Lay Her Among The Lilies

I swung off the ledge, groped for a foothold, edged my hand along the cliff face until I got a

grip and started up again. It was slow and difficult work. The hazy moonlight didn’t help me

much, and most of the time I had to feel for handholds. As my head and shoulders came level

with the bottom of the crevice the knob of rock on which I was standing gave under me. I felt

it shift a split second before it went and I threw myself forward, clawing at the rock bed of

the crevice in a frantic effort to get a hold. My fingers hooked into a ridge of rock and there I

hung.

“Take it easy!” Kerman bawled, as hysterical as an old lady with her dress on fire. “Hang

on! I’m right with you!”

“Stay where you are,” I panted. “I’ll only take you down with me.”

I tried to get a foothold, but the toes of my shoes scraped against the cliff face and trod on

air. Then I tried to draw myself up, pulling the whole of my weight with my fingertips, but

that couldn’t be done. I managed to raise myself a couple of inches and that’s as far as I got.

Something touched my foot.

“Take it easy,” Kerman implored below me. He guided my foot on to his shoulder. “Now,

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give me your weight and push up.”

“I’ll push you down, you fool!” I panted.

“Come on!” His voice shook. “I’ve got a good grip. Slowly and steadily. Don’t do anything

suddenly.”

There was nothing else to do. Very cautiously I transferred the weight of my body on to his

shoulder, then transferred my finger grip to another ridge where I had a better hold.

“I’m heaving,” I panted. “Right?”

“Yeah,” Kerman said, and I felt him brace himself.

I heaved with my arms and shoulders and slid up and on to the floor of the crevice. I lay

there, panting until Kerman’s head appeared above the ledge, then I crawled forward and

pulled him up beside me. We flopped down, side by side, not saying anything.

After a while I got unsteadily to my feet.

“We’re having quite a night,” I said, leaning against the crevice wall.

Kerman squinted up at me.

“Yeah,” he said. “Will I get a medal for that?”

“I’ll buy you a drink instead,” I said, drew in a deep breath, dug my shoulders into the wall

and got my feet up against the opposite wall. By pressing hard with my shoulders and feet I

managed to maintain a sitting position between the two walls.

“Is that the way you’re going to travel?” Kerman asked, horrified.

“Yeah; it’s an old Swiss custom.”

“Have I got to do that, too?”

“Unless you want to stay where you are for the rest of your days.” I said heartlessly.

“There’s no other way.”

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I began to edge myself upwards. The sharp rocks dug into my shoulder-blades, and it was

slow work, but I made progress. So long as the muscles in my legs didn’t turn sour on me I

would get to the top. But if they did, it would be a quick drop and a rocky landing.

I kept moving. I’d rather go up this way than attempt the bulge. A third of the way up I had

to stop and rest. My legs felt as if I had been running for a hundred miles, and the muscles in

my thighs were fluttering.

“How are you doing, pal?” Kerman called, shining his flash up at me.

“Well, I’m still in one piece,” I said dubiously. “Wait until I get to the top before you try

it.”

“Take your time. I’m in no hurry.”

I stared again. It was slow work, and my shoulders began to ache. I kept looking up at the

star-studded sky. It seemed to be coming closer; maybe that was just wishful thinking, but it

inspired me to keep on. I kept on, my breath hissing through clenched teeth, my legs

stiffening, my shoulders bruised. Up and up; inch by inch, knowing there was no going back.

I had to get up there or fall.

The crevice began to narrow, and I knew then I was passing the bulge. The going became

harder. My knees were being slowly forced towards my chin. I was getting less leverage.

Then suddenly I stopped. I could go no farther. Above me the crevice had narrowed down to

about three feet. Bracing myself, I got out the flashlight and sent the beam along the wall and

above me. A scrubby bush grew out of the rock within reach. To my right was a narrow shelf:

the top of the bulge.

I put the flash back into my pocket, reached for the bush. I got a grip on it close to where it

grew out of the cliff and pulled gently. It held. I transferred some of my weight to it. It still

held. Then drawing in a deep breath I relaxed the pressure of my feet against the wall and

swung into space. It was quite a moment. The bush bent, but it was well rooted. I swung to

and fro, feeling sweat like ice-water running down my spine, then I swung myself towards the

ledge and with my free hand groped for a hold. My fingers dipped into a crack: not enough to

hold me, but just enough to steady me. I hung there, pressing my body against the wall of the

crevice, my feet treading air, my right hand clutching the bush, my left hand dug into the

narrow crack in the ledge. One false move now, and I would go down. I was scared all right.

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I’ve been in some panics in my life, but none like this one.