Authors: Richard Blanchard
Snow Blind (24 page)
“That has to be the most sheer lift in the world,” I speculate.
“Ten past twelve, that guide is late. I asked for him at the office but they haven't seen him.” Robert had hurried ahead and stands outside the wooden ticket office with seven lift tickets in hand.
“Bugger him we will go without him,” he says impatiently.
“No we will not. We were ten minutes late, give him a chance will you,” Juliet counters.
“Alright, five more minutes and we are off.”
“Why don't you just call the man?”
“I can guide us down, we don't need him.”
“He said twelve at the latest; we don't need to call him,” Max butts in.
“Call him Robert,” I interject.
“Do you really want these guys to have any more expense on your stag weekend. Don't you think they have paid enough?” Robert turns the weekend on me when it was all his doing.
“Since when did you care about anyone else's money? I know your game, you haven't got a guide have you?” Juliet accuses him, smelling a rat.
“Listen. I don't need to answer to you. The guy isn't here; we can go.”
“That's why you wouldn't let me speak to him. You never called that number I gave you, did you? You little shit Robert, it's serious you prick.”
“Well, did you call him you arsehole? Did you?” Chris tries to bring it to a head.
“There was no need to; I can take you down the VB. We are committed; I have the tickets. It's spectacular up there. Listen, I seem to be the only person trying to give Dan a good time. It's simple, let's get on with it, what do you say Dan?”
“Why not finish this tragic weekend off in style boys.” Damned if I do, damned if I don't. I am sick of the bickering. I am surrounded by opinionated jerks, foisting their views on me. I snatch a ticket from Robert's perforated roll and walk to the turnstile, leaving any dissent behind. Sometimes you have to take responsibility for your life, before it takes care of you. Maybe I have got something to say to Ethan after all. We all clunk onto a metallic platform, waiting for the huge cable car to glide alongside us.
“This is all very James Bond isn't it.” Robert states the obvious. This is probably the first inclusive comment I have heard from him all weekend. I can feel the end. As soon as I am back I am into the wedding zone. But so much more as well, I have another son in my life now.
“Which Bond was it that climbed out of the cable car?” Max asks.
“It was Roger Moore in an all-in-one wasn't it?” Juliet half remembers.
“We were going to nick your salopettes at some point Dan, but thought it counter productive as you would never have gone out.” Max informs me.
“That was another stupid plot I foiled.” Chris tells me.
As everyone finishes departing from the other side of the car, a metal safety rail is slammed backwards to allow us to enter. Shuffling and pushing ensues as the first entrants look for a piece of window space from which to view the climb. As it fills, the body of people is conjoined, steadying each other with brushed shoulders.
“I just saw a sign that this thing climbs about three thousand metres in less than ten minutes; so pop those ears guys,” Johnny informs us. The scent of cigarettes fuses with climber sweat and expensive perfume. The rich tourist and the true adventurer hate occupying the space together. With one huge lurch some invisible giant grabs the cable car skyward; we are on the way to Europe's rooftop. In an instant the car is hanging over the sprawl of the Chamonix valley floor. I think I can make out the pink exterior of the casino but am not sure. Life looks so different from up here; I can look upwards now. The car pushes through a thin layer of cloud within seconds.
“What would Ethan make of this trip Juliet?” She looks shocked as she remembers that she doesn't hold her secret anymore.
“He would have been excited but apprehensive. Just like his dad I think.” There is further shock for both of us as these words are released. I can't wait to see Bepe and meet Ethan tomorrow. Maybe Juliet refused to come to the wedding until I knew about Ethan. Maybe they can both come?
“I hope I can make him proud of me.” I know how I can start. I am creating a playlist for two now and as I approach the end of the alphabet I find just the right epic accompaniment to our climb.
Number 6 “Unfinished Sympathy” by Massive Attack
How can you have a day without a night? Well I just have. This track reminds me of working in Max's advertising agency. Released in 1991 on Wild Bunch records. Things felt freer then, every project seemed interesting, and we were on the same side. This had a great video of Shara Nelson pacing down a London Street chanting while the world passes her by. I didn't know I had something missing from my life till now. This is a great track to give you a sense of purpose and strength. Only one more track to go, but only V to Z to find it in.
Grass and rock have been fighting for prominence all the way up our climb, but rock has won. Huge swathes of scree settle uneasily below us. Only a fragile pact with gravity keeps it from abandoning such a precarious lookout. My ears need to be popped. I try not to concentrate on the skyward pull of the car and let go of my grip on the barrier pole. If we were to fall then so be it, I can't help by holding on tight. I let the ingenuity and hard work of my fellow man to build this thing safely take responsibility for the climb.
At a mid station we have to swap into a second cable car to get right to the top. The jostling for position settles down as we are swept over snow that takes over the rock below. The mountain is transformed from friend to foe, no longer does this feel like leisure. Like the first slope I ever skied, there is more danger than pleasure afoot; it is all out of my control now. A huge outcrop of rock and ice appears, a severed left eye disjoints its face-like features. Over its flatter head we start to slow as we reach the summit. A collection of buildings cling unnaturally to the top, coloured like the rock so that they seem almost hewn from it. The car is noiseless now; awe fills the space between all passengers. We reach a swinging stop. As the doors fly back the chill wind seeks out warm cheeks. The metal bridge at this height is iced over.
“There's a terrace to have a drink before we go down.” Robert advises us. We all follow him out onto it to try and grasp the opportunity of this vantage point. I keep thinking I have seen this view somewhere before and realise it is from the plane.
“It would be worth just sitting here all afternoon,” I suggest.
“Too bloody right,” Chris agrees.
“You wait till you get down there in amongst it.” Robert disagrees. It is thrilling to be here, but every positive thought is followed by a nagging self-doubt.
“I'm getting some food anyway.” Chris is true to form and goes back inside to get in line for a meal.
“Just get a snack, we need to get on our way.” Robert makes the skiers hurry up. The snow sweeps gently below us. It is a worrying mystery as to how we reach the flat snow so far below from this perch without skiing a vertical incline. I buy a Snickers, a chicken roll and water for the trip. Something is stirring inside my bowels.
Chris sits alone on the terrace munching away at another continental burger. I can see he has been happy to eat on this extended break if nothing else.
“Chris, we are heading off now. I will see you at the bottom.”
“See you bro. Take care now.” He barely lifts his head as he chews.
I delay the group further. “I need the loo.”
“Look it's ten to one now children, I suggest we all meet up at the locker room at one to get this show on the road.” Robert is getting sick of herding us. I wait desperately for a cubicle. The only vacated one is humming with the stench of alcohol and excrement. I push my ski pants down hard onto the top of my boots, but this inflexibility binds my legs together. My bum cheeks only spread wide enough to emit a series of exasperated farts. At this altitude I have also changed sex; my willy has shrivelled into a clitoris. I channel all my thoughts inward, hoping to focus on the excitement of the ski rather than the danger.
I enter the locker room from the adjacent toilets. A huge metal door is sucking people out into the unknown. The travelling six gather around Robert.
“Okay then, let's go. It's an easy ski, most of it is somewhere between a red and a blue, but there is a technical bit in the middle that he have to pick carefully down. Remember to stay close together; we will have to keep stopping for the snails like Dan and Johnny. At the end of this ice tunnel there is a ridge to walk down so keep your skis off for now. We will ski to a lift and get the Montenvers train that fortunately drops us off outside the hotel. Let's hit the Caveau by four. Last one to the bar pays. Any questions? No.”
We walk to the metal piste exit door. Johnny and I hesitate at the bleak warnings on it. It does exactly what it should do; guard the innocent and foolhardy like us from walking down the tunnel of ice that leads onto the Vallée.
“Skiers Beware. No groomed runs. No avalanche control. No trail markers. No ski patrols. You are now going on your own responsability.” The sic misspelling inadvertently highlights two components: your response to events around you and your personal ability.
“You don't have to do this you two. Go and have lunch with Chris and go down on the cable car. Let the others make fools of themselves,” Juliet warns me.
“I can't back out now.” I could back out but what will I learn? I can't spend all of my life walking away from risk. I have to think about the kind of man I will be for my boys. I bash the metal sign with my gloved hand as I pass it, dismissing its foreboding.
I see the light at the end of the tunnel and I am sucked towards the promise of its sun. Cocooned in the ice walls of the walkway, crystals glint mischievously inside this under-exposed cave. Carefully I place each clunking step towards the blindingly lit arched exit. I feel my core chilled by the effects of this over sized icebox, but I can smell the sun ferociously burning the thin air a few metres away.
My heart bursts as I exit the tomb. I am desperate to see how I get onto the glacier. I cannot see any mountain peaks yet through the wall of backs lined up to consume the view. The uneasy melange of jean-clad sightseers and ice adventurers jostle at the edge. Non-participants shuffle uncomfortably, judged incapable of meeting this ski challenge and soon to be benignly carried back down to earth by the cable car. However, most participants are anxious to start their journey, bristling at the challenge of commanding this unbounded environment, like astronauts ready for blast off. I look over the shoulders of the shortest man I can find, despite being repulsed by his lime green and pink all-in-one jump suit. He must wear this as a badge of authenticity that he was around in the 60s. If he could stop spouting superlatives at the view, he would hear my heart belting my inside jacket pocket, straining to work at this altitude.
The view is at once clear and confusing. The clarity is the contrast between the blue sky that appears to be both above and below us, set against the white peaks stretching on and on for miles around. The confusion is the sheer immensity of this vantage point, my eye cannot settle on any one thing.
This epic view requires an epic tune. I must choose something appropriate, maybe classical or techno? It is either violins or unearthly sounds to accompany me down. John Barry is the man to paint a soundscape for this vista. I select “You Only Live Twice” with its opening cascade of violins. Perfect choice, I have lived my life but have somehow held onto an unrealistic dream life with Juliet at the same time. What have I been doing? The dream life hasn't been even a remote possibility but I have let it puncture reality. She has been an imaginary measuring stick for any prospective partner for years. But no one could come close because the measurement isn't real. I never even believed it was going to happen. I pity Sophia; this has been a real problem in my head. The voice of Nancy Sinatra glides through the song and the guitar line provides a sharp edge to my self-discovery. I hope I can recover myself before a two-year-old and a sixteen-year-old discover who I really am.
I catch my first breathless glimpse of the ridge we have to walk down before we start skiing.
“Let's get through this load of posers Dan.” Robert's skis push into my back.
“We have to walk down a ridge first guys.”
“I know that lame brain.” Robert spits at me.
“Is it steep Dan?” Juliet asks for a report as she struggles to see.
“It's not the walk so much as the drop either side.”
“Just don't fall off it or it is goodnight Vienna. This is the only tricky bit, just get down this and it's plain sailing. Are you just up here for a look-see like all these other losers or have you the balls to ski? I will even go first and hold your little hand if you want. Sorry I didn't wipe your arse in the locker room for you as well.” Robert lays the humiliation on thick, suspecting I need to be bullied to go.
“Hey, back off man or I'll⦔
“What. What have you got to say for yourself now big daddy?” His eyes swell with false bravado but he looks frightened. He always steps over the line with me, carelessly stomping my ego. I am refusing to drink from the trough of ridicule anymore and it scares him. He wants me to fight back so that he gets legitimacy for his behaviour. The first time I feel I could legitimately stand toe to toe with him and I feel only sympathy.
“I will lead us down; I was just trying to get through the crowd.” I lie well enough for him to not reply. The crowd dissolves at the edge as I step forward to lead my stags for the first time. This stupidity is on my terms now. I look to see we are all together. Skis locked on my right shoulder I grab the guide rope with my left hand, extending my left leg decisively onto the ridge to start the sideways walk down. The heel of my boot sticks hard into the fresh snow at the edge of the ridge, as a gust of Alpine wind whips though me and pushes my head back.