Stories by Louis Urbanowski

Maggie dipped another chip into the browning guacamole, sat back in her cheap plastic chair and sighed.

The story had never come.

‘If you want a feature slot. Bring me a feature.’ Her Editor’s words, never far from her thinking. 

She had tried. Like really tried. But what was left to be said about Niagara Falls, that YouTube couldn’t. Tourism journalism itself was heading over the Falls.

That was it then. She’d finish the nachos, go back to the hotel and head home in the morning. Next week she’d figure out a career change. Her parents were right, she should have stuck with accounting. 

Maggie stopped for a cigarette on the way back. It was on the second or third toke that something caught her eye. The main drag was lit up as usual, the winding Clifton Hill looking for all intents and purposes like mini-Vegas. But Maggie was wired to notice the unnoticeable, and just off the beaten track there was a sign that wasn’t lit up like the others. It read: ‘Vincent, The Niagara Salmon – Come This Way!’

Still puffing away, Maggie walked over to the sign which led into a back-alley with a single pink door about half way down. Chuckling to herself, and with nothing to lose she approached and knocked three times. 

Half on her heels about to turn back, she stopped when she heard a voice on the other side.

‘You here for Vincent?’ A soft-spoken man’s voice asked. 

Considering for a second, Maggie replied. ‘Yes, I’m a journalist. I wondered if there was a story here.’

The door opened, as if commanded by her words. In the archway was a small man with a mottled mop of black hair and thick rimmed spectacles. He was rosey cheeked and wore a warm smile. 

‘Madam, there is definitely, most certainly, a story here.’

Taking a look up and down the alley-way, Maggie made a decision. Her journalistic instincts were tingling. Also she thought she could take the man if it came to it, and besides there was pepper spray in her bag. She stepped inside as he held the door open, and asked the pertinent question. 

‘Who is Vincent?’

‘Ah, straight to the point. I like it.’ The man said, and with that he swatted a lightswitch on the wall. Illuminated, Maggie could see she was in a small hallway that opened up into a larger room. The man wasted no time and showed her through. 

‘Everyone loves the daredevils.’ He gestured to the far wall, which Maggie could now see was covered in photos. Sepia old prints of moustache twirling men stood next to wooden barrels, through to old polaroids of eighties perms and metal drums. 

‘The guys that went over, yeah, I know all about them.’ Maggie said, a tone of disappointment flecking her words. She had spent most of Tuesday being told the deep and rich history of all the fools that had chosen to go over the falls. Some even twice. 

‘Yes, indeed. But no one asks, not one in a thousand, asks about the one who went UP.’

Maggie raised an eyebrow, inviting the man to continue.

‘You asked my dear, who Vincent was, and I will tell you. But I think the more interesting question is; what did Vincent do?’

Maggie’s Editor boomed in her head again. So she went into her bag, ignored the pepper spray and grabbed her notebook and pen.

‘Tell me everything.’ 

The man nodded, held up a finger and disappeared into a small closet at the back of the room. He returned with two dusty chairs and placed them down. Ushering her to sit, he began to talk.

‘The first thing you need to know is that Vincent was no daredevil. He demanded no audience, no fanfare. A quiet man that kept to himself. I suppose that’s one of the reasons no one has heard of him, or knows of his achievements.’ 

At that he pulled out a small creased wallet and unfurled a tiny photograph which he handed to Maggie. It was faded, but sure enough there was a tall man, a young man staring back at her. Long and elegant with hands as wide as dinner plates. 

‘There, look, that’s him. Vincent, the only man, hell the only anything to ever swim up Niagara—both Horseshoe and the American Falls.’

Stifling a scoff, Maggie replied. ‘You’ll forgive me if I remain sceptical. That is impossible. No normal human could do it.’

‘Quite. But he wasn’t a normal human. The boy could swim like no other. A skill he had since youth, making mincemeat of swimming trials, to the shock and awe of all his teachers. He was born different, you see. Blood of a salmon.’

Maggie let out a small laugh. ‘Sorry!?’

‘No, not at all. I understand how ridiculous it sounds. But it’s the truth. It’s too ludicrous to make up, no? Here, look!’ The man swivelled in his seat and pointed to the far wall, back to the pictures of the daredevils. He jumped up in a hurry and snatched one. It wasn’t like the others. No barrels, no moustaches. Instead it was a picture of Horseshoe Falls, the larger of the two. Maggie had to lean, but half way up the photo, almost lost in the curtain of white water was a smudge. No, a figure. She wasn’t sure.

‘That’s Vincent. Taken by his friend in 1862 not far from where we’re sitting right now.’ The man said with his palm open. 

‘It’s a smudge at best. A forgery at worst.’ Maggie felt her instincts rioting against incredulity. 

The man nodded, he didn’t flinch or react to Maggie’s objection. He smiled as he spoke. ‘I don’t blame you. People want spectacle, not subtlety. Look at the daredevils, hell look at Clifton Hill. Boombastic, white knuckle in your face fun. Swimming up the Falls defeats the purpose in the eyes of history. We want to go over the edge. But Vincent? He swam against it. He wasn’t looking for fame, he wanted to push himself.’ 

Maggie wasn’t sure what she believed. But she found herself writing it down anyway. The man’s voice had changed; the airy performance of before giving way to something more akin to a memory, or recollection.

‘What happened to him?’ She asked. 

The man smiled and shuffled slightly in his seat. ‘He disappeared. Lived his life away from the roar of the Falls. As soon as the highrope walkers came, and the circus started he wanted nothing to do with it. His blood gave him a gift, and it was a gift he wanted to share. He dedicated himself to science. He gifted himself to Doctors who studied him. This salmon-born endurance. The rest they say is history . . . ’

Maggie beckoned him to continue. She realised his tease had her on the edge of her seat.

‘Remarkable creatures salmon. Their ability to swim up rivers and rapids is derived from how their blood can take on more oxygen, open up more capillaries on demand. Somehow Vincent had this trait, but when melded with Human DNA it became even more powerful.

At first, the logical route was the heart. More blood flowing to and from the muscle that powered everything. Angina medicine and pulmonary arterial hypertension, strengthening weak hearts. But they found another use, by chance. A happier one, a recreational one. Vincent’s blood held the key to a medicine that has brought . . . delight . . . to millions and millions. Of course you’ve heard of it, the medicine is even named after him and his greatest achievement . . . ’

Maggie blinked. The man stared. Her cog’s turned. 

‘Vincent swims on in a way,’ the man chuckled. ‘Not in the rivers or up the waterfalls anymore, but in the veins of those he’s helped. A legacy hidden in plain sight, typically enjoyed at night.’

For the first time in days, Maggie felt inspired. The story was forming. The angle widening. Vincent wasn’t a daredevil in a barrel, he was a tall, quiet man fighting against the norm, carried upward by something stronger than gravity.

She closed her notebook with a snap and stood. ‘You’re right,’ she said. ‘This is a story.’

When she stepped back into the neon glare of Clifton Hill, the noise and bustle no longer seemed so hollow. Somewhere beyond the casinos and burger joints, the Falls thundered on—she supposed they always would. Maggie lit her last cigarette, took a drag, and let the mist kiss her face.

Maybe she’d still change careers one day. But not before she told the world about Vincent, the salmon man who swam up Niagara, and the joy his gift still carried forward.

She even knew the title of her feature.

‘Viagra & Niagara: Vincent’s Story’ 

Vincent had gone against everything, and somehow, he’d helped us all rise.

By Louis Urbanowski – Inspired by the prompt ‘Waterfalls’ – write a happy positive story!