what more I wanted. I wanted Hannah, and I suddenly wanted to be back in my tiny Annapolis apartment, but I couldn’t say those things to Andrew. Not at all.
“Forget it,” I said finally. “I guess I’m just exhausted.”
“Get some rest. You need to be in pristine fucking condition by Saturday.”
“Yeah.”
“And quit fighting. This ain’t boxing camp.” “Right.”
“Now get to sleep.” He squeezed my shoulder, then marched out of the lodge, turning up the collar of his jacket as he went.
Chapter 7
1
SATURDAY MORNING I GOT UP A FEW HOURS
before the sun had time to rise. Knowing I would not see another shower for several weeks, I languished beneath the lukewarm spray of my shower until the water grew cold. Then I climbed out and toweled myself off while staring at my blotchy reflection in the full-length mirror behind the bathroom door. I was in good physical condition, yet my eyes quickly found the one haunting flaw on my body: the ragged, brutal, puckered scar running along my left leg from just above the ankle to just below the knee.
Momentarily I was overcome by claustrophobia, thinking back to how I’d almost died in that cavern beneath the earth, my shinbone jutting through a serpentine tear in my flesh. And with the claustrophobia came vertigo; I scrambled for the toilet, where I closed the lid and dropped on top of it, catching my breath.
But it wasn’t all about the claustrophobia. It wasn’t all about the memory of the caves. It was the drinking too. The withdrawal. And in a way it was Hannah …
She hadn’t returned to me since my arrival in Nepal, which comforted me to some extent, making me think I was probably doing
something
right. And now, so many thousands of miles away from home, her haunting my apartment seemed nothing more than a dream, something my overactive and whiskey-pickled mind had conjured up. On the morning of the first day of our climb, Hannah was nothing more than a sad memory.
Back in the room, I dressed quickly in fresh clothes and a lightweight anorak. My bags were piled by the door, along with the gear Andrew had delivered to my room—a walkie-talkie; a miner’s helmet with the flashlight affixed to the front; a pickax; several blue vinyl flags, the kind one might see hanging above a used car lot; and a steel canteen with my name engraved on it.
I dragged my stuff out to the cabin porch just as a low rumbling could be heard over the horizon. Moments later, twin headlamps pierced the darkness. The bus shuddered into the clearing between the cabins, coughing gouts of black smoke from its exhaust pipe. I entertained serious doubts that it would be able to transport us a mile down the road let alone into the city, what with its rust-peeling shell and four tires that were practically running on the rims.
“She’s a beauty, ain’t she?” someone called off to my right. I looked and saw Chad strutting toward me, a backpack slung over one shoulder. “We should get a bottle of champagne to christen her.”
“No chance it’s got seat belts, huh?” I replied.
Chad snorted. “What’s a seat belt?”
The bus doors shushed open, and dark-skinned teenage boys spilled out. They chattered to each other in a language I didn’t understand and quickly surrounded Chad like aliens deciding whether or not they should beam him aboard the mother ship.
“Hey, guys,” Chad said as they quickly relieved him of his backpack. They carried it to the bus. “Jesus, I feel like Arnold Schwarzenegger among a bunch of hobbits. Look at these people.”
At the next cabin, Petras appeared on the porch. Bundled in a winter coat and thick gloves, he looked twice as large as usual. Heraised a hand in my direction, then disappeared back into his cabin, only to return moments later dragging a duffel bag by its straps.
After all our gear was systematically loaded onto the bus, we gathered outside the main lodge in anticipation of Andrew’s arrival.
“Let’s smoke ‘em while
“Forget it,” I said finally. “I guess I’m just exhausted.”
“Get some rest. You need to be in pristine fucking condition by Saturday.”
“Yeah.”
“And quit fighting. This ain’t boxing camp.” “Right.”
“Now get to sleep.” He squeezed my shoulder, then marched out of the lodge, turning up the collar of his jacket as he went.
Chapter 7
1
SATURDAY MORNING I GOT UP A FEW HOURS
before the sun had time to rise. Knowing I would not see another shower for several weeks, I languished beneath the lukewarm spray of my shower until the water grew cold. Then I climbed out and toweled myself off while staring at my blotchy reflection in the full-length mirror behind the bathroom door. I was in good physical condition, yet my eyes quickly found the one haunting flaw on my body: the ragged, brutal, puckered scar running along my left leg from just above the ankle to just below the knee.
Momentarily I was overcome by claustrophobia, thinking back to how I’d almost died in that cavern beneath the earth, my shinbone jutting through a serpentine tear in my flesh. And with the claustrophobia came vertigo; I scrambled for the toilet, where I closed the lid and dropped on top of it, catching my breath.
But it wasn’t all about the claustrophobia. It wasn’t all about the memory of the caves. It was the drinking too. The withdrawal. And in a way it was Hannah …
She hadn’t returned to me since my arrival in Nepal, which comforted me to some extent, making me think I was probably doing
something
right. And now, so many thousands of miles away from home, her haunting my apartment seemed nothing more than a dream, something my overactive and whiskey-pickled mind had conjured up. On the morning of the first day of our climb, Hannah was nothing more than a sad memory.
Back in the room, I dressed quickly in fresh clothes and a lightweight anorak. My bags were piled by the door, along with the gear Andrew had delivered to my room—a walkie-talkie; a miner’s helmet with the flashlight affixed to the front; a pickax; several blue vinyl flags, the kind one might see hanging above a used car lot; and a steel canteen with my name engraved on it.
I dragged my stuff out to the cabin porch just as a low rumbling could be heard over the horizon. Moments later, twin headlamps pierced the darkness. The bus shuddered into the clearing between the cabins, coughing gouts of black smoke from its exhaust pipe. I entertained serious doubts that it would be able to transport us a mile down the road let alone into the city, what with its rust-peeling shell and four tires that were practically running on the rims.
“She’s a beauty, ain’t she?” someone called off to my right. I looked and saw Chad strutting toward me, a backpack slung over one shoulder. “We should get a bottle of champagne to christen her.”
“No chance it’s got seat belts, huh?” I replied.
Chad snorted. “What’s a seat belt?”
The bus doors shushed open, and dark-skinned teenage boys spilled out. They chattered to each other in a language I didn’t understand and quickly surrounded Chad like aliens deciding whether or not they should beam him aboard the mother ship.
“Hey, guys,” Chad said as they quickly relieved him of his backpack. They carried it to the bus. “Jesus, I feel like Arnold Schwarzenegger among a bunch of hobbits. Look at these people.”
At the next cabin, Petras appeared on the porch. Bundled in a winter coat and thick gloves, he looked twice as large as usual. Heraised a hand in my direction, then disappeared back into his cabin, only to return moments later dragging a duffel bag by its straps.
After all our gear was systematically loaded onto the bus, we gathered outside the main lodge in anticipation of Andrew’s arrival.
“Let’s smoke ‘em while
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