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Ravine

John Farquhar Young

    “That’s a strange place, the rock where you often sit,” his neighbour said hesitantly. She paused, and for a moment closely scrutinised his face. “Sometimes perhaps even slightly dangerous.” There was a hint of concern in her voice.
    “Dangerous?” Edwin queried. He has come to regard the elderly, spritely, little lady as an eccentric but caring neighbour. But caring or not, he disliked her attention, her attempts to engage him in conversation - in the lane, over the garden fence or outside the village shop. A physics teacher for nearly thirty years before retiring after an extended and losing battle against depression and anxiety, he is now wary about people crossing the invisible, protective boundary he has drawn between himself and the world.
    “I don’t have a good head for heights,” she explained. “Soon after I moved here I made the mistake of going right to the edge of the ravine and looking down. It seemed to pull at me, the torrent that is. Very unpleasant!” Then she paused and again looked at him intently. “Yesterday I was walking along the path on the headland above the point where you often sit. I saw you standing very close to the edge ... looking down. I was very relieved to see you returning to that rock.”
    Edwin said nothing, merely nodding by way of response. But beneath his ribs something tightened and twisted. He had no memory of standing at the lip of the ravine. None at all!
    The following morning he takes his seat as usual on a large, flat, oblong rock high above the point where the river escapes the granite confines of a gorge then charges forward to challenge and to mingle with the sea in the small bay below. His cottage in the village, his home for several months following a painful divorce, is, when weather permits, his starting point for his climb to the rock.
    There have been occasions - many of them - when the urge to walk the several steps to the edge of the gorge has oozed up from the shadowy depths of his mind. Sometimes he imagines a voice muttering through the rumble of the torrent. “Your pathetic struggle to find meaning amid the wreckage of your small life - futile. Therapy, medication, counselling - all futile. Come now. Come! Join me. Peace in oblivion is what you desire. Peace and oblivion is what I offer. Join me! A moment’s courage... that’s all it takes.”
    Exposing himself to the summons from the ravine is, however, central to his strategy. The rock is his place of reflection, but it is also his arena, the place where his inner struggle is heightened and sharpened into a brutal focus - his battlefield.
    But now?
    “A dangerous place?” His neighbour’s words circle in his mind. An ugly question dominates his thoughts. Am I losing control of myself?
    After many minutes he suddenly bends forward as though in pain and then, after a moment, abruptly straightens himself. “This must STOP!” His groan blends with the roar of the torrent below.
    A moment of crystalline clarity, and all remaining uncertainty is displaced by a nugget of hard resolution. He must go to the point where his self-destructive impulses are at its strongest and confront them there. He stands and determinedly walks the few yards separating his rock from the edge of the ravine. The torrent now an obscene grey tongue, swollen by the rain which recently fell on distant hills draws his eye, encircles his will and draws him downward. “Join me!”
    Break free! A sharp, authoritative command lances into his consciousness. Break free! He wants to obey, he ought to obey, but his body is gently but firmly encased, swaddled around by invisible, unbreakable bonds.
    His future is encapsulated in the moment, the field of his conflict now confined to a small patch of a rocky embankment above torrent. Move! His legs ignore his command. He tries to narrow the focus of his efforts. Concentrate on your feet, your toes! He manages to move the big toe of his right foot just a fraction, only a fraction, then a fraction more, then more, and after a further second the spell holding him in place dissolves. He sways for a moment then turns and gasping scrambles up the incline, past the rock, to the path high above the ravine.
    “I saw you yesterday ... again... right beside the gorge...” Anxiety is evident in the neighbour’s voice.
    “Yes, that is a dangerous place,” Edwin quickly volunteers. Then he laughs softly and adds: “But you won’t ever see me there again.”
    Four months later: He emerges from his newly acquired city apartment and relishes the noise, the bustle, the stream of humanity, the pulse and energy of city life.
    As he walks into the shopping district he hears a familiar voice. “Hello, Edwin.”
    He turns and is surprised to see his ex-wife. Her smile seems tentative and uncertain. “Hello, Alice.”
    “You look well Edwin.”
    They chat. He suggests that they have lunch.

    “You’ve changed Edwin.” She says as she replaces her coffee cup. There is a twinkle in her eye. “You remind me of a person I once knew.”
    “I remind myself of a person I once knew.”
    “So what happened?”
    “I found my way back.” He smiles, aware that his response might be regarded as evasive but for the moment he feels reluctant to say more. In his mind’s eye he stands again beside the ravine, senses and defies its summons. Progress often starts with very small actions. It is a maxim he often rehearses.
    Alice looks at him intently for a long moment, then nods, content as it seems with his brief response.
    They talk for a while. Possibilities emerge. Life flows on.

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