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| Chaim and Macarius were
startled by the lad’s outburst. The uncle the more so because of what it implied. "Henry, what is this?" Hank, in an urgent and somewhat abashed tone, "I’m sorry Uncle Chaim, but I’ll never be a happy gem merchant, nor make a good stone cutter. I need ...," he waved his arms about the hall, "more room, and ... oh, adventure - excitement. Master Serapion, if he would be willing," Hank glanced at the bemused Coptic, "could offer me both." The older men were taken aback. But the Coptic now surveyed the lad more closely then before. The gem buyer’s face showed his own sudden yearning - not to be forgotten of this world. He sighed. In Burma the natives would say this meeting of their two paths was Karma. |
* * * The sun was bright, the wind calm, the sky a crystal clear blue, and the ice a brilliant white. They were traversing the Mer de Glace glacier at the forty-nine hundred foot mark, on the French side of Mont Blanc. The climbers were roped together at ten foot intervals. Dressed and equipped for the occasion, were a teenage Mary Dee Sherrian, her aunt and uncle, and a French guide in the lead. "We must make more line," the guide directed in heavily accented English. The climbers were approaching the end of the ice flow. The guide, after slacking the rope, bounded over a narrow crevasse. It was less than three feet across, though incredibility deep. The crossing was more of a leap for Emma Moore Sherrian, but none too demanding a one. Mary was next. She walked up to the crevasse and |
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