The Fall of Man

Part III chapter 5

Chapter 5

For the remainder of the day, they make good progress as they drift downstream. Trees and bushes pass by quickly in a blur of greys and greens, all set against the still-white backdrop. The only relief to break the monotony is the occasional outline of a building’s roofline or the unnatural vertical of a wall only partially concealed by the trees. Within a few miles of the house, the signs of human inhabitation tumble back down to ruined remains and overgrown stumps. In almost complete quiet, the forest takes over once more.

On board, they take turns to man the front and rear of the dinghy. One of them sits at the back with the makeshift blue rudder, maintaining their course in the middle of the river, while the other holds the fishing rod optimistically over the side of the boat. A near-invisible line trails silently through the broken water behind them. Once in a while, the rod dips as the hook snags on a submerged branch or other piece of flotsam. Otherwise, there is little to do but sit and watch the landscape pass them by. Mostly, it is dull and lifeless. Bare tree trunks and ragged shrubs coast past relentlessly on either side of the river, their bald limbs still loaded with snow.

Occasionally one of the spectators will spot a sign of life amongst the branches and the undergrowth - the flurried flap of a startled bird’s wings, or the lithe body of a disturbed mammal slipping from the muddy banks into the safety of the water. However, amongst the shifting shadows of the trees, Noah senses that bigger shapes may not be too far from the foreground.

At lunchtime, they eat on the river. They share a bowl of rice that Noah prepared with the last of their tomatoes, and split a handful of the stringy first crop of carrots that came out of the ground just before they left the house behind. Then they pass a tin of peaches to one another while the dinghy meanders downstream of its own volition. Eventually, Eve skewers the last piece of fruit before carefully draining the syrup without snagging a lip on the burrs of the opened rim, and then tosses the empty can unceremoniously into the river.

“EVE-”

“What?” She sounds startled, and a little surprised, by the accusatory tone. “What was I supposed to do with it?”

Noah sighs. “I don’t know. There isn’t a-”

Eve jumps in her seat, nearly toppling out of the boat. She spins around and grabs hold of the rod, the head of which is twitching in the air over her head.

“What do I do?”

“I’m not sure… Turn the handle thing?”

Fumbling, Eve’s fingers latch onto the spinnaker, and she starts to reel in the catch. The rod strains into a long arc as the line goes taut against the current, and threatens to pull out of her grasp. She grabs the rod higher up the shaft, and heaves it into a vertical position. Quivering with tension, it holds its bow shape for a few long seconds, then snaps back upright and an empty hook sails out of the water to land beside the boat with a faintly audible plop.

“Wow.” Eve sits back into the crook at the front of the dinghy and carefully reels in the slack line. “That was exciting. Maybe they like peaches?”

Soon afterwards they round a tight bend in the river, only to find the way ahead seemingly blocked by a short wall of concrete. As they drift closer, Noah recognises the hefty, partially submerged planks of the collapsed road from his first journey up to the house. He guides the boat to the side of the river and approaches the eroded masses at a slow walking pace. Carefully, they thread their way between the torn fragments of structure. The deterioration of the sections is more evident now. Much of each plank is wrapped in a thick soup of decaying debris that has been trapped in position by the currents. Wherever the concrete is in contact with water, it has bubbled and spalled to reveal a dense lattice of reinforcement beneath, snaring yet more organic matter and seeping rust-brown fluid into the watercourse. Across the rough, corroded surfaces, nature has taken hold in any way it can. One massive plinth shields the remains of a battered old nest against the flow of water.

By the end of the afternoon, they have cruised a considerable distance downstream. Three fish have eluded capture and two hooks have been lost, but one small trout has been caught. After succumbing to a rap on its head, the oily seven-inch fish lies at the bottom of the boat waiting for dinnertime. The water that has gathered in the crevices between the rolls of inflated orange rubber gently washes over its scaly body with each movement of the river.

As the sun sets, a faint moon emerges high overhead. Clouds remain visible, and move quickly across the sky. Before darkness descends, they find a clearing amongst the trees and tether their boat to a sturdy, partly submerged limb at the side of the watercourse. Within a few minutes, Eve has the dinghy emptied and the tent erected. Meanwhile, Noah painstakingly sets a fire with some of the dry lumber. He administers the lighter fluid sparingly and soon tall yellow flames are licking at the smaller pieces of wood. They stake out their saturated clothes, which steam as they dry out over the flames.

Noah takes a crooked stick, and tentatively levers one of the tins of beans out of the bed of smouldering ashes, then prods it towards his daughter.

“Careful – the can is hot.”

“Really?” Eve smirks, then smiles apologetically - for once aware of her supercilious tone. She extends her fork into the smoking tin. “The fish was really delicious. And even the beans taste different cooked on the fire.”

“I think you’re probably just appreciating them more. Being outside always made me hungry.”

After eating, they stretch out side by side in the tent, wrapped in dry blankets. The open door faces towards the remains of the fire and the water beyond. The near-perfect circle of a full moon looms high overhead. In the ghostly light, the river slides by silently like a black marble slab. Their breath gathers in clouds in the cold night air, and the red embers radiate heat across their faces. The sounds of the forest, the river and the fire are all around them. In an alien language of staccato barks and piercing whines, a pair of foxes call to one another out of the night.

“You were right to want to make this trip, Eve. We were doing OK in the house. You know - getting by. But it was going nowhere.”

“Come on, Dad. It’s not been that bad at home.” Eve turns a section of the fish’s delicate spine over and over in her hands. Against her long fingers, its slender ribs look like the fine teeth of an ornate comb.

“No, but we need to see more. We need to know what’s going on, and we need to find more people.”

“You said that people were dangerous.”

“They are, but we’re people too. We just need to be careful – find the right ones.”

“Ok... Well, I’m glad you’re here with me.” She sets the filigree bones down gently and worms her way fully into the warm padding of her sleeping bag. With her head resting on slender forearms, her tousled hair spills out of the tent doorway and glistens in the moonlight.

“Me too, Eve. Goodnight.”

“Goodnight, Dad.”