‘I won’t go down there, Ted, it’s too sheer.’
‘Well, we can’t stay here.’
‘We might be able to.’
‘When the sun goes down it will be too cold.’ Stan knew that Ted was right about that. They didn’t have sleeping bags, and their outdoor coats were thin. They’d bought them because they were waterproof, not for warmth.
Ted added: ‘And Mary would worry. She wouldn’t know what to do if we didn’t get back.’
‘What if we turn back?’ Ted scratched his head and turned to Stan.
‘We’d have to walk in the dark and we’d never make it over the ridge.’
‘We might be able to get over the ridge. If we start now, and walk quickly.’Stan knew that this was a pointless suggestion, even as he said it. They’d been walking since the early morning, and the ridge was a good four or five hours behind them.
‘No,’said Ted, ‘turning back would be too dangerous now. We don’t have enough light.’ Ted turned away from him again and began to fiddle with his jacket zip.
Stan was irritated. Ted had been his friend for five years, but he was sensing that they wouldn’t be friends when the day was out. Ted had made a mistake. A damn big mistake. He hadn’t planned this properly. They would have to risk their lives now because Ted hadn’t planned properly. He’d trusted Ted. He’d always trusted Ted, and Ted had always looked after him. But this time he’d messed up.Really messed up. He’d put their lives at risk.Stan knew that things would be different when they got home. If they ever made it to the bottom.
‘I can’t go down that slope. It’s a damn cliff, Ted.’
‘We have to, Stan.’
‘We’d need ropes to get down there.’
‘We don’t have ropes.’
‘You should’ve brought ropes.’
‘I never climb with ropes.’
‘Well, I won’t climb down that slope without a rope.’
‘We don’t have ropes, Stan.’
‘We should have them, Ted. We should have ropes.’
‘We don’t have ropes.’
‘We should have ropes, dammit.’Stan’s voice was rising. Ted realised that the fear was taking him over. It was best to say as little as he could in these situations. He had to detach himself from Stan, and leave him alone with his fear. His job was to get them down. He knew that Stan got scared easily. This had happened before, and he had handled it. But this could be worse. There was real danger here. Not just the imagined dangers that appeared in Stan’s mind sometimes. Mary had warned him against bringing Stan on this trip, and she was usually right. She knew the mountains better than either of them. He wished she was here now. She would have known a way down.
‘Have a drink, Stan.’ He passed him his red thermos flask.
‘What difference will a drink make?’
‘You’ll feel calmer.’
‘I am calm.’
‘You’re not calm.’
‘I am very calm, dammit. Only you’re making me nervous. You shouldn’t have brought me here. You know I’m not as goddam crazy as you.’ He flung the thermos at the grass in front of him. Ted stood up to pick it up. He shook it to see if he could hear glass rattling inside. If there was, that meant it was broken and he couldn’t drink anymore. But all he could only hear was the coffee slushing around. He smiled.
‘It’s good that the thermos didn’t break, Stan.’
It was a small consolation. He would need that coffee. The next two hours would be difficult, whatever happened, and the coffee would help him stay sharp.
Ted took a few paces towards the slope, away from Stan. He looked down. The route would be difficult. He conceded that. He’d managed many more difficult slopes. But not with Stan.With other climbers, and alone.Though he never liked to be in the mountains on his own, if he had a choice. The more he examined the slope, the more things he saw that would be helpful to them. There were rocks jutting out just enough that they could balance on them with their heavy boots, and plants that would give them grip. As they got lower, there would be more scrub, and more plants. Those plants had roots like steel. They could rely on them. Ted decided there was a way down. He was sure of it. They’d have to be careful, and there were a couple of places where they’d need to hang on to each other. But there was a way. He knew they could have done it easily enough if Stan hadn’t been so goddamn nervous. Only Stan’s nerves would stop them.
He sat down again and undid his shoe laces. He wrapped them round his boot and retied them tightly. He hoped that Stan would do the same, though he wasn’t about to order him to. He tucked his shirt into his grey climbing trousers, and arranged the rest of his clothes so that nothing could catch on the way down. He knew he was going down, even if Stan wanted to wait on the mountain. And he didn’t want to waste more time discussing things when there was so little of the day left. They had too far to go.
‘You shouldn’t have brought me here, Ted.’ Stan was sitting with his face in his hands. Stan knew that was the end of the relationship. He could never trust Ted again to take him climbing. That was a shame. He’d enjoyed the climbing. He’d looked forward to their little adventures in the mountains. Ever since his mother had died, more than three years ago, he’d enjoyed climbing with Ted. The climbing had helped him get over her death. He’d always lived with his mother, and life had been difficult since she’d died. He didn’t have many friends and Ted had been really good to him. He’d introduced him to the mountains, and it was the best thing anyone had done for him. He’d relished the exhilaration, the wide open spaces, the views, the physical tiredness at the end, and a beer or two with Ted and Mary. Sometimes she’d cooked them a dinner. She was a great cook, like his mother had been. He’d understood why Ted had married Mary. They both liked the mountains, and sometimes she came with them. The mountains had given him a sense of freedom he’d never felt before, and he’d been able to leave some of his emotion up there.
But he didn’t feel free now. He felt trapped. Between a slim ridge that had been terrifying for him and a sheer cliff that he knew he couldn’t get down. The air was getting cooler as the sun dipped, and his anxiety was taking over. He knew it, but there was nothing he could do about it.
‘Get ready, Stan. We can’t waste any more time.’ Stan looked at Ted, all confident and calm. He was good at this. He didn’t have nerves. He was the hardened businessman. He didn’t let his mind fly into a frenzy of fear. He just got on and did things. His life had been different.
Stan thought about his mother again.A small woman, like a rabbit to see, but a lion inside. She would have laughed to have seen him on the mountain, trapped and desperate. He would never have been here if she’d been alive. She’d have warned him away from climbing. He could hear her voice now, telling him off for being so stupid. How had he trusted a crazy guy like Ted to keep him safe in the mountains? His mother’s voice was firm. She hadn’t known Ted too well. If she had, she would have never let Stan go into the mountains with him. He would never have taken up climbing at all. He would have been safe. Safe.Without crazy Ted. She would have been right.
‘Ted?’
‘Quit talking and get ready.’
‘It’s important.’
‘More important than getting down this mountain?’
‘Ted, how were your parents?’
‘For Chrissakes, Stan, my parents are dead. You know that. Now quit talking.’
‘I mean, what were they like? How were they with you around climbing and stuff?’
‘It’s not the time for this, Stan.’ Ted realised that Stan was thinking about his mother. This was a really bad turn.
‘Did your dad take you climbing when you were a kid, Ted?’
‘Well, yes, that’s why I love it so much, Stan. But let’s get out of here, then we can have kids, too, and tell
them all about our adventures.’ He regretted those last words. He didn’t want Stan to get any more nervous. But what did it matter? The process had started. Stan was thinking about his mother again, and very soon he would disintegrate into a lump of useless jelly that couldn’t even find its own front door. This happened when Stan thought about his mother. It used to happen often, when they’d first started climbing together a few years ago. Stan wouldtalk about her all the time during those trips. The loss had been eating him up, and Ted hadn’t minded listening to him then. He had liked Stan and had felt sorry for him, especially when he’d lost his job in the garage. He’d been happy to listen in those days, to provide a kind of soundboard while he got over things. And he’d been pleased to show him the mountains. He always liked to share the mountains. That was the greatest gift his father had given him, and he’d always felt good to share it around. The trips had taken Stan’s mind away from all that stuff back home. That was a couple of years ago. He thought Stan was over it all now. But the fear of falling off the cliff must have triggered him again. He’d be thinking about his mother all the time now, running that track in his mind, looping it over and over.His mother. His protection. Always the same thoughts. He would be unsafe to climb with now. Mary had been right. It hadn’t been safe to bring Stan on this trip. He should have climbed on his own, even if he didn’t like climbing on his own.
‘Stan, we can’t get down this slope like this. You’re not safe. You’re back in your old ways.’
‘It’s your damn fault, Ted. You didn’t plan the route properly. It’s not damn good enough, Ted. I just never have trusted you. You’re not safe.’
Ted felt a tension in his body that he could have done without. He’d had enough of this now, but he knew it was only just starting. He took his flask and unscrewed the brown top. The steam rose and he was pleased the coffee was still hot. He drank, and thought carefully about his next words. He played with his zip again, then turned to look straight at Stan.
‘Ok Stan. You can choose. Either I go down on my own and get help. I can call the air rescue people as soon as I get some range on my phone. They can bring a helicopter. Though it will be getting dark by then, and you might be staying the night up here if they can’t get to you. If we don’t get a helicopter, I’ll come get you in the morning and we’ll go back over the ridge in the light. You can have my jacket, the thermos, and the chocolate. I’ll be ok tonight, I’ll move quickly, and I have more jackets back home. But I’ll have to take the map to help me get down. If that happens, you’ll have to wait up here a long time. Maybe until midday.’ He sipped some more coffee. ‘We have another possibility. We can both stay up here the night, and we go back over the ridge in the morning. Though I don’t like to leave Mary worrying about us. It’s not fair to leave her like that. We might have a helicopter anyway if she worries. She might call it.’
‘You want to leave me up here on my own, I know you do.’ Stan had his face in his hands this time, and Ted could hear the sniffles of tears.
‘I’ll get help on my own then. I think it’s the best thing. I’ll leave you my coffee, my jacket and my chocolate.’ It was wrong to leave Stan like this. He knew it. But he wondered what else he could do. He’d reasoned that trying to guide him down the sheer cliff in this state would be more wrong than leaving him.
‘What if the helicopter doesn’t come?’
‘You just have to stay as warm as you can. You’re sheltered here, at least.’
‘I can’t stay up here on my own. I’ll freeze to death. Damn freeze to death.’ He was hysterical now.
‘You’ll be fine.’
‘I won’t be fine. I’ll be freezing and terrified. You’re leaving me on my own. You want to leave me.’ He sobbed loudly now. The sun was getting lower, and the warm afternoon air had disappeared. Ted could feel the change, and couldn’t be sure his friend would survive the night. Not because the cold would kill him, but because he would walk around to stay warm, and in his dizziness of cold and fear, he’d walk the wrong way and end up at the bottom of the cliff anyway. He couldn’t bear thinking about that. How guilty that would make him? Better if they both stayed. But then he thought about Mary again. He couldn’t let Mary worry like that. It wouldn’t be fair. He had to go.
Ted was pleased that Stan was retying his boots. Maybe he was making some decisions without knowing it. He looked out across the valley. The sun was falling over the autumn colours, turning the yellows to amber and the reds to crimson. He wished he could have been enjoying it. A hazy memory flickered in his mind. He’d seen this view before. His father had brought him to this spot. That must have been 30 years ago. He’d been 10 or 11. The view had jogged that memory, and he also remembered that the sky hadn’t been so clear that day. There’d been cloud, and some drizzle. His dad, strong and blonde, like himself, soaking up the drizzle in the old army jacket he’d always worn. He’d had a thing against waterproof jackets and had refused to wear them. Always the battered green army jacket. They’d walked the ridge that day. For Ted, it had been easy and he’d enjoyed it. He’d never known fear when he’d been following his father. They had come to this place, close to the cliff. He was sure of it. They’d stood here, looking out across the forest. It had been summer, he thought. He couldn’t remember exactly, but imagined that his father would have taken a photograph. He always did on their walks. Ted would have been holding his black leather camera case. And they must have got down from here, but not down that cliff. There was no way a father would have taken his young son down that cliff. No way. Not Ted’s father, anyway. He was certain of that.
‘Go now, Ted.’ Stan was clutching his knees to his body and shaking. He’d really lost it, but he’d moved through his hysterical stage and was more passive. ‘Go, Ted, or I might change my mind and come with you. I’ll fall and kill myself. I’ll kill both of us, Ted.’
‘Shut up, Stan, I’m thinking.’
‘Just go, Ted,’ he whimpered.
‘Shut up, Stan.’ They were never going climbing together again. Ted knew that much. Mary had warned him, and she’d been right. Probably they could never be friends after this. Ted had to just get them down. His final gift to Stan after their many trips together. He would miss him, but probably not as much as Stan would miss the mountains. He clenched his eyes and tried to reach back into his memory, to find that time when he’d stood on this exact spot with his father. He recalled the forests. They’d been green. Emerald green. His father’s jacket a different shade of green. Dark, almost black with the damp. He’d been guiding him down a small path. In his mind’s eye, he looked down. He saw wet grass. There was a path cut into the rock. Zig-zagging across the cliff face. A path that led to the forest. A path that led right down to the forest.Ted opened his eyes and scanned the cliff. They couldn’t see the path from where they were now. He figured they had to walk on further to the right, maybe half a mile. They would find it ok. And Stan would manage it. Even a drunk could manage it. A child could walk it, for Chrissakes. Stan would manage it. He would still be thinking about his mother. But he would be ok. They would get down. Stan could see his therapist later, and start sorting all that stuff out again. Ted was sorry he had triggered all that, but he would get them down.
‘Stan?’
‘Go, Ted. Leave me alone now.’
‘Stan, just listen.’
‘No, Ted.’
‘Listen, Stan, there’s another way down. I remembered I came here with my dad when I was young. There’s a path. We need to be careful, but we’ll get down.’
Stan looked at him, and Ted was sad to see the tears running down his cheeks.
‘Have a drink of coffee, Stan.’ He stood up and handed him the thermos again. He sat down next to him, so their bodies touched, and put his arm round him. ‘When you’ve had a drink, we’ll go find the path, Stan. We’re going to be fine. We’ll walk through the forest and find my car. Then I�
��ll drive us home to my place. Mary’s fixing us a roast dinner, and we’ll sink some beers, like we always do. We’ll be good, Stan. With the sun going down, it’s going to be a beautiful evening, Stan.’
After Spring Comes the Fall – by Javier Moyano Pérez
It had been thirty seven years since Randal Waites could urinate standing on his feet, which is to say that it had been thirty seven years since he got married. But the truth be told, he did not mind at all, it was more comfortable and it did not splash around making an awful mess. It was not that which had been bothering Randal for the last couple of months, no, it was the fact that he would have to contemplate himself in the mirror while he was doing it. Trying to avoid the look that his reflection was giving him, he could not help wondering how this started happening all of a sudden. It could not be the mirror, as it had always been there, after all. The reason remained a mystery, however, he knew exactly what had triggered it...well, at least the dates matched. He had retired.
Incapable of resisting its magnetism, Randal’s eyes landed fully on the surface of the mirror and stared at the man reflected on it. Who was that? Clearly it could not be him, although they somewhat resembled each other, but that one was an older, balder and sadder image of the man he remembered.
-Smile old man- he told himself, trying to do so, but his smile became overshadowed by his moustache, bushy like a broom -a hoary broom. He took his glasses off and cleaned them hoping that the image of the man would be wiped out as well.
He stood up and went to the sink to wash his hands. Those hands, that would be the nightmare of any palm reader, had more lines and marks than a map, and not all of them were because of his age; there were wire cuts, industrial glue burns, and a wide scar caused by a modeling saw. However, he kept his nails short and clean, so no paint or sawdust could get underneath them. Randal was an amateur modeler.
Fall - A Collection of Short Stories (Almond Press Short Story Contest) Page 9