Octavio's Journey by Miguel Bonnefoy

Author:Miguel Bonnefoy [Miguel Bonnefoy]
Language: eng
Format: epub
ISBN: 9781910477410
Publisher: Gallic Books
Published: 2017-06-30T16:00:00+00:00

XI

A woman and a man skirted the edge of the forest and came to the door of the hut. They explained that they had walked upstream, thinking the torrent might prove less hostile closer to its source. They had climbed the bank and reached the top of the mountain from where they could see the sea and the islands of mangroves.

‘We tried to locate the source, but we never found it,’ the woman said. ‘No matter how far you walk, the water keeps gushing. We threw in a log and when we saw how quickly it was carried off we decided to come down again.’

‘This torrent has no source,’ the host replied.

‘Every river has a source.’

‘It’s fringed with mangroves whose seeds germinate on the tree. When they drop off, they fall at the base of the tree. Then a young mangrove begins to grow alongside its parent, pushing back the sea and wiping out the source.’

‘It’s only water after all,’ said the woman, exasperated. ‘We’ll just build a raft.’

‘You’ll drown.’

‘A bridge, then.’

‘The torrent will go into spate; it’s unpredictable. It’ll whisk away the first plank you put across it.’

‘It has to stop somewhere.’

Don Octavio, who had been following the conversation in silence, now stood up and cautiously approached the group, keeping his distance like a timid pet.

‘I can get across,’ he said.

The host turned round, surprised. ‘What are you talking about?’

‘My legs are solid enough. I know I can get across.’

‘You’ll drown, you fool.’

But for a moment Don Octavio’s self-assurance made them forget the force of the torrent.

‘I won’t drown,’ he replied. ‘I’ll tie a rope around myself. That’ll make it easier.’

No sooner had he said this than he tied a rope of woven rushes and horsehair to the trunk of the rain tree. He wound the other end around his waist and loaded a wicker basket full of large stones onto his back.

‘The heavier I am, the less likely I am to be swept away.’

As he came within a metre of the stream, the water seemed to swell, foaming, beating on the bank, roaring like an army. Don Octavio stepped onto a seaweed-covered rock. The torrent grew even stronger and wider, sending up mountains of water. The host threw him a staff and he managed to lean on it and find his balance before putting his other foot down. His unsteady legs withstood the force of the current, feeling their way among the pebbles to avoid the deeper parts, seeming instinctively to thwart the hidden architecture of the riverbed.

Halfway across, Octavio was almost swept away. A stone moved on the bottom, causing him to stumble. The woman let out a cry from the bank, but he soon grabbed onto the staff, regained his balance and, surprising the onlookers with his remarkable composure, fought on tirelessly. He set off again with giant steps, determined, spurred on by vigour and courage. The water buffeted his waist and the wind nipped at his neck. Still he advanced unflinchingly, battling onwards. At times, the current became so fierce that Octavio could not go on.

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