(the) American (Novel of)

Handy Etiquette
119
rarefied radio waves, you do not have to strain to hear the loudmouth.
He is in full trekking gear, toting all the regalia, everything just right,
looking sharp, but here is what he is shouting into his cell phone,
presumably to loved ones (difficult to imagine!) down in the valley,
shouting so loud that the phone seems superfluous:
—It sure is beautiful up here. Yeah, and the weather’s perfect.
Blue sky. I said the sky is blue. Great weather. This is the third
valley we’ve hiked today, one more beautiful than the next. We
sure picked the good ones. We were smart.
You hurry on, trying to get out of earshot now that you know
the essential matter, namely, how smart the caller is. Yet the mountain
is made of stone, and stone echoes.
—Yeah, we’re really high. I don’t know how high, but we’re really
high. No, I mean high on the mountain. Ha, ha! Nothing but rock
up here. Yeah, and the sky. Bright blue. Perfect weather.
You hope that his Callya Karte is depleting rapidly and that the
silence of the mountains will soon be restored. Perhaps the ledge on
which he is standing, which he mistakes for a phone booth, will crumble.
Hope springs eternal in high mountains. You remember how Nietzsche
always dreamed of wandering among icy crags, alone with his thoughts,
rapt to the silence, and you wonder how he would respond to the
caller—whose voice is still echoing.
—No trees or nothing. No, we’re really high. On the mountain.
Ha, ha. We’re about ready to head back, though. My feet are
killing me—it’s those bunions, or maybe the gout again. What? I
don’t care. Sure, schnitzel, if you want. Just go easy on the
sauerkraut. You remember what happened last time—phew!
And that, dear reader, is why there are rules of etiquette governing
the use of cell phones in German-speaking countries—indeed, rules outlawing
their use in high mountains. We have seen why these rules must be
respected. Let’s start with these rules; later we can eliminate homicide.