A Change in Altitude

by Anita Shreve

  “How did you find such a fabulous house?”

  “The parents of a friend were moving and wanted to rent it out. It’s a little embarrassing to have so much space for just the two of us. Nominally, we’re house-sitting, though we’ve been allowed to make a few changes, such as the wall upstairs. We could never afford to live here. When we leave, someone else will take it over, or the owners will sell it. Eventually, they’ll have to.”

  Margaret murmured.

  “At first I didn’t like the idea of renting such a big house,” Everdene said. “It seemed wrong, given that the expats are hanging on by a thread here. The house should go to an African or, better yet, become an African school. Can you imagine? It’s perfect. But it’s not for us to say, and when we got here… well… I think we just lost all our scruples.”

  Margaret laughed. “Don’t think about guilt. It’s not your guilt, anyway.” She paused. “Let’s not talk about all that right now. A day like this is so rare for Patrick and me, I just want to soak it in.”

  “You’re right. Of course you’re right. You live in Nairobi?”

  “We do. We used to rent a cottage in Langata and then we lived in a house in Karen, but somehow we ended up closer to the city.”

  Did Margaret want to tell Everdene the reasons for having to abandon the cottage and the house-sit? No. All she wanted to do was to forget. It was as if her brain were full up with anxiety and needed a rest. She wanted to hear about the oddities of Everdene’s house, let her eyes relax, even close them if she felt like it.

  Patrick’s posture revealed his ease as well. Had they truly broken through the ice jam that morning? If so, this was their perfect reward.

  Margaret looked over at Everdene. “Tell me about your students,” she said.

  “What did you think?” Patrick asked Margaret in the Peugeot on their way back to their flat.

  “I liked them. I had fun.”

  “I did, too. I was wondering about the climb,” Patrick said.

  “What about the climb?”

  “I was thinking of asking them to go with us.”

  Margaret was surprised by the suggestion. Wasn’t the climb meant to be a personal challenge for them both? To go alone would be one kind of trip. To go with Kevin and Everdene would be something entirely different.

  “Another couple would help with expenses,” Patrick said. “Cut them in half, in fact.”

  Margaret pondered the quandary and in doing so realized that she liked the idea of having another couple.

  “Do you think they’re climbers?” Margaret asked.

  “Were we climbers?”

  “Wouldn’t they think the invitation abrupt? We’ve only had one lunch with them.”

  “I felt comfortable,” Patrick said. “I felt relaxed. Say what you will about Arthur and Diana, I never for one moment was relaxed.”

  Patrick took a roundabout.

  Margaret could agree with that, but she felt a small tug of reluctance at the thought of opening up the climb to others. The trek would no longer be an attempt to accomplish something greater than the climb itself. There was a purity in that idea, a sense of purpose. On the other hand, she thought, it would undoubtedly be more fun with Kevin and Everdene. It might be safer as well. If they made it to the summit, the other agenda would have taken care of itself, wouldn’t it? The two plans weren’t mutually exclusive.

  “Why don’t you talk to Kevin,” Margaret suggested, “and feel him out?”

  Patrick returned home the next evening with the news that Kevin was enthusiastic about the climb. He and Everdene had never considered climbing Mount Kenya, but Kevin took to the idea at once and said he would talk it over with his wife that evening.

  Patrick and Margaret had already made the decision not to tell the other couple about Diana. It was a risk, since Kevin and Everdene might well hear about the tragedy from someone else in the expat community. To start off the climb, however, with that image in their heads would do the other couple a disservice. Why burden them with that? At times Margaret wondered if she and Patrick weren’t using their new friends for their own ends.

  After dinner, Kevin telephoned Patrick and Margaret. Everdene was thrilled with the idea, he reported, and had nothing but questions.

  “We need a few practice hikes,” Patrick suggested. “Why don’t Margaret and I prepare a picnic to be had on the Ngong Hills next Sunday? We’ll hike up, have the picnic, then climb down. While we’re eating, we can talk. Bring paper and pencils. We’ll have to make lists. And the first thing you both need to do is buy hiking boots so you’ll have plenty of time to break them in. There’s a good place in town. Hang on a second.” Patrick turned his head away. “Margaret, what’s the name of the place you went to?”

  “Sir Henry’s,” she said.

  “Sir Henry’s,” Patrick repeated over the phone.

  Margaret thought how strange it was that she and Patrick were now the more experienced.

  “Terrific,” Patrick said, and put down the phone. He turned to Margaret. “So,” he said. “It’s done.”

  That week, Margaret cleaned the flat and took two trips to the laundry. Patrick bought a fake Christmas tree, which they decorated. Everdene and Kevin invited them for Christmas dinner, and on the day itself, Margaret and Patrick called both his family and hers. Toward the end of the phone call, Margaret asked her parents to drive to a ski store and send them the best parkas and gloves and silk long underwear they could find, including six pairs of silk socks. She impressed upon them the need to do this as soon as possible, since the climb was now slightly less than a month away. If they sent the package that day or the next, it might reach Nairobi before she and Patrick set out for the mountain.

  Timmy couldn’t help but ask when Margaret was coming home, and at the sound of his voice, she nearly said “tomorrow.” In the end, he had to settle for “soon.” Her parents said that she sounded a lot better than she had during their last phone call, when Margaret had been in the hospital.

  Margaret did feel better, she insisted. She looked upon the climb as a challenge. She and Patrick would reach the top; she was certain of that. No mention was made of the previous climb, which her parents knew about. They didn’t ask her why she was doing this again, and Margaret volunteered little.

  After Margaret hung up the phone, she thought about how much she might have to bury, to put away. She understood this might be foolish, even unhealthy, but she saw no other way to manage her life.

  Margaret thought of Rafiq. For a few hours one day, she had convinced herself that Rafiq was just a crush she’d once had. She suspected this might happen all the time with married people: they had harmless crushes and then moved on. One didn’t necessarily have to act.

  But she knew that she was lying to herself, that she would never forget Rafiq. The only compromise, Margaret decided, was to live her life on parallel tracks, one moving inexorably forward, the other reserved for memory. She wondered if it could be done and what the cost to her marriage would be.

  When she thought of Rafiq, she tried to picture where he had settled. Margaret imagined he had taken a taxi to a Pakistani area of London, perhaps to Brick Lane or Bethnal Green. He would have gone to his cousins’, she guessed. While the women gathered in rooms to talk and mind the children, the men would watch television, passionate about cricket. Sometimes Margaret saw Rafiq so clearly it hurt, but she couldn’t put him in a specific place or at a specific job. Would he be living with relatives? Or would he have left London for Islamabad? Would she have been comfortable living his life with him? If Margaret had been involved with Rafiq when he was deported, she would have followed him. Of that, she was certain.

  Discovering that she was in better shape than the last time she’d attempted the Ngong Hills left Margaret exhilarated. She remembered that awful, desperate thirst, the struggle for breath. Now there was none of that. She recalled the red ants only long enough to warn Kevin and Everdene about them.

  On the first trip, t
he four sat atop the first knuckle and made lists. On the second trip, they easily made it to Finch Hatton’s grave, marked by an obelisk and words from “The Rime of the Ancient Mariner.” On the third trip, they reached the end of the hills and then the car again in record time. Kevin and Everdene were in excellent physical condition, far better than Margaret had been in a year ago. Everdene had sturdy legs and always carried a walking stick, a practice Margaret soon adopted. Kevin’s compact figure seemed built to propel him up a hill. Of all of them, he was by far the fastest. Patrick and Margaret would slow him down, they explained, and for good reason. They shared with their friends the horror stories of HAPE and HACE, the miseries of AMS.

  Everdene, in particular, wanted to know more about the glacier, but Margaret found herself unable to answer her questions. Patrick took over and described the rope, the carved steps, the guide’s careful pace. It would be easier, Patrick said, with four of them instead of six. Neither Margaret nor Patrick ever mentioned Diana, nor even the names of the people they had first climbed the mountain with. They admitted that they hadn’t reached the top and that was why they were repeating what was, at the very least, a challenging climb.

  Back at Everdene and Kevin’s house, Margaret told them the story of the Kikuyu and Kirinyaga.

  Sometimes Margaret thought she was living inside an echo.

  “Did you get any of those awful conditions you told us about?” Everdene asked at dinner after their third expedition on the Ngong Hills.

  Patrick and Margaret looked at each other. Margaret said she’d had a touch of AMS just after the glacier, which is why they hadn’t tried for the top. She felt light-headed at the thought that she was lying to a woman she now considered a friend. But by not being honest about Diana from the beginning, Margaret had boxed herself in. The lie might have to continue along certain unexpected tributaries.

  “Do we tip the porters and guide?” Kevin asked. He’d come out onto the veranda in a V-necked sweater. Margaret’s long white dashiki fell to the ground. She owned four of them in different colors and wore them whenever she could, for comfort. Everdene showed off her tan with a gauzy aqua shirt and a silver necklace. The sun set, and Margaret knew they might have to move inside soon. When the light left the lawn, the mosquitoes rose from the grass.

  “I think we tip the guide,” Patrick said. “And then he takes care of the others.” He paused. “Or not.”

  “Do you know how much? I just want to make sure I’ve got enough cash on me at the end.”

  “Well, you certainly won’t need any cash on the mountain,” Patrick said. “I don’t know, but I’ll find out before we leave.”

  “Dying to see the lodge,” Everdene said. “I hear it’s wonderful.”

  Margaret thought about the impalas in the grasses, the buck bounding away. “Bring a sweater,” she said. “It’s frigid at dinner. It’ll be cold the entire trip. Layers are the answer.”

  “It was exactly a year ago that you two made your first attempt?” Everdene asked.

  “It was,” Patrick said, not looking at Margaret. “Nearly to the day. There’s a small window twice a year when climbing the mountain is at all feasible. You can’t go during the rainy seasons. You’d never get up the mountain, for one thing; for another, you could get lost in a blizzard.”

  “A blizzard on the equator,” Kevin said. “Still can’t get used to the idea.”

  “You’ll see snow,” Margaret said. “Especially at the top.”

  The parkas and silk underwear had arrived from home just the day before. Patrick had to stand in line at the post office for more than an hour to retrieve the package. Margaret and he were used to the routine. At Christmas, the wait had been four hours.

  Margaret wished she had asked for four sets of long underwear so that she could give Kevin and Everdene a pair. At least she could give them socks.

  The three who worked were taking Friday off so that they could have the two nights at the lodge before setting out Sunday morning. Margaret wondered if they would have the same guide or porters. She hoped not. The guide certainly would remember Margaret and Patrick and perhaps say something to them, which might then be overheard by either Kevin or Everdene—a situation Margaret didn’t want to think about.

  Patrick, on the Sunday morning they’d decided to climb Mount Kenya again, had used the word expunged. Margaret had been pondering the term for weeks and had decided it was precisely the word for what she hoped to do with the memory of that first climb.

  Margaret scrutinized the porters. She introduced herself to each one and asked their names. They smiled at her. She saw no familiar faces. When it was her turn to meet the guide, she spoke to him in Swahili and then in English. She shook his hand and asked his name, which he said was Njoroge. She wondered if he had misgivings each time he took another climbing party out. Since the last trip, Margaret had learned that half of all AMS deaths in the world occurred on Mount Kenya.

  Margaret and Patrick had already put on their puffy navy jackets. They left some of the layers and the silk underwear in their backpacks for when the temperature dropped. Everdene had slipped into a red ski jacket that made Margaret blanch when she saw it for the first time. No white fur on the hood, but it was far too similar to what Diana had been wearing. There was nothing to be done about it. Margaret certainly couldn’t say to Everdene, “Don’t wear red.”

  Kevin had on a black ski jacket, and Margaret guessed that the couple had sent for the gear. She glanced at their gloves and reminded them to check that they had their dark glasses with them.

  At the lodge, Patrick had taken Kevin trout fishing. When the men had returned with a good-size catch, they’d asked the cook to prepare the fish for their dinner. The delicate and flavorful trout had been perfectly done. The men’s pride in providing food for their wives was funny to watch, though Margaret remained suitably reverent during the meal. While the men had been fishing, Everdene and Margaret had taken a walk (no impalas) and attempted a swim at the pool. Margaret registered a scum slick on the bottom and bits of what looked to be algae floating on the surface. That afternoon, in her room, Margaret took a long shower to rid herself of unwanted flora and fauna.

  After dinner on the second night, Margaret and Patrick had made love for the first time in weeks. He undressed her slowly and spent lavish amounts of time kissing her neck and shoulders, seductive gestures he knew she liked but he had often skipped before. Though Margaret could never set aside the notion that they were trying (and perhaps trying too hard), she attempted to put herself into a similar frame of mind. She was aware, as she did so, of withholding part of herself from Patrick. She doubted that her husband detected her reserve; it had been more than a year since Margaret had made love freely.

  “I’ll be with you every step of the way,” Patrick reaffirmed to Margaret as they set out. He had determined the order. He and Margaret first, to establish the pace; Everdene and Kevin behind Margaret. Kevin and Everdene never went ahead, though sometimes the four clumped together when the conversation involved all of them. Margaret learned that she could talk and hike at the same time and marveled at the difference in the degree of difficulty of this trek compared to the last one. It wasn’t that Margaret could have run up the mountain; she could not. Suspecting she was still the slowest of the four, she nevertheless handled the altitude better than she had the previous year. Kevin and Everdene appeared undaunted by the earliest parts of the climb. Neither one was in the least winded or tired. Margaret decided there must be a genetic disposition to acclimation that the British have and Americans do not. But then she thought the theory specious and abandoned it.

  “This is the place where we encountered the buffalo,” Patrick announced. “It was just fucking huge, and it had its eyes on us the entire time. Both the guide and the porters were amazed that it didn’t charge us, because we had clearly startled it when we’d gone around a bend. We must have had the wind coming at us. A startled buffalo is a scary creature. More people are killed by bu
ffalo on Mount Kenya than by any other animal.”

  “What happened?” Everdene asked.

  “We backed up. Very slowly, so as not to call any more attention to ourselves than we already had. I don’t know if you noticed that fork in the trail back there, but we retreated to the fork and then went the other way. Cost us an hour at least.”

  “So… how do we know there aren’t buffalo all over the place?” Everdene asked, betraying the first hint of fear.

  “We don’t,” Patrick said.

  “The guide is very good,” Margaret said quickly to allay Everdene’s concerns. What was the point, she wanted to ask Patrick, of frightening Everdene before they’d hardly begun the climb? “They all carry pangas as well,” Margaret added, referring to the porters and the guide.

  A lot of good a panga would do, she thought privately.

  “You’re climbing amazingly well this time,” Patrick said to Margaret when the four set off again. “You must feel better.”

  “I do. I kind of wish you hadn’t brought up the buffalo. I think the less everyone worries, the better off we’ll all be.”

  “You’re right. Sorry,” Patrick said in that way he had. Subject over. Subject done with.

  Margaret gave her husband a quick kiss. He had complimented her, and she had scolded him. Not the best way to accomplish their joint goal.

  She planted her walking stick into the ground. “Wish I’d had one of these the first time around.”

  “You had a stick on the bog,” Patrick said.

  “It was way too late by then,” Margaret replied.

  When the sun came out as they neared Met Station, Margaret was jubilant. “This is amazing,” she said to Everdene. “When we were here before, we were covered in cloud and never had a view at all. Look at this!”

  They stood well above the base of the mountain and could see the terraced land on the lower slopes falling away to the flat plains beyond. Margaret searched for Nairobi, but though she saw smaller towns, she couldn’t find the city. On the side of the mountain from which they had a view, the sky was cloudless. If she turned, however, she could see a dark gray mound hovering over the mountain and obscuring the peaks.