The Other Side of the Bridge by Mary Lawson Page A

into town there was a proper bridge across the river that separated the Dunns’ and the Luntzes’ farms but this one was a shortcut and saved more than a mile. It was roughly made with poles and ropes and wooden planks, sturdy enough, but the poles were long and had a fair bit of spring in them. Fifteen feet below, Crow River boiled its way over the rocks. It was a pale icy green, swollen with runoff. Arthur’s father and Otto Luntz between them kept the bridge in good order but the cows didn’t know that and Arthur didn’t blame them for their unease.
    “Jeez, it’s really raging,” Jake said, peering down into the foaming water.
    Arthur tied his heifer to the handrail of the bridge. “We’ll take yours first,” he said.
    It needed two people all right. Arthur pushed from one end and Jake pulled from the other, Arthur saying, “Okay, girl, okay. It’s okay,” Jake saying, “Come on, you stupid cow!” They got her over in the end and tied her to the rail, then started back across the bridge. Jake stopped in the middle and bounced experimentally. The bridge replied in slow motion, heaving under their feet. Arthur grabbed the handrail.
    “What you doin’ ?” he said. Mostly he just ignored Jake’s behavior—it wasn’t worth getting worked up about—but today Jake really did seem to be hell-bent on getting whacked.
    “I forgot this was so good,” Jake said, letting the motion subside and then leaning over the rail. “It really dances.” He leaned over further, trying to see the underside of the bridge. Arthur reached the other end and stepped onto firm ground.
    “See that pole?” Jake said. “The one underneath? Bet you couldn’t go hand over hand—you know, hanging from it. All the way across.”
    Arthur didn’t bother replying.
    “Bet you couldn’t,” Jake said, grinning at him.
    “Let’s get the cow across,” Arthur said. “You got things to do, you said.”
    “Bet I could go across, if you’re scared to,” Jake said. “Bet you.”
    “Bet you.” His favorite phrase since the day he was born. He turned everything— everything— into a competition. It seemed so pointless, since he was better than Arthur at everything anyway. But he just had to keep proving it. “Bet you.”
    “Yeah,” Arthur said. “Bet you could. Let’s get the cow across. I gotta get back to the farm. Thought you were in a hurry, anyway.”
    “Bet it wouldn’t take me two minutes,” Jake said, peering over the side again. “Maybe five. Five minutes.”
    He ran to the end of the bridge and scrambled down until he could grab hold of the pole. The sides of the gorge were steep; once you left the edge they fell away into a sheer drop—not all that far, but at the bottom were great slabs of granite with water foaming over them. In places the water was deep, maybe deep enough to provide a cushion, but in other places the rocks broke through the surface, glistening, pink as salmon in the sunlight.
    “Should I do it?” Jake said, grinning up at Arthur.
    Arthur untied the second cow, wondering if he could get her across by himself. She wasn’t happy about it. She put one foot on the bridge, then took it off again and looked longingly over her shoulder, back at the farm.
    “I’m going to do it,” Jake said. The bridge gave a little shudder as he grabbed the pole with both hands and swung himself out. “It’s easy,” he shouted from under the bridge. “You’re so yellow. Yellow-bellied. Chicken-livered.”
    “Come on,” Arthur said to the heifer. “It’s okay. Just wobbles a bit.” He pulled gently and she tried again, one foot, then the other. “’Atta girl,” he said. She stepped forward, all four feet on the bridge now, and Arthur kept moving, walking slowly backward, encouraging her. “See? It’s okay, isn’t it?”
    “This is great!” Jake said from underneath them. His voice broke up each time he moved his hands. “I’m nearly…in the middle…already. I told you…I could do