Range of Light (20 page)

Chapter Nineteen

Adele

1965 / Mount Hoffmann

THE EVENING WAS WARM
;
at least there was that. Morning cloudiness had completely disappeared, so it would be a clear night at the summit. Wildflowers bloomed on the steep bank: fairy lantern and mariposa lily. I wondered if the scent of these delicate blossoms was as subtle as their size.

Kath tramped three yards ahead on the Mount Hoffmann Trail—keeping the rhythm, the faith, for both of us. From here, with the sleeping bag tied to her back, she looked like a displaced Bedouin. I didn't know how she could climb this fast. My goosedown sleeping bag was strapped securely but made me feel clumsy, unsure of bodily perimeters and gravity. The bag of food also slowed my pace. Sweat dripped down from my temples and under my arms. Kath, however, showed no stress. In fact she could be a deodorant spokesman as she trudged dry, fresh, vivacious, ever upward. Would I spend my entire life trying to catch up with her? She would reach the top with or without me.

It was a stupid idea from the start, but when you got Kath angry, nothing could be done. And she was furious with Nancy's arrogant new boyfriend. Leave it to Nancy to find romance in the High Sierra. This premed Occidental College junior was as clearly smitten with our urban miss as he was provoked by Kath. First, they had a blazing fight about whether sequoias always fell uphill. Kath said yes. He argued no. We looked it up and, of course, Kath was right. Then he bragged about climbing all the major peaks—Clouds Rest, El Capitan, Half Dome—telling us it was a “guy thing” to climb mountains and a “girl thing” to bird-watch in the meadows. Nancy agreed with alacrity, but Kath, well, one word led to another, and soon she was planning her solitary hike up here. All afternoon I waited for her to come to her senses, and when she didn't, I insisted on going too. The others would stay below and we would flash lights down to them.

Up, upward we climbed, panting in the thinner air, and I could see from Kath's brisk step there would be no pausing for a while. She breathed pride rather than oxygen. I enjoyed the feeling of soft earth and pine needles beneath my feet, wondering how I would acclimate to the pavement when we returned to Oakland the next night.
If
we returned. No, Kath and I would be safe. The sky had that pleasant softening, “used” quality that comes before dusk, when the eye has finally made peace with the brilliance of mountain blueness.

Out of the wooded area ahead, we heard voices. A mother and father loudly urging their son to walk faster. “You want to make it out of here before dark?” asked the mother.

The dust-streaked boy—who seemed seven or eight and on his last legs—answered simply, “I'm tired.”

“Easier on the way down,” his father cajoled. “And there's a Fudgsicle waiting for you in the meadow.”

“I don't want a Fudgsicle.”

“Listen, Mike,” said the woman, “sunset is soon. We have to get down before dark. You don't want us left alone on the mountain, do you, pal?”

At that point, they saw us. “Hi,” the man said quietly.

Kath waved and moved on.

I nodded.

“You know it's another mile up,” the mother warned doubtfully, parentally. “And it's getting dark.”

“We're camping overnight at the summit.”

They glared in exasperation, as if we were betraying adulthood.

With renewed energy, I savored the adventurousness of my friend. When I had to write about inspirations for my college application, I mentioned Helen Keller, Sojourner Truth, Mahatma Gandhi. More deeply, of course, I had been affected by Kath: stimulated, urged, pushed—sometimes over the edge. I knew she was mad at me for going to Radcliffe, but in a way, it was her doing because she taught me to look ahead, beyond, straight into the future, and I found the door open. I saw that if I didn't go through it now, it might swing back and I'd never get out.

“Hey, Del, look at this!”

I glanced up from what felt like a ninety-degree ascent and saw her standing on a sheer precipice.

Be careful, I prayed silently, for saying it aloud would only provoke her more. That was the trouble with inspirations, caution wasn't one of their governing principles. Catching up with her, I stood farther back on the trail, getting most of the vista.

“Yes, spectacular,” I agreed, as the sun descended in the west, the direction we would all take tomorrow.

Kath caught the—cowardly? pragmatic?—hesitation in my voice and turned. Grinning, she looked up at the summit. “Not far.”

“No, not far.” I struck on ahead, determined to show her I could make it.

Up, up I climbed. As we approached the top, I was filled with new spirit, as if being
pulled
higher. Perhaps I had simply lost my senses in the thin air, but nothing could stop me, us.

Alone, together, at the top,
we had glorious views. Astonishing how different the land appeared in the east and in the west, proving that the primal rising of this mountain segregated the habitat ages ago. We had about half an hour of vision in the pinkening evening and set to arranging our sleeping bags.

“First star tonight.” Kath sat up, her legs bound together in the bag like an aerial mermaid.

“Tell me your wish,” I said.

“No, you lose it that way.”

“Ridiculous superstition!” I pestered.

“So's wishing.”

“Come on.”

“I might lose it if I tell.”

“I'll tell you mine.”

A pause.

“OK,” Kath said, “you first.”

“I wished that we all live to our fiftieth birthdays and that we start by making it down tomorrow.”

“Scared?” she asked with tender responsibility.

“A little,” I conceded, “but we'll be OK, together.”

“Yes,” she answered, almost wistfully, “together.”

“And you, what did you wish?”

She peered into the dimming light, suddenly a nearsighted ancient. Kath had always had one of those enduring faces—with strong bones—that could look five one minute and seventy-five the next. This was one aspect of her miraculous reliability. I would always recognize Kath.

“I wished that we return to the High Country next year.”

“Oh,” I said, disappointed that she'd wasted her wish. We'd already agreed to come. “Yes, I wish that, too.”

More stars. Planets. A slice of moon.

“Ready?” she inquired.

“Aye, aye, Captain.”

She stood, switched on her flashlight, moving it up and down. Up and down. I sat there, taking in the strength and grace of her movements: up and down, up and down. My friend, my best friend, confidante, companion, provocateur, partner in madness, pal. Up and down.

“Well.” She glanced at me. Yes, the plan had been for her to start first and then for me to join in with the smaller flashlight—so the girls could be sure it was really us.

Up, down. Up, down. I searched the valley below as my arm rose and fell to Kath's rhythm.

“Look,” she declared.

“Yes, yes, there they are.” The first mate sighting land. “There, yes, there.”

Nancy, Paula and Donna responded with prearranged signals. On, off. On, off. On, off. Three times. Then twice. Then once. On, off.

Kath and I stood together, two stars in the firmament, blinking, winking, together.

Chapter Twenty

Kath

Saturday and Sunday / Tuolumne Meadows to Vogelsang

OUR WATER GRUMBLED
to
a boil. Slowly, I poured it through the beige coffee filter to our cups. This morning was cool and crisp, a perfect mountain beginning.

Adele was also meditative over breakfast. Maybe less meditative than sleepy. It had taken her hours to drift off last night. When she crawled into the tent, she said softly, “Kath.” I should have responded, but this new closeness was no fun. Emotional currents were bad enough, but physical intimacy was unbearable. Had Adele been aroused last night as we snuggled together stargazing and sucking on chocolate? I didn't know which would be worse—if she was or wasn't feeling the same attraction. She'd probably disappear for the rest of our lives at the end of the week. Last night I imagined Adele spoke my name in a dream. I liked the idea of Adele dreaming about me. For the most part, I liked the idea.

I extended a steaming cup of black coffee. Her eyes were grateful, her hands cold. “Thanks.”

“Don't mention it,” I said emphatically. She looked dreadful.

“Did you sleep well?” she asked.

“Not really,” I confessed.

“Hi, there!” A lively greeting from behind us. I didn't turn. “Thought I'd find you two here.” That familiar voice. Automatically, I inched away from Adele. At least she managed to remain silent, stifling the automatic, polite welcome.

“Adele?” Approaching, he was less confident. “Kath?”

“Adele and Kath, right?”

He was still wearing that idiotic straw hat.

“Right.” Adele's voice was formal, as if she were grading a multiple-choice test.

I sighed.

Then, still teacherly, Adele asked, “Weren't you going to May Lake, Sandy?”

“I was.” He swayed from one foot to the other. “I was. Then I got to thinking how crowded May Lake is with day-trippers. You know, because of easy access from the road.”

She nodded.

“And I remembered those great wildflowers up at Vogelsang. Even in August. Decided you ladies had a better plan. I lucked out and got a spot here when someone canceled.” He pointed to the other side of the campground. His voice was gaining confidence, volume.

I told myself he was not an intruder. Just a lonely, bumbling, well-meaning guy.

He was still talking. “I decided to walk around to see if I could find you.”

Pulling back my arms, I stretched away some of the tension. Maybe I should be grateful for his interruption. Suddenly the most amazing thing came out of my mouth. “Hey, we're being rude. How about some coffee?”

Adele stared at me in disbelief.

“No thanks, really. I came by to see if you'd like to hike up together.”

My eyes widened. I recalled Donna's hoarse, sardonic laughter.

Nervously, he continued, “But I don't want to intrude. I mean …”

I lost it, threw up my hands and began organizing my pack.

“You're not intruding,” Adele declared.

Would this female reflex exaggerate or diminish with menopause? Menopause—one of the hundred topics I still wanted to raise with Adele. Did she have night sweats yet? Was she going to do estrogen replacement? I had heard something about a natural remedy of rubbing yams on your skin. I kept myself busy thinking about female hormones while they chatted.

He glanced at his watch. “Whoa, I didn't notice how late it was. I haven't decamped yet.”

She looked from his anxious eyes to my tired, rigid jaw and back again. “Well, why don't you let us talk about the hike while you pack up? Meanwhile, I have to get some water and I think the faucet is on the way back to your site.”

When she returned,
her irritation
seemed gone. She scooped yogurt from the carton into a bowl. Eventually, she said, “I told him no. Explained you and I had a lot of talking to do.”

I waited.

“I felt terrible saying no. He was just trying to be friendly. He's actually very interested in your work and he's a volunteer Big Brother. I think you'd like him.”

Jesus, she didn't get it, still. It would have been easier to spit than speak.

Adele stammered, lost. “B-b-b-but I said no.”

She had said this three times.

“Maybe …” I began.

“Yes?” Adele took a long drink of cold coffee.

I hated her tone.

“Maybe,” I repeated to get back on track. “Maybe you
should
go off with him.” There. Freed.

“Oh, he wanted to hike with
both
of us.” Her alarm rose. “He's such a nice guy, I'm sure you'd like him.”

“Well, I'm
not
so sure about that.” I glared, ready now for a fight, poised to tell the truth.

She looked exhausted, baffled.

My voice took on weight. “I don't care if he's Nelson Mandela. Look, Adele, we've been together six days now. Any two people can use a break after six days. Don't you think?”

“Actually, I hadn't thought about it.” Critically, she inspected the uneaten yogurt.

Damn her polished denial. I had to do all the work, break down all the walls. Well, I wasn't going to spell it out for her. Instead, “So why don't you and Sandy have a nice chat on the trail? I'll chill out.”

Yolanda was always telling me to chill out. The thought of that kid's “attitude lessons” almost made me smile. Of course I'd been useful to Yolanda, but I was sure I'd learned more from her. Chill out, I tried to conjure Yolanda's mischievous expression.

Still no response from Adele.

“Meet you up there, OK?” I said.

“No, Sandy wouldn't like that.” Her fine hands rested on the weather-splintered table.

“Sandy!” I shouted. This was almost comical.

“
I
don't like it!” she declared.

I watched her carefully, gratified by the anger.

“I came thousands of miles to spend time with my oldest friend and now she's saying she can't stand me for more than six days.”

At least she was putting herself on some kind of line. I didn't know if I should be angry at Sandy or grateful. I did know I needed a rest. “Who's saying I can't stand you?”

She stared, uncomprehending.

She could probably use a break from me, too. “Put it down to cantankerousness, Adele. I want some time
alone.
We'll only be separated for five, six hours. You'll have a good hike with Sandy.”

“Shit, Kath …”

I was half sorry she stopped there.

I left first,
almost racing
down to the Lyell Fork Bridge. Such a glorious morning, so clear and dry. Obviously the storm rumors we'd heard at the lodge were wrong. Standing on the bridge, I watched water swirl over the submerged rocks. Black, white, gray, silver rocks. The river was the steadiest of companions. Rushing along of its own accord, but not rushing me. The best of hiking partners, a reassuring but not intrusive presence. Ever there for refreshment, for a splash, a dangle of the feet. The trail followed the water. The water accompanied the trail. You could always go back to the source. Unlike human companions, the river gave you a clear, objective sense of where you had been and where you were going. This water watching calmed me. Released me from Adele. My expectations of Adele. My stupidity about Adele. It was good to get an early start like this. I'd hardly seen anyone on the trail so far. Sometimes I did wonder if I was a crank. I liked individual people. I was politically aware, engaged. I simply
failed
in social groups. Unintentionally, inevitably, I left hurt feelings.

Martha, for instance, could never figure out my reluctance about holidays. Christmas
or
Thanksgiving, I'd said often enough, but my sister still expected me at both. How could I tell her I hated holidays? I always finished them feeling breathless, my muscles aching from unasked questions, from the hundred and one defensive maneuvers to avoid bruising feelings, being hurt, revealing too much. The only way to survive a family holiday was to leave early and jog five miles in the hills near my apartment. If I didn't do something like this, I'd lose all sense of self for the next week and be the baby sister, the one who had it easy, the girl who went to college, the too-serious daughter who never got married.

Sometimes I thought Martha's envy of my carefree singleness outdistanced any real concern about my missing satisfaction and security. Martha had a tough life, cutting hair, raising two difficult kids—Kirsten with scoliosis and Sam hyperkinetic. She fretted a lot about Bob's job at San Quentin. I suspected Bob beat Martha, but maybe I had beatings on the brain after finding out about Dad and Mom. Anyway, Martha had told me for years it wasn't natural for a woman to be so long without a man. As she put it, everyone has urges. Now she was reduced to sending Ann Landers's columns about middle-aged romance. I was more touched than annoyed when the last envelope arrived, also containing an article about how to use condoms without losing the glow of the moment.

What was I doing, wasting solitude obsessing about my family? Well, it
was
less painful than obsessing about Adele.

Climbing upward in a darkened wood, I knew this was a different world from Lyell Fork, with its expansive meadows and mountain-jagged skyline. Often I felt safer in the dark. At least not so overwhelmed by color and sound. These forests provided such rich tranquillity. I suppose some people could have the opposite reaction.

Pausing for water, I noticed I'd taken the canteen we were sharing. Surely Adele would remember there was another bottle in the car. No matter. Sandy—or whatever she was calling him now, San—would be happy to share his canteen. I hooked the bottle on my belt and continued. Later, I'd take longer rests, but right now, I wanted to make sure they didn't catch up with me. All I needed was Sandy's well-meaning observations about inner-city youth. I was being a bitch about this poor guy. He was a decent sort—gentle, concerned—just carried away with his enthusiasm for Adele. Tree roots zigzagged across the trail, making the climb easier in the muddy bits.

Sandy's enthusiasm wasn't so different from my own for Adele, initially developed in the fifth grade. Bold, bright, she shone against the rows of dull, good girls in our class. Adele dared me to play hooky that first week, and soon we were fast friends. Always nudging each other a step further. Once we enrolled in the advanced class, the dares took different shapes: to learn Latin, to memorize ballads, to read the Marquis de Sade. Neither of us understood how these feats were more reckless for someone from my family. They seemed audacious enough to Dr. Ward, who took bemused pride in his daughter's bizarre decathalon scholarship. My parents grew uneasy about all this studying but knew I could be in worse sorts of trouble.

Adele and I spent more and more time together—in the library, at the museum, in the shopping mall. Mom thought Adele was a nice girl from a good home and hoped some of that breeding might rub off on her contrary younger child. Martha called Adele “that fancy girl.” Once when I was fifteen and Martha seventeen, she advised me, “You can hang out with that fancy girl all you like, but someday you'll learn that family is what counts. They're the people you owe and the ones you pay back.” I blamed such talk on the Catholic Youth Group to which Martha belonged that year. Of course I loved my parents and my older sister.

Often I wondered if Mom ever regretted starting this family in the first place. In the first place, how do you locate the first place? Wasn't our family simply an extension of Mom's own family? Marriage was a much safer transition than the tuberculosis which killed three of her brothers and sisters. I never had any trouble understanding why little Sylvie from the Montreal tenements was drawn to the cool, capable, handsome Nils, emmisary of a better, more rational, more comfortable world. And I also understood why they stayed together. But how sad we'd never talked about problems with Dad, at least not until recently, not until the blows had been too severe to conceal. Now all she could say was “He doesn't know his own strength. Accidents happen.”

Here, at the edge of the forest, I finished the steepest climbing. The high meadows were next, strewn with boulders. At Rafferty Creek, I splashed my face, took off my windbreaker and rearranged the pack. It was safe to pause now. I had made fine time. They'd never catch up until I'd camped at Vogelsang. Maybe I'd be lucky enough to see a bear like last year. I still remembered the affronted face of the huge cinnamon creature before she rambled into the brush.

The ideal campsite:
shaded and
five feet from Emeric Creek. Tent almost assembled, I realized Adele was carrying the stakes. Teamwork, I reminded myself, requires other people. The flapping tent looked like a morose umbrella missing spokes after a windstorm. I shook my head. It would really be something if Adele forgot the stakes. Still, we'd manage. It would almost be funny. OK, OK, I knew I was taking Sandy too seriously. Sure, he was an asshole for intruding. On the other hand, he was a polite asshole, and I was really pissed off that Adele got so distracted by him. It was silly to be threatened.

I pulled out
Yosemite Indians
and leaned against my sleeping bag roll. A postcard of Mount Hoffmann dropped from the uncracked pages. One we had bought at the lodge last night, a get well card for Nancy. As I opened the book, I realized that I'd been ashamed to read much in front of Adele. Would she have found my taste too elementary? Not scholarly enough? What else were we hiding from each other?

Anita always said I should open up more. My fault, of course, for getting involved with a shrink, but I was hurt when she insisted I was closer to my cat than to most humans. Anita and I had five good years together. I learned a lot about people from her. And she claimed to be grateful for my mellow practicality. It wasn't a bad relationship. Not the flaming passion of youth. I loved her, though. And I suppose we would still be together if she hadn't wanted a family. Was I unnatural because I didn't want to be a mother, even a co-mother? Anita said I had too many boundary issues. But once you've been inside the whale, you watch your step. Sometimes I wondered if I made the right decision. I missed my smart, funny Anita. When I visited her and her new lover, Lisa, and their son, Anthony, I felt both sad and relieved.