Peace Feelers
NIGHT THOUGHTS
i
Each night before I go to sleep I put on my thickest sweater, my climbing boots and snow goggles, because I don’t know where I am going – maybe to climb Mount Everest from the Chinese side.
ii
My wife wears a red polka-dot bikini and carries a parasol because she believes in a different kind of trip, wanting the creamy edges of the Pacific breakers to make the round tour of her beautiful salty body.
iii
Once I bought her some climbing clothes and persuaded her to wear them. We both sweltered together under the noonday sun. A restless night. Next morning she said to me as tactfully as possible: ‘what did I tell you?’ I have to admit she is nearly always right.
iv
Sometimes I take off my crampons, lay my ice-axe neatly by the side of my bed, take off my woolly mittens, wipe the sun-cream off my cheeks with a face-cloth, take off my windbreaker and heavy sweater, take off my cord trousers and long underpants, take off my check shirt and string vest, say hello to my St. Christopher medal and slip it under the bed. My wife is very nice about it and says that ritual is an important element in love-making.
v
I am lonely among these snows. I am sick of the Chinese side. In my sleep I am apolitical. I am lonely with nothing to love but my ice-axe. I am lonely with my sense of humour. The wind roars round the North Col like an express train permanently derailing itself, so loud that even if I tried shouting she wouldn’t hear me on her South Sea island. Half way across the world the wind is drowned in the roar of the Pacific breakers and when I wake for a moment, I am amazed to see that she is sleeping peacefully and smiling.
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NIGHT THOUGHTS
i
Each night before I go to sleep I put on my thickest sweater, my climbing boots and snow goggles, because I don’t know where I am going – maybe to climb Mount Everest from the Chinese side.
ii
My wife wears a red polka-dot bikini and carries a parasol because she believes in a different kind of trip, wanting the creamy edges of the Pacific breakers to make the round tour of her beautiful salty body.
iii
Once I bought her some climbing clothes and persuaded her to wear them. We both sweltered together under the noonday sun. A restless night. Next morning she said to me as tactfully as possible: ‘what did I tell you?’ I have to admit she is nearly always right.
iv
Sometimes I take off my crampons, lay my ice-axe neatly by the side of my bed, take off my woolly mittens, wipe the sun-cream off my cheeks with a face-cloth, take off my windbreaker and heavy sweater, take off my cord trousers and long underpants, take off my check shirt and string vest, say hello to my St. Christopher medal and slip it under the bed. My wife is very nice about it and says that ritual is an important element in love-making.
v
I am lonely among these snows. I am sick of the Chinese side. In my sleep I am apolitical. I am lonely with nothing to love but my ice-axe. I am lonely with my sense of humour. The wind roars round the North Col like an express train permanently derailing itself, so loud that even if I tried shouting she wouldn’t hear me on her South Sea island. Half way across the world the wind is drowned in the roar of the Pacific breakers and when I wake for a moment, I am amazed to see that she is sleeping peacefully and smiling.
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