Breath

by Tim Winton

Being afraid, said Sando. Proves you’re alive and awake. Whatever you reckon, said Loonie, not relishing the prospect of another of Sando’s little seminars. Animals react out of instinct, Sando continued. Like they’re always on automatic. We’ve got plenty of that, too. But our minds complicate things, slow us down. We’re always calculating the odds, measuring the consequences. But you can train your mind to live with fear and deal with the anticipation. Aw, boys, said Eva coming into the room, where the fire smoked away untended. Now you got him going. Every day, said Sando, making an elaborate show of ignoring her. Every day, people face down their own fears. They make calculations, bargains with God, strategic manoeuvres. That’s how we first crossed oceans and learnt to fly and split the atom, how we found the nerve to give up on all the old superstitions. Sando gestured grandly at the books against the wall. That’s mankind for you, he said. Our higher side. We rise to a challenge and set a course. We take a decision. You put your mind to something. Just deciding to do it gets you halfway there. Daring to try. I cleared my throat uncertainly and he looked at me with unexpected fondness. But that doesn’t mean you don’t feel fear, he continued. You can’t lie about that. Denying fear, well, that’s … unmanly. And if you’re a woman? asked Eva. We all looked at her blankly. I’m sure you mean unworthy, she said. Sando blinked. Yeah, he murmured. Dishonourable. Dishonest. Whatev...