Fast Fiction: Death On The Slopes
Emotions are white-hot on the icy slopes of Mt Birgarth in Richard Mallinson's intense story.
Gilbert Dawson and I were caught in a blizzard on the slopes of Mt Birgarth and I left him there to die.
He had a broken leg, frostbite and exhaustion. If I had attempted to carry him down, I couldn't have made it and then both of us would have perished.
The following morning I met the rescuers coming up. I explained matters to them as best I could, given the condition I was in.
They seemed to be more interested in Gilbert than in me. 'Are you sure that you did everything possible for him?’ asked their leader.
The next thing I knew I was in hospital.
*
A year later I was climbing Mt Birgarth again - this time with a veteran, who said, 'You'd better go first and then I can keep an eye on you.'
After a while he shouted up to me, 'What did Gilbert say when you left him?'
'I can't hear you,' I lied, clutching the rock face.
He repeated the question at great volume.
'Oh,' I eventually shouted down, 'he said something like, "It's the only thing to do - it's what I would do myself."'
'Yes, so typical of Gilbert,' shouted the veteran, admiringly.
Of course what Gilbert had actually said was, 'If you leave me here, you bastard, I hope you rot in hell.'
*
'Let's get a move on,' shouted the veteran, 'we don't want you getting caught in any more blizzards, do we?’
In fact about an hour later we were hit by one which was on us almost without warning and, like all blizzards, it was ferocious and malevolent.
It cut through me like slivers of ice.
The veteran yelled, 'Hang on, it'll soon be over.'
Well, for better or worse, I did hang on - but he didn't.
