ORIGINAL FICTION: "Climbers" (Chapter Sixteen)

"He doesn't think much of telephones. Doesn't trust them."
"So?"
"So I write to him and sometimes he answers."
"And sometimes not?"
"And sometimes not. He's a very private guy after all he's been through."
"So maybe I shouldn't go visit him?"
"Well, if you do, you're going to have to be careful how you go about it."
"What do you mean?"
"Ok, it's like this: When I just wrote him letters to tell him what we were doing over here, I wouldn't get a response. If I sent him something- a present of some kind- to celebrate a particularly important sighting or find, I would get a letter back from him."
"So unless you had big news, there was no news in return."
"Even if I had to make it up."
Bright flash- Ka-Boom- Debris everywhere. Ray felt like the cable just snapped on the elevator. One long endless drop to the bottom. Whoooosh. Even if he had to make it up. Oh boy. Great. Now what? Be brave, Ray. Go for the brass ring.
"Which brings me to another question."
"Yeah?"
"How do you know if you're getting true information from the people that contact you? They could all be making it up."
"Not all."
"Ok, how do you tell?"
"Trade secret: Enthusiasm."
"Pardon me? Enthusiasm?"
"You can kind of tell by how excited the person is."
"If they're really hyped- then what?"
"They're probably lying."
"Ah- I see. No, I don't."
"Ok, some kid calls me up ten, maybe eleven o'clock at night whooping and yelling that he just saw something on his roof. It was big and blue and had claws and wings. The eyes glowed in the dark. I can hear three more kids in the background and they're all screaming and laughing. What do you think?"
"I'd say he was goofing on you."
"Ok, very good. Now, case number two: Someone calls me early in the evening. They're quiet, almost shy. They saw something the night before and have been thinking about it all day. Didn't get a good look at it and not sure what it was. Could I help? See the difference?"
"Reluctant interest versus blind drunk enthusiasm."
"He who says does not know. He who knows does not say."
"Confucius?"
"Better: Lao Tse."
"You don't say."
"Very funny. What are you going to do now, Ray?"
"Well, I'd really like to talk to Mister Vaan at least once before I go heading across the big pond. What are my chances of catching him at home?"
"Better than the chances of getting Arthur Crutchfield to answer the phone, I'd guess. You might try calling him."
"Arthur Crutchfield?"
"Steve Vaan."
"And say what?"
"What were you going to say if you met him face to face?"
"Oh, I don't know. How about, 'Seen any good climbers lately'?"
"That should go over real good. Better work on your approach. I think he'd go screaming in to the woods on that on."
"Too direct?"
"Oh, yeah. Remember, this guy fled his family and a reserved room in the Hotel Silly. I don't think he's dangerous, but you don't want to corner him or confront him."
"Ok, I'll take it easy."
"He could probably use a friend, living alone in that small town."
"I hadn't planned to move there."
"Hmmm."
Ray didn't like that 'Hmmm'. Didn't like it at all. But he had that one other question that had been bugging him. He had to ask.
"One last thing, Gil."
"What's that?"
"Why no bodies?"
"Huh? What do you mean nobodies? I'm somebody."
"No, no. No bodies. If climbers die, why don't people find their bodies as they would any other animal in the woods?"
"These things aren't like any other animal in the woods."
"Well, ok, you're right, but-"
"Look Ray, it's a good question. There's