Thirst for Adventure

Chapter 18

But the track soon began to dwindle into a path that was completely grassed over in places. A recent storm had crashed timber across it, so that Leo was now forced frequently into going over, under or around. After a while he began wondering what made him go on: not the rational thought that the track should lead to something. Perhaps the irrational reluctance to give up and return through what would be, with each step he took, stale territory. So he kept going, though with less and less of his earlier pleasure, and with less interest in the journey, as it took him through timbered country that was becoming depressingly uniform.

There was life, however, among the trees. A bird rose, almost at his feet, and flew swiftly away, with a harsh echoing cry. From bushes to his left a large black-and-white bird was hunted furiously by a small, aggressively maternal green and grey thrush. Detouring around yet another smashed and splintered tree Leo came face-to-face with a doe. He was enchanted. She gazed at him with troubled round eyes, big and brown, while the muscles under her coat trembled. She looked away, as if to say, ‘This is not supposed to happen. What can we do?’ Then, at some slight, half-imagined movement from Leo, she turned on the spot and fled, floundering through the broken branches in her hurry.

Leo went on. The country became more interesting: the forest was increasingly varied and the undergrowth thicker. The softness of the track and the moisture on the leaves indicated to the boy that he was passing into an area of greater rainfall. Presently the track crossed a creek. Leo slid over on a log but had to cast about for some moments to find the resumption of the path. It was obscured by fallen timber and marauding undergrowth.

More creek crossings followed, until inevitably Leo came to a substantial river. The water, although shallow, flowed rapidly. Looking up and down the river for a place to cross, Leo was struck by the beauty of the scene. Trees, tree-ferns and flowers crowded the banks on both sides. The further bank sloped steeply down to the water and vegetation covered every inch of it. Leo wondered at the inadequacy of a language that could provide only one word ‘green’ to describe the infinite variety of colours and shades on the slope.

The river itself was almost a continuous rapid: white water spumed among rocks, flurries of foam peered over huge boulders, providing just a hint of the churning below. Yet here and there were dark pools of extraordinary clearness. They reminded Leo of the eyes of the doe. He threw off his blanket-roll and approached one of the pools, gingerly stepping from rock to rock. A mottled dark-brown and green trout, sensing the boy’s shadow, swerved with frantic speed out of the pool and was lost in a rapid.

Leo saw another huge pool further down the river, with two old white logs forming a bridge across the end of it. He clambered down to it. Through the clear water he could see every stone on the bottom, every aquatic insect, every grain of sand. Just beyond the centre of the pool was a dark and deep hole, its darkness a challenge to the clarity of the water; yet Leo could even see the rocks on its bottom. He pulled off his clothes and slung them across one of the white logs, took his customary glance down at his body to satisfy himself that he was growing properly, then dived in, his teeth gritted in what was both a smile of pleasure and a grimace of appalled anticipation of the coldness of the water.

Everything was disturbed by his dive. Huge ripples spread, meeting the banks like breaking waves. The mud and sand were stirred into dark clouds. Insects fled, and a piece of bark, lodged for a long time against a rock, was set free and swirled away downstream. Leo saw none of this but instead continued the disruption of this tiny universe by slapping the water with his hand, running in an arc around his body. He laughed delightedly, but the sound of his own voice made him self-conscious in a way that his body and its movement had not, and he made no further sound.

For five cold, exhilarating minutes he explored the pool, diving repeatedly, bringing up stones and throwing them away, even going to the bottom of the deep hole and bringing up a small red stone so beautiful that he wanted to keep it. He placed it next to his clothes on the log, and went on playing.

When he was too cold to continue he used the log as a fulcrum to swing himself around and out of the water, and sat on the edge, feeling the warmth of the sun dissolve his goose pimples. As he dressed, he noticed that the red stone had dried, but it had lost all its colour and lustre. Frustrated, he threw it back to the edge of the pool, where it sat dully among the other dry rocks.

At last, reluctantly, Leo continued on his way. The path dropped down now into a small valley and gave signs of an approaching destination. Ahead, the tops of trees were replaced by clear sky. But Leo was still surprised when he came into a fertile and grassy clearing; at its edge was a small hut, built of timber on a base of rocks. Leo walked steadily towards it. It bore all the traces of habitation: a couple of chairs with clothes draped over them were on a verandah and an open book lay on the ground. The door was ajar and a cat walked casually out as the boy approached.

Leo went to the doorway and knocked, peering with naïve curiosity into the dark interior. There was no answer, but he thought he heard a soft moan. He called out, ‘Is anybody there?’ The cat brushed past his legs as it strolled back into the hut, unconcerned at his presence. Leo called out again, ‘Anyone home?’

There was a sound behind him and he turned, puzzled. It took him a moment to identify the noise as the wind rushing through the trees on the hill overlooking the clearing. He could see the trees bend as t

hey were thrown around by the gusts; then the trees further down the hill started to toss as the wind advanced. It blew across the valley floor and Leo felt its cool strength rustle and buffet him.

He turned again to the doorway, this time certain that someone had moaned within the house. He called out, ‘Excuse me, do you want me to come in?’ and on receiving no answer went in anyway. The hut was small and untidy, but it was clean. There was a main room, which seemed to be the living and eating area, and two doorways which appeared to lead to smaller rooms. In the ceiling was a loft, reached by a ladder. A huge fireplace contained several large cooking pots.

Leo went to the left-hand doorway and looked in. He found himself staring into the face of a young girl who was lying on a low bed. Although her eyes were open, she seemed not to see him. His heart began to beat very quickly. He realised at once she was ill, and his mind flew back to the hut on the beach that he had visited with Jasper.

Feeling awkward and embarrassed, very much a trespasser, Leo tiptoed to the edge of the bed. He had been slow to take in the details of the sickroom, but could see now that the girl was pregnant and in labour. He had a fierce desire to run, but fought it down. He said to her, ‘Are you all right?’

She did not answer but seemed to refocus her eyes so that they were now resting on his face. Leo asked, ‘Is there anyone else around? Is there anyone helping you?’ Again there was no reply and the boy felt a little lost as to his next move. Finally, however, he went out to the main room again, poured a glass of water from a jug on the table, took that in and gave it to the girl. At first she seemed unable or unwilling to drink, but when he held it to her lips she showed more interest, and began at last to take small sips.

When she had finished Leo put the cup on the floor and said to the girl again, ‘Have you got anyone to help you?’ She looked at him now with eyes that showed understanding but she still did not answer.

Leo saw that the bottom half of the bed was soaked, and there were traces of blood on the wet sheets. He glanced around and was gratified to find piles of sheets, blankets and towels in a big box in a corner of the room. He fetched two towels and two sheets and carefully peeled the wet top sheet off the girl. His embarrassment and disconcertment at finding that she was n***d from the waist down were quickly effaced by the sudden onset of her contractions.

Again a calm voice of sense inside Leo told him not to panic; he took the girl’s hand and held it in his. It felt like a wet little bird that he had once found in a nest blown from a tree. She struggled and panted and cried out as the contractions gripped her. She squeezed his hand tightly and it was not until some moments after the contractions had ceased that Leo could get her to release her grip. He then dried her, as much as he was able and, afraid to try to pull out the bottom sheet, he instead raised her body a little and slipped dry towels in at several points.

Leo remembered something about boiling water and childbirth but wasn’t sure what the boiling water was for. Besides, a new series of contractions was beginning and there was no time to do anything but hold on to her hand again. He realised that the birth of the baby must be imminent and no sooner did he have this thought than he saw the top of its head, an innocent pink island in a dark forest.

‘Its head’s showing,’ he said to the girl in encouragement, but wasn’t sure if she understood. Suddenly she began a new series of contractions that became almost continuous and she began talking in a low, hurried voice.

‘Oh how it hurts, oh how it hurts. Push push push, how it hurts. Make me better, Jared.’ Leo doubted that she knew what she was saying. She seemed to faint for a moment: her skin became pale and she fell back on the pillow again.

‘Are you all right?’ Leo asked.

‘It was all dark,’ she said. ‘I saw a star, just one star.’ Moments passed — Leo was not sure how many — with stronger and more sustained contractions, and the girl pushed harder and harder, until with a rush the baby slithered out.

Leo was not unaccustomed to birth. He had seen many animals come into the world, some dragged in painfully, others easily, like soft spring showers. But he thought that he had never seen anything quite as wonderful as this perfectly formed little human who lay between the legs of her panting mother and feebly beat the air with a tiny hand. He saw that the infant was a girl, but that seemed irrelevant. He watched in wonder, not daring to breathe. A golden glow of sunlight lay about the baby, so that her first blanket was one of freedom and warmth.

It was only the knowledge that this fragile creature depended on him that broke the spell the boy was under. He knew he had to tie and cut the cord and realised then why he should have boiled some water. He hurried back to the large first room again and found a knife in a saucepan of water in the fireplace. He returned to the baby and found her breathing healthily with little sobbing noises. The mother lay exhausted, her eyes closed.