Man Of Few Words

Chapter 81

We heard it before we saw it. Something louder than the engine, and even louder than Iffi's laugh. A fierce, intimidating, yet steady roar. And as we made our way around the long bend of the river it came into view, emerging from behind the thick foliage covering the almost vertical riverbank on the inside of the bend.

I felt the boat wriggle as Iffi shuffled forwards behind me and clapped a hand on my shoulder,

"Awesome innit, mate?"

I nodded without turning around.

It was awesome. One of those things that can't be done justice by photos or video. And despite my repeated boasts of being a "natural", I doubt I'm a poetic enough writer to capture the power and beauty of that place.

Look, it wasn't Victoria Falls, or Niagara Falls, or something extravagant and showy like that. It felt somehow intimate and understated, which isn't an easy trick to pull off for a monolithic, 100-metre high wall of rock with a few thousand gallons of water crashing down over it every minute.

As we approached the mud flat where our skipper would "dock", rainbows shimmered across the sheet of falling water and we were hit at last by a breath of much, much cooler, fresher air. I couldn't wait to get out and stand under it, and the last 20 metres or so of the boat ride felt like they took another hour.

Standing on the slippery rocks directly beneath the roaring cascade was everything I'd imagined it would be, and somehow more. You know that feeling that pretty much every shampoo commercial tries to conjure up (I certainly know, I've scripted one or two)? That feeling of total refreshment and oneness with nature and privacy and release of tension and escape from reality? That feeling that has absolutely nothing to do with shampoo, and you know it. But you just buy the shampoo anyway, and you don't know why. And when you get the shampoo home and wash your hair with it, the it completely and totally fails to inspire even a half a percent of that promised feeling. All it does is make your hair smell fruity.

That feeling happens for real when you stand under Rijuk Waterfall after several hours of sweaty, confined spaces, and flies, and engine noise, and chaos, and narrow crumbling roads, and Iffi's fucking farts. It was like a drug high, but much, much more pure.

And I haven't even got to the important bit yet.

The important bit starts when myself and Iffi, having stood under the waterfall for so long that we've gone beyond fully refreshed and gotten just a little chilly, are standing side by side on the mad flat.

Without taking his gaze away from the waterfall, Iffi casually said,

"Wait 'til you see the view from the top, mate."

From where we were standing, it was impossible to see any way we could get up there. The sheet of water hung in front of a huge, flat, smooth, wet, vertical rock face. Even Spider-Man would've said "Nah, down here's fine thanks" I'm sure.

So I burst out laughing. Then Iffi turned to me.

"I ain't joking. We're going up. They say you're not really supposed to during the wet season, but there's no rain today so it'll be fine."

"Iffi, I'm so sorry," I began, "But I completely forgot to bring any of my climbing gear."

"You don't need gear for stairs, you boka."

This wasn't a new thing. The frequency with which he'd been insulting me in Bengali had been steadily increasing since we arrived in Bangladesh.

"Stairs?" I was incredulous. "There are stairs here? What stairs?"

"Musa knows. It's not stairs all the way up, but there's some."

Musa was chatting with the skipper, but Iffi loudly demanded his attention in what didn't sound like especially polite Bengali.

"Okay, okay," Musa said and walked over to us, beaming his usual showy smile.

Turning to me, he said,

"Ready to go up?"

"Show me the magic stairs, Musa," I shrugged.

The cousins laughed at that, and slapped me on a shoulder each.

Before making our ascent, we had to make our way along the edge of the river to one side of the waterfall. From the bottom of the slope, there were no stairs in sight and I was still pretty sure this was all an elaborate prank. But I still followed the two cousins regardless, clambering unsteadily up the steep, slippery hillside. Even with Iffi ahead of me showing me exactly where to put my feet and what to hold onto, it was not easy.

At one point my foot slipped and, in a slight panic, I just grabbed hold of the nearest solid object, which happened to be Iffi's ankle.

"Dave," he began calmly, my grip on his ankle still vice-like, "If you pull me down this hill, I will kill you. Probably coz I'll land on you. And I am quite heavy, as you know. But if that don't do it, I have other ways, mate."

Shakily, and without saying anything, I let go of his ankle and placed my hand firmly on a protruding rock instead.

"Thanks mate," Iffi said, not yet continuing up the hill. "Now, I promise you I can just about see the stairs now. It ain't far."

He wasn't lying, and we made it to the stairs – where Musa was already waiting – without further incident. I was relieved to see that they were not as old, damp, wooden and rotten as I'd been expecting. In fact, they were mostly constructed of sturdy steel, rather like a fire escape, or stairs that might lead up to a catwalk in a factory.

This part of the upward trek wasn't much easier, as it was still very steep and there were a lot of steps, but it felt a lot safer than what we'd traversed below. And it was definitely safer than what came next.

What came next was the first of a short series of ladders carved out of tree trunks. There was no other way to scale the sheer rock faces close to the top of the slope. The rungs, if you can even call them that, were narrow and uneven and awkwardly curved. Musa zipped up it like some kind of caricature of a native island boy fetching coconuts. Bloody showing off, as usual.

Iffi took it rather more slowly and methodically, turning his body to one side so that he could place as much of the surface of his foot on each rung as possible, rather than relying on his toes to grip them. I watched carefully, taking mental notes. And noting that this was mental.

It was on the third rung that things went wrong for me. I didn't slip – the fucking ladder did! For no apparent reason, it abruptly shifted position. Only by an inch or two, but enough to jolt me and cause me to lose my footing.

What happened next happened very quickly, so I'm not sure if I have it right. But it was definitely something like this: as my body tipped away from the ladder, my hands had absolutely nothing to grip onto and so just flailed wildly and hopelessly. My other foot, on the other hand...

I'm so sorry... that's too funny. I'm keeping it in. I'm going with it. Here it comes again...

My other foot, on the other hand, (the foot that hadn't slipped off) planted itself very firmly on the fourth rung. So I sort of pivoted around that foot, falling sideways, backwards and downwards all at the same time. My arse, shoulder, elbow and head hit the rock face in that order, then I fell headfirst onto the mercifully soft, flat patch of ground at the bottom of the ladder.

The next thing I remember is Iffi's voice close to my ear telling me not to move and asking if I was alright.