gaze at the top of the mountain, it seemed grim and forbidding, but then they would not be
going that high. They would climb a little way up and have a picnic.
“This way,” Larry said, and he led Catherine toward the path going to the left. As
they started to climb, the Greek proprietor watched them with concern. Should he run after
them and tell them they had taken the wrong path? The one they were on was dangerous,
for expert climbers only. At that moment some customers came up to the stand and the
proprietor put the two Americans out of his mind.
The sun was hot, but as they climbed higher, the breezes grew cooler, and Catherine
thought that the combination of the two was delicious. It was a beautiful day and she was
with the man she loved. From time to time Catherine glanced down and was amazed at
how high they had already climbed. The air seemed to be getting thinner, and breathing
was becoming more difficult. She had been walking behind Larry, for the path was now
too narrow to permit them to walk side by side. She wondered when they were going to
stop and have their picnic.
Larry became aware that Catherine was straggling behind and he stopped to wait for
her.
“Sorry,” Catherine gasped. “The altitude is beginning to get to me a little.” She
looked down. “It’s going to take a long time to get down.”
“No, it won’t,” Larry replied. He turned and started up the narrow path again.
Catherine looked after him, sighed and doggedly started up the trail.
“I should have married a chess player,” she called after him. Larry made no response.
He had come to a sudden, sharp turn in the path, and in front of him was a small
wooden bridge with a single rope for a handhold that had been built across a deep gorge.
The bridge was swaying in the wind and did not look secure enough to carry the weight of
a man. Larry put one foot on a rotting wooden plank of the bridge and it started to sink
with his weight, then held. He looked down. The gorge was about one thousand feet
below. Larry started across, carefully testing each step, and heard Catherine’s voice,
“Larry!”
He turned. She had reached the foot of the bridge.
“We’re not going to cross on that, are we?” Catherine asked. “That wouldn’t hold a
cat!”
“We are unless you can fly.”
“But it doesn’t look safe.”
“People cross it every day.” Larry turned and started moving across it again, leaving
Catherine standing at the foot of the bridge.
Catherine stepped on the bridge, and it began to vibrate. She looked down at the deep
gorge, and fear began to fill her. This was no longer fun; it was dangerous. Catherine
looked ahead and saw that Larry had almost reached the other side. She gritted her teeth,
grabbed the rope and started walking across, the bridge swaying with every step. On the