Echo

“Okay, got a point.”

“If it had been any other mountaineering accident, they would have said, ‘We’re sorry, Mr. and Mrs. Laber, but that area is very inhospitable and we would strongly advise you against going up there by yourself. But if you do wish to visit the location in order to say good-bye, there are many reliable mountain guides in the area . . .’ ” I was getting worked up and had to force myself to articulate, in order for him to understand me behind my bandages. “But they didn’t do that. They lied. What for?”

But Sam wouldn’t have it. Said an administrative error could have been made in any number of links in the chain. You know how quickly mix-ups occur in crisis situations. Doesn’t have to be bad intent, he said. I don’t get how he could ignore the whole context! Because it sure looks like the truth is being covered up. The Labers were sent to a different location. To keep them safe? But then who’s lying? The Police Cantonale? Or have they been lied to in return, by the mountain rescuers?

The million-dollar question, of course, is Who is aware of what’s amiss on the Maudit?

“And there’s something else,” I said. “A couple of days ago I sent emails to three mountain guide agencies from a fake Gmail account. To disguise any link to me and to Augustin, I presented myself as an English alpinist wanting to climb the Maudit. I said I couldn’t find any information online and was looking for a guide to take me there.”

“What did they say?”

“The agencies in Grimentz and Zinal emailed back that the Maudit is scenically uninteresting due to its boring, strenuous approach and crumbly rock, which also makes it dangerous. Those are verbatim quotes from the SAC Bergführer.”

“The what?”

“The guidebook. They offered me alternatives on other mountains in the area. The Alpin Center in Zermatt wrote that they don’t operate in the area at all. Which is bullshit, because they also list the Grand Cornier and the Dent Blanche, and those are practically around the corner. I followed it up by offering all three twenty-five hundred francs to guide me up the Maudit anyway. That’s a lot of money even by Swiss standards, and they usually only charge that for the most challenging undertakings. Zermatt never replied. Zinal wrote only ‘Too dangerous. Choose another mountain.’ Initially nothing from Grimentz, but when I kept insisting, they sent me a pretty tetchy email back.”

“What did it say?”

“Would I please refrain from any further contact.”

“How friendly.”

But even Sam, who knows money can buy you anything, had to admit it was strange. What if the locals know about that place and keep it secret? I keep fretting over the difficulties Augustin and I faced that morning to even find the access to the valley. The fence with barbed wire, the accés interdit sign, the absence of trails, and the overgrown timber that looked like an old barrier. And then there’s that surgeon from Lausanne, whatsisname? Why was he so intent on sticking to the conclusion that it was rockfall, despite it being so obvious to Nurse Cécile that I was attacked?

This could be huge. I need proof that can’t be attained from afar. And even though this whole thing screams Stay away, stay out of it, I just can’t look away, because I am personally involved . . .

(later—to Sam)

Just wanted to say how happy I am that I have you. It was sweet, what you did tonight. We’re going to get through this together.

Curious, though, how Ramses suddenly won’t have anything to do with me anymore. He’s never shown me that puffed-up tail before. And sucking up to you the whole time. Traitor.





10


September 27, 2018—private notes

No! It came back. Back! Every time it seems to be getting better, and then wham, smack-bang in the face. Twice as hard as before. That ugly, mutilated fuck-fuck-fuckface. Can’t go on like this!

Sam is too scared to come anywhere near me. Says his head literally reels when he’s around me, ever since we came back to Ams. I asked why he never said anything and he said he thought it was him. Or that it would go away. He can be so fucking naive! How could he keep shit like that from me???

Today it was worse than before. Said I’d suddenly fallen back into Mr. Hyde mode, as he calls the other. That I kept staring at him this whole time, so intensely it made him all giddy. And that he felt something else staring at him, through me. That’s why he walked away, only he tripped over his own feet and fell. That’s how dizzy he was. Couldn’t put it any other way than that he experienced—here it comes—fear of heights. His words.

Can it be true? Can he feel the Maudit through me?

I feel it, that’s for sure. Didn’t tell S., but I remember it staring at him. Again, the spiritual cramp, the window that had opened behind my face like a big, leering eye. It came through it! The transformation within myself is terrifying, but I can’t say it was altogether unpleasant. I looked at S. and saw his life in all its insignificant, ephemeral puniness and felt so powerful in contrast, so infinitely dominant! Like a perfect, eternal state of being within which I could do literally anything with him I wanted to. I could throw his soul into a bottomless pit, into everlasting darkness, without batting an eye.

That thought scared the hell out of me, when I had recovered. Because it was mine.

(later)

S. went to UvA (he says, but he’s avoiding me). Had the sudden urge to go out myself. Pulled my collar up high, hat on, sunglasses. Moved through the crowds like a shadow. Didn’t know where I was headed till I’d taken the ferry from behind Central Station across the IJ river and saw the A’DAM Tower looming up.

On the observation deck, towering high above everything, I could feel the world shift from one solstice to the other. Summer is over, winter is coming. There were birds in the sky. Migrating to the south. Far beyond the horizon lie the mountains. Felt them pulling at me with destructive power. Still, as I write this.

Pressure behind my face is building again. Oxa seems to alleviate it, but only temporarily. Urge to tear off the bandages almost unbearable.

(later)

Took the Maudit’s summit from my collection and now carry it with me. No need for Sam to see it. It’s my summit.





11


September 28, 2018

Barely able to think clearly today. Constant blackouts. Excruciating, the loss of control. A shadow has fallen on me and has me trapped in my own body. It’s pushing my mind away into an oblivious, ice-cold Null.

(later)

Oh fuck fuck fuck fuck fuck fuck fuck

Thomas Olde Heuvelt's books