Ronald Malfi - The Ascent

“Jesus, man, why? You were brilliant.”

“It’s … it’s a lot of mitigating factors. Complicated bullshit.”

“Life is full of complicated bullshit. Yours is no different than anyone else’s.”

I felt my heart flutter. For some stupid reason, I said, “I see Hannah.”

Andrew stared at me with an intensity that made me uncomfortable. “What are you talking about?”

“Forget it.” I waved a hand at him.

“Tell me.”

I sighed, watching a group of older men shoot darts. After what felt like an eternity, I said, “You’ll think I’m crazy, but I believe she’s been haunting me.”

“How’s that?”

“I first saw her that night in the cave.” I explained how I’d gotten free of the cave and found the highway, following what I thought was Hannah’s ghost. I didn’t know if I expected Andrew to laugh or clap me on the shoulder and tell me I needed psychiatric help, but he did neither; he merely watched my lips move while I talked and never interrupted. “After that, I kept seeing her in my apartment. Out of the corner of my eye. But every time I turn to look, it’s a coatrack or a pile of clothes. And every time I flip the lights on, she vanishes.” Once again, I waved a hand at him. It seemed a sane gesture, one I was required to do in relaying such a bizarre story. “It’s stupid, I know. But it’s been bothering me.”

“Why?” said Andrew.

I didn’t know quite what he meant. “Because it’s fucking unnatural.”

“No.” He fluttered some fingers before his face. “I mean, why is she coming to you now? She’s been dead for three years.”

“Never mind,” I said. “It’s all in my head. I’m dealing with a lot of shit about her death.”

“Maybe it’s a warning. Like she’s trying to tell you something from beyond the grave.”

“Or maybe it’s that I’ve been spending too much time alone with my thoughts.”

“And back in the cave?” he said, cocking one eyebrow.

“Back in the cave I was in agony, and I was nearly hypothermicand dehydrated and whatever else you can imagine. I could have imagined I’d been rescued by Bigfoot, and it would have seemed perfectly natural at the time.”

Andrew sighed and rubbed at his upper lip with an index finger. His eyes never left mine. “You’re such a realist. You remember all that crazy shit we used to do?”

I nodded. I remembered it well.

“Realism will be your downfall.”

I snorted and said, “That makes no fucking sense.”

“Everything makes sense. Listen,” he said. His voice had adopted a less breathy tone. “I believe in fate. And I believe fate had me run into you here tonight.”

“Why would fate go through the trouble?”

“So I could apologize.”

His words surprised me. “Apologize for what?”

“For all the time we lost after Hannah’s death. For disappearing for three years. And for siding with her in the separation.”

I glanced away and watched the smoke coil up from the tip of my cigarette. “It was only fair. You were Hannah’s friend, too. And I was an asshole. I was fully to blame for the split.”

For whatever reason, I waited for Andrew to tell me that wasn’t the case, that both Hannah and I were equally to blame, but he didn’t. If he had, it would have been a lie. Hannah leaving me was my fault, not ours.

“Have you ever heard of the Canyon of Souls?” he asked. It was like something straight out of an old movie—particularly the way he leaned over the table and whispered to me in a conspiratorial tone. “Have you?”

“No.”

“It’s a canyon, an ice canyon, slick like a buffed flume, that runs under the earth, and no one on this planet has ever been able to successfully traverse it from one end to the other. Hell, no one’s ever even seen it. No one , Tim.”

I felt a frozen finger touch the base of my spine. Suddenly I was no longer sitting here in the bar; I was back in my apartment, watching the molten shadows shift in the darkness from across the room. I was back in the caves, too, with my leg all fucked up and the stink of my own inevitable death filling my nostrils. I thought of Hannah’s hand coming down through the opening in the cave’s low ceiling, hoisting me up. Of Hannah’s visage appearing through the desert trees, beckoning me toward a road I could not see …

“No one,” I heard myself echo.

“I’ve done a lot of shit. I’ve been all over the world. Look at this.” He rolled up one sleeve and revealed a puckered, shiny panel of flesh along his forearm, roughly the diameter of a tennis ball. “You know what did that? You have any idea?”

“No idea.”

“Bull’s horn. Gored in the streets of Pamplona. Shit, I’ve eaten the hearts from live snakes in Vietnam while drinking shots of bile. I’ve seen the wildest sex acts you could image in the remotest parts of the world—shit with donkeys and mules and some unbelievable thing called the ‘elusive transplant.’ That stuff’s old for me now. I’m going big-time.” He winked, and I thought I could hear his eyelid snap. “I’m going to touch the other side.”

I surprised myself by laughing. “That’s cool. Seriously.”

“I’ve got everything set,” he said, leaning back against the red vinyl cushion of the booth. “I want you to come with me.”

For some reason, I had been expecting this. “You’re crazy. You’ve always been crazy. I can’t compete with that.”

“What’s the matter? You broke your leg so now you’ve given up on life? That’s disgusting. Hannah would be disgusted with you.”

The mention of her name stung me. “I’m in a different place now.”

“What were you doing in that cave by yourself?”

It was the same question Marta had asked me earlier. However, this time I found it much harder to avoid giving an answer. “I wasn’t

thinking. It was stupid.” I chewed ravenously at my lower lip. “Where is this Canyon of Souls, anyway?” “Nepal,” he said. “The Himalayas.” I brayed laughter. “You’re out of your goddamn mind.” “The whole thing will take a month. You’re experienced—you’ve been ice climbing, and you’re familiar and comfortable with the equipment.”

“I’ve got a busted leg.”

“Fuck that,” said Andrew. It was his turn to laugh. “It’s not until next year.”

“I’m a teacher—,” I began.

“No, you’re not. You used to be an artist who gave up art. You used to be an athlete, but now you’ve apparently given that up, too. So what’s left?” His eyes were frighteningly alight. “What’s next?” My response came out small, strangled. “I … don’t know …” He pressed his lips together until they turned white and bloodless, his nostrils flaring. I briefly wondered who had been more afraid in Pamplona—Andrew or the bull.

“Remember that first night in Puerto Rico? Remember what it felt like to fly?” he said finally.

I finished my drink and crushed out my cigarette. “I could never keep up with you. Never.”

“Neither could Hannah. But she tried.”

5

ANDREW CONVINCED ME TO STAY FOR A FEW MORE

drinks, and there was no further talk of Nepal or the Canyon of Souls. There was no further talk of Hannah, either, which was just fine by me. We tossed darts, drank Maker’s Mark, and pumped countless quarters into the jukebox, Andrew favoring the Creedence Clearwater Revival songs. After a while, I’d lost all inhibition and was feeling no pain. I

felt I could slam my injured leg in a car door and laugh.

Around midnight, after returning from the restroom, I found our booth empty and the tab paid. There was no sign of Andrew; it was like I’d imagined the entire evening. I staggered over to the bar and asked Ricky if I was dreaming.