Authors: Richard Blanchard
Snow Blind (27 page)
Number 7. “What's Going On” by Marvin Gaye.
Marvin Gaye pleads to mothers around the world to stop the rot. Then he pleads to theirs sons to do likewise as there are too many brothers dying. Is this English brother dying? Marvin's pastor dad, too harshly judging his son's life, shot him in his prime. What's going on now Marvin? I am only glad he didn't live to see the state of things now. Ruining this world. I feel a little flush of warmth at realising I have had my own hand in it. What have we left my sons; my God what have we left you? This feeling is temporarily good as it deflects my mind from the real source of pain. But it is all too late; too late in its thinking. I didn't do enough to stop this.
I try to count the cost of my fall. Maybe I have a busted back, a broken right hip, a broken right arm. I certainly have an overfull bladder. The bladder, the bladder I can't hang on for much longer. Have mercy on pee. I am alive though. I have a chance.
Concentrate now. Thoughts are trains for moving past my pain; get on the train through pain. Anything that I can manage to concentrate on deflects pain or cold. I have one ski on and one ski is gone. The back tip of my left ski supports my foot, pushing it up at forty-five degrees, stretching my hamstring. My bodyweight is on my jammed right arm and immobile hip; I half-face the twenty-foot ice wall that imprisons me. Snow compacts under my left elbow and it drops an inch. Another ineffectual shiver ends in my free right boot. I am stable so don't dare look down behind me; hold onto this security for now. Sun is still up top, but it can't strike me here. My mind races around my body looking to feel warmth. My diaphragm works hard, stoking the heat in my chest. Mercy, leniency; I am not dead from the impact, but can I escape? Am I doomed to let the ice trap soak up my life force? Juliet will sort them out I am sure.
The shivering won't stop now. It starts from my right arm and bum cheek. The cold is unbearable. How many times must I say that before I am rescued; every minute of the night? Maybe it is half four now; a couple of hours till dark. Maybe I can last till then, but overnight? I lift my head and push my jacket hood underneath. My teeth clatter more. I won't look down behind me. This celebration of my new life has been a disaster; merciless. The only relief is being away from the stags. A further shot of pain in my right arm dares me to move it. I get a shot of pins and needles, but its out. It's not broken. However, I am lying flat on my back onto ice. Still I don't look left.
Focus on the mundane, it can be sublime. I remember Bepe as I hugged him on the road last Wednesday. He emanated warm milk and Jammie Dodgers, like the sweetness of fresh bread. He finished them as we left the car, pointing at the red packet as I lifted him out of his seat. “Dodgers,” he exclaimed, expecting me to add the rest. Kids haven't suffered the accumulation of life and plaque to pollute their breath. Did I let him down? I can't see Ethan at all, what life has he got? I knew Juliet and I were connected.
“Noooo. Aaaagh.” I rail against the pain. I shuffle alternately from left bum cheek to right, holding as much of my body off the ice as possible. I conduct this ice dance with increasing frequency; a few minutes on each side becomes thirty seconds. Each time I feel the tug on my jacket as it rips away from the frozen ice it is attached to.
I stir up increased mental pain to combat the physical. The fear as the snowboarder ran towards me on the railway bridge the other night. The lash of Robert's tongue serving out more embarrassment. The constant fear of losing my job as Max invents ever more complex deceits to motivate me. I taste the prostitute's make up and the burning of stomach acid and red wine in my throat. Being asked to marry Sophia by my father-in-law; what a jerk I am. I would love all of them again.
My right arm has some feeling again; I strike my knuckles on the wall to re-focus. It's me who has let me down most. For the first time I let all of my back rest on the snow and just soak up the pain.
I almost lost my son a few days ago and now he risks losing me. I gained a new son yesterday and nothing occurred to me to stop today. I hit the ice wall again with my right fist but the glove keeps me from harm. I have to talk to them. I take off my right glove again, putting the open end on my nose and it bellows unexpected warmth onto my nose. My iPhone and headphones were back inside my jacket, with a halfeaten Snickers. I bite the bar three times before any breaks off. I chew it through involuntary chattering. I push an earpiece into each ear scraping the skin. I press the Voice Memo application.
“Bepe, Ethan, my boys⦠my boys, it's a struggle.” I pause after a few words biting my inner lips to damp the shivers.
“You don't know me⦠but I hope you can hear this.” What do you hope for Dan?
“You may hear⦔ this message at some point in the future when I am long gone or I may grow old with you both having never heard it. I can't bring myself to say anything like that as I am incapacitated anyway.
“I just want you both to know⦠stuff bout lifeâ¦about me.” I need to tell them something especially as I may have no life left.
I pluck up the courage to tilt my head left. Nothingness roars up at me; black spills from its depths. My heart tumbles into its darkness; I make to cry.
Mercy indeed. I have escaped death when it was a much easier target. The body width of this ice ledge holds me and I am eternally grateful. I have dodged the bullet.
Right now, I must speak up for my boys. I hit record again “Number one. Have a passion⦠mine was music⦔
“H
OW DO YOU MOTIVATE A MAN?”
Panting; side step; heavy panting; side step; gravel-voiced panting.
My right thumbnail catches onto the cotton lining of my glove; how did it snap? Maybe when I planted the pole to mark Dan's resting place? It courses annoyance through my body. Fibres lodge defiantly into the nail, wedging further into the jagged gap. I draw my thumb away but it won't release. Despite the gloomy light I can see the depression it causes by dragging the glove skin inward.
We are climbing back up the slope away from the departing sun. Five bodies trudge up towards amber light on higher ground. The nail rips further as I extend my only pole.
Oh Dan, when did you become so inept? Hold on there; hold on to that ledge, I will get Ethan to you. If I have let you down over the last eighteen years at least I can do that.
“Where the fuck are we headed again? You can't use a tourist map to navigate mountains.” And have you any alternative Robert?
Everyone stops; lactic acid builds in our muscles. Walking sideways and upwards hyper-extends knees and calves. It is only stopping that brings dull pain.
“We made a plan; we don't have alternatives.” Johnny and Steve witness me try to shout him down again.
“Even if this hut thing is up there, it will probably be some empty wooden shack.”
“The brochure says it's a hostel type place. It's peak season so they probably have someone still there. Climbers or someone,” Johnny counters.
“It cannot be too far. It's the only plan we have. Look, the photo on the map shows a rocky outcrop above us like this one.” I am convinced of our broad direction, but Robert raises enough doubt in me to wonder.
“Maybe we can come back for Dan tonight?” Steve suggests naively.
“Of course we can. We should make it into town for his last night out I reckon. Maybe I can get Dan to shaft that prossie after all, instead of throwing up on her,” Robert mocks disgustingly.
“Is she any good? That's what I want to know. Despite being surrounded by pussies for the last few days, I quite fancy some myself.” Max asks Robert. They roll eyes and laugh to themselves. He presumably has the required amorality to see it through.
“We have to save him.” Steve feels the weight of events on his shoulders. His voice squeaks and alerts me to imminent tears, but I can't see behind his sunglasses. He knows he can't lose it in front of his male companions. He is now the weakest link: the zeta male.
“Dan's fine, stop bleating. He has probably nipped down to the bottom of the crevasse for that chocolate I tossed him.” Max continues to blank out blame; cancerous behaviour deemed benign.
Johnny fears the loss of his friend too much to engage with anyone.
The fading sunlight works against us. I check my rough bearings on the inadequate map, hopefully for the last time. I visualise the Refuge, maybe an hour's walk away. If we bear up the slope but keep right we should get there with a steep bit at the end.
What is it with these guys? Either dumb struck with fear or arrogantly oblivious to the disasters they have created. A path of humility in-between seems impossible. I don't believe any of them. Their self-belief is either over or under calibrated to hide acts of contrition and delusion. They are all trapped in their own drama. They just cannot let themselves see a bigger one with their friend on the edge of life. But none of it helps anyone; in a time of a crisis they underestimate the threat.
I pull my single pole from the snow; ripping a bigger gap in the jagged nail. Snow falls from each ski as I strike out for Dan and Ethan. It is turning crustier as it hardens out of the sunlight; sometimes giving and breaking into softer snow underfoot, sometimes holding despite me taking my full body weight on one leg.
We plough on; side step, side step, shuffle, shuffle. Sometimes heaviness in my legs dictates a shuffle forward. I watch my skis, not the scenery. I strike out in hope and sometimes can't bear to lift my head in case that is dashed.
I once watched the sun go down on Uluru in Australia. You realise how inattentive your mind is, unable to comprehend a slow lessening of light. Occasionally you wake up long enough to realise that it has slipped away. The same happens here, so much effort pumped into our legs that you feel robbed when you do look up and see how much mountain there is and how little sun. What will Dan be seeing now, his last sunlight?
“Johnny, have you got plans for Dan's last night of freedom next Friday?” I ask Johnny to focus him.
“Just a quiet one⦠going to some pubs⦠in Chester, just me and Dan.” He pants between steps but the sentence crumbles, as he no longer feels able to pretend.
“I would love to join you.”
“When will you let him be? He is marrying someone else next week.” Max badly misinterprets my intent. He strides past me by virtue of his longer legs. Robert gives a forced grin as he stretches to get past. Their cold hearts beat icily.
“Let's wait for Steve.” I pause and Johnny does likewise. My eyes readjust to even less light. No crevasses appear to impede our way ahead. Steve seems to see treachery all around. Every step is the click of the trigger against an empty chamber; raising the chance of breaking through to an imagined crevasse below.
“Keep in our tracks Steve and you will be safe.”
“Yeah mate. We will get out of this no problem.” Johnny encourages his progress but neither of us reaches him. Every step hesitantly picked out by some fractured measure of probability of a fall. He reaches us but looks shot.
“Don't worry about those two jerks. I know exactly the direction to head.” I doubt if they have a clue other than up.
“Juliet⦠Juliet. For fuck's sake Juliet,” Robert shouts at us from fifty yards ahead.
“We aren't leaving anyone behind you arse.”
“Juliet you⦔ He is stepping down the hill towards us. The weakness of his legs propels him faster.
I mentally sink at the prospect of more confrontation. This knight has held her sword too long; it clunks to the floor.
He reaches me with fierce humility on his face. “Juliet you were right. We will get there.” I fall under his weight. He squeezes me across the shoulders and kisses me aggressively on the lips. I now know he doubted we were ever getting off the mountain.
“Come on children, let's get going.” Arms go aloft in celebration. Johnny and Steve step up in unison behind Robert. I follow and see two glorious beaming windows of artificial light from a small hut way above us; giving our eyes the chance to recalibrate the greyness around us.
“We may get to Chamonix for a pint after all.” Steve recovers his sense of delusion and has one arm around his boss Max.
“I'm having some chocolate to celebrate,” Robert adds. I note that he never volunteered to throw that to Dan. “We will be lucky to get there by six. It's up to an hour away. We can see less and less.” Robert estimates.
“Let's be having you!” Robert treats the Refuge De Requin as his discovery.
I breathe new life. Ethan's presence elsewhere boosts me up the hill.
“We will get him out now won't we?” Johnny asks.
“We've got every chance.” Our best chance is to rescue him tonight, which is unrealistic.
Why can't we go faster? We eat up space in leg-length chunks. I belatedly take off redundant sunglasses. At first we seem to just be moving around the hut at the same distance but then we get closer. No one considers what we may find there; shelter is our only hope. Proximity is being traded for the light we need. The shape of the hut gets no clearer.
Robert booms out a rousing chorus from an English rugby song. He is devouring the space; his rescue is almost realised. I keep the others in touch with Robert. Ethan must meet his father. The time is right to unite them.
What time is it? I haven't looked because of the hassle of getting out my phone. It's five thirty. I can distinguish outlines well enough. Robert and I start to traverse the slope alone, after instructing the others to wait. The unison of our shuffle leaves us without breath. Neither Robert nor I exchange an expression; we know we have to make this happen.
Where is the hut? Suddenly we cannot see the hut from any angle. Inexplicably we have lost sight of the lighted windows, as we get nearer. I had hoped for a progressive climb to the refuge, but the terrain becomes uncompromisingly steep.