Uzma Khan - Thinner Than Skin

I pushed on, replaying my moment on the edge. I’d pulled away eventually, though I couldn’t say how long I’d sat there after the escort left. Because I hadn’t wanted to lift my hands, I hadn’t been able to check the time. I’d kept sitting in that 40-degree angle, my body stiffening. It might have been the fear of never being able to move again that caused me to slowly inch away on my buttocks, one push at a time, looking at anything but my shoes. They were on solid ground. Push. They were still on solid ground. When I finally stood up, Ultar was silent. No rumbling. The river flowed in curves again. But I did not. A stitch of fear had fallen off onto me from that wavering wall, and now I carried it with me as I moved forward.

Of the route I was unsure, but there was evidently still a long way up. Irfan and Wes had said the glacier was not at the summit. They’d estimated four, maybe five hours. I might only be halfway there. I tried not to feel angry with Irfan. We were meant to keep each other vaguely in sight, even if we were to follow the shin-beams. Why wasn’t he looking out for me?

A new worry seized me. Should I be looking out for him?

And what about the others? Was Farhana safe?

I would have heard a shout. No one was in danger. I did what I’d resisted doing ever since pulling away from the ravine. I shone my headlamp into it, as it plunged thousands of meters to the valley floor. Nothing — though what exactly I was looking for, I didn’t know. Landslides? No, Ultar and her shadow were at peace.

I drank more water. I unloaded my pack from off my back. I’d packed my camera before setting out, and the 300 mm telephoto zoom, which added extra pounds. So much for being a photographer by day and a happy man by night! Before leaving, I’d told myself I wanted to change. If I were a photographer by night, would I be a happy man by day? If I were a happy man by day, would I make Farhana happier? So I’d packed the camera. My plan was to take images of the glacier before courting Farhana beside it, before descending to our hotel with her beside me.

Perhaps it was the camera that made me feel watched. I was aware of it, in my bag, in my company. I’d had it with me that night at the graves, before leaving Kaghan, when I could feel eyes behind me. And as on that night, my legs were not guiding me. It was my mind that guided my legs. Granted, climbing up a mountain that was not so much sloped as scissored was likely a good occasion to use one’s head. But I’d trusted my instincts better in the past — even if they did ocassionally fail me — and I liked how I saw the world differently without my camera at night. Now I felt obliged to do something with it. I took it out. I put it back inside.

As I tucked the camera away, I noticed a box wrapped in a red cloth beneath the zoom. I hadn’t put it there. It was likely that this had also been adding to the weight. Perhaps Irfan had slipped it in, with mithai or fruit to break into at the glacier.

I kept climbing.

I grew excited at the thought of a celebration waiting for us at our meeting point. I wouldn’t open the box. I’d let Irfan say when. And with this thought, it was again all right to be by myself. I had the company of a surprise that I’d been designated to carry, I was the good messenger, and in the meantime, the stars were again sparkling almost at nail’s reach, the night was clear.

My mind began to drift. This time, instead of muffled footsteps, or goatbells, I heard Farhana’s voice, sweeter than a bell. We were at the Sutro Baths that day in May, her birthday. Before me on Ultar Sar I saw her orange scarf roll across the green peat as she asked, “So, which is more beautiful. The desert, or the mountains?” I hadn’t known how to compare them, a horizontal wilderness with the most impenetrable perpendicular wilderness in the world. Now here I was, in a dark upright world that moved when I moved, in jaws that grew teeth when I tried to slip by them, and with no one to call out to if I fell into that widest jaw of all, the one below. I’d told her the experience energized me by removing me from myself. Like seeing the world from behind a camera . Except now, I had my camera with me, and I’d put it away.

Okay, which makes you happiest, the desert, the mountains, or these scummy baths with me .

I’m happy anywhere with you .

Soon I’d be happy again. Soon.

Half an hour later I was walking in mud, and a soft rain began to fall. My hands were filthy from guiding my feet through the muck. I wiped them on my jeans. The rocks were caked in soil and my shoes found no traction. I would have to walk around the mountain side, instead of going up. But which side? I was completely disoriented. I headed to my right, keeping my hands out in front, feeling in the shadows for a dry surface to hold. What I felt instead, more acutely this time, was a pair of eyes.

When I tried to look around to my horror I realized that I’d wound my way to the edge of a turn, past a gap, and onto a ledge. Again! Only, this time I wasn’t simply leaning against a crumbling wall but standing on it! Worse, I couldn’t even see it! My headlamp hadn’t illuminated the path; my feet were entirely in the dark. To go forward would mean falling into the chasm, witnessed only by Ultar and her echo. There was nothing for it but to slink to my left toward the mud again, raising my foot so it wouldn’t catch in the gap I’d been lucky to avoid without even knowing it. It was far worse than the last time; now it was raining, the earth was increasingly slick, and there was that gap. Plus, my feet were anchored in a space so small I couldn’t even think of sitting and inching my way to safety on my behind. I had to jump. I had to jump in the dark. I pushed the panic in my gut down a few inches but it rose by twice as many. Worse was to come. The headlamp was growing increasingly dim and I hadn’t brought extra batteries. Once again I cursed Irfan. Then I cursed myself for depending on him.

Why did I keep doing it? Why had I twice stepped so near to my death? It was as though something was willing me to do it. It was not my will! These were not my legs! I wanted to shout, and then I think I did. I think I shouted, These are not my legs! before it dawned on me that this was a terrible time to shout. I had to get off the ledge. I could not afford to stand here indefinitely, the way I’d sat indefinitely on the gravel earlier. I could not afford any distractions. I had to think clearly what to do next. And then I had to stop thinking. I had to act. Stop thinking. Stop thinking. I took two deep breaths, scooped to the left, felt the gap with my toes, jumped. I fell face down in the mud. But it was mud, not air. I was safe. I pulled my bag off my shoulders and fished inside — I could not afford to think about what I had just escaped, I had to think about small things, such as, I could not afford to drop my camera here — I fished inside without upsetting the camera, or the box, for the flashlight. Instead, a flashlight was in my face.

“Not far now,” he said. It was the escort, and he was bloody calm.

“Is there a way up from here?” My voice was shaking.

“Oh yes.” He offered me his hand.

I was hauled up as easily as a twig, though I’d believed him to be scrawnier than myself. I followed him further into the belly of the mountain, away from the torn crook of her arm.

It was raining harder. My jacket had a hood. His didn’t. He seemed unperturbed by this. This was a good thing to focus on. It was a very good thing.

“What’s your name?”

“Askarov.”

“Askarov?” I laughed. “From Kaghan?”

He did not answer.

“What is it you trade?” I tried again.

“Jade.”