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 Weathered
The Mountaineer

Edward Rodosek

    A vivacious polka blasted Jim out of his bed.
He slammed the button of the radio alarm clock and yawned widely.
    Through the small plastic window of the Mobil Home, he admired the first dark-red tinge of the morning sky above blue-gray silhouettes of toothed ridges jutting above a valley.

Night silence was disturbed only by the subdued buzzing of a petrol generator set, which supplied the Mobil Home with electricity.
    Jim regarded himself a real mounaineer, so he decided not to shave himself and to renounce his sandwich, too.
So he’d be a third of the way up the ascent before the first aircrafts came.
If everything goes according to his plan, he might perhaps reach his goal, the Wright’s bivouac before twilight.
    He put his old, worn-out rucksack on his back.
He inherited that rucksack from his grandfather, one of the last eager alpinists of this district, and several curators of museums had offered him good money for it.
    Then he put on old-fashioned knickerbockers, two pairs of thin synthetic socks and the many-times-washed brown pullover made from genuine mohair, inherited from his old uncle.
    He tried to walk on the perforated metal steps as quietly as he could.
That wasn’t easy because of his clumsy boots with rudely cut soles, which he’d bought a long time ago in a shop that sold film props.
From his parked off-road car, he took a long rope, a bunch of pitons, a hammer, the crampons, and his pickaxe with a real wooden handle.
The pavement of the parking lot was strewn with empty beer cans, little cellophane bags, paper boxes with remainders of jelly and ice cream sticks.
    When he passed the plastic fence around the Mobil Home campsite, he turned away from concrete path, where various colored lines invited tourists to various interesting places.
    Everybody knew the yellow line brings tourists to the hovercrafts pier for water trips, the blue one to VTAÐ-Vertical Takeoff Aircraft, and the alternately green and brown lines to a combination of a lift and air-conditioned ropeway gondola.
    Instantaneously, a cleaning machine arrived on the path with a loud buzzing and the driver suspiciously glanced at the mountaineer, probably because of his funny costume.

#


    When the first slanting sunbeams shined on the mountaineer, he leaned on a ledge, gasping for breath a bit.
He wasn’t tired from traversing the steepness, but from countless fences, barriers, walls and hindrances intended for the guidance of numerous herds of tourists.
    Lately, this valley has become one the most visited starting points for cozy trips in the Rocky Mountains—which had been nearly inaccessible in times past.
Many people began to look for intact exotica here, since the booming tourist progress ousted it from everywhere else.
    The mountaineer recalled with bitterness when the peak of Mount Rushmore was leveled so the biggest casino out of Las Vegas could be opened there.
Nowadays everyone with enough money could attend a performance of live sex on the huge rafts that navigated along the Grand Canyon, or watch the final game of the baseball cup in the amphitheater of Yellowstone National Park, or await New Year’s Day on the huge concrete platforms of Mount McKinney that, for this special opportunity, has been changed into an enormous firecracker.
    He felt his nostalgic recollections of the Wright’s bivouac trip from his childhood.
Those unforgettable feelings the mountains had been given him long ago, when he’d climbed on them for the first time.
    Then the slopes, covered with snow, had filled him, a nine-year-old boy, with a humble admiration, like he’d sensed in church.
After the tiresome, all-day-long climbing, they told him to crawl into his grandfather’s sleeping bag.
It seemed to him he’d just closed his eyes when they awoke him again.
    At the first gray-bluish daybreak, his grandfather pointed to the opposite slope and gave him his binoculars.
The boy searched a long time among the indistinct, delusory shadows, before he succeeded in finding a small herd of animals.
Four or five females, two cubs and the single, high on the dark ledge, motionless figure of a proud ibex, suspiciously sniffling air and looking somewhere in their direction.
The binoculars begun to tremble in the boy’s hand and he felt a quiet shiver all over his body.
The scene in front of him became vague, and when he returned the binoculars to his grandfather, he felt tears in his eyes from incomprehensible delight.

#


    The mountaineer walked along a narrow path that must have been abandoned for decades.
Only the fluorescent advertising panels were regularly kept.
The most of them were recommending ‘Foam’, a new, fashionable drink, which could be ordered in three flavors: peppermint, whiskey and orange; all three sorts contained a gentle stimulant.
    Just when he came to the rocky screes, the first of the motor hang-gliders noisily flew above him: about half-dozen of them, the usual youngsters, who have enough physical fitness to fly directly after a rowdy night.
They were hanging on crosspieces in couples or singles, dressed in multicolored fluorescent suits, teasing one another.
    They gathered in a tight group and whirled round in dangerous curves to impress the girls with their skill.
They were shouting something, winding up the gas at full throttle and roaring with laughter.
After a while they got tired and flew away; the mountaineer needed some time to hear normally again.
    After he traversed the screes, he had to remain in a groove just under the aerial ropeway.
Somewhere in the middle of the groove, one of those big, two-storied gondolas slowly went by, about twenty yards above him.
The mountaineer could see a great number of astonished faces through the windows, and a few passengers worriedly waved their encouragement to him.
But most of them hurried to take pictures of that incredible wonderÐ-a person who was climbing!
The mountaineer diverted his head to avoid the lights of their many flashes.
    Then the rock wall became more and more crumbled and in the next half an hour, he needed to use his ice axe.
All that time he heard the annoying buzzing of a helicopter.
Inwardly, he cursed the pilot for showing the mountain beauties to the tourists so effectively.
When he, finally, swung himself on a narrow ledge, he looked in the air and noticed on the bothersome helicopter the marking of the MRSÐMountain Rescue Service.
    Through the open gate of the copter, the uniformed legs of the guy were hanging.
He shouted something nearly incomprehensible though the megaphone: “... informed.
Hey, are you ... unded?
Do you need help?”
    With gestures, the mountaineer tried to make him understand that everything was okay.
A violent wind from the copter’s rotor was lifting annoying whirls of dust, which penetrated his mouth and nostrils, and at last he had to bend double, because his wind jacket fluttered too strongly.
    He noticed a tiny object hanging on a string, swinging to and fro in the wind, slowly lowering to him.
Finally the string let off so the mountaineer could pick up a vinyl bag in which a small cell phone had been wrapped up.
    He pressed the proper button; holding the phone close to his chin, he started to yell into the tiny holes.
    “I’m just on a little trip here and everything is okay with me.
I don’t need any help; I’m an experienced mountaineer.”
    For some time he heard just a crackling, and then a men’s voice asked: “What did you say you are?”
    “A mountaineer; a very well trained climber.”
    It seemed the man who was speaking with him talked to someone else, for there was no answer for a while.
    “Hey you!”
    “Yes, I hear you well.”
    “Try somehow to come to the plateau by the next column.
There we could lower the rescue basket from the copter and then we’d try to pull you up.
Did you understand that?”
    “Yes, I understood you, but you didn’t understand me! I repeatÐ-I do not need any help from you.
I’m not tired at all and I have all the necessary equipment for climbing.
Thank you very much for your concern.
Please, return to your duty somewhere else.
Over and out.”
    The copter crew continued to raise dust for a few seconds and then came a warning through the loudspeaker: “All right, pal.
This is your funeral.”
    The helicopter made a roaring semicircle and flew away.
The mountaineer wiped the dust from his eyes, sat down on a rock that was covered with lichen, and unscrewed the lid of his cantina containing a fruit tea.

#


    For the next half an hour, the mountaineer walked along a narrow zigzag path, which wasn’t suitable for dizzy people.
Some time afterwards
he arrived to an almost vertical chimney, a few hundred yards high.
It was narrow but still large enough for his body.
He took a deep breath, widened his legs, leaned his back against one side of the chimney, and began cautiously to climb.
    After some dozen yards he decided to pass over on the right hand slope, which seemed more promising than the left one.
Except for a little muddy water from the melting snow drizzling on him from above, he had no other inconveniences.
    Just when he allowed himself some rest on a ledge, no much broader than his foot, he suddenly felt the slope begin to tremble.
At first, the throbbing was so slight he believed that was only his imagination; but later it persistently increased.
What on earth was this? Could it be possible that was an earthquake, orÐ
    The mountaineer hadn’t time to finish his guessing for the tremors grew swiftly to a thundering like from a huge waterfall.
Some gravel fell from above on his shoulders, and now he started to worry, for the bigger stones also begun to crumble, bouncing from the walls of chimney and loudly rattling into the abyss.
Suddenly, his rucksack, hanging on a rocky edge, unhinged and slipped downwards.
He pressed himself to the slope and tried to become as thin as possible, his cheek sticking on the cold, wet rock, his eyes closed.
Now he felt the origin of the thunder was moving from below upwards, the rumbling became nearly unbearable but then quickly died away somewhere above him.
    During the lessening clatter of rolling stones far under the mountaineer he could explain what had happened.
    Certainly.
How was it possible he didn’t grasp it at once? On that spot only a few yards of rock separated him from the enormous shaft for the SFMEÐSuper Fast Mountain Elevator.
    This was the newest and the greatest achievement of modern technology, made under the pressure of countless.
Since the SFME had been built, the traffic to the local peaks was tripled.
That magnificent device had two parallel shafts.
The slow one was designed for those tourists who enjoyed intermediate stops on the view platforms, where it was possible to order some refreshments.
The express one lifted the tourist in a single magnificent tug of twenty-three hundred yards to the peak of the mountain in only six minutes.
Every passenger got with his ticket a warning that dissuades the use of the express variant to anyone with heart problems.
    The mountaineer, thanks to his own caution, carried his rope across his chest and on the loops of his belt were hanging his grandfather’s crampons and a bunch of pitons.
Some other outfit, like a sleeping bag, a flashlight, drink and food he’d try to buy in the shops on the nearest of the platforms.
To reach the nearest of themÐPlatform FourÐhe had to diverge from the earlier intended direction of his climbing and had to cross a large glacier.
    For that he’d need at least two hours, if everything went well, or some more time, if anything went wrong.
In that case he’d be too late to reach the Wright’s bivouac before night, and he’d be forced to stop overnight in the hotel on the Platform Four.
The mountaineer put on his crampons and made the first step on the smooth surface of the glacier

#


    After about an hour the mountainees had nearly arrived at the base of a gigantic latticed construction that supported a light advertisement for Magic, a miraculous cream against baldness.
He recollected that the light of this advertisement could be seen at cloudless nights of a hundred miles.
The four concrete foundations were unevenly high because of steepness of the slope.
Still, even the lowest one was as high as a multistoried building.
    A tubular construction above the foundations formed a three-dimensional lattice, which carried the separate letters of the advertisement.
Each was nearly as big as the platform for a space missile.
Every letter was composed of many searchlights, to which bundles of thick isolated cables led.
    The mountaineer heard a silently buzzing transformer, which would be enough to provide a whole residential district with energy.
By the foot of the construction, the ice was melted tens of yards around, and the bare rock was an evidence for the uncommon heat the advertisement emitted at night-time, when it was lit.
    After a short hesitation, he bent down on the ice-free part of the ground and took off his crampons.
Without any trouble, he managed to pass over almost the entire rocky part, and now he was able to see, far on the hillside, the utmost left part of the supporting wall of the Platform Four.
    Tiny streams of muddy water were trickling in cracks under the mountaineer’s feet, and the wind was dashing through the steel construction.
Still, in the last few minutes it seemed to him that he heard something else.
An indefinably, unevenly rustling, as if someone was tearing paper to pieces.
When he came to the other part of the glacier, he crouched and fastened the crampons on his shoes again.
The wind was stronger here, so it drowned all the other sounds.
He made a few steps on the ice sheet; when he suddenly felt a cramp in his left leg, and a second later in his right one.
Puzzled, he lifted his left foot from the ground and when he kneaded the muscles of his calf the cramp disappeared.
But as soon as he made another step, the cramp returned, this time much stronger, so he unintentionally moaned.
At the same time, that mysterious sound returned with doubled power.
    The mountaineer lifted his glance and now he realized what it was.
    Barely thirty steps from him a black snake of freely dangling electric cable squirmed in uneven jerks and sharply hissed every time it touched the dirty surface of the ice that was criss-crossed by many rivulets of muddy water.
    He just gazed spellbound at the cable like a rabbit at the nearing rattlesnake.
At times the cable stood still, singeing on its end.
Then, without any visual cause, it instantaneously rolled and hit a couple of times to the left and to the right, like an enraged cat with its tail, which intensified the sparking.
    The mountaineer felt an icy sweat, which was trickling downward his spine.
He knew all the ground around him was under high tension, which wasn’t equable, so each part of the ground was under different voltage.
The cramp in his legs was the first warning of the current flowing through his body.
He had to leave that spot as soon as possible.
Yet, he mustn’t move in such a way to touch the ground with both his feet at the same time.
Shortly, there remained nothing else but leaping only on one leg.
    On this icy steepness and with these clumsy crampons on his feet, that seemed almost impossible.
Still, he had to try it.
He decided to make only three consecutive jumps with the same leg, and then to stand still, with one foot lifted.
After a short concentration he’d repeat the same procedure with the other leg.
    For the first and the second series, that tactic proved successful.
But the third series began badly.
Probably he pushed himself off from the ground a bit less; he slid sideways and in a fragment of a second he realized he’d lose his balance.
    He fell and rolled downhill, with his head down between his shoulders, but then he crashed to the icy ground so hard that his breath was taken away.
He spread his arms and legs, instinctively grabbing at anything firm; he got muddy slush in his mouth—and then he felt a brutal thump on his head.
    The mountaineer hadn’t any idea how much time had passed before he regained his senses again.
His mouth was full of blood and that he was shivering because of severe evening frost.
He was soaked to the skin, numb with cold and his left leg was torpid and powerless.
It was night but the light from the many searchlights helped him to see his surroundings.

#


    The mountaineer didn’t know how much time he was spent during his painful, exhausting creeping out of the ravine and up the hill.
A smarting strain to rise the upper part of his stiff body with his right foot and both arms, then a spasmodic pull forwards and, finally, a descent—nearly a fall-—on the ground.
He had repeated that sequence a few hundred times, for he no longer felt his torpid, injured cheeks, lips and chin, although he still tasted the salty flavor of his blood in his mouth.
    He was surprised when he finally arrived at the foot of the nearest supporting wall of Platform Four.
He considered the irony of his situation: the same huge advertisement, which had almost killed him, later rescued him-—for without its glittering light he couldn’t have found the proper way through the darkness.
    The mountaineer was dripping with sweat, and he knew he had to reach some help by calling, before he froze in the night’s cold.
He looked upwards.
The main building of
Platform Four, which was luxuriously lit up, was encircled by a wide, covered terrace.
By day, it was surely crowded with the nature-lovers, who fearfully looked at the magnificent steepnsses they had conquered a little while ago.
But now, by night, nobody was there.
Of course, inside was much warmer; it was bright and agreeable, filled with smoke.
Waiters served various chosen foods and fine drink, there were tumultuous multimedia shows for everybody.
Who would be so stupid to take the risk of catching cold outside on the frosty terrace?
    The mountaineer leaned against the vertical concrete wall, shrinking his right leg, and adjusted his left leg with his hands.
Then he started to call.
He yelled as loudly as he could, then waited for a moment for a response, and repeated his shout.
But the roaring wind carried away his calls, and nothing moved on the empty terrace.
    The nape of his neck was stiff from looking upwards.
Still, he kept roaring as penetratingly as he could; untill he noticed his voice became hoarse.
He hadn’t much hope left that anybody would hear his calling, when he looked upwards once more.
    A face was staring at him from the terrace.
    In the lights from the faÇade, the mountaineer saw the face belonged to a teenager.
The boy was leaning against the fence with both arms, his chin on his hands, and stared at the mountaineer as if he’d observed a rare animal.
    “Hey, you!
Please call for somebody!”
    The boy remained motionless.
    “I need help, do you hear me?
I’m wounded and I’ll freeze to death if somebody doesn’t help me—do you understand? Call your mother, or father, or some waiter—just tell somebody inside that I’m here.
Quickly, please!”
    The boy moved to the left and bent down over the fence as low as he could.
It seemed he didn’t believe what he saw.
Perhaps the boy was afraid of him?
Maybe he’d begun it wrongly.
He had to encourage him, to entangle him into conversation.
    “Listen, pal, my name’s Jim.
And what’s is yours?”
    No answer.
The boy only inclined his head a bit and wiped his nose on his sleeve.
    “How old are you?
I bet you arrived up here by a hang-glider or a helicopter, didn’t you?
The elevator is only for small children and older people, don’t you agree?
Come on, call somebody and afterwards I’ll buy you a nice, big cake.”
    The boy’s head disappeared.
    The mountaineer sighed with relief.
Finally, he’d succeeded in finding the right way of communication.
Now the youngster was probably talking with his parents and they will at onceÐ
    A drop of tepid liquid dripped on his arm, then three or four drops more on his forehead and cheeks.
The sky was cloudless and the stars were shining—so where had the rain come from?
He glanced upwards again and saw a thin trickle ripped from wind, which originated from an opening between the fence’s banisters.
The boy was urinating on him.
    The mountaineer was numb with astonishment.
For an instant, he wanted to laugh—but then a blind fury grasped him and he roared so inhumanly the trickle stopped.
A moment later, he heard the door on the terrace open and then close again.
    He collected a dozen stones and started to throw them upwards, one after another.
Because of the steepness of his throwing, the most of the stones rebounded from the fence and fell without any effect.
Some rolled over the terrace’s pavement and only two or three of them weakly rattled on the glass faÇade.
    After he rested for awhile, he tried to gather a new stock of stones.
For this purpose, he had to creep several yards around in spite of the pain in his wounded leg.
    He continued with the throwing, feeling his strength was weakening more and more.
When he’d almost given up, one of the stones luckily hit something metallic, which must be loaded on a window ledge.
He heard the loud clank of a tin salver, and then a magnificent bang of a loaded hip of glassware.
After a while, he heard the door on the terrace open and several subdued voices uttered.
He saw two or three astonished faces, waved his hands to them and succeeded in grinning weakly before he slipped to his knees and fainted.

***


    His bed was heavenly comfortable; the sheets smelt of the fashionable softener ‘Fluff’, and all the lights in the bedroom were subdued.
    “Oh, you’re awake now,” a woman’s voice stated.
    A young woman dressed in a nurse uniform stood at the head of the mountaineer’s bed and cheerfully nodded to him.
“You know, you’re my first real patient.”
    The mountaineer looked around.
“Is this the first aid station?
On Platform Four?
And you are a nurse in here?
Was I unconscious for a long time?”
    “Yes, yes, yes, and not too long,” she answered with a hearty smile.
“You’re asking a lot of questions at the same time.
Fortunately I’ve an excellent memory.”
    He lifted himself on his elbows and slightly moved the toes on his left foot, just for a test.
Then he bent it with trouble and found out it was stiff but still movable.
His thigh was bandaged, and on his forehead he had a big plaster.
    “Easy, Mister Stone.
You’ve had a shot against pains and the ‘flying doctor’ ordered me not to let you out of bed for the next day or two.”
    “Where do you know my family name from? And who is the flyingД
He recalled her remark about his way of questioning and hushed.
    She burst into laughter, showing a row of tiny teeth.
“Yesterday we had to undress you and the representative of MRS wanted to see your documents.
He said you’d caused them a problem twice in the same day.”
    “Mountain Rescue Service?
Now I understand.
You called them and they then brought that doctor, didn’t they?”
    “Of course; that’s one of their basic duties.”
    He shrugged.
“I didn’t expect to see them again so soon.
Did they pull me up on the terrace?”
    She shook her head.
“No such thing!
These dandies have just been buzzing around with their dazzling lights.
Then they landed on the flat roof of the building and declared they couldn’t do anything.”
    “But howД
    “That tiny chap climbed down to you and tied a rope around you.
Early in the morning, when you were still asleep, he was already here to look see how you are.”
    The mountaineer was a bit confused.
“I can’t follow you.
Why weren’t those specialists from the Mountain Rescue Service
able to come down those meager fifteen yards to fetch me?”
    She shrugged.
“I don’t know.
Those specialists said that kind of rescue hadn’t been in their training programme.
They only dealt with machines.”
Her voice was full of contempt.
“The man I’d mentioned before, Mister Collins, volunteered his services in that matter.”
    “So he was the one who dared to climb down to me?
An ordinary guest in an evening suit?”
    She shook with her curls.
“Why... I wouldn’t say he was in an evening suit.
No, he was dressed almost as oddly as...”
She paused, hesitatingly.
    “... As oddly as I?” he helped her.
    
“Well—yes, if you say so.
He climbed like a goat; I’ve never seen such thing before.
And meanwhile he shouted some orders; half of them nobody understood, but everyone obeyed him.”
    He nodded.
“I see.
And after that you found my credit cards and put me in this expensive room.”
    “Yes; the manager said he wasn’t worried about the payment.”
She laughed again.
“Now, I’m about to bring to you a restorative soup, and after that you must sleep for a while.
Otherwise both of us will be blamed by the flying doctor, you know.”
She fluffed his pillow and hurried away with quick, tiny steps.

***


    The mountaineer must have been dead tired, for he awoke not before eleven o’clock.
Then he ordered an abundant meal—breakfast joined with lunch.
After that he pressed several nicely written numbers on the phone set.
At the second ringing tone, some firm male voice uttered, “Collins.”
    “It’s me, Stone.
That awkward fellow who you pulled up last night.”
    “I see.” After several seconds Collins added: “Listen—just now I’m about to go out for some errands, and you probably need to get as much rest as possible.
So, we could meet ... say, about four?”
    “Perfect.
Where shall I come to?”
    “Well, I hope in the piano bar there’s the least noise.”
    The mountaineer felt his leg almost didn’t hurt at all and he was longing for some exercise.
He put on his clothes and went for a walk.
Two or three floors of the Platform Four were stuffed with many small shops, where all sorts of trumped up souvenirs and useless but expensive stuff were on sale.
    Unfortunately, he couldn’t find a rucksack anywhere; so he had to be satisfied with a plastic bag for golf clubs, which he could put across his shoulders.
Although it was still early in the afternoon, many mountain-fanciers were already dancing in a big hall, which was filled with the heavy smoke of marijuana.
Somehow the mountaineer managed to push his way through the crowd and return to his room.
There he comfortably showered and shaved himself and then, much too early, headed to the piano bar.
    When he felt somebody’s tap on his shoulder, he turned around.
Although Collins was short and slender, he seemed tough, and his shake was as firm as a vise.
His skin was sunburned in a manner that solarium could provide.
    Collins nodded toward the stage, on which a few youngsters carried a series of baseball bats, enormous hammers, and even a big, toothed cudgel, from motion pictures about ancient Rome.
    “As you see I was wrong about the relative silence, which ought to be here.
If you don’t mind, it’d be better if we move on.”
    “I don’t follow you.”
    “Don’t you see them? They are preparing the stage for the ensemble ‘Mad Blaster’.
After each of their afternoon performances they smash all the guitars and the keyboard into pieces, and in the evening performance, besides that, the whole podium.
The tickets are costly, but yet they’re sold out for several weeks in advance.”
    Both men passed the terrace on which a many group of mountain-fanciers crowded around the bet collector.
The subject of the bet was who of the four competitors would manage to shape the best human face out of the mountain slope in front of the terrace.
The tool for the shaping the face was a huge military laser.
For the present, the slope was already demolished and several wagons of rock fragments in the hollow testified the efficiency of the artistic tool.
    The both men went round a corner just at the moment when some cleaner pushed a heap of litter—paper napkins, tin cans, plastic cups and containers, broken glasses and other rubbish—with a huge broom into a big square niche in a side wall of the corridor.
    Collins stopped and whispered to the mountaineer, “Just watch this.”
    The cleaner pressed a key on the wall; a hatch in the niche opened and all the trash disappeared downwards with a rattling.
For just a moment, both men caught a glimpse of a remote mountain slope, wrapped with a translucent haze.
    “For heaven’s sake!” muttered the mountaineer in astonishment.
    “I agree,” said Collins.
“Officially they cart off all the waste down to the valley on the public dumping ground.
But the transport costs a lot so they cut the expense in that way.”
    “But—but all this trash falls on the side of the hill!” The mountaineer was irritated.
“Such an illegal move destroys the natural environment, the biotope!”
    “What environment?”
Collin’s voice was embittered.
“All the mountain animals have been exterminated long ago; nowadays, stein bocks and chamois can only be seen in the zoo.
And the vegetation survives to some degree; at least the ones that stay unburied.”
    They went to the empty club room and sat down on the armchairs near the window.
    “What about the people walking around? Certainly there are several tourists who sometimes go on foot and they could be hurt by that dirty mess.”
    “On foot?” asked Collins sarcastically.
“For what reason would anybody take pains on foot and ignore all that marvelous opportunity to move in all three directions?
All the normal tourists are safely enclosed in the hovercrafts, gondolas, elevators, planes ... The words ‘mountaineer’, ‘alpinist’ or ‘climber’ are queer notions.
And, of course, nobody has to think about such fools.”
    Collins persistently gazed through the window panes.
A huge helicopter crammed with tourists, starving for pleasure, was just lowering on the landing surface of Platform Four.
Its two roaring rotors were so noisy that conversation became impossible.
    When the mountaineer spoke again, his voice was a bit hesitant.
“May I ask you a personal question?”
    “Shoot. ”
    “Look—I’m deeply obliged to you for risking your own neck to save me.
Those fools from MRS would have probably held a consultation for so long that I’d have been frozen to death.”
    Collins tacitly waved his hand.
    “Obviously,” insisted the mountaineer, “you wouldn’t be able to do it if you were ‘a normal tourist’ as you said.
Mister Collins—are you a mountaineer, too?”
    “Huh,” said Collins.
“Do you really mean you may ask anyone about that? Do you believe anybody—when sober—would confess that he’s, for instance, a kleptomaniac, a pyromaniac or a pedophile?”
    The mountaineer looked annoyed.
“You can’t be serious with such a comparison!
All those ... how should I say ... inclinations are mental sicknesses and they’re forbidden by law!”
    Collins glanced at him ironically.
“How long would it last, in your opinion, before climbing will be among the forbidden categories? You see, people like you disturb the set up order; you stepped out of a good, ordered line.
And, above all, you don’t buy any tickets, you eat your own food and drink, you prefer to sleep in a tent instead of paying for a room.
In short, you cut the profit to all the other participants in tourism.
You’re a dangerous example for the other consumers, so climbing will be forbidden by law—very soon-—maybe in the next few months.
I bet in this moment somebody in the government is preparing a draft of a bill, which would settle this matter for good.”
    The mountaineer stared at Collins.
“I wouldn’t insist further.
Still, I don’t believe you really mean what you’re saying.”
    Collins turned from the window and made two steps toward the mountaineer.
    “Do you see this scar?”
He strained the skin on his forehead with his fingers and the mountaineer noticed a scar a bit paler than the skin around it.
The scar extended from above Collins’ eye to his temple.
    “This is a mark from a broken bottle or maybe from an open can—I’ll never know—out of a garbage heap, which was dumped on me from a height of a couple of hundred yards, out of Platform Seven.”
    The mountaineer shook his head in a quiet compassion.
    Collins’ face was gloomy when he stepped close to a drink dispenser, and put a coin in a slot.
For a moment, he stopped his forefinger over the knob for vodka but then he changed his mind and pressed on the knob for orange juice.
    “Where did you intend to be last night?” asked Collins.
“You had a rope and a bunch of pitons on you. ”
    “Wright’s bivouac, and the next day over the ridge to the Green Valley. ”
    Collins’ eyes beamed in admiration.
He nodded, took a seat in front of the mountaineer and leaned forward.
    “That’s a fairly good tour, man.
By the way, call me Steve.”
    “Jim,” said the mountaineer, smiling.
    “Well, Jim—have you been up there before?”
    Jim nodded.
“Sort of.
I was only nine when my grandfather and my great-uncle took me with them.
In those bygone days the route was marked quite well.
Last week I studied it thoroughly and I believe I’m capable of getting through it.
Although I’m aware it’d be a little hard here and there.”
    Steve Collins looked thoughtfully through the window.
    “I’ve closely examined that route, too,” he said.
“I even have several 3-D snapshots of the hardest slopes; although I’m a little embarrassed that I’d bought them.
Do you know that under the west side of the ridge there are twenty or thirty pitons left on the slope?
I’ve noticed them with my binoculars from Platform Seven. ”
    Jim eyed him for a while.
“Well, Steve—who of us will say it first?”
    Steve grinned widely.
“Shell we tackle this job together, Jim?”
    Jim stretched out his hand and Steve shook it firmly.



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