Blade Runner Read Online Free Page B

ground and the pulley
was showing signs of rust.
    Throughout the construction period Aimée, who must
have been about eight years old, had been hassling us to let
her join in. As we stood pondering our construction, it
became clear that there was no real obligation for the tree
house to remain an exclusively male domain. In fact, we had
come upon the perfect role for Aimée, a position that would
allow her to join in the prestigious final phase. She was
simply delighted to be included and it never crossed her mind
that we were too scared to try out our invention and that this
was our only motive for including her. We all returned to the
tree, climbed up to the second floor and then instructed
Aimée as to what we expected from her. She was to hold
tight, very tight, as she was high up.
    As Aimée was worried that her grip might become slippery
we decided to tie a rope around her wrist and then tie that
to the handle. The time had come to take 'one giant leap for
mankind' and step out of the jacaranda blossoms, off the
platform and towards the Land Rover. At the last moment
we decided to tie another piece of rope to the handle,
enabling us to control the handle and pull from the ground
in order to return the pulley back to the tree house after each
descent.
    Aimée was ready, or as ready as she was ever going to be,
and with a little bit of help (if that's the word) from us, she
jumped. We were beside ourselves with excitement; it looked
like she was flying!
    Unfortunately our grand endeavour was destined to fail.
    After about 10 metres (and still at least 5 metres above
ground) the rusted pulley jammed and Aimée lost her grip on
the handlebars: she found herself dangling precariously in
mid-air.
    Craig and I rolled around laughing while she hollered in
despair, regretting ever trusting us. Quickly we climbed
down and pulled her to safety. After a couple of minutes
hanging like that Aimée had become positively blue in the
face. Our little guinea pig had hardly set her feet on the
ground when Craig had already oiled the pulley and within
five minutes we were ready to go again. We spent the entire
afternoon whizzing backwards and forwards until we were
exhausted.
    The next morning we picked up where we had left off,
when during one particularly beautiful slide, while Craig was
about halfway across, the cable snapped and he fell to the
ground. He fell hard onto a stone and hurt his feet, losing a
few toenails in the process. He was splattered with blood, but
this was the least of our problems: the Land Rover was so
old that the handbrake had packed up and the car was now
rolling down the hill.
    Craig picked himself up and the two of us started running
after the car. The scene was farcical, Craig limping along
with his bleeding foot and me with my heavy prostheses; we
did not stand a chance of catching the car, particularly as it
was picking up speed as it went down the hill. Eventually it
was brought to a halt with the help of the bushes against the
fence.
    With my trademark wild confidence I decided to free the
car and drive it home myself, rather than ask my father for
help. What need had I for help? However, getting the car out
of the bushes turned out to be slightly more complex than I
had imagined. Although I considered myself an expert driver
and had been driving our mini Land Rover for at least two
months, this time my skills were put to the test. We struggled
with the car, Craig's toes turning an increasingly darker
shade of red all the while, but were finally rewarded for our
tenacity. I drove the car home and parked it and then went
to see my father for help with Craig's foot. We told him that
he had tripped over a stone in the garden – which was not
that far from the truth, after all.
    The experience did prompt us to stall our building plans
and take some time to think and earn some pocket money,
so that the next time we could buy a decent cable for our
cable car-cum-slide.
    The Land Rover that had so ably doubled