wrist.
—Then you climb for what it does for your other life?
Ashley nods. —Sometimes. But not always.
For there is also the beauty. Ashley sweeps his cigarette across the room and says that to him all of human architecture is little but a screen, an elaborate facade of iron and glass erected to hide the majesties beyond. There is nothing in the untamed earth that is not beautiful. Of tamer beauties, Ashley swears that if one follows their streams up to the headwaters, the source of their fineness is very wild indeed. To walk the Mer de Glace at midnight is not only to be witness to the exquisite mystery of the natural world. It is to step away from the metropolis, from mankind’s hall of mirrors, and to assume one’s place among the wild.
—One doesn’t see beautiful things in the mountains, Ashley says. One becomes them.
Imogen smiles. She draws a little from her cigarette.
—It was a wonderful speech. And I’m glad to have dug it out of you. But I wonder if it’s another joke of yours. Do you really mean all this, or is it only what you think I wish to hear?
—You give me too much credit. I’m not so good a liar.
—I bet you’re a very good liar, Imogen says. But I also think you’re afraid to be serious, because somehow you are so very serious.
Ashley does not answer. He is looking at something beyond Imogen’s shoulder. He closes his cigarette case and puts it back in his pocket, leaning across the table until he is very close to her.
—That couple across from us, he whispers. They’ve been watching us.
Imogen turns around discreetly. A few tables away, a man with aVan Dyke beard is reclined deep into his chair. He wears a white dinner jacket and his bow tie hangs unknotted around his neck. The woman beside him is laughing, her hand draped over the man’s lapel. The man’s eyes meet Imogen’s and he raises his glass in a salute. He rises and comes to their table, towing the woman in hand.
—I wonder, he addresses them, if you could settle a wager for my companion and me. We couldn’t help but notice such a lovely pair of young people.
The man’s voice is hoarse, his accent difficult to place.
—With pleasure, Ashley says.
The man fans his arm toward the giggling woman.
—My companion swears you are blood relations.
—Siblings, the woman adds, or at least first cousins. One can see it about the eyes.
The man shakes his head.
—But I say that you are lovers.
Ashley turns in awkward embarrassment, looking at Imogen, but she only laughs and takes a drink. Ashley puffs from his cigarette.
—You’re both correct, he says. This is in fact my first cousin. And this very evening we’ve become engaged to be married.
The man raises his glass again in a salute. His drink is milky green and it swishes over the rim.
—I knew as much. I wish you joy.
The couple slinks back to their seats.
—What sort of people are these? Ashley wonders.
—Drunk people, Imogen says. I thought he was rather charming.
Imogen excuses herself to the powder room and Ashley lights another cigarette to pass the time. There is no band to watch here, nor any kind of entertainment. He glances back at the drunk couple. The woman is kissing the man’s wrist and tugging at his bow tie. Ashley looks down at his wristwatch, flipping back the metal cover that protects the crystal. He had bought it yesterday and the salesman had said the hands were luminous, but in the half-lit room it is hard to tell.
Suddenly Imogen returns with a radiant smile, leaning toward him with her hands on her chair.
—I had a revelation in the washroom.
—Really?
—We’ll go to the Alps. Switzerland, perhaps, because they’re neutral. We’ll hole up in a chalet in one of those steep valleys that hasn’t any roads and is reachable only on foot. Surely there are such places?
Ashley feels a flush of warmth. He worries it will show on his face and he takes a drag of his cigarette.
—Certainly.
Imogen beams. —No one
—Then you climb for what it does for your other life?
Ashley nods. —Sometimes. But not always.
For there is also the beauty. Ashley sweeps his cigarette across the room and says that to him all of human architecture is little but a screen, an elaborate facade of iron and glass erected to hide the majesties beyond. There is nothing in the untamed earth that is not beautiful. Of tamer beauties, Ashley swears that if one follows their streams up to the headwaters, the source of their fineness is very wild indeed. To walk the Mer de Glace at midnight is not only to be witness to the exquisite mystery of the natural world. It is to step away from the metropolis, from mankind’s hall of mirrors, and to assume one’s place among the wild.
—One doesn’t see beautiful things in the mountains, Ashley says. One becomes them.
Imogen smiles. She draws a little from her cigarette.
—It was a wonderful speech. And I’m glad to have dug it out of you. But I wonder if it’s another joke of yours. Do you really mean all this, or is it only what you think I wish to hear?
—You give me too much credit. I’m not so good a liar.
—I bet you’re a very good liar, Imogen says. But I also think you’re afraid to be serious, because somehow you are so very serious.
Ashley does not answer. He is looking at something beyond Imogen’s shoulder. He closes his cigarette case and puts it back in his pocket, leaning across the table until he is very close to her.
—That couple across from us, he whispers. They’ve been watching us.
Imogen turns around discreetly. A few tables away, a man with aVan Dyke beard is reclined deep into his chair. He wears a white dinner jacket and his bow tie hangs unknotted around his neck. The woman beside him is laughing, her hand draped over the man’s lapel. The man’s eyes meet Imogen’s and he raises his glass in a salute. He rises and comes to their table, towing the woman in hand.
—I wonder, he addresses them, if you could settle a wager for my companion and me. We couldn’t help but notice such a lovely pair of young people.
The man’s voice is hoarse, his accent difficult to place.
—With pleasure, Ashley says.
The man fans his arm toward the giggling woman.
—My companion swears you are blood relations.
—Siblings, the woman adds, or at least first cousins. One can see it about the eyes.
The man shakes his head.
—But I say that you are lovers.
Ashley turns in awkward embarrassment, looking at Imogen, but she only laughs and takes a drink. Ashley puffs from his cigarette.
—You’re both correct, he says. This is in fact my first cousin. And this very evening we’ve become engaged to be married.
The man raises his glass again in a salute. His drink is milky green and it swishes over the rim.
—I knew as much. I wish you joy.
The couple slinks back to their seats.
—What sort of people are these? Ashley wonders.
—Drunk people, Imogen says. I thought he was rather charming.
Imogen excuses herself to the powder room and Ashley lights another cigarette to pass the time. There is no band to watch here, nor any kind of entertainment. He glances back at the drunk couple. The woman is kissing the man’s wrist and tugging at his bow tie. Ashley looks down at his wristwatch, flipping back the metal cover that protects the crystal. He had bought it yesterday and the salesman had said the hands were luminous, but in the half-lit room it is hard to tell.
Suddenly Imogen returns with a radiant smile, leaning toward him with her hands on her chair.
—I had a revelation in the washroom.
—Really?
—We’ll go to the Alps. Switzerland, perhaps, because they’re neutral. We’ll hole up in a chalet in one of those steep valleys that hasn’t any roads and is reachable only on foot. Surely there are such places?
Ashley feels a flush of warmth. He worries it will show on his face and he takes a drag of his cigarette.
—Certainly.
Imogen beams. —No one
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