Part 10

“Well,” Allen said slowly as if to lessen the blow, “chiefly because Lynne and I went up last Saturday.”

“You went up?” Judy repeated, reluctant to believe such treachery, going up without her!

Allen nodded. “You see, a lot of Festival people planned the trip, getting some special rate and Lynne and I couldn’t resist a bargain! But, Judy,” Allen smiled sheepishly, “I think we’re sort of glad you weren’t along to witness our disgrace. We got off at Midway!”

“How could you get off when the chairs keep moving all the time? The machinery never stops. I’ve watched it a hundred times.”

“Well, it takes a bit of agility, but everyone has to get off at Midway for a few minutes. The mechanism changes direction at that point. You walk a few feet and leap on again. That’s where the chair immediately swings out over a bottomless chasm! I decided I had enough! Dangling like a clothes hanger from that slender cable was too much for me. I had no stomach to ride over that yawning abyss and then ascend to thirteen thousand feet!”

Judy looked at Lynne. “Is he joking? He gave up just like that?”

“We gave up, just like that,” Lynne said laughing. “Allen shouted to me, ‘I’m getting off at Midway. Not going further. You keep going if you wish, but I don’t think it sensible.’

“Jouncing along, my nerves a bit jittery, I guess I was secretly glad and yelled back, ‘I will too.’ My young campers were below me, swinging along, waving their hands and laughing. I knew we would have to brave their jeers, if not their scorn. But we did.” Lynne and Allen exchanged glances as if there were some reason for their lack of hardihood.

“So like a cautious young couple with good reasons for our caution,” again that special smile for Allen, “we walked down a steep mining road that took us back to Aspen. It was wonderful even if we didn’t get to the top.”

Allen patted Judy’s shoulder. “I guess it isn’t so bad when the mountains and the chasm are blanketed in snow. Leave something for another time or another year. You’ll be coming to Aspen again. Everyone does.”

“I hope so,” Judy said with forced resignation. Then she remembered Ashcroft and the dogs. “It’s been such a perfect day. How can I ever thank you!”

The car pulled up in front of Judy’s house. “I’m sorry we can’t stop in—marketing, and dinner still to get,” Lynne said. “We’ll see Mother and Dad in a few days—we have something very special to tell them.”

Judy wondered.

Lynne went on, “You know, Allen and I feel flattered. You didn’t mention Karl’s name once all day!”

“But that doesn’t mean that I didn’t think of him. Everytime I looked at those gorgeous Eskimo dogs with their sad, dreamy eyes, I thought of Karl. Isn’t that strange?”

“Truth is stranger than fiction,” Lynne laughed. “I’m afraid you’ve got a real case! Good-bye, dear!”

“Good-bye!”

“Something special to tell them?” Judy repeated to herself as she slowly mounted the porch steps. “Maybe that’s why Allen didn’t want Lynne to go further on the Chairlift. After all, they are married two years—”

14 “CONFIDENTIALLY YOURS”

“... and so, dear Grandpa, I’ve brought you up on all the latest news. One or two things more. Mother is still hopeful for an early audition for the City Center Opera Company. Father continues to write incomprehensible notes on his music sheets—and literally walks on air when it goes well. Other times he just looks black and frustrated, staring into space as if listening. But his work at the school is fine. And his quartet is making a name for itself in this oasis we call Aspen. There! That’s enough about them!

“I can see you look at me in that way you have and say, ‘What about you?’

“That’s not so easy to answer. Part of me is getting along swimmingly. Lynne says I have a gift with children! Imagine, I who during those first days at camp felt like wringing their individual and collective necks!

“Happy as I am to have that wonderful job, that’s not the important thing in my life. Mother is blind and so is Father! The great change in my life—in me, has come since I’ve known Karl! When I first wrote to you about him, I told you of his looks, his love and knowledge of music, his almost unnatural devotion to his mother! But our friendship, oh so necessary to both of us, has deepened, has matured into something quite wonderful! Please don’t smile. I couldn’t bear it and somehow I know you won’t or I wouldn’t be writing as I do.

“When I see him, his nearness gives me a joy I can’t explain. We see each other nearly every day—if not at his Uncle Yahn’s Swiss Shop, then he drops in here. We never finish all we have to say. I know his character, his thoughts, his dreams. I weep for all his father has been through. Remember the prophets of the Old Testament you used to read to me? I listened with only half an ear. But Karl knows a lot of Jewish history and I’m learning fast. When Grandma hears of this phenomenon, she will be glad that all her efforts to fill the huge gap in my ignorance has at last born fruit. I’m beginning to glimpse what she used to call ‘our great heritage.’

“But Mother sees little of all this greatness in Karl. She treats him like any other music student.

“‘How are things going, Karl?’ Then she’s off to the kitchen or marketing or sometimes, more lately, to rest. Father is more interested, but he too is preoccupied with his own work. So I have become more necessary to Karl as he is to me.

“I love him! There, I have written the word. I dream of what he’ll be some day, how I can help and how I can become that which he seems to see in me. Will our discovery of each other in Aspen flower into something as wonderful as the present? Don’t tell me I’m young! Juliet was only fifteen! Happily for us, there are no Montagues and Capulets with their senseless feuds to try to keep us apart!

“I know my own feelings, but how can I know that Karl loves me? I do know he likes me a lot, but even so, there are complications!

“Karl works with a pianist and she’s fiendishly clever! She’s pretty, very superior, and treats me like a child! She’s old, at least twenty. For all that, she looks so dainty and petite. And I’m awkward, stupid and tongue-tied when I’m with her.

“Karl asked me to meet her. I was terribly curious about her and agreed although I knew in advance I wouldn’t like her. Twice was enough! I’ll not subject myself again to such humiliation. I asked him why he allowed her to order him around and make jokes about the most serious things?

“His only answer was, ‘She knows her piano. I don’t. I’m lucky to get that ribbing. It helps to keep one’s feet on the ground. Besides, she’s fun to be with!’

“He looked at me in surprise. ‘You used to have a sense of humor, Judy. What’s become of it? I hoped you’d enjoy Marian as much as I do.’

“I couldn’t tell him I never want to see her again! She stirs up the ignoble in me. I know, at least I feel, she’s trying to entice Karl, trying to get him in her clutches, away from me. Probably, she recognizes the genius he’ll become some day! I try not to think of her and often I forget her completely, especially when Karl and I are together, alone.

“Good-bye, Grandpa. Keep well and know I love you. This letter is for you only. I won’t mail it until I’ve written another for Grandma with all the concerts, lectures (ugh!), recitals and rehearsals—in short, with all the news that’s fit to print. O.K.?

Lovingly and confidentially yours, Judy”

15 THE MOUNTAIN CLIMB

It was the middle of August and the season in Aspen was drawing to a close. In a little more than two weeks, the students of the Festival would begin to trickle back, some to college, others to jobs. The artists and faculty members were already speaking of their fall engagements to travel all over the United States, Canada, and South America.

But in the meantime, as if the planners of the Music Festival wished to end the Festival in a blaze of glory, life in Aspen increased to a furious tempo. Lectures, recitals, concerts, music in one form or another filled the days and nights. No one seemed to feel the strain except Judy. She wondered sometimes, did the nearby mountains ever tire of this constant paean of music?

One evening Mrs. Lurie casually announced at dinner, “We’re all going tonight to a lecture at the Seminar Building.” She turned to Judy. “You remember that attractive ultramodern building near the Tent? You loved the paintings exhibited there on those circular walls.” She shook her head meditatively, “Those paintings by American artists were given by Mr. Paepcke. He’s certainly been very generous.”

“Allen and Lynne are going to pick us up in their car,” her mother went on cheerfully. “Oh, here they are!”

After the usual greetings, Mrs. Lurie said, “Judy’s coming with us. The lecture will be over by ten.”

“What’s the lecture about?” Judy asked.

Her mother answered, “‘Modern Trends in Disharmony.’ It should be wonderful!”

Judy shuddered. She remembered other “wonderful lectures” through which she had sat bored and rebellious. In that brilliantly lighted hall one had not even the small luxury of being able to fall asleep!

“They’re playing a wonderful Western at the Isis,” Judy said desperately.

“A Western!” her mother and Lynne said. “They’re dreadful!”

“Oh, I don’t know,” Allen said quite unexpectedly. “Daredevil riding on magnificent horses, hairbreadth escapes, mountain scenes like our Rockies—” His eyes flashed. “They’re packed with excitement—loads of it.”

Judy looked at Allen, then shifted her gaze to her father. In his eyes too there was more than a glint of interest.

“Come to think of it,” Allen went on, “it’s funny, we haven’t been to a movie all summer.”

“What’s funny about that?” Lynne asked with marked disappointment at Allen’s bourgeois taste in films. “Of course, we haven’t been to a movie, nor have we seen any television. And we certainly haven’t missed either.” She looked for encouragement to Mr. Lurie as she went on.

“Who wants to see gun-shooting, Hollywood cowboys tearing up and down mountains when one can enjoy a delightful evening listening to ‘Modern Trends’!” She smiled at John certain of his unqualified support.

Instead of an answering smile, he cleared his throat and said with a deprecating air, “I agree with Allen. There’s something to be said for these Westerns. The sight of horses leaping from crag to crag, men hurled from saddles, climbing inch by inch over backbreaking trails—” He laughed and shrugged his shoulders. “It fills me with a nostalgia.”

“But this lecture, John,” Minna said in a quiet, determined voice, “is by one of the foremost musicologists.”

“One of the greatest,” Lynne added.

Allen placed his large, friendly hands on Judy’s shoulders. “Have a heart, Lynne. This kid has listened to music and lectures without let-up for seven long weeks. Sure, it’s been great, but maybe she’d like a change of diet.”

There was a flurried consultation between Lynne and Minna. Then with a martyrlike smile, Lynne said, “Allen, dear, since you feel so strongly about Judy’s state of mind, of course, we’ll go to the Isis.”

Allen brazenly winked at John. Then everyone laughed. Judy was unable to see the joke. As they walked along the quiet streets, seeing her father and Allen in such high spirits, she wondered. Had they made all that fuss on her account or were they satisfying some secret desire of their own?

The very next day John Lurie announced his decision to climb Maroon Peak on Sunday. All summer he had been promising himself one good climb. The movie did it! As Judy phrased it, “The close-up of the mountain trails whetted his ‘blunted purpose,’” something she had culled from her favorite play of Shakespeare. Whatever the reason, John Lurie cleared his calendar and made his plans.

Fran accepted the role of guide, since he knew the trails well. Karl was invited “to please a certain nameless young lady,” he said. “Oh, Father!” came ecstatically from Judy at this bit of news. Minna was invited but refused as she didn’t feel equal to so difficult a climb and might spoil the day for the others.

The final arrangements were discussed. Extra jackets and sweaters were to be taken in their knapsacks as the summit was often bitterly cold, even in summer. Each one was to provide his own sandwiches and a drink of some kind or water in a canteen and heavy socks and shoes were to be worn. The agreed to meet at eight o’clock in the morning at the foot of the trail twelve miles from Aspen. Judy and her father were getting a lift through the kindness of a neighbor, but Fran cheerfully volunteered not only to get Karl and himself to the trail, but also to have a car meet them at seven that night to take them back to Aspen.

The night before the climb Judy lay in bed unable to sleep. A whole day with Karl ahead of her! She felt like a general mapping out her strategy. Her father would race ahead with Fran, but she, affecting an air of languor (lovely thought, she hoped she could bring it off!) would set a slower pace and Karl, with his usual consideration, would be beside her. She sighed luxuriously. There would be hours and hours to talk! And at the summit, resting amid the clouds, they would read poetry! She had slipped a volume of her grandfather’s poems into the knapsack, just in case—although she knew a few of them by heart.

As she tossed on her bed, the thought of Marian crossed her mind. Karl hadn’t mentioned her name in days, yet her pretty face still troubled Judy. Jealous! Of course not! That was over and done with. “Jealousy was degrading,” she muttered into the pillow, turning it for the tenth time. It was good to feel cleansed and serene. But a sweet and consoling thought lulled her to sleep. The words repeated themselves like a lullaby: “Marian would soon return to Chicago. Soon, soon—the sooner, the better!”

“Judy, you’re a fine one to depend on! I thought you’d be up at dawn.” It was her father, fully dressed, ready for their trip.

They reached the trail long ahead of the scheduled time. During the half-hour wait the crystal-clear air gave Judy such an appetite that she consumed a sandwich and was nibbling on a hard boiled egg when her father rescued what remained of her lunch and replaced it in his knapsack.

At the sound of a motor Judy jumped up, “Here they are!”

A beautiful, shiny, black convertible roared toward them, swung into the brush and came to a stop. She stared at it. Every car in Aspen was laden with weeks of dust. No one they knew ever bothered to clean a car that would get just as dusty an hour later.

Fran stepped out of the car and walked toward them. His face was shining, his heavy boots were laced to the knees, and a coil of rope and knapsack were jauntily slung over his shoulder.

“Where’s Karl?” Judy asked as he came nearer.

“He’s here. Like a real gentleman, he’s helping the lady.”

“The lady?” Judy repeated stupidly, her eyes fixed on the car.

Yes! There she was walking with Karl, a hand on his arm, a dainty figure in dark blue jeans, a cap to match and a bright red sweater. It couldn’t be—No!—that was impossible!

They approached slowly. Karl, with a battered old rucksack borrowed from his uncle, heavy-booted and heavy of tongue, smiled feebly, “I hope you won’t mind. Marian begged to come along.”

Marian gave Judy a little nod and held out her pretty manicured hand to Mr. Lurie. “I know I’m just an interloper, but to be in the heart of the Rockies and not able to boast of one little climb—” She gave Mr. Lurie a ravishing smile.

“Little climb,” Judy muttered under her breath, but she noticed that her father looked as pleased as Punch and said, “We’re delighted to have you come along.”

“That’s sweet of you, Mr. Lurie.” Then as if just remembering Judy’s existence, she said, “How are you?” And without waiting for an answer continued, “I bet you’re glad not to be the only girl in the party!”

“Well, let’s get started,” Fran said. “We’ve a novice with us,” he chuckled. “Marian may look like an ad for the ski patrol, but, brother, she’s never climbed a mountain except in a car. Well, there always has to be a first time. Besides, if we hadn’t Marian’s car, we would have had to hike the twelve miles to get here. The guy who was to take us found himself with five passengers for Denver. A break for him, but—”

Judy stood in the circle and except for a hollow “Hello, Marian,” had been too numb to say anything. Her heart was sore with all her useless, foolish planning. As her grandmother remarked when an irrepressible neighbor invaded her privacy with stupid visits and more stupid conversation, “This neighborhood was always so lovely. Now _she_ has to move next door. There’s always a fly in the ointment!”

Mr. Lurie was laughing at something Marian was saying. He turned to Fran, “Maybe you’re right about the stylish outfit, but why didn’t you tell Marian to wear heavy shoes?”

“I did tell her.”

“They both did,” Mirian said with a careless shrug. “But I don’t own a pair of delightfully sensible cowhide boots such as Judy is sporting.”

Only Judy noticed the subtle sarcasm, “delightfully sensible.” She looked at her thick socks, the mud-colored boots inherited from her mother’s climbing era. She clenched her teeth.

“Don’t worry about me,” Marian added lightly. She lifted a trim little foot. “These sneakers are the best—new and strong. I’ll manage.”

Judy said nothing but silently prayed those sneakers of hers would fall apart and expose her bleeding toes on the rocks.

They began to climb in single file. The first half hour was easy, a slow upward grade. Marian’s teasing voice could be heard.

“You call this a climb?”

She talked incessantly until Fran told her brusquely to save her breath. “You’ll need it,” he warned.

The next three or four hours were hard. Fran leaped ahead like a goat while Judy and her father, with set faces and their bodies bent forward, plodded steadily on. Breathing hard and frequently panting, they were glad of the rest periods Fran ordered at fifteen-minute intervals. The trail led over rocks and huge boulders, mud ankle deep from hidden springs. The trees grew more sparse, then disappeared altogether. In spite of herself, Judy was enjoying the climb, the exertion, the clear, exhilarating air, the sudden views of deep chasms that fell away a thousand feet.

Of Karl and Marian they saw nothing after the first hour. Every once in a while Fran would give his weird call, “Halloo,” and on hearing a faint answering “Halloo,” would say briefly, “They’re on the trail. O.K. Let’s keep moving.”

At one-fifteen the three stopped for lunch. They were on a plateau of smooth rock and before eating, they rested, lying down on the hard surface to dry their soaked shirts and perspiring bodies, then turned over on their stomachs, warming their backs in the hot rays of the sun. In five minutes they were completely refreshed and sat up to eat and marvel at the view.

Giant peaks cut into the sky, deep forests of black pine were far below, and in the distance a thread of silver shimmered, a river, perhaps unknown, uncharted on any map. In a craterlike hollow, barely seen at first, lay a lake of dazzling color, like a giant emerald, sparkling in the sun.

Mr. Lurie at last broke the silence. “You know,” he said in a meditative voice, “it’s hard to explain one’s love for mountain climbing to anyone who doesn’t share your enthusiasm. Most people see it as a foolhardy, backbreaking, unnecessary exertion. ‘Knock yourself out! For what?’ they ask with undisguised condescension, sometimes with a sort of incredulous contempt. And we lovers of the sport can’t explain.” He flung out his arms in a sort of ecstasy. “We say it’s the extraordinary view one gets as a reward for the struggle. No,” Mr. Lurie continued, letting his arms drop beside him, “you get an incomparable view from Pike’s Peak driving up in a car or bus. No, it isn’t the view alone.”

“It’s like a dare or a challenge, isn’t it?” Fran said. “You set out to do what you know is hard and tough. Maybe reach a peak no one ever saw before. You don’t go out for the pleasure of the kill as a hunter does. You’re making a new trail of following someone else’s who had dared before you. And when you’ve done it, boy, you feel good!”

“That’s about it, Fran. You’ve conquered one of the difficulties Nature constantly presents. You push yourself ahead, beyond endurance sometimes, but when you reach the summit, you want to shout, ‘Look, I’m here too! I share your lonely grandeur if only for a moment of time.’”

Then in a more matter-of-fact tone he said to Judy, “I guess you haven’t climbed enough to feel that way about it, but it’s that spirit in one form or another that has led to opening up parts of the world that would otherwise have remained unknown.”

“Oh, I agree with you perfectly, Father, but I was only wondering what happened to Karl and Marian.”

“Yes, where are they?” Fran said impatiently. “We’ve been here for half an hour.”

Mr. Lurie looked at his watch. “It’s only one-twenty-five. How long do you figure, Fran, it will take us to reach North Maroon Peak?”

“At least another hour. We ought to leave now.”

Fran gave his call and after repeating it several times, a faint answer could be heard. At last, they caught a glimpse of the two figures slowly toiling upward.

“They’re O.K. Come on, let’s push on,” Fran said, settling his rope and knapsack on his shoulder.

“I think we ought to wait for them,” Mr. Lurie suggested. “Marian looks as if she could use a little encouragement.”

Fran grudgingly agreed. “They’re holding up,” he grumbled, still chafing at the delay. They watched the slow, painful progress of the two climbers and noticed Karl at times pulling Marian by her hands over the large, smooth boulders.

At last they reached the plateau. Their faces were drawn, streaked with dirt and grime. They dropped down wearily and Marian stretched out flat on her back as if she never expected to rise again. Her eyes were closed as she groaned, “I ache in every bone, every muscle of my body. It’s going to be years before I feel human again.”

As for Karl, his weariness soon left him. He rested as the others had and sat up. Wordlessly, he looked at the magnificent range of peaks jutting into the sky. Then he murmured something: “What wonders He has given us this day to behold,” adding the Hebrew words.

“Is that a prayer of thanksgiving?” Judy asked quietly.

Karl nodded.

Fran, always practical, broke in, “Have you eaten yet?”

“No,” Karl said as if awakened from a dream. “I’m glad you reminded me. I’m hungry as a bear.”

He reached into his rucksack and took out a brown paper bag and a daintily wrapped box.

“Better have something to eat, Marian,” he said, placing the package beside her.

“Thanks. I don’t want anything.”

“Look, folks,” Fran said impatiently, “if we’re to make the top and get down before dark, we have to leave in ten minutes.”

“I’m ready to leave as soon as you say,” Karl answered, “but I can’t speak for Marian. Look at her right sneaker. The sole has been flapping for the last hour. It’ll be off entirely any minute.”

They examined the sneaker and even Judy hadn’t the heart to gloat or to say, “We told you so.”

Marian lifted her head from the stone. “Please, all of you, go ahead without me. You’ll find me here when you get back. I’ll drink in the view. In fact, I’ll do anything but climb another foot of this mountain. Unfortunately, I’ll have to climb down!”

Mr. Lurie laughed. “Marian, you’ll feel better after you’ve eaten and rested a few minutes longer. You’ll get your second wind.”

“Second wind!” She moved uneasily to a different position. “I used that up long ago. What I need is a pair of bellows to keep my lungs going, to say nothing of a relay of fresh, untrodden feet!”