us has the others' lives in his hands. So he'll get over it when we start climbing again.
Maybe we should ease off the speed, but a couple of pops gives you a nice rush and helps beat off the cold and fatigue.
There's nothing like this in the world. The blinding sparkle of snow, the sound of axes slapping ice, or squeaking through snow, the scrape of crampon on rock, the free-falling wonder of the rope, and watching the ice fire with sunset.
Even now, huddled in the tent as I write this, my belly roiling from our dinner of freeze-dried stew, my body aching from the abuse, and fear of frostbite and death gnawing like a rat at the back of my brain, I wouldn't be anywhere else.
BY SEVEN, NATE FIGURED he'd put in a long enough day. He carried a radio phone with him. If anyone called the station after hours, the call would be bounced to his phone.
He'd have preferred eating in his room, alone, in the quiet, so his brain could unclog from all the details jammed into it throughout the day. And because he'd prefer alone.
But he wasn't going to get anywhere in this town by secluding himself, so he slid into an empty booth in The Lodge.
He could hear the crack of pool balls, and the whining country on the juke from the next room. Several men were hoisted on bar stools, downing beers while they watched a hockey game on television. The eating area was more than half full with a waitress he'd yet to meet serving and clearing.
The man Hopp had introduced as The Professor wound his way through tables to Nate's booth.
He wore his tweed jacket with Ulysses tucked in the pocket, and carried a mug of beer. "Mind if I join you?"
"Go ahead."
"John Malmont. You're after a drink, you'd get it faster going to the bar. You're after food, Cissy'll work her way around here in a minute."
"Food's what I want, no hurry. Place is busy tonight. Is that usual?"
"Only two places you can get hot food you don't have to cook yourself. Only one you can get hard liquor."
"Well, that answers that."
"Lunatics are a fairly social lot—with each other, in any case. Add the holidays, you get full tables. Halibut's good tonight."
"Yeah?" Nate picked up the menu. "You lived here long?"
"Sixteen years now. Pittsburgh, originally," he said, anticipating the question. "Taught at Carnegie Mellon."
"What did you teach?"
"English literature to ambitious young minds. Many of whom enjoyed the smug position of dissecting and critiquing the long-dead white men they'd come to study."
"And now?"
"Now I teach literature and composition to bored teenagers, many of whom would prefer to be groping one another rather than exploring the wonders of the written word."
"Hey, Professor."
"Cissy. Chief Burke, meet Cecilia Fisher."
"Nice to meet you, Cissy." She was skinny as a broomstick with short, spiky hair in several shades of red, and a silver ring pierced into her left eyebrow.
She offered him a sunny smile. "You, too. What can I get for you?"
"I'll have the halibut. I hear it's good."
"Sure is." She started scribbling on her pad. "How do you want it cooked?"
"Grilled?"
"Fine. You get a house salad with that, choice of dressing. House dressing's real special. Big Mike makes it himself."
"That'd be fine."
"Got your choice of baked potato, mashed potato, fries, wild rice."
"I'll take the rice."
"Get you a drink?"
"Coffee, thanks."
"I'll be right back with that."
"Nice girl," John commented, giving his glasses a quick polish with a snowy white handkerchief. "Came into town a couple years ago, hanging out with a bunch here to do some climbing. Boy she was with slapped her around, dumped her out with nothing but her knapsack. She didn't have the money to get home—said she wasn't going back anyhow. Charlene gave her a room and a job."
He sipped his beer. "Boy came back for her a week later. Charlene ran him off."
"Charlene?"
"Keeps an over-and-under back in the kitchen. The boy decided to leave town without Cissy after looking down those
Maybe we should ease off the speed, but a couple of pops gives you a nice rush and helps beat off the cold and fatigue.
There's nothing like this in the world. The blinding sparkle of snow, the sound of axes slapping ice, or squeaking through snow, the scrape of crampon on rock, the free-falling wonder of the rope, and watching the ice fire with sunset.
Even now, huddled in the tent as I write this, my belly roiling from our dinner of freeze-dried stew, my body aching from the abuse, and fear of frostbite and death gnawing like a rat at the back of my brain, I wouldn't be anywhere else.
BY SEVEN, NATE FIGURED he'd put in a long enough day. He carried a radio phone with him. If anyone called the station after hours, the call would be bounced to his phone.
He'd have preferred eating in his room, alone, in the quiet, so his brain could unclog from all the details jammed into it throughout the day. And because he'd prefer alone.
But he wasn't going to get anywhere in this town by secluding himself, so he slid into an empty booth in The Lodge.
He could hear the crack of pool balls, and the whining country on the juke from the next room. Several men were hoisted on bar stools, downing beers while they watched a hockey game on television. The eating area was more than half full with a waitress he'd yet to meet serving and clearing.
The man Hopp had introduced as The Professor wound his way through tables to Nate's booth.
He wore his tweed jacket with Ulysses tucked in the pocket, and carried a mug of beer. "Mind if I join you?"
"Go ahead."
"John Malmont. You're after a drink, you'd get it faster going to the bar. You're after food, Cissy'll work her way around here in a minute."
"Food's what I want, no hurry. Place is busy tonight. Is that usual?"
"Only two places you can get hot food you don't have to cook yourself. Only one you can get hard liquor."
"Well, that answers that."
"Lunatics are a fairly social lot—with each other, in any case. Add the holidays, you get full tables. Halibut's good tonight."
"Yeah?" Nate picked up the menu. "You lived here long?"
"Sixteen years now. Pittsburgh, originally," he said, anticipating the question. "Taught at Carnegie Mellon."
"What did you teach?"
"English literature to ambitious young minds. Many of whom enjoyed the smug position of dissecting and critiquing the long-dead white men they'd come to study."
"And now?"
"Now I teach literature and composition to bored teenagers, many of whom would prefer to be groping one another rather than exploring the wonders of the written word."
"Hey, Professor."
"Cissy. Chief Burke, meet Cecilia Fisher."
"Nice to meet you, Cissy." She was skinny as a broomstick with short, spiky hair in several shades of red, and a silver ring pierced into her left eyebrow.
She offered him a sunny smile. "You, too. What can I get for you?"
"I'll have the halibut. I hear it's good."
"Sure is." She started scribbling on her pad. "How do you want it cooked?"
"Grilled?"
"Fine. You get a house salad with that, choice of dressing. House dressing's real special. Big Mike makes it himself."
"That'd be fine."
"Got your choice of baked potato, mashed potato, fries, wild rice."
"I'll take the rice."
"Get you a drink?"
"Coffee, thanks."
"I'll be right back with that."
"Nice girl," John commented, giving his glasses a quick polish with a snowy white handkerchief. "Came into town a couple years ago, hanging out with a bunch here to do some climbing. Boy she was with slapped her around, dumped her out with nothing but her knapsack. She didn't have the money to get home—said she wasn't going back anyhow. Charlene gave her a room and a job."
He sipped his beer. "Boy came back for her a week later. Charlene ran him off."
"Charlene?"
"Keeps an over-and-under back in the kitchen. The boy decided to leave town without Cissy after looking down those
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