and I would have appreciated some public recognition of this other than the brief cessation of murmuring which accompanied my first few steps into the treacherous depths.
The ground beneath the surface was softened, but otherwise good. A man stood beside me holding a rope. He offered this to me but I declined, pointing out to him the shallowness of the water into which I was wading. It surprised me to see how quickly most of them now disregarded or had forgotten what lay beneath the surface, imagining depth where none existed, and suspicious of something which had been exposed to plain sight only a few days earlier.
The man with the rope called me a fool. The word made me feel brave. I had become a man of action, and what I did that day would be remembered.
âIf you see the maelstrom start to reappear,â I called out, âthen shout and let me know.â
I was answered by a dozen nodding heads and fearful glances.
âYouâll know soon enough,â the man with the rope said, deflating my bravado.
I felt for the first time the weight of the water over my feet.
âShout all the same,â I said to him. I wanted him to remain where he stood with his rope. I wanted him to stand ready to throw it out to me.
I waded further, until I was midway between the waterâs edge and where the pool had briefly formed. I moved more cautiously as I approached its lost centre, bracing myself against its sudden resurgence. But I felt nothing. The water rose to my shins and then to my knees. I calculated that I was now walking on the river bottom. I could feel its stones beneath my feet. I turned back to the watching crowd. The man with the rope raised it to me.
âNothing,â I shouted. I raised my arms and turned in a full circle, an awkward dance of seeming nonchalance.
It was as I waded back and forth over the site of the pool that I felt a stronger current against my legs. I stopped moving and steadied myself. I looked down, searching around me. Someone on the bank shouted. I felt a ripple against the backs of my legs, and the floating grass again began to form itself into a pattern as the tow increased in strength and I moved my feet further apart to stand into it. I saw the circle form around me. The voices on the bank grew louder. Someone called for me to save myself, which I appreciated greatly, concentrating hard on avoiding the indignity of being knocked over in two feet of water and sitting in it up to my waist.
I saw that I was standing at the outer edge of the spinning pool, where the tug was strongest, and I managed by several judicious, shuffling steps to move myself towards its centre, where the current, though still appreciable, was much weaker.
âHe moves to its centre,â I heard someone cry out.
I saw how impressive my action looked. âPray for me,â I called out. I raised my own clasped hands.
It sounded good to hear my voice above the clamour, and I wished the water itself could have made more of an efforton my behalf. Sure of my footing â if anything, the flow was already starting to fall away â I rocked from side to side, as though struggling against the current, and held out my arms to balance myself.
âIt grows stronger,â I shouted. But I shall beat it. I did not shout this, but it was what I wanted clearly understood.
I could still not account for the phenomenon, other than to think that some lost or forgotten shaft or vent had been flooded and was now allowing the gathering water to some-how drain away, creating this surface disturbance. And I could not account for the intermittent nature of the occurrence other than to suggest that perhaps some buried blockage was being periodically shifted or cleared with the build-up of water above it. The Board would require my reasoned guesses, and I made them all as the water flowed and eased around me.
A few seconds later and my moment of glory had passed.
âIt weakens,â I called out
The ground beneath the surface was softened, but otherwise good. A man stood beside me holding a rope. He offered this to me but I declined, pointing out to him the shallowness of the water into which I was wading. It surprised me to see how quickly most of them now disregarded or had forgotten what lay beneath the surface, imagining depth where none existed, and suspicious of something which had been exposed to plain sight only a few days earlier.
The man with the rope called me a fool. The word made me feel brave. I had become a man of action, and what I did that day would be remembered.
âIf you see the maelstrom start to reappear,â I called out, âthen shout and let me know.â
I was answered by a dozen nodding heads and fearful glances.
âYouâll know soon enough,â the man with the rope said, deflating my bravado.
I felt for the first time the weight of the water over my feet.
âShout all the same,â I said to him. I wanted him to remain where he stood with his rope. I wanted him to stand ready to throw it out to me.
I waded further, until I was midway between the waterâs edge and where the pool had briefly formed. I moved more cautiously as I approached its lost centre, bracing myself against its sudden resurgence. But I felt nothing. The water rose to my shins and then to my knees. I calculated that I was now walking on the river bottom. I could feel its stones beneath my feet. I turned back to the watching crowd. The man with the rope raised it to me.
âNothing,â I shouted. I raised my arms and turned in a full circle, an awkward dance of seeming nonchalance.
It was as I waded back and forth over the site of the pool that I felt a stronger current against my legs. I stopped moving and steadied myself. I looked down, searching around me. Someone on the bank shouted. I felt a ripple against the backs of my legs, and the floating grass again began to form itself into a pattern as the tow increased in strength and I moved my feet further apart to stand into it. I saw the circle form around me. The voices on the bank grew louder. Someone called for me to save myself, which I appreciated greatly, concentrating hard on avoiding the indignity of being knocked over in two feet of water and sitting in it up to my waist.
I saw that I was standing at the outer edge of the spinning pool, where the tug was strongest, and I managed by several judicious, shuffling steps to move myself towards its centre, where the current, though still appreciable, was much weaker.
âHe moves to its centre,â I heard someone cry out.
I saw how impressive my action looked. âPray for me,â I called out. I raised my own clasped hands.
It sounded good to hear my voice above the clamour, and I wished the water itself could have made more of an efforton my behalf. Sure of my footing â if anything, the flow was already starting to fall away â I rocked from side to side, as though struggling against the current, and held out my arms to balance myself.
âIt grows stronger,â I shouted. But I shall beat it. I did not shout this, but it was what I wanted clearly understood.
I could still not account for the phenomenon, other than to think that some lost or forgotten shaft or vent had been flooded and was now allowing the gathering water to some-how drain away, creating this surface disturbance. And I could not account for the intermittent nature of the occurrence other than to suggest that perhaps some buried blockage was being periodically shifted or cleared with the build-up of water above it. The Board would require my reasoned guesses, and I made them all as the water flowed and eased around me.
A few seconds later and my moment of glory had passed.
âIt weakens,â I called out
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