“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 vi
ew 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.”
“If I get to the top.”
“Oh, you will. Don’t worry.”
Patrick and Kevin hadn’t been able to help their pace. Repeatedly, they went ahead and then remained in place for Margaret and Everdene to catch up. Kindly, the two men let them rest and get some air before continuing on and then having to do it again. Margaret, in slightly better condition for this particular leg than Everdene, enjoyed the position of being not last but tried not to exploit it. She gave Everdene encouragement, keeping the banter light and often telling Everdene not to talk. The four had a water break in the middle of the bog. Margaret thought of Njoroge, who seemed camel-like in needing so little water to keep going—unless he was drinking it when she wasn’t looking. Margaret thought this impossible: he was always ahead of them, and not very far ahead of them at that.
During a short breather, Margaret told Everdene that when they reached the glacier, the group would stop for thirty seconds in the middle so that Margaret could look down. She explained that she hadn’t been able to do it the year before, and she felt it necessary to conquer her fear. The guide understood the plan, Margaret said, and only Kevin needed to be informed.
Everdene nodded, unable to utter a sentence.
At the top, both women sat at the edge of the bog, even though the area was still muddy. Patrick, recognizing that Everdene was in some trouble, signaled to the guide.
“I think we need a rest and some water,” Patrick said.
Kevin sat next to his wife, and she laid her head on his shoulder. Patrick picked that moment to tell the story of those early Africans, on the mountain for the first time, who thought that the water in the cooking pot was bewitched when it turned to ice. Telling the tale was quite an accomplishment on Patrick’s part, Margaret thought, since he was short of breath, too. Only Kevin, amazingly, seemed unfazed by the arduous slog.
“You’re amazing,” Margaret said to Kevin. “Your lungs must be enormous.”
“Can’t account for it,” he said, shaking his head. “I’m as surprised as you are.”
Njoroge, who was standing nearby, scrutinized the peaks. “The rainy season is coming to greet us,” he announced.
As they approached Mackinder’s, Margaret thought about the rats. Had they been eradicated in the past year? She thought not. She would sleep covered up and close to Patrick. She wouldn’t take his hand, too painful an echo.
“Gosh,” Everdene said when she looked inside the banda.
“Did you bring ground cloths?” Margaret asked.
“We did. Oh, it’s awful.”
“It’s only one night.” Margaret had intended to bring in her bedding and lay it out, but then she thought better of it. The idea of sliding into the bag with a rat in it was beyond imagining. “Listen,” she said to Everdene, who had dumped her bedding onto a dirty mattress. “I’m going to tell you something that no one told me last year, and I wished they had. When we go to bed, there’s a strong likelihood of rats.”
“In the banda itself?” Everdene asked, incredulous. Her hair was pasted to her head from the sweating and her hat.
Margaret nodded. “I’m telling you because I nearly had a heart attack when one ran over my hand. Lay your bedding out just before you go to bed. Lift the sleeping bag as high as it will go over your face and keep your hands inside the bag. Though they frightened me, they never really bothered us. I think they just run around the edges of the banda, looking for food. They probably leave when they haven’t found any. After a while you won’t be able to keep yourself awake worrying about them, so you should just give in and go to sleep anyway. Do you and Kevin have bags that zip up together?”
“We do. We didn’t use them last night because we had cots.”
“That’s your best bet tonight,” Margaret said, thinking she and Patrick would do the same. “It’s up to you, of course, as to whether you want to warn Kevin or not. Four of our party last year slept the night through and never even knew about the rats.”
“I won’t tell him,” she said. “He sleeps like a stone. But thank you for telling me. I’d have screamed if I’d felt one.”
“Your husband doesn’t snore,” Margaret couldn’t help but point out.
Everdene laughed. “No, he doesn’t.”
“I’m jealous,” Margaret said.
Despite the condition of the banda, Everdene seemed revived by having reached Mackinder’s. Only Patrick appeared to be under the weather. His skin had turned white and blotchy. As he sat at the edge of the veranda while one of the porters washed the mud off the back of his parka, he seemed listless. Margaret sat beside him.
“You okay?” she asked.
“I think so. Just need a rest.”
“No songs tonight, I’m guessing?”
“Do you know what the meal is?”
“Let me guess.” She put a finger to her cheek. “Stew?”
“I’m not hungry anyway.”
Margaret examined her husband more carefully. Bad color was one thing; no appetite was quite another. “This doesn’t sound good, Patrick. Maybe you’re getting AMS?”
“I say I need a little rest, and you jump to AMS?”
Margaret recalled advice either Arthur or Willem had given them the year before: often the person with AMS is the last to admit it. Margaret would watch out for Patrick. Perhaps a night of acclimatizing would help. It was always possible that he’d eaten something that hadn’t agreed with him. He would be the first to suggest that one should look for the least-exotic answer first.
“I’m going to zip our sleeping bags together for tonight,” she said.
“I’ll do that.”
“Well, if you want to lie down, and you don’t feel well, just let me know, and I’ll go in and do it.”
“The rats,” he said.
“Yes,” she said.
And then she left the subject alone.
That night, the cards again came out, and Margaret took Patrick’s place. They played gin until the sun set. At Margaret’s suggestion, the three lay on their backs for a few minutes to look at the stars. Margaret had made up the double bed, into which Patrick had disappeared. Kevin had asked earlier, when Patrick hadn’t eaten with them, if he was okay, and Margaret had said that she thought Patrick needed a rest, though they should all be on the lookout for signs of AMS in one another. Margaret said that she’d make an assessment of Patrick in the morning and that she could use Kevin’s help. Once she told Njoroge she thought Patrick was suffering from AMS, she explained, the trek would be over. The guide would simply turn around, and even Patrick was wise enough to know that one couldn’t trek farther up without a guide. He’d be furious, Margaret thought. Or would he be relieved?
“This is simply brilliant,” Everdene said of the large swaths of stars overhead.
“I promise you, Kevin and I have never seen anything like this. This is worth the whole climb.”
“I wish I had a telescope,” Kevin said. “I imagine other climbers have brought telescopes.”
“I’ve been in different parts of America where the air was supposedly clear and there was no light pollution, and I’ve never seen this,” Margaret said. “Of course, you wouldn’t see this from the northern hemisphere. I’m no good at identifying constellations.”
Kevin had some skill in this area, as a result of the Boy Scouts, he said. He named several constellations he’d seen only in books.
“Makes you feel small,” Everdene said, surveying the dazzling panorama.
“We are small,” Margaret said.
“You are small, and you must go into the banda,” Njoroge said above them. “Tomorrow we are waking at three o’clock in the morning. Or did you misremember that?”
“I tried to,” Margaret said, sitting up.
Njoroge looked up at the stars as well. “Ngai is answering our prayers,” he said. “The rainy season wants to come to Mount Kenya, but he is making it stay away.”
“Let’s hope he keeps it away for at least another day,” Kevin said, hopping up.
“Ngai will do as he wants to do,” the Kikuyu guide said.
In the morning, Patrick made a tremendous effort, and Margaret thought that though her husband was still under the weather, his color was better. To show that he’d improved, he asked for a large breakfast. The cook wouldn’t give it to him—they would have a proper breakfast after the glacier—but Patrick did consume two large hunks of wheat bread with guava jelly and two cups of coffee in the fifteen minutes before the guide made them head out. Watching her husband, Margaret was sure Patrick was forcing himself to eat—he did it with bravado, like a child—but she couldn’t prove it. Stopping the climb for Patrick’s sake would enrage him and make him redouble his efforts to convince her of his health. He would then curtly remind her that he was the doctor and not she. She knew he could answer all the questions any ranger would ask, and wasn’t that the ultimate test?