I found myself on a wind-blasted mountain peak, not three miles from the naked summit of K2. A fierce gale from the southeast was whipping up. A metereological surprise, I guess. The spun aluminum mountain wear actually made things worse: there was the illusion of warmth, yet the tramontaine pierced through the filament-thin duds, making a joke of your flimsy effort to retain body heat. So much for Gore-Tex. Hanging off the edge of the world, fending off a 90 degree below zero mistral, is hectic, man.

Two thirds of the right leg had completely lost sensation. Numb. Dead to the world. The golf-ball sized ice pellets rained down mercilessly,a terrible cannonade, dinging my facemask where I most needed to see...Nonetheless I could dimly make out the frozen and presumably lifeless form of my climbing buddy, my 'life link,' Dr. Shapiro. Shapiro, still harnessed to the cable that made us a daisy chain of fools, floated, suspended and flailing, lost in the empyrean. His limbs, no longer functional, spun akimbo. His body twisted and turned at each blast of the wind. Like a rag doll, he spun about on the vertical axis of the rope, now and then taking a terrible collision with the side of the mountain wall.

With my one good leg I attempted to gain purchase, to pierce the frozen fundament with the steely tip of my crampon. Each kick threatened to loose me wholesale into the vastness below. At last I managed to chip away enough of the ice to lodge my boot into the frozen rock. This was how things stood: a permafrosted leg, an unsteady toehold on the rockface, a riproaring icestorm, and two hands with nothing to do. Directly above was worse than sheer: the igneous vein actually went obtuse, veering out into space, making any attempt to gain the next few precious feet laughable. I was not thinking clearly. I was too scared. Watching Shapiro dangle helplessly from the Himalayan yardarm, I knew my time was up. I was going to die.

I groped behind me, hoping against hope to reach my backpack. I had to reach the phone. The phone was last means of contact with the world.

Somehow I managed to flip the headset open. I stabbed a gloved finger as best I could at the number for home.

How strange, to have all the advantages of the new wireless technology at a time like this.

I pressed the tiny speaker hard against my ear. It was ringing. There was a burst of static...on the other side of the planet my wife picked up the phone.

My wife!

"Hello?"

I could hear the kids yelling, shouting for joy, the lovely sweet sound of their voices. For an instant I forget about this frozen hell. Somewhere in the background -- somewhere in the world -- my boys were alive, happy, enjoying a russet dusk.

"Sweetheart?" I couldn't believe we had connected. "It's me."

A stunned silence.

"I thought I told you not to call."

Talk about cold.

A hailstone (or was it a piece of the mountain?) ricocheted off my brow.

"It's me," I yelled, "I'm hanging off a cliff. K-2. This is it, babe," I shrieked, "You're it. You know, my hour of need? You're the one I chose to call."

"I suppose it's a convenient time for you," she snarled. "Do you ever think of anyone but yourself? The boys are going wild. Later, bub." She didn't hang up immediately, so I persisted.

"Honey," I pleaded, "I'm in Nepal. Freezing to death. Like -- about to die. Shapiro's already cashed in his chips."

She cut me off.

"Ask me if I care," she said. "Everyone knows about your narcissistic games," she purred. "And I suppose this is just one of them."

I couldn't believe my ears.

"Can you hang on for a minute?" I thought I detected a hint of a conciliatory tone there. "I'm on another call."

Sure. No problem! There was a whooshing kind of sound, from somewhere in the near distance. An avalanche? Why not?

I let the icy jet stream tilt my head away from the phone. Soon we would be out of juice. Only two chevrons remained on the indicator. Now I was really screwed.

"Honey," I said, "still there?"

"I'm back," she said. "What do you want? What is there left to talk about?"

I was stunned. The yawning abyss looked better than this.

"Call again and I'll alert the police. I'll have an order of protection on you so fast your head will spin."

"Listen," I insisted, "this is the call of a condemned man. You are the last person on earth I can talk to. I love you."

I meant it.

She didn't care.

"Well I don't love you," she said.

"I can't believe you're saying that."

"What's not to believe?"

A sudden gust smacked Shapiro against the wall. The sound of the body hitting granite reverberated down the terrible canyon. Shapiro's suspended corpse was twirling now like an unleashed top. I thought I could make out two other dots against the terrain below. Like ants, crushed blackberries. These would be the stragglers, the remainder of our wretched party. I held my gaze as long as possible. Neither currant moved against the field of white.

A voluptuous bellowing, as of thunder, now reached the crevasse. All hell was breaking loose. Nature was tumbling. Shards and streams of frozen matter began to fly past like hoary rockets.