When they finally exit the other end, they are both slumped over with the effort, and their legs drag as they push toward the final barrier. Water drains from their clothes and shoes, leaving dark stains in the sand behind them.
They pause a moment to stare up at the barrier. It’s made of wooden slats that are perfectly joined, leaving no hand- or footholds. Crossbeams buttress the structure on the other side, but the surface they’re staring up at might as well be a sleek, sheer granite cliff. It’s almost the height of two fully grown men.
Beto bends over, hands on his knees, and takes a few gasping breaths. Then he straightens, places his back against the wall, and cups his hands before him, indicating that Juan should step in.
Juan places his foot into Beto’s hands. The two murmur something to each other. Juan nods once, then springboards up as Beto launches with hands and thighs. Juan’s fingertips barely reach the top, grapple with the edge. It seems as though he’s going to slip, but Beto pushes on the bottoms of his feet and Juan is able to hook an elbow over, then an armpit, and finally a leg. Soon, he’s straddling the wall.
Valentino and the remaining ducklings cheer.
Juan grips the wall with one hand and leans down toward Beto with the other. “Jump,” he orders.
Beto jumps, misses.
He takes a few steps back. Then he runs at the wall full speed, launching himself at the last moment toward Juan’s waiting hand. They grasp forearms. Beto’s body swings against the wall, thumping it once, twice. Veins pop out on Juan’s neck as he pulls his friend, one-handed, up, up, up, until finally Beto can grasp the edge of the wall himself.
Beto yanks himself over, and they both land on the other side and raise their hands in victory.
Valentino and his friends whoop and holler. The audience cheers. Second years rush to reset the obstacle course, carrying buckets of water to refill the basins, rolling the log back into place.
“We’re never getting over that wall,” Aldo says.
“Maybe, maybe not,” I say.
“You have an idea?”
“Not yet.”
Next up are the Arturos. This pair is a little shorter than the Ciénega del Sur partners, but they’re notably stronger. They struggle with the sway beam but make much quicker work of the rolling log. The wall proves a challenge; it takes them several tries to reach the top, but they do, and then they fall over into the sand, exhausted, while onlookers cheer them on.
Iván goes next, along with a boy from Basajuan whose arms are as thin and bony as flagpoles. Like me, Iván has been paired with someone who gives him little chance of success. But it turns out that Iván is a wonder, because the moment he hits the sway beam, it’s obvious that he’s fast and agile, in absolute control of his body. The skinny boy also proves light on his feet, and they are across the beam in record time. They roll the log with effort, but they do it—Iván is stronger and more coordinated than I realized, and I remember Hector’s words about how some candidates hold back, hesitant to reveal the extent of their skills and training. Iván held back yesterday.
The skinny boy struggles with one of the hurdles, knocking it over twice before Iván runs back, holds the hurdle steady while the boy climbs over. Then they’re up the net faster than rats climbing the rigging of a caravel, and through the water basins like they’re little more than monsoon puddles.
Iván launches his partner to the top of the wall, who then reaches back to help him over. They topple to the ground on the other side and collapse onto their backs, gasping for air. Theirs is the fastest time yet.
Sergeant DeLuca frowns, but everyone else is cheering—Aldo and I loudest of all.
“That was incredible,” I say to Aldo.
“Iván is in better condition than I realized,” Aldo says.
“Recruit Red! Recruit Aldo!” the sergeant barks. “You’re up.”
The arena goes silent. Even our fellow recruits, who have been cheering and clapping all along, offer nothing in the way of encouragement. Everyone expects us to fail. Maybe they’re hoping for it.
As I step forward, I feel a hand on my shoulder and turn around. It’s Iván. Sweat pours from his forehead, plastering his black hair to his temples, and he’s still sucking air. “There’s a hollow in the ground beneath the log, about a third of the way down,” he says, fast and low. “You can use it to get your hands under the log, give yourself better leverage.”
“I . . . Thank you.”
“Recruit Red, what’s the delay?” yells the sergeant, and I hurry to get into place.
“What are we going to do?” Aldo whispers.
“Our best,” I say.
“Not sure that’ll be good enough.”
Everyone in the arena is silent but rapt. Their anticipation is like a taut sail, full of energy, ready to spring a ship from the harbor. Whether we succeed or fail, the crowd will be entertained.
It sparks an idea. “Let’s give everyone a show,” I say.
“Huh?”
“We can’t do this well. Let’s do it wildly.”
Aldo grins.
Sergeant DeLuca raises his hand, sweeps it downward.
We sprint for the sway beam. “Onto my back!” I yell. Aldo doesn’t hesitate. He springs up, arms wrapping my neck while I hook his legs with my elbows. He’s not that heavy—I’ve lifted worse while training with Hector—and I’m able to scramble onto the beam. It sways like an ocean wave, and I’m still a long moment, centering myself. Harsh winds, rough seas, still hearts. Aldo obliges me by being stiff and motionless on my back, as easy a burden as possible.
Carefully I make my way across the beam.
“That’s it, Red, you can do it!” It’s Valentino, and his cheer breaks something loose. Everyone else starts cheering too, even his ducklings. Even the surrounding crowd. It warms me more than I would ever admit aloud.
We reach the end, and I step off, Aldo slipping from my back.
The giant log lies before us.
I slide my hands along its length, looking for the indention Iván mentioned. There. A slope in the earth, hidden by the arena’s deep layer of sand. I dig down until I’m able to get my whole hand and part of my wrist beneath the log. On the other end, Aldo has dug under the log as best he can. He looks at me expectantly. “On three?” he says, and I nod. “One, two, three.”
We grunt and heave, but nothing happens. The log wobbles slightly but does not budge.
The cheering fades.
Then comes Iván’s voice. “You can do it! Try again.”
“Try again!” is echoed all around us. I appreciate the sentiment, but this isn’t a problem we’re going to solve with a good attitude and plucky determination. We are simply not strong enough.
I straighten and stare down at the log in dismay. Failed when we’ve hardly begun. Maybe we should skip this obstacle and at least complete the others. Which is probably against the rules, but surely it would be better than nothing?
My gaze catches on the weapons rack at the arena’s edge. “Aldo! I have an idea!” I sprint toward the rack, and Aldo follows.
“What do you think you’re doing?” the sergeant calls. “Get back . . .”
I ignore him, grabbing the same huge wooden ax that Valentino swung at my head just yesterday. “Aldo, grab the strongest, thickest weapon you can—”