“This reminds me of a story,” Davis said, the sun glinting off his orange-tinted goggles.
“What’s that?”
“There was an Indian chief out west named Two Eagles who was being interviewed by a U.S. government official.”
“Yeah.”
“And the government official asked him: ‘You’ve been observing the white man for ninety years. You’ve seen his technological advances, the progress he’s made and the damage he’s done. What do you make of it?’
“The chief stared at the official a long time. Then said: ‘When white men find this land, Indians were running it. No taxes, no debt, plenty buffalo, plenty beaver, clean water, women did all the work, medicine man free. Indian man spend all day hunting and fishing, all night having sex.’
“Then the chief leaned back and smiled. He said: ‘Only white man dumb enough to think he could improve a system like that.’ ”
Crocker laughed. “What made you think of that?”
“The beauty of this, I guess.”
“You feeling guilty for being a white man?”
“No. But sometimes I get the feeling that we’re not supposed to be here.”
“My dad said: Only a fool forgets to live in awe of nature.”
“He was right.”
Crocker started to climb again.
Sometimes he felt that all the reading Davis did made him a little morose. Crocker wasn’t a student of history to the extent that the young SEAL was, but he knew enough to understand that mankind had a tremendous capacity for destruction and a frustrating tendency to repeat the mistakes of the past.
Pausing, he turned to Davis and said, “We should be able to see them from the top of that ridge.”
He pointed his trekking pole to a crest in the snow two hundred yards ahead. It tapered gently to the right, then ended abruptly in a phantasmagoria of deep blue sky painted with wisps of white.
“When’s your wife expecting?”
“In about three weeks.”
“Does she know what it’s going to be?”
“No, but I’m hoping for a boy. Little girls are so delicate. They kind of scare me.”
“It’s exciting, either way,” Crocker said.
Since the air was dramatically thinner, they had to stop to catch their breath every fourth or fifth step.
As they continued climbing, Crocker thought about how his concern for his daughter and his efforts to protect her had sometimes gone too far. Like the night last summer when he sat up past two waiting for her to return home. His little angel had promised to be back by ten, and Crocker was getting sicker with worry with every minute that passed. Unable to stay still anymore, he climbed into his car and started driving all over town looking for her.
After an hour of increasing anxiety and frustration, he spotted an old Ford Mustang weaving down a local road. He saw the driver, a teenage boy, leaning across the seat with Jenny beside him.
Crocker turned off his headlights and tailed the Mustang into his neighborhood. When the old Mustang stopped in front of his own house, Crocker made a hard right and came within inches of crashing into the driver’s side of the car. Then he jumped out and pulled the boy from his car.
The kid was obviously drunk or on drugs, screaming, “You crazy old man! Get your hands off me before I call the police!”
Crocker held him up by the collar, slapped the hat off his head, and said, “If you say another word, I’ll kill you right here!”
The kid shut his mouth.
“You dare take my fifteen-year-old daughter out in your car when you’re drunk off your ass. Give me one reason I shouldn’t beat the living shit out of you.”
Jenny, meanwhile, was crying, screaming, “Dad, you’re overreacting! He didn’t do anything. Leave him alone!”
Crocker shouted, “Get your butt into the house.”
He threw the little punk to the asphalt, searched him, and had to fight the impulse to wring his neck. Irresponsible little shit. The kid never asked Crocker’s daughter out again.
Now the SEAL team leader stopped to catch his breath. God, I love my daughter.
Beside him, Davis readjusted his gaiters.
Crocker remembered holding baby Jenny on his right forearm. She had translucent skin like her mother’s, and light hair. A sweet, gentle sparkle in her eyes.
He turned to Davis and said, “Yeah, daughters are wonderful, but they’re challenging.”
“I bet.”
Long streams of white condensation issued from their mouths when they reached the crest. The snow-covered ground in front of them dipped slightly, then rose in a sharp U to the last peak, which shot up at a seventy-degree angle.
Following the footsteps left by Edyta and Akil, he spotted them approximately two hundred feet ahead, with Edyta leading the way, breaking trail in the fresh snow.