Far, Far the Mountain Peak

by Arthur Clifford

  Returning along the balcony, he passed an open door and smelt a pungent, sweetish smell that brought back memories of those Sunday night parties Giles used to have at Gloucester Road. Casually he peeped in. Through a bluish haze he discerned a group of bodies sprawled untidily on the benches and on the floor. Some he recognised as Dobson’s people. Others were strangers: ragged young men, bearded, bangled and with long, matted hair; possibly some of those ‘itinerant hippies’ about which Steadman had warned him. Empty beer cans littered the floor and everybody seemed to be smoking. In a far corner, apparently oblivious of everybody and everything, a couple of naked bodies were wrapped in a heaving and grunting embrace, big hairy backside wobbling furiously and a white feminine body jerking up and down rhythmically; one of Dobson’s girls and a stranger, hard at work, Fleetwood-style. Booze, drugs and fuckin’: Jim hadn’t been exaggerating.

  As he turned to leave, Kev leapt up, grabbed his arm and pulled him up to his chest. Trapped. The Greenhill terror was on him. But try not to show it.

  Slurred and aggressive voice. ‘Herld on, me bonny lad! Yer’ve not seen nowt, ’ave yer? So divvent gan grassin’ ter yon Steadman blerk. Gerrit?’

  He punched him violently in the ribs.

  ‘Oyer! No! No! I’ll not grass on you!’

  ‘Berra not, son!’

  He punched him again.

  ‘Oyer!’

  ‘There’s a lot more where that came from.’ With that, he relaxed his grip.

  John scuttled off, desperate to reach the protecting wings of Steadman. What had he discovered? They were smoking dope, which they’d probably got from those hippies. The idiots! Didn’t they know what would happen if they got caught? Steadman had dinned it into him, all right: arrest, a Moroccan jail, beaten up by the guards. And, worse still, trouble for everybody else. Bloody hell, he could land in jail, too! And what would Dolly have to say about that? ‘No! I’ll not grass on you!’ Don’t be daft! Let Steadman know now before it’s too late!

  As he bounded down the stairs, he ran straight into Dobson. ‘Where the bloody hell have you been?’

  Blank stare. The words just wouldn’t come.

  ‘You don’t know, do you? Well, I’ll tell you. Off on your own without permission into a dangerous part of the town and gorging yourself on the local muck – and God alone knows what parasites are in that stuff! – and inveigling bona-fide expedition members to come with you. If you bloody poison yourself and your little mate, that’s your business, but I’m not having you endangering the lives of my expedition members and undermining expedition discipline either! You shouldn’t be here. You’re a thoroughly bad influence. Your face doesn’t fit. I’m sending you home tomorrow!’

  At that, John’s smouldering resentment burst out. ‘You can’t do that! I’ve been selected for the expedition! Mr Steadman says.’

  ‘Huh! That’s what you think. Well, you’ll be learning a thing or two in the morning!’

  Disaster! Dropping the last vestiges of the ‘good expeditioner’ pose, John wriggled past him and made a dash for the bedroom.

  ‘Bob! Bob! This is urgent!’

  A sleepy Steadman emerged from beneath an enfolding sheet.

  ‘Yes?’

  ‘Dobson says he’s sending me home. He can’t do that, can he? I mean, you won’t let him, will you? Please!’

  ‘Good lord, no!’

  Profound relief. ‘Thanks, Bob, thanks!’

  Then anger came. ‘I mean, what’s got into that man? I was going downstairs when he blew a fit on me for going into the town with Tracy and Jim.’

  ‘Don’t worry. It’s all par for the course. He and Morris went to a hotel and found it far too expensive, just like I said it would be. Then they got sloshed on the local beer.’

  ‘But why pick on me?’

  ‘Because he’s jealous of you. You can speak French and he can’t. He sees you as a threat.’

  ‘But what have I done?’

  ‘It’s not what you’ve done. It’s who you are.’

  ‘That’s pathetic! He says I’m a bad influence. Bad influence! You should see what his lot are getting up to upstairs.’

  ‘Oh, and what’s that?’

  ‘Please don’t say I told you. Kev said he’d do me over if I grassed him up. Please Bob, I know I’m a wimp. But, well, I’m scared of him.’

  ‘Don’t worry. I won’t tell. Now out with it.’

  ‘Well, they were there with some hippie types, smoking dope…’

  ‘Dope?’

  ‘It’ll be hash or, mebbe, heroin,’ put in Michael, sticking a tousled head out of his enclosing blanket. ‘Me mam uses hash from Morocco and Darran told us to bring some heroin back, an’ all. But Ah’m not deein’ it! Ah’m not that daft, me!’

  ‘Hmmm.’ Steadman nodded knowingly. ‘Anything else?’

  ‘Well one of the girls was being screwed by a hippie, right in front of everybody, too!’

  ‘Just as I thought.’

  ‘But the dope? It’s against the law. Hadn’t we better get the police? I mean, if we don’t, we could all get done, like you said! I’m scared!’

  ‘Just you cool down. That’s Dobbie’s problem, not ours. Give that lot time, give them enough rope to hang themselves. They’re daft enough to do it. There’s going to be a big bust-up soon. At least half of Dobbie’s lot don’t like what’s happening with Kev, and want to join us lot. That’s one reason why Dobbie wants you out of the way. Like it or not, my man, you are a threat to him. In the meantime, rest assured. You’re doing fine. So are you, Michael.’

  Michael covered himself up and rolled over. Suddenly Steadman embraced John. Both felt a warm – and unmentionable! – thrill sweeping through them. Quickly, and actually frightened by it, they disentangled themselves.

  ‘OK. Bed now.’

  John stripped down to his underpants and slipped under a blanket alongside Michael. What a day! And this was only the start.

  Expedition Briefing

  A hot, sun-soaked morning came. Along with Michael and Steadman, John had a leisurely breakfast of tea, bread and olives, seated on the cushions under the palm tree in the courtyard. There was no sign of the others. As he slipped past their room on his way to the toilet, he noticed that they were still asleep.

  Some time after ten o’clock the ‘Expedition Briefing’ occurred. Slowly, in dribs and drabs, Dobson’s group trickled down to the courtyard and sprawled listlessly under the palm tree. When about half of them had arrived the trickle dried up, and a hiatus began. Eventually, like an Advent Angel, Morris appeared, spick and span, crisp and efficient, heralding the approach of the ‘One Greater than He’. Finally, looking thunderous, Dobson arrived.

  ‘What’s up with him now?’ John whispered to Michael. ‘Has he found out about the dope and that?’

  ‘Doubt it. He’s jus’ got a ’angover him. He’s bin on the beer all last night, like.’

  Seeing Jim and Tracy, John bounced over to them.

  With a roar that made some people jump, Dobson suddenly came to life.

  ‘You! Over there!’

  ‘Me?’ asked John in an aggrieved tone, complete with a surly adolescent curled lip. ‘Why?’

  ‘Because you’re not part of the expedition. And don’t answer back!’

  ‘Yes, I am! Mr Steadman says!’

  A teenage confrontation was developing. Steadman acted quickly before it could turn violent. He grabbed John’s arm and escorted the protesting lump back to where Michael was sitting.

  ‘Not now, young man. Not now!’

  Dobson took charge. ‘We’re not all here. Where’s Kevin and Jakie? Somebody had better get them.’

  ‘They’re ill. They’re staying in bed today.’

  Dobson glared at Steadman. Several notches up from the normal baleful stare. ‘Ill? Just what I knew would happe
n if we stayed in a place like this. But, then, some people thought they knew better, didn’t they?’ He then launched into what was obviously a carefully prepared speech.

  ‘Now, before we start, I’ve got something important to say. You’ve landed in a difficult situation which is not of my making.’ Glare in Steadman’s direction. ‘But so far, you’ve all managed well. Unfortunately you have been let down by our two – shall we say, ‘extras?’ – who went off into the town, alone and without my permission as expedition leader (another glare at Steadman) and, regardless of the risk, consorted with dangerous locals, and risked their health by eating God alone knows what local muck. Endangering themselves was quite irresponsible enough. What has made it much worse is that they put two of our own team at risk as well. I trust Tracy and Jim will have learned their lesson, and from now on I want no more sneaking off without permission. Mr Steadman, I want your two beauties sent home. Now. Before they do any more damage.’

  As the peroration concluded, John’s temper had steadily boiled up. This was crazy! That excursion last night had been a good and positive thing! Steadman had said so! And what about the sex and drugs he’d seen? Didn’t that matter? Fuming, he stood up.

  But before he could shout at Dobson, Steadman grabbed his shoulder and pushed him down again.

  ‘Keep your temper, John. Leave this to me. Mr Dobson,’ he continued, ‘I’m afraid that won’t be possible.’

  ‘And why not? Those are my orders as Expedition Leader and I expect to be obeyed.’

  ‘But the flight is an APEX cheapie and the dates are fixed.’

  ‘Well, put them on another flight.’

  ‘Not possible. All the flights are booked up. Anyway, we haven’t got the money. So they’ll have to stay with me.’

  ‘Huh!’

  A pause followed, while Dobson visibly smouldered.

  Finally he pronounced: ‘As you say, Mr Steadman. But I’m not taking any responsibility for them. They stay with you, and I forbid any of the real expedition members to have anything to do with them. I might as well tell you that when we get home there will be consequences. Serious consequences. Now, it’s over to you, Joe.’

  Morris stepped forward, carrying bundles of papers. Exuding even more than his usual aura of clipped professionalism, he seemed almost manic. Glancing nervously in Dobson’s direction, he paused.

  God, thought John, he’s like a small kid having to speak to the school at Morning Assembly! He’s shit scared of Dobbie, that’s for sure!

  Eventually Dobson gave a little nod and Morris handed each expedition member a neatly folded map, ostentatiously omitting John and Michael, who went into a huddle with Steadman. There was a pause while one half of the recipients opened out their maps and the other half dropped them onto the ground.

  Morris gave another anxious glance at Dobson, who finally condescended to nod his head. He then launched into a carefully rehearsed speech, all in a nervously clipped staccato. Rat-a-tat… a list of facts poured out like bullets from a machine gun.

  ‘Expedition timetable. Phase One. Acclimatisation to climate and culture. That’s today. Stay in Marrakesh. Phase Two. Acclimatisation hike. Tomorrow morning for three days. Phase Three. Self-managed ascent of Jebel Toubkal. Four thousand six hundred metres. Three days from Imlil. Main objective of the expedition. Aim: to prove the expedition expertise of proletarian youth.’

  More names and facts poured out. John, at any rate, lost track of the avalanche.

  ‘Acclimatisation hike. Now detailed planning. At zero nine hundred hours tomorrow morning we take taxis to Imlil. Locate it on your maps. We spend the night at Imlil in the French Alpine Club hostel. Next day at zero nine hundred hours we start the acclimatisation hike. Look at your maps. From Imlil up to the Tizi Mzik Pass. Down to Tizi Oussem and Taddert. Over the Tizi–n-Techt Pass and back to Imlil. The duration of the hike: six hours.’

  Suddenly Steadman spoke up. ‘Hold on a minute! Isn’t this a bit ambitious? I mean, it’s a big pull up to the Tizi Mzik Pass. Two thousand feet plus, and under a hot sun too. And it’s quite a drag to Imi Oughlad. It’ll take this lot a lot longer than six hours, especially if they’re not that fit.’ Here he threw a glance at some supine adolescent lumps sprawled on the ground.

  Morris threw a nervous glance at Dobson and then scowled. ‘Are you questioning my professional judgement?’

  ‘No, I wouldn’t dream of doing that,’ replied Steadman with a benign smile, ‘but in view of the fitness of some of our troops, wouldn’t it be wiser to do an easier hike to Tacheddirt? It would break them in gently.’

  Again, he indicated the supine heaps on the ground.

  At this, Dobson weighed in with the full weight of his leader’s authority. ‘Mr Steadman, this is a serious mountaineering expedition. You can take your two extras over to Tach-whatever it is, if you want, but they’re not coming with us. The real expedition members are going over the Tizi M’Zik Pass. We don’t want them held up by a couple of free-loaders who won’t be able to cope with serious mountaineering. Understand?’

  At this John’s temper broke. He stood up and shouted, ‘That’s not fair! I can cope! I’ve—’

  But before he could go any further, Steadman grabbed him and pushed him down.

  ‘Temper tantrums won’t do you any good. Just sit down!’

  Dobson glared contemptuously at the seething adolescent heap. ‘You watch yourself, sunshine! You just watch yourself.’

  Morris resumed his fusillade. ‘Equipment. Full mountain kit. Boots. Rucksacks. Any questions?’

  Steadman spoke up. ‘You haven’t mentioned water bottles. It’ll be very hot and they’ll need Puritabs if they’re not to get stomach upsets.’

  Morris ignored him. ‘Now go and prepare your kit.’

  The expedition briefing was over.

  ‘Just Give it Time’

  Back in their room, John exploded. ‘Dobson’s a cunt! I’m going to punch his fucking face in!’

  ‘No, young man, you’re not!’ said Steadman grabbing his arm and flinging him onto the bench, where he landed with a thump. Placing his hands firmly on his shoulders he held him down.

  ‘Gerroff! Lemme go!’

  Speaking quietly and firmly, Steadman addressed the quivering heap. ‘Go on, take a swing at Dobbie if you like. But what do you think will happen? I’ll tell you. He’ll just set Kev onto you, that’s all.’

  ‘I don’t fucking care!’

  ‘You will fucking care when Kev starts on you. He’s already got two convictions for Greviouis Bodily Harm.. Now, just cool down. Things are going your way quicker than you think. There’re going to be a few chickens coming home to roost fairly soon. Don’t go and mess things up.’

  ‘He’s right, John,’ added Michael calmly. ‘He’s right, yer knaa. Don’t gan an’ muck things up. Leave it ter them lot. They’re doin’ it quite fast enough, them.’

  ‘Just give it time,’ said Steadman. ‘Give it time.’

  John threw a sulky pout. ‘And how the hell do you know?’

  ‘I’ve got second sight. I’m a prophet, didn’t you know?’

  ‘Very funny.’

  Mysterious Souks, Ancient Mosques

  Later that morning Steadman took John and Michael on a tour of Marrakesh. It was twisting alleys, mysterious souks, ancient mosques and an exotic tannery, all of which helped to soothe John’s temper.

  In the afternoon they returned to the pension where they prepared their rucksacks for the acclimatisation hike.

  ‘We are going with the others, aren’t we?’ asked John.

  ‘Of course!’ replied Steadman. ‘You don’t think that lot could manage on their own, do you? Most of them can’t read a map, and none of them speak a word of French.’

  Of Dobson’s lot there was little sign.

  ‘With any luck they’ll have buggered off,’ said
Michael. ‘That means we can get on with things proppa like. I mean do we have to have them lot wi’ us?’

  ‘There’s Sommat Gannin’ on’

  That evening, Steadman took them out for supper. As they were leaving they ran into Jim.

  John greeted him with a friendly smile. ‘Jim! Want to come and have supper with us?’

  But with an inaudible grunt, Jim pushed past them and scuttled upstairs.

  ‘Well, he wasn’t very sociable!’ snorted John.

  ‘He’s scared, that’s what!’ said Michael.

  ‘There’s sommat gannin’ on,’ he added sagely. ‘Like what you said, Bob.’

  Steadman nodded vaguely.

  They went to a small rooftop restaurant overlooking the Jemaa el-Fnaa. As the sun went down in an orange glow, and the square below them seethed with sparkling lights and frenetic bustle, they ate a vast and spicy Moroccan meal.

  Mugged

  It was dark when they eventually returned to the pension. Vague murmuring from upstairs indicated that Dobson’s lot were in residence.

  ‘Seems them lot’s back!’ sighed Michael. ‘That’s torn it!’

  ‘Just try to be patient,’ said Steadman. ‘Just wait and see what happens tomorrow.’

  Before settling down for the night, John slipped up to the toilet. Emerging from the foetid little cubicle amid the groans and gurgles of the barely functioning waterworks, he made his way along the balcony. Suddenly a massive figure loomed out of the dark. It was Kev. All John’s bravado seemed to go hissing out of him, like the air out of a punctured football. He turned round and tried to scurry back to the toilet, with the vague hope of locking himself in.

  But a big hand seized his shoulder and swung him round. There before him was the whole bunch: Jakie, Sandra, and the rest of them. Michael was right, ‘them lot’ were back. Struggling desperately, he was pulled into their room. In the background he could just make out Jim and Tracy. Both turned away and tried not to look at him. No help from that quarter. Alone. At the mercy of the mob. Not tough guy John now, but terrified little wimp John. The John that peed on the Bishop’s carpet.