story The Topper

[Hippin_in_Hawaii 639]

The Topper
By Hippin_In_Hawaii

I sighed, regarding the distant peak. It was going to be a lengthy and difficult climb, and I was already later getting started than I’d like. There was nothing to be done about it, though; I couldn’t control when They went to bed, and none of us wanted to be caught by Them. I sat down and began to visualize my route, taking careful note of places where I’d have ample purchase, spots with enough support to stop for a breather, and most particularly, the treacherous stretches with nothing to grab onto. Those were terribly dangerous at the best of times, and I was going to be hauling quite an awkward bundle up there.

I chewed slowly on a gingerbread cookie man’s leg. Not only was it one of my seasonal favorites, but the calories would help give me energy during the early stages of the climb. It would doubtless burn off before I was even halfway up, but carrying any extra weight, even part of a cookie, only increased the danger.

The rest of my unit were already bustling about. There were endless cases to open and unpack, an overall plan to develop, scaffolding to erect, the lower portions of the ascent to conquer. That was ok. It had taken years, but I’d grown used to this moment, this period when it seemed like I was slacking while everyone else worked. The truth was that my job was unique. I operated alone, and although they did all they could to assist me, at the end of the day, the peril of the summit was mine and mine alone. I was the Topper.

There is a symbolism to the Topper. The rest of the job is done by coordinated teamwork, as befits the mission. There are safeties in place, there is cooperation, there is help, there is camaraderie. Not so for the Topper. The solo journey, the arduous task, the continuous risk of self and mission - they embody our overall struggle. They embody our fight, our endless campaign bringing the word of peace to Them.

My unit and I are unified in that we all have the same deadline. The sun will rise, and every hour after it does increases the chances that They will appear. If we aren’t finished before They come, all will be for naught. If They were to somehow capture one of us… well, that’s an apocalyptic thought beyond consideration. 

I finished the cookie and dusted the crumbs off my fine green uniform. The lower reaches looked straightforward enough. There were two nasty bare stretches at roughly the ⅓ and ⅔ points. That upper ascent and the final few steps to that perilously unstable top looked nightmarish, but they always did. That’s why so few of us are willing to brave this job, and why even fewer of us survive to retire.

“It’s a rough one, sir,” said Guildor. He was right. This Symbol was large and covered with sharp outreaching spikes, light rays frozen in crystal, that looked both deadly and fragile. It was beautiful, though, and doubtless would actually sparkle like a star in the early morning sun’s rays. Such a Symbol, placed at such a height, could be seen as far away as the horizon. May I succeed, so that all who see it can be reminded of peace.

I said nothing, for there was nothing to be said. I grabbed my climbing harness and began tightening the straps and buckles. Behind me, Guildor and Screwball were attaching carry lines to the Symbol. Once everything was secure, they summoned help to lift it and follow me to the base. It took six of them. Six strong backs made light work of the load I had to carry alone.

Then it was time. There was enough scaffolding assembled that I could get past the initial scramble up the bole and reach the lowest branches. From that secure spot, I began hauling the Symbol up behind me, wrestling it into a secure position before climbing to a higher spot. And so went the first ascent; I would climb, then haul the Symbol up. It was exhausting, which was demoralizing, for this was the easy part.

At the ⅓ mark, as I had seen, there was an alarming gap between branches. There was no way I could shimmy up the bole with so much weight on my back, and the carrying straps were too short to allow me to reach. This was the first real test of my training and skills, and the first genuine opportunity for me to fail. I began to walk out along a branch with the Symbol dangling below me. The footing was difficult, and the swaying pendulum of the Symbol constantly threatened to pull me off balance, pull me and it to our deaths. Still, this was the only way.

As we crept further from the bole, the branches converged somewhat. I could finally reach up, grab a limb above me, and hoist myself. Of course, the many spikes of the Symbol would get entangled in the branch I was abandoning, so I had to get it swinging first, and time my climb so that its arc would clear the branch as I lifted. This was insanity! This was truly risking my life and the mission. But the mission was paramount, and this the only way. I succeeded, because succeed I must.

The second leg was much like the first, but the branches grew thinner, and my footing less certain. As expected, my stomach rumbled, and I felt my energy beginning to ebb. The hardest was still to come! 

Of those Toppers who die while attempting the climb, most do not fall from the summit, or even the upper reaches, as you might expect. Most fall somewhere between halfway and ⅔ to the goal. There is a terrible psychological despair that sweeps you, realizing how little strength you have left, and how far you still have to go. Regardless of whether it is your first or your one hundredth climb, you become convinced that this is the time you fail; this is the time your grip slips or your leap is too short. It becomes a self-fulfilling prophecy. We call it the faint.

I am not immune to the faint. No one is. My trick? I am stubborn. I start every climb believing that it will be my last. But for every move, every leap, every handhold, and every strain, I stubbornly insist to myself that it is not THIS leap, not THIS handhold, not THIS strain. I can fall when I take the next step, but I will not fall THIS step. And so I lash myself as I crawl ever upwards.

Moving across the second bare spot to the upper reaches was particularly difficult. The branches were so thin that moving away from the bole brought the risk of breaking the limb I was standing on. I began bouncing, rhythmically, getting the limb to rise up and down, while simultaneously swinging the Symbol so that its arc would clear my current support as I jumped to grab the next, for jump I must, and with the full weight of the Symbol bearing against me. The swing and the bounce must time exactly, and even as they were coming into harmony, I heard the first cracking beneath my feet. The limb was breaking; I had to go now!

The bounce was well-timed; I gained the precious few inches I needed to reach the next limb; the swing was less-than-perfect, and the Symbol became entangled with the lower branch. Now I was really in trouble. Hanging by my hands from a thin limb, the full weight of the Symbol pulling on my harness, and unable to pull myself up because the Symbol was trapped by the branch below. I strained, to no avail; I couldn’t muster nearly enough force to break the Symbol free. So this was it; this is how I fail.

No. Not THIS moment. Not THIS movement. I began swinging my body like a gymnast. It was a desperation move, but I was desperate, so it seemed appropriate. Swinging against the dead weight of the trapped Symbol was a challenge, but I persisted, gaining a little more to my arc with each pass. Soon, the Symbol was rocking back and forth in time with my motions, each tilt working it just a little closer to freedom. When it came loose, I very nearly lost my grip, for there was some springiness in the limb below, and the Symbol popped free, gaining a bounciness added to its swinginess, all anchored by my fragile grasp.

I made my way back onto the limb, then back close to the bole, and allowed myself exactly one second of relief, no more. The sun wouldn’t wait for me to finish, nor would They. And up I went.

The last few lengths were always the worst. There was no bole left, only the thinnest of limbs. I had to reach the top, the very tippy top, and perching on a mere wisp of needles and twig, hoist the Symbol over my head and place it there on the peak, where its gleaming beauty would be seen far and wide. Exhausted, my body aching, my skin raw from the abrasions of bark and needle, my magnificent uniform torn and covered with sap, that is what I did. 

The Symbol swayed a little precariously, so I did what I could to reinforce it. Then, I allowed myself a full five minutes to turn and look around from my great height. Far below, I could faintly hear the cheers of my unit as they rejoiced in my accomplishment. I hullowed back to acknowledge theirs. It was hard to appreciate from where I was, but looking down, I could see the blinking lights, the dancing icicles, the myriad smaller symbols that festooned the body of the tree. I looked forward to climbing down and seeing it properly from the ground, then celebrating with another bit of gingerbread man. 

Tomorrow night, there will be another tree in another house. If we do our job well, another family will awaken to a Christmas miracle. For now, I am content.

TNK00-00000-04DJA-SLHCL-ANBQ?

[Venerable 2,967]

Nice story! 

I've been waiting for a Hippin work after "The Night Before"...