“Now don’t get frightened, Seymour,” Mary Margaret said.
“I’m not frightened, I’m just curious.”
“There are places on the north face,” Hollis said, “where I swear to God the trail’s only as wide as your own two skis. You feel like a goddamn mountain goat hanging on with your toenails.”
“They’re trying to scare you, Seymour,” Mary Margaret said.
“No, no, listen, who’s scared?”
“You go over the edge of one of them sheer drops, and it’s not like a skier taking a fall, it’s like a mountain climber whose rope just snapped. You sail out into space, and you grab for sky, and if you’re lucky you get stopped by a tree or a boulder a mile below. By that time, it doesn’t matter no more because you’re busted in a million pieces anyway.”
“Sure you want to go over there, Seymour?” Mary Margaret asked.
“Why not?” Foderman asked. “I’m not scared.”
“I’m scared,” David said.
“Me, too,” I said.
“I got to tell you,” Bryan said, “I’ve skied most places in the world...”
“Oh, sure,” Mary Margaret said.
“You think I’m kidding you? I’ve skied Europe, I’ve skied Australia, I’ve even skied Chile. But last year on that north face, I had a lot of trouble keeping a tight asshole.”
“They’re telling you atrocity stories, Seymour,” Mary Margaret said.
“You think I don’t know it? It’s the old Army hypodermic routine. The needle with a propeller on the end.”
“You’re gonna wish you had a propeller on your end,” Duke said.
“And wings,” Hollis said.
“Well, I’ll give it a try anyway,” Foderman said. “Even without a propeller. What can I lose?”
“Your life,” Bryan said.
“Come on, come on,” Foderman said. “My life.”
“Seymour’s people are used to all sorts of danger and hardship,” Mary Margaret said.
“This ain’t the same as being taken to the ovens,” Duke said. “Here you got a choice whether to go or not.”
“They had a choice there, too, didn’t they?” Mary Margaret asked.
“What choice?” Foderman said.
“They could have refused.”
“How? How can you refuse to get in a boxcar when somebody’s holding a machine gun on you?”
“It’s a matter of how you choose to die.”
“No, it’s a matter of hope. If you get on the train, then maybe something will happen on the way. Maybe the war will end, maybe the train will crash, you’ll escape...”
“Bullshit,” Mary Margaret said.
“What would you have done?” Sandy asked flatly.
“I’d have refused to go,” Mary Margaret said.
“And they’d have shot you,” Foderman said.
“All right. At least, I’d have taken a stand.”
“For what? If they shot you, you were dead. You think it mattered to them, another dead Jew? Jews weren’t people to them. Listen, don’t get me started. This is a subject I can’t discuss unemotionally. All this business of what you would have done, what you wouldn’t have done. This was survival, they did what they could to survive. None of us here knows a thing about survival, so what are we talking about?”
“I know about survival,” Bryan said.
“All right, so you know about it. Let’s change the subject.”
“In the Army, I learned all about survival.”
“So did I,” Hollis said.
“Were you in the Army, Seymour?” Mary Margaret asked.
“Yes, I was in the Army.”
“See any action?”
“I was attached to a field hospital.”
“Ever kill anybody?” Duke asked.
“No. My job was saving people, not killing them.”
“Was your life ever in danger?”
“Never.”
“Then what do you know about survival?”
“I was dealing with survival every day of the week. A man comes into the hospital with his legs blown off and his intestines hanging out...”
“Please,” Mary Margaret said.
“I’m sorry, but that was an everyday fact of life. That was survival.”
“But not your survival.”
“The survival of another human being is my survival.”
“Seymour’s a doctor,” Mary Margaret said.
“I gathered,” Bryan said. “You a G.P.?”
“I’m a gynecologist,” Foderman said, and Bryan burst out laughing. “What’s so funny about that?”
“Just seems like a big change,” Bryan said. “From handling a man’s intestines to handling a lady’s privates.”
“I prefer it,” Foderman said with dignity.
“Who wouldn’t?” Duke said.
“Anyway,” Mary Margaret said, “do we try the north face or not?”
“Of course, we try it,” Foderman said. His face was flushed, and his pale eyes looked feverish. I had the strangest feeling he was about to cry.
“I’m not sure Seymour’s a good enough skier,” I said.
“He just told us he’s an Advanced Intermediate,” Mary Margaret said.
“I am,” Foderman said.
“Those sound like expert trails to me.”
“And Seymour’s no expert,” David said.
“I can manage, don’t worry,” Foderman said.
“They are expert trails, aren’t they?” I asked Bryan.
“Yeah, but he can probably handle them. All it takes is a little guts, that’s all.”
“How are you in the guts department?” Mary Margaret asked.
“I’m not afraid of the mountain,” Foderman said.
“What are you afraid of?”
“A great many things. But not the mountain.”
“What?”
“Pain? Suffering?” Foderman shrugged.
“You fall off that north face,” Hollis said, “you’re gonna know pain and suffering both.”
“I don’t intend to fall off,” Foderman said.
“Now, there’s a brave man for you,” Mary Margaret said. She raised her glass and said, “I drink to this brave man here.”
“Ain’t no such thing as a brave man,” Bryan said. “I learned that in the Army, too. All there is is cowards who learn how to live with their own fear.”
“I think you’re right,” Foderman said.
“Oh, are you a coward, Seymour?” Mary Margaret asked.
“In many ways, yes.”
“In that case, I drink to this coward here,” Mary Margaret said. “Here’s hoping nobody ever holds a machine gun on you and asks you to get into a boxcar.”
I did not honestly know how Mary Margaret had led the conversation back full circle again to the annihilation of Jews in Germany, especially after Foderman had expressed his aversion to the subject. I knew only that she was somehow equating gas chambers with mountains, intimating that if Foderman refused the challenge of the north face, his decision would be tantamount to stepping voluntarily (and cowardly) into an oven. But Foderman had already stated that he was not afraid of the mountain and that indeed he was ready and willing to try it tomorrow. So what the hell was she driving at? It further seemed to me that if Foderman skied the north face, he was placing himself in an extraordinarily dangerous position. I did not want to hurt his feelings (he seemed besieged enough already), but I felt it was necessary to try to dissuade him.
“Seymour,” I said, “I think you’d better reconsider.”
“Yeah, Seymour,” David said.
“Reconsider what?”
“The north face.”
“That’s already settled,” Foderman said.
“Seymour,” I said flatly, “you don’t ski well enough.”