He had begun to accept the background noise of the falls was no natural phenomenon but rather the thundering tears of gods. His own tears he had stalled, as ridiculous hope sprang in his breast that survival was not impossible, even from that terrific height. Long after the sun had collapsed he had insisted they continue the search downstream by lantern-light. It was too dark for a boat to be used with safety, though he would have risked it if his eyesight had been keen enough. They confined themselves to the banks but were not rewarded with anything but chilled bones. When the others had finally left for the comfort of the inn, he had refused their entreaties to join them, paying the boy to stay with him just in case, for if he was able to manage some rescue, the boy would have to ride for help. Around midnight, the innkeeper returned on horseback with some bread, cheese and a small flask of brandy. This sustained him for a few more hours but he had less glow about him than the lanterns, no appetite, his eating purely mechanical. He’d allowed the lad an hour of rest and, finally alone, had sobbed with a volume of tears he would not have thought his body capable of producing. As soon as light had peeped above the mountains he roused the lad again.
The boy pulled evenly on the oars in a slow circle as instructed. They were able to use the rowboat for this more passive part of the gorge. His jacket felt damp, whether because of the giant shroud of mist or his own lacrimation he could not have said. The sun was too thin yet for warmth. At one point he fancied he heard the strains of a violin from somewhere beyond the towering cliffs, and again he fell prey to that lascivious strumpet, hope. Stupid dumb hope that it was his dear friend playing a trick, pipe in mouth, testing him for the sake of it, another one of his endless experiments on the human personality.
And of course, I’d forgive him, he thought. So long as he were alive. But the scientist in him told him this was not possible. He plunged his hand into the water, freezing. A heart would stop beating instantly even if the impact –
‘Over there!’ he heard himself shout, and pointed so that the boy, who had little English, was given the direction. The boy guided the boat quickly. There was definitely something, a small dark shape in the water.
‘To the left!’ he yelled louder, gesticulating. He reached over the side of the boat and snared it, though his fingers felt petrified from the contact with the chill lake.
Now as he held the soggy item in his trembling hands he was at once weighed down with an iron melancholy.
There was no mistaking that deerstalker.