But

The Englishman didn’t want to fall. The Englishman wanted to stay standing. Like a vegetable. Which is why the old Sherpa saw him stagger like an ostrich on mescaline, open his eyes, cross his right foot leftward, try to find a foothold, wave his arms. All useless: the best thing is to fall, thought the old Sherpa as he observed the changes of expression in the gestures of the Englishman. From disgruntlement to panic in three simple stages. The intermediate stage, imperceptible, faster than fleeting, is the one that’s most ridiculous. Disgruntlement, ridiculousness, panic. In that order. First, a tsk: disgruntlement. Then, a word: the ridiculousness of orality. What word? What did the Englishman say before falling into the brief chasm of eight, nine metres to the ledge? ‘But’, he said. He wanted to make his case. I’m stumbling, ‘but’. Yes, I’m losing my balance, ‘but’. All right, all right, I’m tumbling over now, ‘but’. Then, panic.