The bed shook with a fresh attack of laughter. While it was true that Ben looked silly grasping a beribboned basket in his ample paw, Jonathan's laughter carried notes of hysteria born of boredom and cabin fever.
Ben set the basket on the floor and slouched down in a bedside chair, his arms folded across his chest, the image of grumpy patience. 'I'm real glad I cheer you up like this.'
'I'm sorry. Look. All right.' He sniffed back the last dry, silent laugh. 'I got your postcard. You and Anna?'
Ben waved his hand. 'Funny things happen.'
Jonathan nodded. 'Did you find...'
'Yeah, we found them at the base. Anderl's father decided to have him buried in the meadow within sight of the face.'
'Good.'
'Yes. Good.'
And there was nothing more to say. This was the first time Ben had visited Jonathan in the hospital, but Jonathan understood. There is nothing to say to a sick man.
After a pause, Ben asked if they were treating him all right. And Jonathan said yes. And Ben said good. Ben mentioned the Valparaiso hospital after Aconcagua where their roles had been reversed while Ben recuperated from toe amputations. Jonathan remembered and even managed to dredge up a couple of names and places that they could both nod over energetically, then let slip away.
Ben walked around the room and looked out the window.
'How are the nurses?'
'Starched.'
'Have you invited any aboard?'
'No. They're a pretty rank lot.'
'That's too bad.'
'Yes, it is.'
Ben sat down again and flicked lint off his pants for a while. Then he told Jonathan that he intended to catch a plane back to the States that afternoon. 'I should be in Arizona by tomorrow morning.'
'Give my love to George.'
'I'll do that.'
Ben sighed, then stretched vigorously, then said something about taking care of yourself, then rose to go. When he picked up the fruit basket and put it near the bed, Jonathan began to laugh afresh. This time Ben stood there taking it. It was better than the long silences. But after a while he began to feel stupid, so he put the basket down and made for the door.
'Oh, Ben?'
'What?'
Jonathan brushed away the tears of laughter. 'How did you get mixed up in the Montreal business in the first place?'
...Ben had stood for many minutes at the window, his forehead resting against the frame, looking down on the traffic that crawled along the colorless street lined with optimistic saplings. When at last he spoke, his voice was husky and subdued. 'You really took me off balance.'
'That's the way I had rehearsed it while I lay here counting holes in the ceiling.'
'Well, it worked just fine, ol' buddy. How long have you known?'
'Just a couple of days. At first it was just bits and pieces. I kept trying to picture the man with the limp in Montreal, and none of the men on the mountain quite fit. You were the only other person coming for the climb. Then all sorts of things fell into place. Like the coincidence of meeting Mellough at your lodge. And why would George Hotfort stick me with a half dose? Miles wouldn't do that. He already had my answer. And why would George do that for Miles? So far as I know, there was only one thing that really interested her, and Miles couldn't offer that. But she might do something like that for you.
And you might want her to do it because you wanted me to kill Miles quickly, before he could tell me who the man in Montreal was.'
Ben nodded fatalistically. 'I used to wake up in a sweat, imagining that Mellough had told you out there on the desert, and you were playing cat and mouse with me.'
'I never gave Miles a chance to tell me anything.'
It was Jonathan who broke the ensuing silence. 'How did you get mixed up with him?'
Ben continued to stare out the window at the traffic. Evening was setting in, and the first streetlamps had come on. 'You know how I tried to make a go of it with that little climbing school after I couldn't climb anymore. Well, it never did pay for itself. Not many people came, and those who did—like you—were mostly old climbing buddies what I hated to charge. There's not a whole lot of ads in the help-wanted pages for gimpy ex-climbers. I suppose I could have found some nine-to-five sort of thing, but that isn't my style. I guess you know what I mean, considering what you do to make your money.'
'I don't do it anymore. I've quit.'
Ben looked at him seriously. 'That's good, Jon.' Then he returned to watching the traffic crawl through the darkening streets. His voice was dry when he spoke. 'One day this Miles Mellough shows up out of nowhere and says he has a proposition for me. He'd set me up with a posh resort and a little climbing school on the side, and all I have to do is let his people come and go with no questions. I knew it was some kind of illegal. Matter of fact, Mellough never pretended it wasn't. But I was pretty far in debt and...' His voice trailed off.
Jonathan broke through the nicotine-colored cellophane and took an apple out of the basket. 'Miles was big- leaguing dope. I imagine your place doubled as a rest camp for his wholesale hustlers and a depot for east-west traffic.'
'That's about it. It went on for a couple of years. And all that time I never knew that you and Mellough were enemies. I didn't even know you knew each other.'
'All right, that ties you to Mellough. It doesn't explain why you went to Montreal.'
'I don't get much kick out of talking about it.'
'I think you owe me an explanation. I would never have gone on the mountain if you'd told me before.'
Ben snorted. 'No! You'd have shot me and collected your pay.'
'I don't think so.'
'You're telling me you'd have given up your house and paintings and everything?'
Jonathan was silent.
'You're not sure, are you, Jon?'
'No. I'm not sure.'
'Honesty isn't enough, Jon. Anyway, for what it's worth, I tried many times to talk you out of going on the hill. I didn't want to die, but I didn't want you to die on the mountain because of me.'
Jonathan was not going to be side-tracked. 'Tell me how you got to Montreal.'
Ben sighed stertorously. 'Oh, I did some stupid things, ol' buddy. Things an experienced hand like you would never do. I signed for some shipments—things like that. Then, my...' He squeezed his eyes closed and pressed his thumb and forefinger into the sockets. 'Then, my daughter got messed up with drugs and... Mellough took care of her. He brought her to a place where they cleaned her up. After that, he had me. And I owed him.'
Jonathan frowned. 'Your daughter, Ben?'
Ben's eyes chilled over. 'Yes. Something you didn't know, Doctor. George Hotfort is my little girl'
Jonathan remembered making love to her and later slapping her around. He lowered his eyes to the un-bitten apple and began polishing it slowly on the sheet. 'You're right. It's something I didn't know.'
Ben did not choose to linger on the subject of George. 'All this time, Mellough knew, of course, that you and I were friends. He was angling for a way to set me up in big trouble so he could swap me in return for your taking him off your list and letting him breathe easy for a change.'
'It's his kind of con. He always did things obliquely.'
'And this Montreal business gave him the chance to set me up. He told me I had to come along. I had to go with some turd named Kruger while he received a paper or something. I didn't know anyone was going to get killed. Even if I had, I didn't have a whole lot of choice.'
