Unusual Uses for Olive Oil (15 page)

He walked for fifteen minutes or so. The path rose sharply and there were several points at which he was obliged to clamber rather than walk. It was good exercise, though, and he felt pleased that the level of fitness he had already achieved made it relatively easy for him to cope with the exertions involved. Unterholzer would never manage this, he thought, not without some satisfaction.

Coming to a point where his path converged with another, von Igelfeld decided to take a rest. He sat down on a smooth rock and looked out across the valley below. Then, turning round, he peered up at the mountain behind him. It seemed impossibly high, and he felt dizzy just from looking up at the needle-like crags so high above him.

He was disturbed by the sound of voices. ‘Here, I think. Perhaps a five-minute break …’

He looked round. A party of mountaineers – ten in number – had arrived by the other path and were
looking about for places to sit down and rest. Their leader, a tall man dressed entirely in green, smiled at von Igelfeld and came over to greet him.

‘Ah,’ said the leader. ‘We were expecting you.’

Von Igelfeld inclined his head and introduced himself. ‘Von Igelfeld,’ he said. ‘Regensburg.’

‘Of course,’ said the leader. ‘We know several members of your club. We climbed in Spain last year.’

Von Igelfeld was puzzled. Club? He was about to enquire what club was being referred to when the leader asked him, ‘Are you happy to join us today? We’re going up there.’ He tossed his head in the direction of the towering mountainside above them.

‘Oh, I’m not sure,’ said von Igelfeld. ‘I’m not all that experienced.’

The leader laughed. ‘You’re very modest,’ he said.

‘Perhaps,’ said von Igelfeld. ‘But I’d be happy to come part of the way.’

The leader nodded. ‘That’s fine. You can come down again whenever you like. There are some fixed ropes on that face over there – I used them a few months ago. You’ll be all right with those.’

Von Igelfeld looked in the direction in which the leader was pointing. The rock seemed almost vertical there, but he could turn back well before they reached that point. And it would be good to walk with these agreeable-sounding people, even if only for half an hour or so.

They rested for a few minutes more before setting off again. They were roping together now, and a kind woman in a red jersey helped von Igelfeld to clip up. ‘I’m not surprised you find these clips difficult,’ she said. ‘Stefan introduced them. They’re a new design. Very tricky, but very safe.’

‘It’s best to be safe,’ said von Igelfeld. ‘There can be no doubt about that.’

‘Exactly,’ said the woman. ‘Ever since we lost Martin we’ve been ultra-careful.’

‘I’m sorry to hear about that,’ said von Igelfeld. ‘He had an accident?’

The woman looked down at the ground. ‘He was a little bit foolhardy,’ she said. ‘I know that nobody likes to say that now – not after what happened – but the truth of the matter is that if he hadn’t climbed beyond his competence he’d be with us still.’

Von Igelfeld absorbed this information as they began to make their way up the mountain. The path had all but disappeared and they were advancing across an alarmingly steep field of scree. Small rocks, dislodged by the boots of the climbers, rolled down the hill, gathering others as they did so. The noise made by these tiny landslides, although a danger to nobody, seemed ominously loud to von Igelfeld. He wondered whether that was the sound that a person would make if he were to fall. Was that the sound that poor Martin
made when he tumbled? Or would a person fall more soundlessly, at least during the fall itself, until there came a dull thud at the end?

He made a conscious effort to stop these morbid thoughts and instead to enjoy the fact that he was now engaged in what appeared to be real climbing, with real mountaineers. He would be able to report this to the students when he returned to the lodge. He would not be boastful, of course, but he would certainly mention that they had been roped together. That would definitely impress.

After traversing the scree, the lead climbers turned and began to make their way up a steep face of rock. Von Igelfeld, roped to the woman in the red jersey who was directly in front of him, watched what she did and followed suit slavishly. It was not too difficult, he found, and he simply had to use the cracks in the rock that she used to place her hands and her feet. If this was mountaineering, then even if it was not exactly easy, it was not as difficult as it looked. The important thing, he decided, was not to look down. He had snatched the occasional glance earlier on, but had rapidly looked away; now, as they made their way up the face, he stared resolutely ahead.

There were further faces, and each of them he negotiated successfully, following the lead of the woman in front of him. She proved to be a safe and methodical
climber, and a good tutor too. ‘You’re doing very well,’ she encouraged him. ‘If you continue like this, then you’ll make the summit with no difficulty.’

Von Igelfeld looked at his watch and frowned. They had been climbing for almost two hours now, and they were high above the point at which he had met the group. If he turned back now, how would he be able to get back by himself? He decided to ask his tutor.

‘Impossible,’ she said. ‘You couldn’t do it by yourself. Out of the question. You’ll have to continue.’

Their progress was slower now, as there were points of real difficulty in that part of the ascent. At one stage he slipped, but did not lose his footing and was immediately caught by his climbing companion. They were now on ice, with large patches of snow on either side of them.

‘Be careful here,’ she said. ‘Ice can be so treacherous.’

Von Igelfeld swallowed hard. ‘Treacherous,’ he muttered.

‘That’s what got poor Martin,’ said the woman.

‘Ice?’

‘Yes. Ice. Just like this.’

Von Igelfeld laughed. ‘Ice holds no fears for me,’ he said. ‘I have dealt with ice on many occasions.’

‘You never know with ice …’ the woman began.

‘Courage,’ said von Igelfeld firmly. ‘Courage is what
counts. If you have that, then a climb like this is nothing to worry about.’

The woman looked doubtful. ‘Even the best—’ she said.

‘And determination,’ interjected von Igelfeld. ‘I’ve always said that the most important thing in mountaineering is
attitude
. If you have the right attitude, then you can deal with everything the mountain confronts you with.’

The woman was silent.

‘So, I suggest we press on,’ said von Igelfeld. ‘I am enjoying this climb immensely and am confident that we shall reach the summit in no time at all. Attitude – as I have said – is what counts.’

They reached the summit shortly after two in the afternoon. Von Igelfeld by that stage was utterly exhausted, but felt an immense surge of pride as he shook hands with his companions. He had climbed a high and important mountain; he had not just been for a mountain hike as all the others were doing; he had actually
climbed
. And it had not been difficult at all: one simply watched the person in front of one and did what that person did. One might even ascend Everest in this way; he had heard that there were guides who would take you up even if you were not particularly experienced. Perhaps he could do that next. This mountain, which
he had been told by the woman in the red jersey was called the Devil’s Needles, could be the preparation for Everest itself, or perhaps that other one, K2, or whatever it was called. This could be K1, in the same way as Mozart’s first work must have been K1. He smiled. Did Köchel number mountains as well as symphonies? That was a splendid joke, and he was about to tell it to the woman in the red jersey when he slipped and fell, right at the edge of the flat landing that made up the summit.

It happened very quickly. He sensed that his legs were going from under him – a sheet of ice, of course – and then he felt himself sliding. He heard shouts and he saw a blur of red. He slid and seemed to gather momentum; they had unroped at the top and there was nothing to stop him. He started to fall now, and suddenly was airborne, even if only briefly. He came down, landing on snow that felt much harder than it looked. He tumbled, head over heels now, and was airborne again. Beneath him, nothing, an abyss; trees flashed past, sky, flat expanses of rock, more snow.

For von Igelfeld it was a curiously passive experience. This awful thing that was happening to him was, he realised, death. This was the end, and he felt curiously calm. It did not matter; there was nothing that could be done about it. And he thought: I failed to say thank
you to the woman in the red jersey. She helped me so much and I did not thank her. But she will understand; I shall write her a letter and explain. No, I shall not be able to do that for I shall be dead. Well, my lawyer can write to her and say that Professor von Igelfeld would certainly have written to thank you for your kindness were it not for the fact of his untimely death. That was a consolation. And the second edition of
Portuguese Irregular Verbs
? The lawyer would contact the chairman of the Max-Planck Foundation and explain what had happened. He would understand too. Snow. More trees. He was travelling very fast now and there was a sharp pain in his side. This was most inconvenient. So very … He was airborne again, but the sky was dark and he could see nothing. Perhaps night had come. He saw a face. Herr Huber. And Herr Huber was looking at him in a way that presaged some remark about his aunt, but instead he said:
You have been so kind to me.

Von Igelfeld was found not by the Librarian but by a passing mountain guide who was escorting two visiting Japanese climbers. The guide’s heart gave a lurch when he saw the inert form spreadeagled in the snowdrift; he had witnessed a climbing accident a few months ago and the memory was still distressing; for it to happen to him again so soon was surely bad luck. But as he and
his clients approached the snowdrift, there was a sudden movement and then, to their astonishment and relief, the figure stood up and began to dust himself down.

It was obvious from the deep indentation in the snow that the fall had been from some height, but the guide was not prepared for the information that von Igelfeld, now quite conscious and suffering from no more than a bruised rib, proceeded to give him.

‘It was very challenging,’ he said. ‘I was at the top of the Devil’s Needles and I began a rapid descent. It was most uncomfortable, and potentially extremely dangerous for a less experienced person.’

The guide looked up at the towering, distant peak of the Needles. The Japanese climbers, who spoke no German, peered at von Igelfeld and exchanged quick, excited remarks intelligible only to themselves. The guide then looked back at von Igelfeld in disbelief. Perhaps this unusual-looking man was concussed; sufferers from concussion could talk the most extraordinary nonsense.

‘Perhaps you were a bit lower when you fell,’ the guide said politely. ‘There’s a ridge up there behind you. Perhaps you fell from there.’

‘I know exactly where I was,’ von Igelfeld replied. ‘And I wouldn’t necessarily say that I fell. I descended rapidly. There is a distinction, you know.’

The guide scratched his head and shrugged. ‘If you
say so,’ he said. He did not believe him, of course: no man could survive such a fall.

But it was then that the small radio that he was carrying crackled into life. A message had been transmitted from the party with whom von Igelfeld had been climbing and had been passed to the mountain rescue authorities. There had been a fall from the summit of the Devil’s Needles and assistance was required in the search for what was assumed would be a body.

The guide listened to the message in frank astonishment.

‘You see?’ said von Igelfeld. ‘That was about me.’

The guide nodded and let out a whistle of admiration. ‘A miracle,’ he said. ‘A direct descent from the summit of the Needles. They said it couldn’t be done.’

The Japanese climbers were now marvelling at von Igelfeld’s height, rather than at the nature of the fall, the details of which, for linguistic reasons, they had missed. They now posed on either side of him, giving the guide a camera to record the meeting. Von Igelfeld tried to smile; he was a polite man – in his way – and would not wish to offend visitors to Germany, even when one of his ribs was most uncomfortable and he was now beginning to feel hungry.

He was escorted back to the lodge by the mountain
guide and the two Japanese climbers. More photographs were taken along the way and von Igelfeld also signed a small autograph album that one of the Japanese produced from his rucksack. By the time they arrived back at the lodge, the press was already there in the shape of the reporter from the local newspaper and a correspondent from
Mountain Gazette
who happened to be staying in the area.

Von Igelfeld was examined by a doctor who announced that his only injury – apart from a few scratches – was to a rib, and that would heal naturally, even if it would be uncomfortable for a few days. Von Igelfeld was stoical in these matters and did not think that painkillers would be necessary.

He agreed to speak to the press, but only later that day, once he had had the opportunity to catch up with correspondence and deal with some proofs that had arrived in that day’s post. He did, however, meet his climbing companion, whose party had come down the mountain as quickly as possible – by the conventional route – after von Igelfeld’s tumble.

‘I am so delighted to find you alive,’ she said. ‘I never imagined that anybody could survive such a fall. When I saw you slip …’

Von Igelfeld shook his head. ‘I’m not so sure that it was an actual slip,’ he said.

‘But—’

Von Igelfeld cut her short. ‘No, I certainly left you abruptly, but an abrupt departure is not the same thing as an involuntary one.’

The mountaineeress stared at him. ‘You are a very brave man, Professor von Igelfeld.’

Von Igelfeld gave a modest shrug. ‘All of us are capable of rising to the occasion,’ he pronounced.

‘Or falling to it,’ she muttered.

The reporter from the local newspaper realised that he had a major story on his hands. Sitting in the common room at the lodge, he sent off a piece that would appear the next day in all the major German papers as well as in a slew of foreign ones.
Celebrated Professor in Rapid Mountain Descent
, he wrote.
Professor Dr Dr Moritz-Maria von Igelfeld will go down in mountaineering history as the only man to make a descent of the famous Devil’s Needles by the most direct route.