Ben stood at the top of a high gorge looking at a rope bridge with short, wooden planks laid across it. The spray from a nearby waterfall kept the planks wet and slippery. His good friend, Rashawe, stood beside him.
“So this is where it happened?” Ben asked, in Yahnowa.
“Yes,” Rashawe replied, in his native tongue. “This is where my father almost fell while carrying the child.”
“What saved him?”
“I heard his cry, turned, and held out my spear. It was just enough to steady him.”
“Was he angry at Moriah?”
“He was more frightened than angry, but he shouted at her. I’m sure he sounded angry to her. Do you want to cross it now?”
“No,” Ben said. “I can’t imagine anyone actually wanting to cross it.”
“It is probably sturdier now than the day we walked it with Little Green Eyes.”
Ben eyed it suspiciously. “When is the last time anyone used it?”
In answer, Rashawe stepped onto the bridge and easily walked across it. When he arrived at the other side, he called back. “This is the last time anyone used it.”
Rashawe and Ben had become good friends these past five years. They were about the same age and Rashawe was quick to learn. Ben was fairly certain he would someday take his father’s place as leader of the Yahnowa tribe. He would make an excellent leader. Rashawe was also making headway in learning English. He loved his people and had a calm, strong spirit. He also had a sense of humor—like right now—grinning at Ben from the other side of the gorge. It was a dare, if Ben had ever seen one.
Actually, Ben had intended to walk this bridge anyway, as long as it looked sturdy enough. He had not intended for Rashawe to test the bridge for him—but it did convince him that the bridge would hold his weight. Ben grabbed hold of the two ropes that acted as handrails, and took his first careful step onto the bridge that had terrified Moriah as a child.
He did not have to do this, of course. It wouldn’t have anything to do with whether or not Moriah overcame her fears, but he missed her so badly. Walking this bridge that, according to Rashawe, had not changed much since she’d been carried across it, was a way to feel closer to her. When he saw her again, he would be able to tell her that he’d crossed it and could understand why it had been so scary.
Well, actually, he didn’t have to cross it to see why it had been so scary. It was a long way to the bottom of the gorge, and the gorge was wide. It took a lot of trust in one’s fellow man’s ability to construct something sturdy out of wood and homemade rope to venture onto it.
Rashawe was squatting at the end of it now, making encouraging motions for him to cross.
The wooden slat beneath his feet creaked, and the rope made a slight groaning noise as he stepped on and allowed his full weight to be supported entirely by the bridge. He waited a moment to get his bearings and balance, then took another step. Even though there were ropes attached at waist level on both sides to use as handrails, it still took a good bit of balance to walk across the narrow bridge. It felt as though it wouldn’t take much for it to twist in midair and leave him hanging from it upside down.
There was a fine spray that wafted in on the currents of wind stirred from the waterfall and it made the wooden slats slick with moisture. He felt his right foot slip, but caught himself. The waterfall was lovely, but the beauty of nature was not particularly important to him right now. Getting safely across the bridge was.
Ben took four more steps, feeling the bridge sway with each one. He glanced down again. It was incredibly far to the bottom. The thought that it might be wise to carry a parachute with him if he ever did this again, skittered across his mind.
Then it happened. He was focusing on the depth of the gorge and forgot to step carefully. His right foot slipped again, this time sideways out from under him, and his leg went over the edge. The foot bridge tipped precariously, causing his entire body to shift and then slide off.
Suddenly he was dangling in mid-air, his feet pedaling desperately. The only thing keeping him from falling to the bottom of the gorge was his death grip on the rope handrail.
As he tried to kick and maneuver his way into a better position, he was grateful for the muscle he had built these past weeks of hefting stone. He was as strong as he had ever been.
“Hold on!” Rashawe called. “I’m coming.”
Ben continued to hang in midair as Rashawe worked his way over to him. He felt the bridge shift as Rashawe righted it with his own weight, and then laid down on his stomach and reached a strong arm down to grasp Ben’s. He held on to Ben and counterbalanced the bridge with his own body while Ben clawed his way back up. Their faces were inches apart as Ben flopped flat onto his belly, trying to catch his breath and stop shaking after such a close call.
Moriah’s horrific memory was accurate. It was very possible for someone to fall off the bridge.
“I don’t understand,” Ben said. “Why were you able to go across so easily?”
Rashawe carefully sat back on his haunches and lifted one calloused bare foot for Ben to inspect. “Much better for crossing a wet bridge than your white man’s shoes.”
“Obviously,” Ben said.
“I’m guessing you want to go back?” Rashawe said.
“Oh, yeah.” Ben struggled to a half-crouch, found his balance, stood up and very carefully faced the way he’d come. “I don’t need to go the rest of the way to understand why Moriah has a problem with crossing bridges.”