Anyway, this room and bath had been my castle for about a month, while I waited for my next trekkers’ group from Want To Take You Higher Ltd. to arrive. When I entered it with the lifted letter in hand I had to kick my way through clothes, climbing gear, sleeping bag, food, books, maps, Tribbies—sweep a pile of such stuff off the chair—and clear a space for the chair by the windowsill. Then I sat down, and tried to open the bent old envelope without actually ripping it.

No way. It wasn’t a Nepali envelope, and there was some real glue on the flap. I did what I could, but the CIA wouldn’t have been proud of me.

Out it came. Eight sheets of lined paper, folded twice like most letters, and then bent double by the rack. Writing on both sides. The handwriting was miniaturized and neurotically regular, as easy to read as a paperback. The first page was dated June 2, 1985. So much for my guess concerning its age, but I would have sworn the envelope looked four or five years old. That’s Kathmandu dust for you. A sentence near the beginning was underlined heavily: “You must not tell ANYBODY about this!!! ” Whoah, heavy! I glanced out the window, even. A letter with some secrets in it! How great! I tilted the chair back, flattened the pages, and began to read.

June 2nd, 1985

Dear Freds—

I know, it’s a miracle to get even a postcard from me, much less a letter like this one’s going to be. But an amazing thing has happened to me and you’re the only friend I can trust to keep it to himself. You must not tell ANYBODY about this!!! Okay? I know you won’t—ever since we were roommates in the dorm you’ve been the one I can talk to about anything, in confidence. And I’m glad I’ve got a friend like you, because I’ve found I really have to tell this to somebody, or go crazy.