A Change in Altitude (31 page)

Margaret and Patrick had already put on their puffy navy jackets. They left some of the layers and the silk underwear in their backpacks for when the temperature dropped. Everdene had slipped into a red ski jacket that made Margaret blanch when she saw it for the first time. No white fur on the hood, but it was far too similar to what Diana had been wearing. There was nothing to be done about it. Margaret certainly couldn’t say to Everdene, “Don’t wear red.”

Kevin had on a black ski jacket, and Margaret guessed that the couple had sent for the gear. She glanced at their gloves and reminded them to check that they had their dark glasses with them.

At the lodge, Patrick had taken Kevin trout fishing. When the men had returned with a good-size catch, they’d asked the cook to prepare the fish for their dinner. The delicate and flavorful trout had been perfectly done. The men’s pride in providing food for their wives was funny to watch, though Margaret remained suitably reverent during the meal. While the men had been fishing, Everdene and Margaret had taken a walk (no impalas) and attempted a swim at the pool. Margaret registered a scum slick on the bottom and bits of what looked to be algae floating on the surface. That afternoon, in her room, Margaret took a long shower to rid herself of unwanted flora and fauna.

After dinner on the second night, Margaret and Patrick had made love for the first time in weeks. He undressed her slowly and spent lavish amounts of time kissing her neck and shoulders, seductive gestures he knew she liked but he had often skipped before. Though Margaret could never set aside the notion that they were
trying
(and perhaps
trying too hard
), she attempted to put herself into a similar frame of mind. She was aware, as she did so, of withholding part of herself from Patrick. She doubted that her husband detected her reserve; it had been more than a year since Margaret had made love freely.

“I’ll be with you every step of the way,” Patrick reaffirmed to Margaret as they set out. He had determined the order. He and Margaret first, to establish the pace; Everdene and Kevin behind Margaret. Kevin and Everdene never went ahead, though sometimes the four clumped together when the conversation involved all of them. Margaret learned that she could talk and hike at the same time and marveled at the difference in the degree of difficulty of this trek compared to the last one. It wasn’t that Margaret could have run up the mountain; she could not. Suspecting she was still the slowest of the four, she nevertheless handled the altitude better than she had the previous year. Kevin and Everdene appeared undaunted by the earliest parts of the climb. Neither one was in the least winded or tired. Margaret decided there must be a genetic disposition to acclimation that the British have and Americans do not. But then she thought the theory specious and abandoned it.

“This is the place where we encountered the buffalo,” Patrick announced. “It was just fucking huge, and it had its eyes on us the entire time. Both the guide and the porters were amazed that it didn’t charge us, because we had clearly startled it when we’d gone around a bend. We must have had the wind coming at us. A startled buffalo is a scary creature. More people are killed by buffalo on Mount Kenya than by any other animal.”

“What happened?” Everdene asked.

“We backed up. Very slowly, so as not to call any more attention to ourselves than we already had. I don’t know if you noticed that fork in the trail back there, but we retreated to the fork and then went the other way. Cost us an hour at least.”

“So… how do we know there aren’t buffalo all over the place?” Everdene asked, betraying the first hint of fear.

“We don’t,” Patrick said.

“The guide is very good,” Margaret said quickly to allay Everdene’s concerns. What was the point, she wanted to ask Patrick, of frightening Everdene before they’d hardly begun the climb? “They all carry pangas as well,” Margaret added, referring to the porters and the guide.

A lot of good a panga would do, she thought privately.

“You’re climbing amazingly well this time,” Patrick said to Margaret when the four set off again. “You must feel better.”

“I do. I kind of wish you hadn’t brought up the buffalo. I think the less everyone worries, the better off we’ll all be.”

“You’re right. Sorry,” Patrick said in that way he had. Subject over. Subject done with.

Margaret gave her husband a quick kiss. He had complimented her, and she had scolded him. Not the best way to accomplish their joint goal.

She planted her walking stick into the ground. “Wish I’d had one of these the first time around.”

“You had a stick on the bog,” Patrick said.

“It was way too late by then,” Margaret replied.

When the sun came out as they neared Met Station, Margaret was jubilant. “This is amazing,” she said to Everdene. “When we were here before, we were covered in cloud and never had a view at all. Look at this!”

They stood well above the base of the mountain and could see the terraced land on the lower slopes falling away to the flat plains beyond. Margaret searched for Nairobi, but though she saw smaller towns, she couldn’t find the city. On the side of the mountain from which they had a view, the sky was cloudless. If she turned, however, she could see a dark gray mound hovering over the mountain and obscuring the peaks.

“Please don’t let us walk into that,” Margaret said aloud.

“I’m afraid we’re rather used to cloud,” Everdene said.

Margaret wanted to tell her how a dark sky during an arduous climb could drain the spirit and rob a person of the stamina needed to keep going. The sparkling view they had before them seemed all the more precious for what would likely come their way the next day or the day after that.

The four reached Met Station by three o’clock and were eating a hot meal a half hour later. Afterward, Margaret climbed the short distance up to a ridge so that she could savor the view and the blue sky. She lifted her face to the sun. Who had said it? Arthur or Willem? That though the temperature was frigid, the sun would be even stronger than it was on the ground. She had her sunglasses on but knew she risked a burn.

When she returned to the station, the other three were deep in a game of gin. She remembered the previous climb, when everyone had been too tired or too dispirited even to lift a deck of cards. Margaret sat near the others and listened to Kevin as he asked Patrick if he’d heard anything about a new disease that caused its victims to starve. A few cases had been reported in Naivasha and Nakuru. The natives were puzzled and terrified. No one knew how the disease spread.

Patrick said he hadn’t encountered it but was curious and would look into it.

While the group finished yet another hand with much boasting and moaning, Margaret walked over to where the guide sat—just a few feet away from where the porters had gathered to eat. She wondered if the guide always sat apart, to establish a proper hierarchy. The fire felt good. Margaret sat down next to Njoroge.

“Jambo.”

“Jambo.”

“Habari yako?”

“Nzuri. Nzuri sana.”

“There’s something I want to ask you,” Margaret said.

“Memsahib.”

“When we get to the glacier, I want to stop in the middle for just a few seconds. Maybe half a minute. The last time I crossed the glacier, I didn’t dare look down. It’s a fear I’d like to conquer.”

“You have been on the mountain before,” he said.

“A year ago.”

“And did you reach the top?”

“No, we didn’t. Some of us got sick,” Margaret said. It seemed the simplest answer.

“You must go to the top,” the guide said. Even though the sun was in Njoroge’s eyes, he didn’t wear sunglasses.

“Well, I hope to,” she said.

“Yes, yes,” he said vehemently. “If you are able and do not get the sickness again, you must do this.”

“Is it hard? The final summit?”

“The summit is steep. But it is short.”

Margaret picked up a stick and began to scratch the dirt in front of her. In a gust of wind, the smoke from the fire blew in their direction. Margaret tried to wave it away. None of the porters seemed at all bothered by Margaret’s presence among them.

“How long have you been doing this?” Margaret asked the man.

“I am five years doing this,” he answered, nodding his head. She noticed that he had on the relatively thin blue jacket that all the guides wore.

“Do you like it?” she asked.

“It is a good job,” Njoroge said. “It is paying well.”

“And where do you live?” she asked. She thought it would be impossible to commute to this job from somewhere else.

“We are having bandas at the lodge. Did you stay at the lodge?”

“We did.”

“Is very nice.”

“Yes, we liked it a lot,” Margaret said. “My husband went fishing.”

The guide smiled. “And your husband, he is catching the fish?”

“He and that man there caught quite a few.” Margaret gestured toward the card game. “We had them for dinner.”

The guide laughed. “Ah,” he said, “then you are lucky.”

Margaret nodded. “There’s another question I’d like to ask you,” she said, “but if you don’t want to answer it, that’s perfectly okay.”

Njoroge turned to her.

“Have you ever lost anyone on the mountain?”

“Lost?”

“I mean, has anyone ever died on any of your expeditions?”

“When people die, it is because they leave their guides. These people are guides of their own visits to the mountain. Two are dying with me. It is four years now.”

“I’m sorry,” Margaret said. “How did it happen?”

“When we reach Top Hut, the men, they have the sickness,” the guide said. He put his hand to his brow and shook his head. “Is very bad. They have the sickness in the head.”

“Headache?” Margaret asked.

“No,” Njoroge said. “They are crazy in the head from the sickness. And they go up to the top when it is a blizzard and they are not telling me. It is almost half an hour before I am even finding out they have gone. I go out into the blizzard to find them, but I am not finding them. The rangers, they come, and we search for them. For two days, we search for them. But then I am running out of food and have to go down the mountain. In a week, when there is clearing, the rangers find the bodies very far from the trail.”

“They got lost?” Margaret asked.

“Yes, memsahib. They are getting lost. I am thinking then that I am no good for this job.” Njoroge shook his head. “Is like herding goats. I must herd all my goats and keep them safe. I must never let them go, or bigger animals will get them and eat them.”

Margaret blinked at the image. “But, surely, the men deliberately went off without you.”

“Is still my fault. I should have seen the sickness. I should be checking them always.”

“I’m sorry that happened to you,” Margaret said.

“Oh, and I am sorry, too.” Njoroge again shook his head sadly.

“Well, I still don’t think it was your fault,” she said. “Stupid people do stupid things, and sometimes they have only themselves to blame.”

“I am promising you that you will not get lost.”

Margaret smiled. “Thank you,” she said. “And please call me Margaret.”

“And we are stopping in the middle of the glacier,” the guide said. “But you must tell the others so they are not so surprised. Surprise is very bad on the ice.”

“Yes,” Margaret said. “I will do that.”

“What was that about?” Patrick asked when he and Margaret were alone in the banda setting up their bedding. Kevin and Everdene had earlier taken the two cots at the far side of the door. Patrick laid their shiny purple bedding at the other side for privacy. When Patrick had asked the guide if there would be other climbers joining them, the guide had said no.

“I asked Njoroge to do something for me,” Margaret said. “And I hope you don’t mind. I asked him to stop in the middle of the glacier for thirty seconds, so that I could look down. I told him that I had been afraid to look down the last time, but now I wanted to conquer the fear. It’s what I’ll tell Kevin and Everdene, too, because they have to know that we’ll be stopping. I can’t pay proper tribute to Diana—I can’t even think about Diana—when we’re trying to get across the glacier. I won’t be able to take my eyes off the feet in front of me. You remember.”

Patrick nodded.

“Oh, and by the way,” she said, smiling, “we’re goats.”

In the banda, Margaret lay awake a long time. She thought of the year before, when her legs had twitched and she had fallen into an exhausted sleep shortly after she’d put her head on the pillow. Now, something excited her and made her anxious. She thought it must be the glacier. She felt in the banda what she imagined she would feel as she stepped onto the ice.

Margaret wished she and Patrick could have slept outside with Njoroge and the porters. She’d had only a brief glimpse of the stars when the lantern had been put out and before the door was latched. How wonderful it would be to lie on the ground and look up at a perfectly clear sky with as good a view of the stars as they would ever get. She thought it promising that there were stars at all. Perhaps the menacing cloud she’d seen earlier had backed off, gone away.

“Are you awake?” Patrick whispered.

“Yes.”

“I’m having fun. Are you?”

“What a difference from last year. This was such a good idea.”

“I love you,” he said.

“Love you, too,” she said.

The vertical bog in the sunshine wasn’t physically any easier, but it did lift the spirits so that Margaret didn’t feel defeated by the gluelike mud and the incline. So far, the cloud had stayed pretty much behind the peaks. Blue-black billows hovered near the top. A god watching them, Margaret thought. A not particularly nice god, either. With any luck, the cloud would move off the mountain and leave them alone.

Everdene had trouble with the mud. Margaret stayed close to her.

“Horrible,” Everdene said, trying to smile.

“The pits,” Margaret said.

“Dante might well have used this,” Everdene added, a costly expenditure of breath.

“It’s like hitting your head against a wall. You’ll feel so much better when you get to the top.”