The Water-Method Man

'A pole-vaulter?' she said, in her cautious German. 'Sie springen mit einem Pol?'

'I used to, yes,' I told her. 'But not now, of course.'

Of course? you could see her thinking. But all she said was, 'Wait. You used to be a pole-vaulter, but not any more, right?'

'Of course,' I said, to which she shook her head and went right on.

'... and you're here in the mountains because you used to be a pole-vaulter?'

She was admirable; I did love her perseverance. In such casual circumstances, most people would have given up trying to understand.

'Why?' she said insistently. 'I mean, what does having been a pole-vaulter have to do with coming here to the mountains?'

'I don't know,' I said innocently, as if she had proposed such a notion all by herself. She looked utterly confused. 'What possible relationship could there be between mountains and pole-vaulting?' I asked her then. She was lost; she must have thought it was a problem with her German.

'You like heights?' she tried.

'Oh yes, the higher the better.' And I smiled.

She must have sensed the nonsense in this talk, because she smiled too and said, 'You bring your poles with you?'

'My pole-vaulting poles?'

'Of course.'

'Of course I bring them with me.'

'To the mountains ...'

'Of course.'

'You just sort of lug them around, huh?' She was having fun now.

'Just one at a time.'

'Oh, of course.'

'It beats waiting in lift lines,' I said.

'You just vault right up?'

'It's harder coming down.'

'What do you do?' she asked. 'I mean, really.'

'I'm still making up my mind,' I said. 'Really.' I was being serious.

'So am I,' she said. She was serious too, so I dropped the German and went straight into English.

'But there's no one thing I can do,' I told her, 'as well as you can ski.'

Her two friends looked up surprised. 'He's American,' said one.

'He's a pole-vaulter,' Biggie told them, smiling.

'I used to be,' I said.

'He's been putting us on,' one of the uglies said, with a hurtful look at Biggie.