sam paddling Crystal have nothing to do with each other!”

“The seat is a privilege. When you screw up, you lose some privileges. But put that aside for now. Mostly what I’m saying is, I think it means a whole lot more to Evelyn than it does to Sam.”

“And I care about Evelyn because why again?”

“Grow up, Jill,” said Mark, lowering his voice. “Be a parent for once. Say no to your kid. Its not going to kill him. In fact, a kid his age—”

“Stop,” Jill said, and she whipped around to face him. “This has nothing to do with age. It has nothing to do with Sam. Its really all about you, Mark, or haven’t you noticed?”

Mark looked skeptical, bemused. “Want to educate me here? Because I’m missing something.”

“Fuck
you
.”

“Hasn’t happened lately,” he remarked.

“Oh FUCK you! FUCK
YOU!
And don’t tell me you don’t know what I mean! You know exactly what I mean! You’re so caught up in looking good to others, Mark! You’ve got to be the good parent all the time, be the generous soul and teach your kids to do the same! Make them give half their Christmas presents to the shelter or pledge half their allowance to the church! Jesus, Mark, don’t you ever want to be selfish?”

“That’s an interesting perspective on parenting.”

His calmness fueled her rage. Like he was above it all.

“I mean, it all comes back, doesn’t it?” he went on. “You give up something, and something else comes back to you? Isn’t that what people call karma?”

“You don’t believe in karma, Mark; you’re a Mormon.”

Mark laughed.

“Laugh all you want. But I want you to know, I plan on enjoying myself a little more after this trip. You want to keep giving things up, fine. Give up alcohol. Give up skiing because your knee hurts. Why don’t you give Evelyn your seat, if you think it means so much to her? Oh, because you didn’t get drunk and therefore don’t need to be punished?”
She was rambling, and she hated rambling in an argument. Especially with her levelheaded husband.

“No,” said Mark patiently. “Because kids ought to defer to adults. Its thoughtful. Its respectful. Its a nice thing to do. Now let’s go back.”

“I’m not finished.”

Mark sighed. He took a nail clipper from his pocket and began to clip his nails. That did it. She snatched the nail clipper and threw it as far as she could out into the river—a quick sparkle in the air, then gone forever.

But before she had a chance to enjoy any childish satisfaction, she looked over his shoulder and saw the rest of the group watching them. They all looked away quickly, but it was too late: they had seen everything; they had heard everything. Not only that, but as she stood there cringing about what she had revealed about herself and Mark and their marriage—as she stood there feeling just about as naked as she’d ever felt, she saw Sam walk over to Evelyn and begin gesturing.

Mark headed back. Jill wanted to dig a hole and bury herself. She knew she should go back and help load up, but she couldn’t face anyone, and so she stood on the sand, alone, as everybody else started loading up the boats. They could cut her some slack right now, she felt. Because inside she was still livid. All she wanted on this trip was for her family to break their routine, to grow and have fun and see themselves as more capable than they might have thought, back in Salt Lake City.

Was that really too much to ask for?

After some time she saw JT heading toward her. Everybody else was in the boats. This is just too rich, she thought.

“I’m fine,” she told him.

“Sam can paddle Lava, if he wants,” he said.

“I littered.”

“Huh?”

“The nail clipper. I threw it in the river.”

“Oh. Well, it’s not a huge deal.”

“I can go look for it. I can find it.”

“Actually, you probably can’t. Don’t worry about it.”

“Where’s Sam?”

“Dixie’s boat.”

“I’m really, really sorry you had to witness this,” she said.

“Oh,” said JT, “I’ve seen worse.”

He probably had. But it didn’t make her feel any better.

I
t
was
fun; there was no doubt about it: for all his chatter about appreciating the smaller moments on a river trip, JT couldn’t deny that sometimes a thirty-second thrill in big water could trump everything else.

Pushing off above Granite Rapid, he hoisted himself into his boat, took his seat, and wiggled into place. The air was spiced with honey, and the sun was working its way down the cliffs. He shoved a stick of gum into his mouth, pulled a few strokes, then pivoted around to face downstream. He had Ruth and Lloyd safe in the back, with Amy up front gripping the dog.

Once his boat was out in the current, he stood to get a better view. Strong lateral waves boiled toward a steep wall on the opposite side, rebounding back on themselves. Farther down to the left, a smooth, dark hump of water bulged above an explosion of silvery backwash—the hole he wanted to avoid. His goal was to ride the laterals across, just far enough to avoid the hole but not so far as to slam up against the black wall on the other side. To this end, he picked out a focal point to aim for, and just before they dipped toward that first lateral, he dropped to his seat and grabbed his oars to steady his entry and
whoosh
, they scooted up and caught the surf, which seemed to hold them in one place, moving but not moving, except that anyone could see they were plowing toward the wall; and now he had to heave with his right arm, muscling everything from the core to turn the boat downstream—there was the hole on his left, fine, they were going to miss it, but the wall came looming forward and he shouted to Amy to
keep her hands in the boat and he pulled and pushed on his oars, and they cruised on by the wall with only a couple of inches to spare.