David Wiltse - Prayer for the Dead

“I can’t hear you,” said Cindi.

“Golf I said golf,” said Becker, turning his lips from the rock so he could be heard. “I could have taken up golf.”

His right leg began to jerk involuntarily.

“What is he doing?” Alan demanded.

“He’s joking!” Cindi called.

“Choking? I know that.”

Cindi lowered her voice so Alan could not hear.

“Do you want me to come down and get you? There’s no disgrace in it. It happens all the time in the beginning.”

“Or tennis,” Becker said. “I actually like tennis.” Tilting his head a fraction more, he could see what Alan was referring to as a handhold. With luck, Becker could get three fingertips on it. That would give him three fingertips and the toe of his spasming right leg to support his weight-to lift his weight- until he found something for his left side. Not only crazy but a danger to himself.

“I’m coming down for you,” said Cindi.

Becker pushed off with his left leg and reached for the handhold. He caught it with the last three fingers of his hand as he straightened his right leg. The edge of rock sliced into his fingers as his body kept swinging to the right, pivoting around his right toe. His hip struck the rockface, his fingers leaped off the grip, and he fell headfirst toward the highway.

The nylon rope secured to Cindi’s piton with a carabiner caught him after a fall of six feet, and he swung into the rock like a speeding pendulum. Becker took the blow with his head and shoulders, rebounded, then bounced in a second time with his helmet. Stunned, he hung upside down for a while before slowly righting himself He dangled in space, the climbing harness digging into his thighs and buttocks. By the time his head cleared, Cindi was at his side and Alan was halfway up the rock.

“Are you all right?” Cindi asked. Becker tried to smile; he was not yet ready to speak. His back was to the rockface now and he saw the police car pull to a stop.

“How is he?” Alan called from below, climbing. “All right, I think.”

Alan was already analyzing the mishap and gave Becker the benefit of his thoughts as he moved upward.

“The problem was you’re not ready for that kind of move yet. You shouldn’t have tried it. That was an advanced intermediate move. You’re not that good, Becker.”

The cop got out of his car and leaned against it, looking up.

“You told him he could do it,” said Cindi.

“I just told him where the handhold was. He’s got to be the judge of whether or not he can do it.”

Alan was just below them now. It seemed to Becker that the young man had made the trip up in three bounds.

Cindi was looking into Becker’s eyes, swinging out from the rockface on the end of the rope she had secured atop the palisade.

“How do you feel now?”

“Stupid.”

“That’s a good sign,” she said.

“You took the wrong route,” said Alan. “That’s where you went wrong.”

“Where I went wrong was getting out of the car,” said Becker.

“You’re obviously all right,” said Cindi.

“The route to the left is much easier. You should have gone that way.”

“I went that way last week,” said Becker. “I thought I’d try something harder.”

“You got the stones for it,” said Alan with a touch of admiration. “I don’t know if you’ve got the aptitude, but you’ve definitely got the stones.”

“You don’t need stones for it,” said Cindi.

The cop lifted his hand and waggled his fingers at Becker.

“Looking good,” said the cop.

Becker put a hand over his crotch and tugged.

“And stylish, too,” the cop said.

“Friend of yours?” asked Cindi. She pulled gently on Becker’s arm and he turned, weightless, to face the rock.

“This has been cleared with the police,” Alan called down. “We got permission already. We don’t need any hassle.”

“Who does?” said the cop. “I’m just watching. This is a spectator sport, isn’t it? I’ve never seen anything quite as graceful as Becker there. I saw a pig on ice once, but that’s as close as it comes.”

“You want to try it?” Alan called heatedly.

The cop chuckled. “Just as soon as you put in a staircase.”

“I don’t like cops,” Alan said in a voice markedly softer.

“Neither do I,” said Becker. “That’s why I resigned.”

Cindi had placed Becker’s hands and feet on secure holds on the rock.

“The next hold is eight inches down with your right hand. I can put your hand there if you like. We’ll just take it one step at a time, and I’ll be right here with you.”

“You’re sure this is the macho thing to do?” Becker said. “Oh, please.”

“Are you sure a real man wouldn’t go right back up and try it again?”

“A real man would be home making soup and humping his woman,” said Cindi. “He wouldn’t have to be out here demonstrating his stones.”

Becker laughed. “I’ve got a new crockpot at home. Want to come over and check it out?”

“You must have hit your head harder than I realized,” said Cindi. “What’s it going to be? Down or dangle here and flirt?”

“Down, please,” said Becker,

“They look like spiders,” Tee said. He was officially Thomas Terence Terhune, but he had long since reduced it all to an initial.

They were sitting in the police car, watching Alan and Cindi clamber up and down the rock, retrieving their ropes and equipment.

“You, on the other hand, looked like a window washer.”

“Thank you.”

“What possessed you? There are so many nicer ways to kill yourself. That girl would probably do you in in about an hour in bed, for instance. Less, in the back of a car.”

“Cindi’s a nice girl,” said Becker.

“So? Nice girls don’t fuck? Is this a new thing? As I understand it, nice girls fuck nicely. Look at her arms.”

Cindi was splayed across the rock as if she had been hurled there. The spandex of her climbing outfit seemed to accentuate her musculature rather than hide it.

“Look at any of her,” Tee continued. “If she can do that on a mountain, imagine what she can do in bed. I like a bit of muscle on a girl, don’t you? I remember when they first came out. I was turned off by the biceps, the Navratilova look, you know? But now, I like it. Hell, I like anything. Muscle, fat, body hair, you name it.”

“You getting along all right with your wife, are you. Tee?”

“We get along fine. I don’t bother her and she doesn’t bother me. This kid, Cindi, she’s attached to Spiderman there?”

“Alan’s in love with himself, as far as I can figure out.”

“He shows rotten taste, doesn’t he? How about some coffee.”

“You had enough rockface eroticism. Tee?”

The police car was already moving. Tee swung into a sharp U-turn and headed back toward Clamden.

“What do you think she’d do if I put a move on her?”

“Cindi?”

“Yeah, who else we talking about?”

“Probably call a cop.”

“She can call me anything she wants,” said Tee.

“How about correspondent?”

“You’ve got a cold streak, you know that, Becker? You’re just not a fun-lover. No wonder people try to kill you.”

“So finally we’re getting down to business,” said Becker.

Tee adjusted his holster to ride on the front of his thigh before sliding into the booth. Once in, he spent several seconds adjusting the flashlight, radio, and other equipment on his webbed belt until he was comfortable.

“Shit was designed for Robocop,” he said.

“There’s no way a human can sit down without feeling like an asshole with all this crap hanging down and sticking you in the kidneys. Makes me feel like a telephone lineman.”