climb from Park Gate to Met was meant to take three hours. And had it not been for Margaret, the rest would have accomplished it easily. As it happened, it took nearly six, and they were all ravenous when they got there at three, not having eaten anything since seven, some of them not having eaten anything at all.
The building at Met Station was a banda made of wood, with a covered veranda. First making a fire, the porters set up camp. The trekkers would have a hot lunch that would in fact be dinner. To keep hunger at bay until the lunch was cooked, the group was offered tea and bananas. They sprawled on the veranda, letting their backpacks slide off their bodies. Willem had been right. Though part of an afternoon and evening stretched before them, no side expeditions were planned. No games proposed. No conversation offered. They wanted only food and a place to sit, later followed by a place to lie down, which turned out to be on the canvas cots in the banda, lined up the long way. There were ten cots. A party of three young German climbers had arrived at Met forty-five minutes after the group had. Flushed and fit, they spoke enough English to be polite. They’d intended to go straight to Mackinder’s Camp, they said, but had gotten a late start. Diana explained that it was just as well they hadn’t. Met was there primarily to provide an overnight at altitude so as to acclimate trekkers. The Germans smiled, and it was impossible to tell whether they were smiling because they thought Diana was funny or because they were glad to be reminded of this important point.
It was impossible also to tell if there was a view. Low cloud still surrounded them. Night fell closer to seven o’clock because of the altitude. So that they could pick out their cots and set up for the night, a lantern had been hung just inside the bunkhouse. Trips to the latrine were accompanied by a porter. A flashlight was turned off at a discreet moment, but it couldn’t have been a pleasant duty for the poor African assigned the job.
Nearly everyone had lain down within an hour of sunset. Dinner had been filling. Arthur and Willem seemed exhausted, which was, Margaret thought, still a residue of hangovers. Diana, who claimed the cot closest to the door, argued with Willem for the spot. Theoretically, a man should have the cot closest to the door in case of danger. But Diana was adamant, making fun of Willem for pretending chivalry. Margaret thought,
Careful, Diana,
as she came dangerously close to insulting the man. To Margaret, the matter was simple. Diana’s constant need to get going compelled her to have the cot by the door and to be the first out in the morning. In the way that one couldn’t help but wonder from time to time about another’s marriage, Margaret could not imagine Diana making love with any pleasure. Margaret guessed she would be brusque and quick and eager to get on to the next item on her agenda.
They lay side by side: Diana and Arthur, Saartje and Willem, Margaret and Patrick. Margaret didn’t relish sleeping so close to Willem, who was uninhibited with his farts. She faced Patrick in complete darkness as soon as the lantern was snuffed out. She fell asleep listening to German and woke in precisely the same position as she’d been in the night before.
The first challenge of the second day was the treacherous vertical bog. The mud sucked at Margaret’s new boots with ferocity and made her think the bog was alive. If there had been a distance between Margaret and the others during the easy part of the climb the day before, the distance increased exponentially. Margaret grew panicky with the gap, which by now was too far even to make herself heard. Though the porters never left her, she wished for a companion, someone to encourage her on as Arthur had, to make sure she didn’t break an ankle. Patrick did occasionally wait for Margaret to check that she was okay, but even when she told him, “This is pure hell,” he nodded
The building at Met Station was a banda made of wood, with a covered veranda. First making a fire, the porters set up camp. The trekkers would have a hot lunch that would in fact be dinner. To keep hunger at bay until the lunch was cooked, the group was offered tea and bananas. They sprawled on the veranda, letting their backpacks slide off their bodies. Willem had been right. Though part of an afternoon and evening stretched before them, no side expeditions were planned. No games proposed. No conversation offered. They wanted only food and a place to sit, later followed by a place to lie down, which turned out to be on the canvas cots in the banda, lined up the long way. There were ten cots. A party of three young German climbers had arrived at Met forty-five minutes after the group had. Flushed and fit, they spoke enough English to be polite. They’d intended to go straight to Mackinder’s Camp, they said, but had gotten a late start. Diana explained that it was just as well they hadn’t. Met was there primarily to provide an overnight at altitude so as to acclimate trekkers. The Germans smiled, and it was impossible to tell whether they were smiling because they thought Diana was funny or because they were glad to be reminded of this important point.
It was impossible also to tell if there was a view. Low cloud still surrounded them. Night fell closer to seven o’clock because of the altitude. So that they could pick out their cots and set up for the night, a lantern had been hung just inside the bunkhouse. Trips to the latrine were accompanied by a porter. A flashlight was turned off at a discreet moment, but it couldn’t have been a pleasant duty for the poor African assigned the job.
Nearly everyone had lain down within an hour of sunset. Dinner had been filling. Arthur and Willem seemed exhausted, which was, Margaret thought, still a residue of hangovers. Diana, who claimed the cot closest to the door, argued with Willem for the spot. Theoretically, a man should have the cot closest to the door in case of danger. But Diana was adamant, making fun of Willem for pretending chivalry. Margaret thought,
Careful, Diana,
as she came dangerously close to insulting the man. To Margaret, the matter was simple. Diana’s constant need to get going compelled her to have the cot by the door and to be the first out in the morning. In the way that one couldn’t help but wonder from time to time about another’s marriage, Margaret could not imagine Diana making love with any pleasure. Margaret guessed she would be brusque and quick and eager to get on to the next item on her agenda.
They lay side by side: Diana and Arthur, Saartje and Willem, Margaret and Patrick. Margaret didn’t relish sleeping so close to Willem, who was uninhibited with his farts. She faced Patrick in complete darkness as soon as the lantern was snuffed out. She fell asleep listening to German and woke in precisely the same position as she’d been in the night before.
The first challenge of the second day was the treacherous vertical bog. The mud sucked at Margaret’s new boots with ferocity and made her think the bog was alive. If there had been a distance between Margaret and the others during the easy part of the climb the day before, the distance increased exponentially. Margaret grew panicky with the gap, which by now was too far even to make herself heard. Though the porters never left her, she wished for a companion, someone to encourage her on as Arthur had, to make sure she didn’t break an ankle. Patrick did occasionally wait for Margaret to check that she was okay, but even when she told him, “This is pure hell,” he nodded
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