The Cloud Maker (2010) Read Online Free Page B

into each tired muscle.
    Soon he was climbing down at almost the same pace as Luca. By the time the pair of them reached the lower slopes where they had built the snow hole, the only ill effect that remained was an occasional rasping cough.
    His mood, however, had darkened. He knew that what he had experienced up there were the first signs of a full-blown pulmonary oedema. Both he and Luca had witnessed it once before on the north buttresses of Mont Blanc. A solo climber had got himself stranded high on the mountain, cut off by the darkness and high winds. Bill and Luca had turned back earlier that afternoon and reached the safety of the Cosmiques refuge, nestled on the ridge above the towering pinnacle of the Aiguille du Midi.
    Throughout the night, the sounds of the dying climber crackled through on their radio.
    At first he just coughed, but after a while he began breathing with a slow, laboured gurgling sound as his lungs filled with liquid. By the time the helicopter arrived at daybreak, he had slipped into a coma.
    A day later, when they had made it down to Chamonix village, they found out he had died on the way to hospital – drowned on his own body fluid.
    The incident was replaying itself in Bill’s mind as they trudged along a narrow ridge in silence. Suddenly, without warning, he stopped and dug his ice axe into the snow. He lifted his goggles up on to his sunburned forehead and turned to face Luca, eyes squinting against the harsh sunlight.
    ‘You were going to just leave me up there!’
    Luca stopped and the rope between them sagged, paying out in a small arch.
    ‘Not for long, mate. We were just below the summit . . . maybe twenty minutes or so. I thought I could bag it quickly and come back for you.’
    ‘Don’t bullshit me. We weren’t that close.’
    Luca began coiling off the slack in the rope automatically.
    ‘This isn’t the time to do this,’ he said quietly. ‘We’re both knackered from the climb and we’ve got another couple of hours to camp one.’
    Bill picked up his ice axe, shifting the weight of his rucksack. Then he stood looking down the ridge as if weighing up his words.
    ‘Tell me, Luca, is that how it played out on Everest?’
    The placatory expression on Luca’s face was wiped off and his grey eyes became as expressionless as polished marble. Unclipping his pack, he let it slip to the ground, trying to control a sudden surge of temper. But colour had appeared in blotches on his cheeks and when he spoke his voice was barely more than a whisper.
    ‘Don’t ever say that again. You know exactly what happened.’
    After a pause Bill shrugged and went to trudge past him, but this time Luca remained where he stood, barring the way.
    ‘I’m serious, Bill. Don’t ever say that again. You know what it cost me.’
    ‘Then how could you even think about leaving me up there? Didn’t you learn your lesson?’
    ‘Learn my lesson? Jesus Christ, Bill! Did you ever stop to consider that maybe I wasn’t thinking straight up there either? Altitude hits everyone a different way. I thought we were right under the summit.’
    ‘It shouldn’t even have crossed your mind . . .’
    ‘Enough of this shit!’ Luca interrupted, raising his hand. Gathering up his rucksack, he started trudging down the ridge, then stopped a few paces farther on and turned back.
    ‘I’ve just spent the last four hours babysitting you down that cliff. If it weren’t for me, you’d still be fucking up there!’
    For a few moments more they stared at each other in mutual recrimination, the heat of the argument threatening to boil over. Then Luca suddenly swung round and continued walking, his gloved hands clenched into fists by his sides.
    It took them two weeks to get back, a procession of clambering aboard planes and dismounting trains throughout Tibet, Nepal, and eventually England.
    During the journey, the subject of the climb had been broached, but not resolved. Both of them had ended up apologising for