The Crowd

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The young man stood on the narrow perch and gazed contemptuously down at the horseshoe-shaped throng of upturned faces twelve stories below.

He hated them. Even through the nauseous spasms of fear, he hated them. They're gathered like hyenas, hoping I'll kill myself, he thought. He had seen the same ghoulish types at auto races and prize fights and football games--the ones who prayed secretly for something to go wrong, who sat on the edges of their seats and craned their necks, hoping to glimpse gore.

"Well, you'll have your thrill," he muttered bitterly. "I won't cheat you."

The wind was unobstructed and cold at this height; it sapped his body heat and sent small troops of chill bumps racing across his flesh. But he ignored the discomfort. It would be over soon.

A sudden slight dizziness caused him to lift his head to regain his equilibrium. Off in the distance he saw the smooth blue ocean with the sun glinting on its surface. There was a stretch of white beach; and the sand, even from here, looked warm and inviting. I could back out, he thought. I don't have to go through with it. Others before him had lost their nerve at the last--had allowed themselves to be talked out of it, or had talked themselves out of it. I could just step back from the edge and it would be over, he thought. Later, I could lie in that same warm sand that I see from here, and none of the others around me on the beach would know.

But the crowd would know. The damned crowd.

A faint murmur of wind-borne laughter floated up to him and he looked down again. They were getting impatient and somebody had said something clever. He could see their hand-shaded faces and the tiny, pink, gaping mouths. He couldn't see their eyes, it was too far; but he could feel them, squinted and eager, anticipating.

I could spit on them, he thought.

He had been standing on the edge for a long time now, fighting the fear, trying to reason with his cowardly body, trying to convince it that there would be no pain: But he knew there would be.
The trembling had stopped and his knees no longer felt as if they might buckle. He raised his eyes once again to the horizon and took a long deep breath. It was time to go.

Don't think, he thought.

He spread his arms as though offering himself in sacrifice and stood frozen for a long moment, fighting the sudden embarrassing urge to urinate. There was no sound from the crowd.

"All right you bastards, here I come." Slowly he tilted forward and fell into emptiness.
He turned one long, slow somersault on the way down and he thought once that he heard a woman scream, but it was impossible to be sure over the roar of the air rushing past his ears. The fall seemed to take forever, and he prayed for it to end. Then, suddenly, there was the pain--crushing pain in his legs and shoulders and a sudden explosive roar in his ears...

After what seemed an eternity, his head broke through the surface and he heard the voice on the loudspeaker:

"LADIES AND GENTLEMEN, THE WINNER OF THE ROYAL BEACH HOTEL HIGH DIVING COMPETITION!"

The crowd was applauding and cheering wildly, and he smiled and raised a hand in salute as he climbed from the pool. They were wonderful lovely people and he adored them.