The Glass Cliff

She felt a tingle of excitement, as she looked up at the sheer face of the Crag, but she did not feel intimidated. On the contrary, the thought of the climb elated her. She knew she could do it: she had brought crampons, she had brought cams, and she had done her homework. She knew the safest way to the top, knew the rocks to grasp and those she should not, knew the cervices to be avoided, the overhangs and outcrops which might offer shelter and those that would not, and most important of all, she knew there was a staircase cut into the rocks, which would make everything a much easier; she just had to find it and, so far, she had failed to do so.

She was impatient and didn’t want to wait any longer; she knew she could do it. After all, she was prepared. She knew it was not an insurmountable challenge: she had gotten to the top of mountains judged to be more difficult climbs than this. Without much ado, she put her hands to the rock face and began to climb.

The cliff face was cooler, harder, and more slippery than she had anticipated. She found it difficult to grip, and the cams slipped as she tried to attach them It was almost as if the cliff was encased in a glass-like covering, protecting itself from would-be conquerors, somehow judging just how good a climber was. She had not gone far when the Cliff made its judgement: the rock she was holding gave way and sent her tumbling to the ground, where she landed with a bump on the seat of her pants. 

God, how it hurt, her pride more than her bum. She had been overconfident, she would not be so again: you should never take things for granted, as she’d done, she thought. She picked herself up, and this time began to feel for the stairs again; she knew they must be here, but felt nothing, found nothing. She stopped, after what felt like an age, and looking up again at the sheerness of the crag, she wondered, how on earth she would ever get to the top.

“Thinking of climbing it?”

The voice had come from behind. She turned and saw a young man.

She nodded.

“You’ll need some help then.”

“Why so? I am quite capable of doing it myself.”

He rubbed his chin. “I dare say you are, capable I mean, but you know a climb shared and all that.”

She smiled. “I think you mean a problem shared and as I have already told you, I am quite capable of doing this on my own.”

“Fair dos. I’ll be on my way then,” he said, turning to go. However, he hadn’t gone far when, seeming to   think again, he stopped and turned back.

“You know there may be another way up. It might be much shorter and safer. There is a staircase but I’m not sure how far it goes up.”

“I know about the staircase, “she said getting annoyed now. “I’m looking for the damn thing because it does go right to the top. Easier by far.”

“Well, you DO need help, don’t you?”

Placing her hands on her hips, she drew up full height to face him.

“Tell me then why’s that?”

“Because I know where the staircase begins and it’s not here for a start.”

“You know where it is, then tell me please.”

He tapped the side of his nose. “Now that would be telling.”

“Oooof!”

A smile now spreading across his face, he approached her. He tried to put his arm round her shoulders, but she tensed, threw him off.

“What do you think you’re playing at?”

“Sorry, “he said, raising in his hands in a gesture of surrender and backing off. “I’ll leave you to it.”

“Stop!” She almost commanded. “You can’t go yet. You haven’t told me where the staircase is!”

“Ah,” he said, shrugging his shoulders. “If you don’t want to work together....”

“Oooof!” she furrowed her brows. “You are impossible, but ........”

“We’re good to go?” he asked.

“Yes!”

He grinned. “Well, why didn’t you say so sooner. My lady,” he made a show of bowing low, as if he’d doffed his hat. “This way please.”

She gave him an exasperated look as she passed him. In response, he gave her a disarming grin.

In an uncomfortable silence, they walked for about five or ten minutes, along the side of the Crag, before he stopped.

“Voila!” He said, pulling back some creepers to reveal an ancient looking wooden door, which he pulled open.

“Ladies first, after all you’re the one who knows so much about this slope. I’m just the poor, humble servant who one day found the means of ascent quite by accident. I didn’t even know it went right up to the top. I don’t even come from around here.”

“Well, I do know this terrain like the back of my hand, and I was raised just along the road.”

His eyes widened in interest.

“Really, you don’t say.”

“Yes,” she said, stepping forward and passing through the door.

Once through the doorway, there, cut into the rockface, was the staircase. Steep and winding, it seemed to twist and turn its way upwards towards the summit. It was perfect just as she’d imagined it would be, when first she’d read about this secret stairway. She couldn’t wait to begin the journey to the top, but impatiently she waited; waited for him to join her which he did, only after closing the wooden door carefully behind. He gestured for her to begin the climb. She looked at him questioningly and he said in a whisper:

“It was my door, but it’s your staircase.”

She smiled and began to climb.

The way upwards was slow and laborious; in places the steps were slippery, in others crumbling, and in some places hidden by thick undergrowth. All this hampered their progress. They had constantly to clear creepers and brambles, pushing them firmly out of the way or tearing them with their bare hands. they had nothing else. Her hands got scratched and nipped quite badly. He swore from time to time as brambles, which she’d moved out of her way, slapped his face. But they worked well as a team:  she was leading, calling out to him, telling him which steps to be careful on, him following, looking after her back, watching out for crumbling rocks and the odd sleeping snake under her feet. And then, after all that, when they were nearly right at the top, they saw a group appearing from the other side of the Crag.

She was puzzled. Where had these people come from?  She just did not know. She’d read the books, looked at the plans and the only road to the top was the staircase or the rock climb from the south face of the mountain. There was no way they could have come from the North. He was angry. How dare they. How dare she! She had failed him, he said. She should have known if she’d read as much as she’d said she had. This place should be his not hers and not theirs. He had found the door after all, the key to way up the hill.

Shocked and surprised at this change in his demeanour. She reminded him, that without her, he would never have known that stairway led to the summit.

He turned on her, like a venomous snake, slit eyes and all, and spat like a cat, attacked by a dog.

“You,” he hissed. “Did not even know the whereabouts of MY stairs cut into the rock. YOU needed my help. YOU didn’t know about MY door. For all YOUR knowledge taken from YOUR books, you had nothing but me. YOU had nothing on me. I’m the worker here and I’ve worked you! Now get out of my sight!”

She stood open mouthed, she had nothing to say, as he pushed her aside and ran to the summit. He planted a little flag, which he pulled from his pocket. 

“This is my mountain. My Crag. My summit. I am the owner. Now, let’s have a meeting. A pow wow of kinds. Let’s decide who should do what and who should be King of this Castle, so to speak.”

The others, who’d appeared, seemed to like his bravado, the confident way that he spoke. They were in awe of him, they said, that he’d climbed from the South. He must have risked life and limb for the south face was slippery and had never been conquered. He, of course, agreed with them, said he’d spent time researching his ascent, and did not once mention her stairs. He said, if they found him to their taste, he would be King. They agreed.

She couldn’t believe, what she was hearing. He was lying, she knew. She had led the way up. She had told him where to hold, where not to step. She had done all the research, read all the books, looked at the plans, and yet here he was, basking in the sun of her glory.

She coughed rather loudly, stamped with her feet; they turned to her and stared. They looked puzzled.

“Who’s this?” They asked, turning to him.

“I’m....” but before she could answer, he brushed her aside, with a swing of his arm.

“She,” he began “is no-one. Just someone who followed me here. And now she’s about to leave.”

He turned, and stepping towards her, picked up a stick, and brandished it in her direction. He smiled, winked, and said, just loud enough that only she could hear:

“Well, my lady. It’s over. It’s the end of the road.”

She stared at him, began to protest, but raising a finger to his lips, he said a goodbye and poked her towards the edge of the cliff.

“She’s leaving,” he shouted to his newfound friends.

He poked her again and she disappeared over the edge, beginning her ungracious slide down the Glass Cliff.