Snow Blind

by Richard Blanchard

  “Just like our jobs at Centurion then.” Steve looks away hastily, unable to hold my gaze after last night’s revelations. If it is a quick closure I might never have to work with him again.

  “Café, thé, Messieurs? A young waitress with buckteeth nervously enquires of me; aptly she looks like she is caught in my headlights. She clearly doesn’t relish serving us for some reason. I order tea with milk to keep up my English image.

  “Where are the other two?” I enquire about the absence of Robert and Max from the group.

  “They are over there in the lobby on those bloody awful seats,” Steve replies.

  “An interesting night don’t you think?” I keep my conversation vague to flush out anything I might have missed.

  “You were off your trolley mate,” Johnny reminds me, “I have never seen you so drunk.”

  “I suppose it was my stag night.” I am disappointed in him especially; he could have helped more as he is my best man.

  I join Chris at the buffet and grab a few slices of cheese and ham before he cleans up. The remaining bread is just baguette ends, all hard rounded edges. I choose some and prize them open to take a bite of the more succulent bread inside. I seem to be the last diner. On my return to the table Juliet and Steve have left to see Robert.

  “You seem a bit sharp this morning.” Johnny tries to get eye contact from me to bring his usual Dan back.

  “I’m just coming to terms with what happened last night. You know the abuse, the lost friends, the prostitutes, that kind of stuff.” Johnny and Chris stop eating hoping that I am going to explain all this to them.

  “But the biggest discovery is that I have a son.”

  “You said that when you woke up you dickhead. Of course you have a son, he’s two years…” Chris chastises me.

  “No a second son, he’s sixteen actually.” This conversation will be good for Chris’s waistline judging by his inability to eat, chewing is at a dead stop now.

  “But who told you…?” Johnny hasn’t caught up.

  “Juliet of course, her son Ethan is mine. She broke up with me so that I wouldn’t be trapped or maybe she wouldn’t, I can’t quite remember the line. Whatever, he wants to meet me, which is great, the sooner the better.” I see an image of me beaming at him as we meet outside arrivals. He will be tall like me I think, although a more confident rounded me having been in Juliet’s charge. A third even harder baguette end is too much; I polish off the cheese, which is a cue for Chris to resume eating. I throw my napkin down on my plate and slurp the milky tea I made.

  “Let’s find out what plan these brilliant mates of mine have in store for today.”

  “It’s that bloody Valley thing I told you about; I ain’t going near it. You can all play silly beggars off-piste if you like but I ain’t skiing no glacier. Don’t take any more shit from them Dan.” Chris withdraws himself neatly.

  “I think I have had enough myself bro.”

  Johnny and I walk towards the lobby where I had the meeting with Max and Steve the other evening. The ghosts of our wasted energy still haunt the chairs.

  “Here is the sex machine now. He certainly knows how to show a woman a good time. You must be gay after all Dan, one look at a pussy and you throw up.” Robert expects some laughs but this is a private joke.

  “Robert my friend, so good to see you. We went a bit off-piste last night didn’t we? Did you finish off the evening with the shy and retiring prostitute you picked up? Ladies of the night don’t count as girlfriends you know.” No intervention from anyone. I feel elevated.

  “So then my faithful stags, remind me what we are doing to add to such an unforgettable trip? Just don’t leave me behind like last night hey?” Most are looking chastened.

  “All sorted, we are going to the Vallée Blanche. The guide is meeting us at the lift at twelve so let’s meet here in half an hour.” Max says his first words to me since revealing his great lie about ByeFly.

  “Bring it on I say. It will be interesting to see how you all ski with such sore heads and heavy hearts.” No one reacts again; they all have their reasons to feel as if they have let me down.

  “Hi Jules, did you sleep okay?” I question her willingness and ability to sleep, but she just grimaces.

  “I was woken by someone falling over a tray outside my room.” I lie to her in front of the group. “It’s beautiful days like this that make you proud to be alive don’t you think?”

  “I don’t like your tone Dan,” she protests.

  “I’m sorry, I’m just a bit shaken.” I leave the group with no explanation of events. Twenty minutes to get out and show them what I am made of.

  CHAPTER 35

  Dan 11.20

  The automatic glass doors rip apart, withdrawing the multi-lingual plastic Welcome sign hung in reverse. I stand on the steps of the hotel with only Chris for company. If they were that interested in welcoming you someone could be on the door to do it. It’s not the worst hotel in the world, but like so many others it offers plastic gestures to cover up its lack of genuine warmth and civility. I pick up my skis from the dank concrete locker room under the front steps. “You must leave the locker key at reception; you must not take skis into the hotel.” In other words you must act and behave exactly as I say. Rules and curt practices spill from the walls trying to keep their guests in line. We are manageable units in a cost-efficient low-service environment. When did the world get so bloody bossy? My inner ski boot instantly wets my freshly laundered sock, but the warmth from my legs is bringing it up to an acceptable temperature. I throw my skis onto my shoulder. I am almost sad to feel the biting metallic weight of the ski binding on this, the last ski day of our trip.

  Max, Steve and Robert burst through the door as I try to exit. As they get past me I allow the flat side of my ski to whack Max on the head.

  “Sorry, I must be more careful.” Max cannot detect sarcasm from me, as he never usually receives it.

  The ten steps up to the front of the hotel are tortuous. After what I have put them through my muscles just don’t want to stretch.

  “Okay, I will come up the ski lift with you but that’s it.” A reluctant Chris has been persuaded to take a ride in the lift by Juliet.

  “Dan, will you wait here while I get my stuff?” Juliet is the last to descend into the ski room. My over-riding feeling of being cheated is competing with my enduring affection for her.

  “Let’s all wait for Juliet please,” I command the group to wait and set off together. We pass our favoured bar with the almost midday sun stroking our necks. We go past the bookshop torn asunder by the runaway crate; it seems to have fully recovered its charm.

  “What did you do with that soiled jacket?” Juliet is right to be unconvinced I got rid of it.

  “I dumped it like you asked.” At about three this morning when I got back to my room something compelled me to wash it in the bath. It is now hanging over a wooden chair on my balcony, drying out with its price ticket chattering in the breeze. However misguided, it was the first act of kindness I was able to do for Ethan. I am not sure if I will give it to him yet, but it just felt real to do it. He will really appreciate the “Tracks of My Years”; but what if he is into this trip-hop nonsense or even worse some plastic cover band? How can I help him recover from that fate, having had no real dad to put him on the straight and narrow? Maybe he will need some more intelligent fatherly words of wisdom? But what can I offer yet? My brain is not prepared for adult advice, as I am a generation away from having to give it.

  As we pass under the railway bridge my inattention causes a man walking towards us to step into the road. A driver beeps a warning at him. It feels great that it is some other man for a change. We pass through the short flag-lined avenue that leads to the grandly named Telepherique de l’Aiguille du Midi cable car. An improbable cable soars out of the station into the sky above. I cover my eyes to try to see the end of it but it fades into the snow line on the mountain in front of us. The atmosphere in front of
the ticket office seems very serious; people are breathing heavily down here but even more effort will be needed when the air thins out at the top. There is a mixture of climbers, skiers and viewers. The climbers are encumbered, they break the silence with the metallic clinking of ice picks and crampons strapped onto backpacks. The skiers have their usual gear but most have additional rucksacks as well; what are they carrying? The viewers however are a mixed bag of ski tourists and fur-coated Russians. “Wow. That’s some climb hey?” Johnny shares my awe.

  “That has to be the most sheer lift in the world,” I speculate.

  “Ten past twelve, that guide is late. I asked for him at the office but they haven’t seen him.” Robert had hurried ahead and stands outside the wooden ticket office with seven lift tickets in hand.

  “Bugger him we will go without him,” he says impatiently.

  “No we will not. We were ten minutes late, give him a chance will you,” Juliet counters.

  “Alright, five more minutes and we are off.”

  “Why don’t you just call the man?”

  “I can guide us down, we don’t need him.”

  “He said twelve at the latest; we don’t need to call him,” Max butts in.

  “Call him Robert,” I interject.

  “Do you really want these guys to have any more expense on your stag weekend. Don’t you think they have paid enough?” Robert turns the weekend on me when it was all his doing.

  “Since when did you care about anyone else’s money? I know your game, you haven’t got a guide have you?” Juliet accuses him, smelling a rat.

  “Listen. I don’t need to answer to you. The guy isn’t here; we can go.”

  “That’s why you wouldn’t let me speak to him. You never called that number I gave you, did you? You little shit Robert, it’s serious you prick.”

  “Well, did you call him you arsehole? Did you?” Chris tries to bring it to a head.

  “There was no need to; I can take you down the VB. We are committed; I have the tickets. It’s spectacular up there. Listen, I seem to be the only person trying to give Dan a good time. It’s simple, let’s get on with it, what do you say Dan?”

  “Why not finish this tragic weekend off in style boys.” Damned if I do, damned if I don’t. I am sick of the bickering. I am surrounded by opinionated jerks, foisting their views on me. I snatch a ticket from Robert’s perforated roll and walk to the turnstile, leaving any dissent behind. Sometimes you have to take responsibility for your life, before it takes care of you. Maybe I have got something to say to Ethan after all. We all clunk onto a metallic platform, waiting for the huge cable car to glide alongside us.

  “This is all very James Bond isn’t it.” Robert states the obvious. This is probably the first inclusive comment I have heard from him all weekend. I can feel the end. As soon as I am back I am into the wedding zone. But so much more as well, I have another son in my life now.

  “Which Bond was it that climbed out of the cable car?” Max asks.

  “It was Roger Moore in an all-in-one wasn’t it?” Juliet half remembers.

  “We were going to nick your salopettes at some point Dan, but thought it counter productive as you would never have gone out.” Max informs me.

  “That was another stupid plot I foiled.” Chris tells me.

  As everyone finishes departing from the other side of the car, a metal safety rail is slammed backwards to allow us to enter. Shuffling and pushing ensues as the first entrants look for a piece of window space from which to view the climb. As it fills, the body of people is conjoined, steadying each other with brushed shoulders.

  “I just saw a sign that this thing climbs about three thousand metres in less than ten minutes; so pop those ears guys,” Johnny informs us. The scent of cigarettes fuses with climber sweat and expensive perfume. The rich tourist and the true adventurer hate occupying the space together. With one huge lurch some invisible giant grabs the cable car skyward; we are on the way to Europe’s rooftop. In an instant the car is hanging over the sprawl of the Chamonix valley floor. I think I can make out the pink exterior of the casino but am not sure. Life looks so different from up here; I can look upwards now. The car pushes through a thin layer of cloud within seconds.

  “What would Ethan make of this trip Juliet?” She looks shocked as she remembers that she doesn’t hold her secret anymore.

  “He would have been excited but apprehensive. Just like his dad I think.” There is further shock for both of us as these words are released. I can’t wait to see Bepe and meet Ethan tomorrow. Maybe Juliet refused to come to the wedding until I knew about Ethan. Maybe they can both come?

  “I hope I can make him proud of me.” I know how I can start. I am creating a playlist for two now and as I approach the end of the alphabet I find just the right epic accompaniment to our climb.

  Number 6 “Unfinished Sympathy” by Massive Attack

  How can you have a day without a night? Well I just have. This track reminds me of working in Max’s advertising agency. Released in 1991 on Wild Bunch records. Things felt freer then, every project seemed interesting, and we were on the same side. This had a great video of Shara Nelson pacing down a London Street chanting while the world passes her by. I didn’t know I had something missing from my life till now. This is a great track to give you a sense of purpose and strength. Only one more track to go, but only V to Z to find it in.

  Grass and rock have been fighting for prominence all the way up our climb, but rock has won. Huge swathes of scree settle uneasily below us. Only a fragile pact with gravity keeps it from abandoning such a precarious lookout. My ears need to be popped. I try not to concentrate on the skyward pull of the car and let go of my grip on the barrier pole. If we were to fall then so be it, I can’t help by holding on tight. I let the ingenuity and hard work of my fellow man to build this thing safely take responsibility for the climb.

  At a mid station we have to swap into a second cable car to get right to the top. The jostling for position settles down as we are swept over snow that takes over the rock below. The mountain is transformed from friend to foe, no longer does this feel like leisure. Like the first slope I ever skied, there is more danger than pleasure afoot; it is all out of my control now. A huge outcrop of rock and ice appears, a severed left eye disjoints its face-like features. Over its flatter head we start to slow as we reach the summit. A collection of buildings cling unnaturally to the top, coloured like the rock so that they seem almost hewn from it. The car is noiseless now; awe fills the space between all passengers. We reach a swinging stop. As the doors fly back the chill wind seeks out warm cheeks. The metal bridge at this height is iced over.

  “There’s a terrace to have a drink before we go down.” Robert advises us. We all follow him out onto it to try and grasp the opportunity of this vantage point. I keep thinking I have seen this view somewhere before and realise it is from the plane.

  “It would be worth just sitting here all afternoon,” I suggest.

  “Too bloody right,” Chris agrees.

  “You wait till you get down there in amongst it.” Robert disagrees. It is thrilling to be here, but every positive thought is followed by a nagging self-doubt.

  “I’m getting some food anyway.” Chris is true to form and goes back inside to get in line for a meal.

  “Just get a snack, we need to get on our way.” Robert makes the skiers hurry up. The snow sweeps gently below us. It is a worrying mystery as to how we reach the flat snow so far below from this perch without skiing a vertical incline. I buy a Snickers, a chicken roll and water for the trip. Something is stirring inside my bowels.

  Chris sits alone on the terrace munching away at another continental burger. I can see he has been happy to eat on this extended break if nothing else.

  “Chris, we are heading off now. I will see you at the bottom.”

  “See you bro. Take care now.” He barely lifts his head as he chews.

  I delay the group further. “I need the loo.”


  “Look it’s ten to one now children, I suggest we all meet up at the locker room at one to get this show on the road.” Robert is getting sick of herding us. I wait desperately for a cubicle. The only vacated one is humming with the stench of alcohol and excrement. I push my ski pants down hard onto the top of my boots, but this inflexibility binds my legs together. My bum cheeks only spread wide enough to emit a series of exasperated farts. At this altitude I have also changed sex; my willy has shrivelled into a clitoris. I channel all my thoughts inward, hoping to focus on the excitement of the ski rather than the danger.

  I enter the locker room from the adjacent toilets. A huge metal door is sucking people out into the unknown. The travelling six gather around Robert.

  “Okay then, let’s go. It’s an easy ski, most of it is somewhere between a red and a blue, but there is a technical bit in the middle that he have to pick carefully down. Remember to stay close together; we will have to keep stopping for the snails like Dan and Johnny. At the end of this ice tunnel there is a ridge to walk down so keep your skis off for now. We will ski to a lift and get the Montenvers train that fortunately drops us off outside the hotel. Let’s hit the Caveau by four. Last one to the bar pays. Any questions? No.”

  We walk to the metal piste exit door. Johnny and I hesitate at the bleak warnings on it. It does exactly what it should do; guard the innocent and foolhardy like us from walking down the tunnel of ice that leads onto the Vallée.

  “Skiers Beware. No groomed runs. No avalanche control. No trail markers. No ski patrols. You are now going on your own responsability.” The sic misspelling inadvertently highlights two components: your response to events around you and your personal ability.

  “You don’t have to do this you two. Go and have lunch with Chris and go down on the cable car. Let the others make fools of themselves,” Juliet warns me.

  “I can’t back out now.” I could back out but what will I learn? I can’t spend all of my life walking away from risk. I have to think about the kind of man I will be for my boys. I bash the metal sign with my gloved hand as I pass it, dismissing its foreboding.