Time's Eyes

Dark. Snow. Glacial chasms. Thin air.

Pauline is still talking.

Idaho, she is saying. Bet you don't know where that name came from.

Nuh, mutters Sweezus.

Ee-dah-how, says Pauline. That's Shoshone for the sun coming down from the mountains. Isn't that nice?

Alexander von Humboldt would normally ask a question about the Shoshone, but his toes hurt. He may well get frostbite.

How come it's not called Eedahow? asks Sweezus.

Don't be ridiculous, says Pauline. Anyone for a frozen sandwich?

Me, says Arthur.

Here, says Pauline. Watch out for your teeth.

Hope my camera works up here, says Pauline. Last mountain I climbed was Borah Peak back in Eedahow. Ha ha. Eedahow. See what I did there?

Didn't  your camera work? asks Paco.

Yes, as I was just saying, says Pauline. No it didn't.

The air is very thin, says Paco. Be quiet, save your energy. You are saying stupid things.

You sound like my Cedric, says Pauline. Not that he ever climbed anything.

Alexander von Humboldt's thin soles are sending up sharp freezing icicles of pain.

He dances about on the spot. Achieving numbness.

Everyone must pause, they are all roped together

They resume plodding upwards.

This had better be worth it.

I only got up to Chickenout Ridge, on Borah, says Pauline. This time I'm determined.

You're doing very well, says Paco, flashing his torch in her face. When we get to the top, perhaps Time will speak to you, as it spoke to Simón Bolívar.

It will be good if that happens.

.....

Time passes. On his way up.

After countless slow footsteps in boots and red waterproof trousers, after ice pickings with ice picks and cramping with crampons, we are within sight of the summit.

Time awaits us.

An old man, furrowed brow, hunched, bald, wrinkled, holding a paper.

Do you stupidly suppose that your actions have value in my eyes? says Time.