I am a black, tanned woman, healthy and strong. I am standing naked in a single file line with an equally good-looking, healthy man right behind me. We both have pale butts from the loin cloth we usually wear. Someone says, "Uh oh, a," meaning a terrible thunderstorm or something is coming. He says, "Let's leave. We walk away quickly. I say, "Wait, won't we be deserters? Won't they shoot us?" "Yep," says the guy. I hesitate and then join them. We find a huge river and start to walk across. "Look," says the man and I see how huge and powerful the river is - huge rapids, smashing over cliffs and rocks. Two small dogs walk out on a protruding rock and I think, "They won't last long, poor things." Then the man says, "Let's move the bridge until it's over the falls so we can see it better." I am incredulous. We'd be killed. It's an adventure to him. He challenges me, grinning. I agree, but feel scared. I and another woman are at one end of the bridge, the men at the other end. We are to pull the ropes by hand that will move the bridge downriver and over the falls. I call him over to show me how when one rope screams through the pulley, how to make sure the next rope is ready to be picked up. I point out how some ends are frayed. "No problem," he says happily, "perfectly normal." I point up to a roll of toilet paper I've put in a safe place so that when I get scared "shitless" I'll have it handy. He laughs and says, "You aren't afraid, are you?" I say, "Oh no! I'll just throw up when we're over the falls." And then we let the ropes go, they burn and sing with the power of the river pulling us. The falls are thunderous, the white water smashing at us. We are caught. We fight and somehow pull ourselves back out, exhausted, hands raw from rope burns and victorious, the back waters still boiling and misting, the thunderous white water a softer sound in the distance. We are victorious.