Connavar slowed as they reached the downward slope, then carefully picked his way down towards the falls pool. It was quite the most beautiful sight Riamfada had ever seen, hundreds of feet of clear blue water, foaming white beneath the waterfall. On the far side willows hung their branches into the pool, and brightly coloured birds were flying overhead. Connavar lifted him down, sitting him on the grass with his back to a tree trunk. The younger boy stripped off his shirt and boots and leggings. Riamfada saw that the back of his green shirt was drenched with urine. ‘Don’t worry,’ said Connavar, with a grin. ‘We’ll wash it in the pool. Now let’s get those clothes off you.’
For the next two hours Riamfada knew the flowering of an immense joy. At first he was terrified the water would close over him, but Connavar held him, telling him to breathe deeply. ‘The air in your lungs will keep you afloat,’ he promised. ‘When you need to breathe out do it slowly and evenly, then breathe in swiftly.’
At the end of the two hours Riamfada was exhausted, but almost deliriously happy. He had, for five strokes, moved himself through the water. Under his own power he had propelled himself forward, Connavar swimming alongside.
His new friend carried him from the pool and the two youngsters sat in the fading sunshine, allowing the warm air to dry their skin.
‘This has been the greatest day of my life,’ said Riamfada. ‘And I was wrong. Even if I never come here again I will always treasure it.’
‘You will come again,’ promised Connavar. ‘Not tomorrow, for I have many chores. But the day after – if the weather is fine – I shall call for you.’
‘I do not care about the weather,’ said Riamfada.
‘Very well then – whatever the weather.’
They arrived at Riamfada’s house just before dusk. Both Gariapha and Wiocca were waiting in the doorway, their faces full of worry. But they smiled when they saw the happiness on their son’s face.
‘I swam,’ he told his father. ‘Truly, didn’t I, Conn?’
‘You certainly did,’ agreed his friend.
Through the weeks that followed Riamfada’s swimming grew stronger and stronger. Once carried into the water he would roll onto his back and power himself out into the centre of the pond. The tight and aching muscles of his upper back were eased by the exercise, and, as his strength grew so too did his appetite, and he began to put on weight.
‘It’s like carrying a small horse,’ said Connavar one day, as they neared the last crest.
Riamfada was about to reply when he looked down and saw that other youngsters were already in the pool. His heart sank. ‘Take me back!’ he said.
‘Why?’
‘I don’t want anyone else to see me.’
Connavar lifted him to the grass, then sat beside him. ‘You are my friend, and you are as brave as anyone I know. If you want to go home I shall take you. But think on it for a moment.’
‘You cannot know what it is like,’ said Riamfada, ‘to be less than a man. The shame of it.’
‘You are right, my friend, I do not know. But I know that we both like to swim, and there is plenty of room in the pool.’
Riamfada sighed. ‘You think me cowardly?’
‘I think it is up to you,’ said Conn, with a smile. ‘I make no judgement.’
Riamfada looked into his friend’s face. Conn was not telling the truth. He would be disappointed if forced to go all the way back. Riamfada sighed. What was one more embarrassment in a life of shame? ‘Let us go down and swim,’ he said.
Connavar lifted him. He did not place him on his shoulders, but carried him in his arms. As they neared the pool one of the young men there climbed from the water and strode out to meet them. He was tall, with deep-set dark eyes. Riamfada felt Conn tense at his approach.
‘Who is he?’ he whispered.
‘Govannan, the smith’s son.’
The other youths also moved from the pool. Govannan halted before the pair.