A Change in Altitude (30 page)

Margaret hiked her yellow sundress just above her knees as she lay back in the striped-canvas chair. Kevin continued to pour, and Everdene brought out a plate of cheeses and fruit. Margaret drank a white that Kevin, miraculously, had managed to keep ice-cold in a bucket under the table. It tasted like a Vouvray, and she wondered how Kevin had come by the fruity French wine.

“Sunday Lunch is a brilliant idea,” Margaret said to Everdene. “You don’t mind if we borrow it?”

“A Sunday picnic, really,” Everdene said. “We love them. Hard to come by in London because of the awful weather, which is why we revel in them here. When we first came out, I just couldn’t get enough of the sunshine. Kevin straightaway forced me to wear a hat. He’s right, of course, but sometimes I just love to put my face directly to the sun. Which you can probably tell from all the freckles.”

“I don’t think anyone leaves the country without freckles,” Margaret said. She glanced at Patrick, who was deep in conversation with Kevin.

“Do you want some water to go with that wine?” Everdene asked. “The only drawback of the Sunday picnic, one discovers, is the headache at six.”

“Water would be great.”

Everdene picked up a pitcher and poured ice water into a wineglass, which she then gave to Margaret.

“God, it’s wonderful here,” Margaret said. “I’d never want to leave.”

“We never want to leave, either. Though we do, of course, to go to work. The house has all sorts of oddities. I’m sure Kevin pointed them out. The garden at the back was originally meant for a croquet lawn, and they had garden parties under tents, which explains its size.”

“How did you find such a fabulous house?”

“The parents of a friend were moving and wanted to rent it out. It’s a little embarrassing to have so much space for just the two of us. Nominally, we’re house-sitting, though we’ve been allowed to make a few changes, such as the wall upstairs. We could never afford to live here. When we leave, someone else will take it over, or the owners will sell it. Eventually, they’ll have to.”

Margaret murmured.

“At first I didn’t like the idea of renting such a big house,” Everdene said. “It seemed wrong, given that the expats are hanging on by a thread here. The house should go to an African or, better yet, become an African school. Can you imagine? It’s perfect. But it’s not for us to say, and when we got here… well… I think we just lost all our scruples.”

Margaret laughed. “Don’t think about guilt. It’s not your guilt, anyway.” She paused. “Let’s not talk about all that right now. A day like this is so rare for Patrick and me, I just want to soak it in.”

“You’re right. Of course you’re right. You live in Nairobi?”

“We do. We used to rent a cottage in Langata and then we lived in a house in Karen, but somehow we ended up closer to the city.”

Did Margaret want to tell Everdene the reasons for having to abandon the cottage and the house-sit? No. All she wanted to do was to forget. It was as if her brain were full up with anxiety and needed a rest. She wanted to hear about the oddities of Everdene’s house, let her eyes relax, even close them if she felt like it.

Patrick’s posture revealed his ease as well. Had they truly broken through the ice jam that morning? If so, this was their perfect reward.

Margaret looked over at Everdene. “Tell me about your students,” she said.

“What did you think?” Patrick asked Margaret in the Peugeot on their way back to their flat.

“I liked them. I had fun.”

“I did, too. I was wondering about the climb,” Patrick said.

“What about the climb?”

“I was thinking of asking them to go with us.”

Margaret was surprised by the suggestion. Wasn’t the climb meant to be a personal challenge for them both? To go alone would be one kind of trip. To go with Kevin and Everdene would be something entirely different.

“Another couple would help with expenses,” Patrick said. “Cut them in half, in fact.”

Margaret pondered the quandary and in doing so realized that she liked the idea of having another couple.

“Do you think they’re climbers?” Margaret asked.

“Were we climbers?”

“Wouldn’t they think the invitation abrupt? We’ve only had one lunch with them.”

“I felt comfortable,” Patrick said. “I felt relaxed. Say what you will about Arthur and Diana, I never for one moment was relaxed.”

Patrick took a roundabout.

Margaret could agree with that, but she felt a small tug of reluctance at the thought of opening up the climb to others. The trek would no longer be an attempt to accomplish something greater than the climb itself. There was a purity in that idea, a sense of purpose. On the other hand, she thought, it would undoubtedly be more fun with Kevin and Everdene. It might be safer as well. If they made it to the summit, the other agenda would have taken care of itself, wouldn’t it? The two plans weren’t mutually exclusive.

“Why don’t you talk to Kevin,” Margaret suggested, “and feel him out?”

Patrick returned home the next evening with the news that Kevin was enthusiastic about the climb. He and Everdene had never considered climbing Mount Kenya, but Kevin took to the idea at once and said he would talk it over with his wife that evening.

Patrick and Margaret had already made the decision not to tell the other couple about Diana. It was a risk, since Kevin and Everdene might well hear about the tragedy from someone else in the expat community. To start off the climb, however, with that image in their heads would do the other couple a disservice. Why burden them with that? At times Margaret wondered if she and Patrick weren’t using their new friends for their own ends.

After dinner, Kevin telephoned Patrick and Margaret. Everdene was thrilled with the idea, he reported, and had nothing but questions.

“We need a few practice hikes,” Patrick suggested. “Why don’t Margaret and I prepare a picnic to be had on the Ngong Hills next Sunday? We’ll hike up, have the picnic, then climb down. While we’re eating, we can talk. Bring paper and pencils. We’ll have to make lists. And the first thing you both need to do is buy hiking boots so you’ll have plenty of time to break them in. There’s a good place in town. Hang on a second.” Patrick turned his head away. “Margaret, what’s the name of the place you went to?”

“Sir Henry’s,” she said.

“Sir Henry’s,” Patrick repeated over the phone.

Margaret thought how strange it was that she and Patrick were now the more experienced.

“Terrific,” Patrick said, and put down the phone. He turned to Margaret. “So,” he said. “It’s done.”

That week, Margaret cleaned the flat and took two trips to the laundry. Patrick bought a fake Christmas tree, which they decorated. Everdene and Kevin invited them for Christmas dinner, and on the day itself, Margaret and Patrick called both his family and hers. Toward the end of the phone call, Margaret asked her parents to drive to a ski store and send them the best parkas and gloves and silk long underwear they could find, including six pairs of silk socks. She impressed upon them the need to do this as soon as possible, since the climb was now slightly less than a month away. If they sent the package that day or the next, it might reach Nairobi before she and Patrick set out for the mountain.

Timmy couldn’t help but ask when Margaret was coming home, and at the sound of his voice, she nearly said “tomorrow.” In the end, he had to settle for “soon.” Her parents said that she sounded a lot better than she had during their last phone call, when Margaret had been in the hospital.

Margaret did feel better, she insisted. She looked upon the climb as a challenge. She and Patrick would reach the top; she was certain of that. No mention was made of the previous climb, which her parents knew about. They didn’t ask her why she was doing this again, and Margaret volunteered little.

After Margaret hung up the phone, she thought about how much she might have to bury, to put away. She understood this might be foolish, even unhealthy, but she saw no other way to manage her life.

Margaret thought of Rafiq. For a few hours one day, she had convinced herself that Rafiq was just a crush she’d once had. She suspected this might happen all the time with married people: they had harmless crushes and then moved on. One didn’t necessarily have to act.

But she knew that she was lying to herself, that she would never forget Rafiq. The only compromise, Margaret decided, was to live her life on parallel tracks, one moving inexorably forward, the other reserved for memory. She wondered if it could be done and what the cost to her marriage would be.

When she thought of Rafiq, she tried to picture where he had settled. Margaret imagined he had taken a taxi to a Pakistani area of London, perhaps to Brick Lane or Bethnal Green. He would have gone to his cousins’, she guessed. While the women gathered in rooms to talk and mind the children, the men would watch television, passionate about cricket. Sometimes Margaret saw Rafiq so clearly it hurt, but she couldn’t put him in a specific place or at a specific job. Would he be living with relatives? Or would he have left London for Islamabad? Would she have been comfortable living his life with him? If Margaret had been involved with Rafiq when he was deported, she would have followed him. Of that, she was certain.

Discovering that she was in better shape than the last time she’d attempted the Ngong Hills left Margaret exhilarated. She remembered that awful, desperate thirst, the struggle for breath. Now there was none of that. She recalled the red ants only long enough to warn Kevin and Everdene about them.

On the first trip, the four sat atop the first knuckle and made lists. On the second trip, they easily made it to Finch Hatton’s grave, marked by an obelisk and words from “The Rime of the Ancient Mariner.” On the third trip, they reached the end of the hills and then the car again in record time. Kevin and Everdene were in excellent physical condition, far better than Margaret had been in a year ago. Everdene had sturdy legs and always carried a walking stick, a practice Margaret soon adopted. Kevin’s compact figure seemed built to propel him up a hill. Of all of them, he was by far the fastest. Patrick and Margaret would slow him down, they explained, and for good reason. They shared with their friends the horror stories of HAPE and HACE, the miseries of AMS.

Everdene, in particular, wanted to know more about the glacier, but Margaret found herself unable to answer her questions. Patrick took over and described the rope, the carved steps, the guide’s careful pace. It would be easier, Patrick said, with four of them instead of six. Neither Margaret nor Patrick ever mentioned Diana, nor even the names of the people they had first climbed the mountain with. They admitted that they hadn’t reached the top and that was why they were repeating what was, at the very least, a challenging climb.

Back at Everdene and Kevin’s house, Margaret told them the story of the Kikuyu and Kirinyaga.

Sometimes Margaret thought she was living inside an echo.

“Did you get any of those awful conditions you told us about?” Everdene asked at dinner after their third expedition on the Ngong Hills.

Patrick and Margaret looked at each other. Margaret said she’d had a touch of AMS just after the glacier, which is why they hadn’t tried for the top. She felt light-headed at the thought that she was lying to a woman she now considered a friend. But by not being honest about Diana from the beginning, Margaret had boxed herself in. The lie might have to continue along certain unexpected tributaries.

“Do we tip the porters and guide?” Kevin asked. He’d come out onto the veranda in a V-necked sweater. Margaret’s long white dashiki fell to the ground. She owned four of them in different colors and wore them whenever she could, for comfort. Everdene showed off her tan with a gauzy aqua shirt and a silver necklace. The sun set, and Margaret knew they might have to move inside soon. When the light left the lawn, the mosquitoes rose from the grass.

“I think we tip the guide,” Patrick said. “And then he takes care of the others.” He paused. “Or not.”

“Do you know how much? I just want to make sure I’ve got enough cash on me at the end.”

“Well, you certainly won’t need any cash on the mountain,” Patrick said. “I don’t know, but I’ll find out before we leave.”

“Dying to see the lodge,” Everdene said. “I hear it’s wonderful.”

Margaret thought about the impalas in the grasses, the buck bounding away. “Bring a sweater,” she said. “It’s frigid at dinner. It’ll be cold the entire trip. Layers are the answer.”

“It was exactly a year ago that you two made your first attempt?” Everdene asked.

“It was,” Patrick said, not looking at Margaret. “Nearly to the day. There’s a small window twice a year when climbing the mountain is at all feasible. You can’t go during the rainy seasons. You’d never get up the mountain, for one thing; for another, you could get lost in a blizzard.”

“A blizzard on the equator,” Kevin said. “Still can’t get used to the idea.”

“You’ll see snow,” Margaret said. “Especially at the top.”

The parkas and silk underwear had arrived from home just the day before. Patrick had to stand in line at the post office for more than an hour to retrieve the package. Margaret and he were used to the routine. At Christmas, the wait had been four hours.

Margaret wished she had asked for four sets of long underwear so that she could give Kevin and Everdene a pair. At least she could give them socks.

The three who worked were taking Friday off so that they could have the two nights at the lodge before setting out Sunday morning. Margaret wondered if they would have the same guide or porters. She hoped not. The guide certainly would remember Margaret and Patrick and perhaps say something to them, which might then be overheard by either Kevin or Everdene—a situation Margaret didn’t want to think about.

Patrick, on the Sunday morning they’d decided to climb Mount Kenya again, had used the word
expunged.
Margaret had been pondering the term for weeks and had decided it was precisely the word for what she hoped to do with the memory of that first climb.

Margaret scrutinized the porters. She introduced herself to each one and asked their names. They smiled at her. She saw no familiar faces. When it was her turn to meet the guide, she spoke to him in Swahili and then in English. She shook his hand and asked his name, which he said was Njoroge. She wondered if he had misgivings each time he took another climbing party out. Since the last trip, Margaret had learned that half of all AMS deaths in the world occurred on Mount Kenya.