Authors: Linda Leblanc
They camped at 14,031 feet in Periche and from there continued up the valley past the
yersa
hut where Mingma had first brought them after the storm. “I was so cold and sick all I can remember is lying with my head in your lap and hearing you and your father going on for hours.”
“Oh yes. A most surprising story that explains why he didn't come for me.”
“They were lovers from different worlds like us,” she said, “but we don’t have a Chinese invasion to tear us apart.”
Only a mountain
, she thought but crushed the words into pieces fine as sand and swept them away.
They camped at 16, 269 feet in Lobuche and after climbing a tributary moraine early the next morning, they stood looking at the great Khumbu Glacier stretching all the way to the base of Everest. What possessed men to come here and trudge through ice and snow just to go up a mountain? It was beyond her. Perhaps she should be writing about the insanity of foreign climbers instead of the Sherpas who work for them. At least they had an economic incentive. By noon she and Dorje reached the highest
yersa
in the valley, Gorak Shep, land of the crows. It was a desolate land of sand and rock where only the sharp tongue of a yak could forage. After resting an hour for lunch and letting the animals graze, they continued on to Base Camp at 17, 519 feet. Having dreamed of seeing the summit of Everest up close with its trademark plume of condensation trailing off into the jet stream, Beth was disappointed. “Where’s the top?”
“You can’t see it from here. Only from Gokyo or a black hill on the other side of Gorak Shep called Kala Pattar.”
She sank onto a boulder, exhausted, short of breath, and disappointed in this wasteland of rock and ice: not the exotic gateway to the highest point on earth that she had envisioned. Watching the yaks snort past with hoarfrost clinging to the hair on their flanks making their legs look even ridiculously shorter, Beth wasn’t sure she could do this forever. For three days and three nights when the temperature dropped below zero and her breath froze, she’d been considering talking to Dorje about their future and where they would live. Namche didn’t hold the same long-term allure for her that it apparently did for Hamar
That evening as the mountains smothered them in deep shadows, she and Dorje lay buried under a mound of blankets in their sleeping bags zipped together, their feet pointing away from Everest so as not to offend the goddess Miyolangsangma. Beth listened to the groan and creak of the glacier shifting and the quiet murmur of porters in nearby tents chanting mantras to the gods for their tolerance and protection. When a faint crash sounded in the distance, she shot straight up. “What’s that?”
“Only an avalanche,” he reassured her.
“Only?”
“It’s far away. Don’t be afraid.”
“Sorry,” she said, lying back down. “Can’t help it.”
Rummaging through his jacket, Dorje withdrew a piece of braided red string. “Here,” he said tying it around her neck. “I brought this
sungdi
blessed by the monk at Tengboche. It will protect you.”
Fingering it, Beth felt an unexpected calm settling over her and realized this is what she had come to write about: mountaineering from the Sherpa point of view, and she was beginning to think like one. The ice and snow reflecting off the mountain walls in the moonlight filled the tent with a strange whiteness. Dorje was gazing at her while gently running his finger over her lips as if he knew she wanted to talk. It seemed the right time.
“I’ve been thinking about our life together,” she began. His finger paused on her lips as if to hush her, but she removed it. “I wonder where we’ll spend it.” She waited, a bit quivery inside, uncertain of his thoughts.
He playfully tugged her earlobe and whispered, “Wherever you want.”
“Really? You’d consider coming to the States with me?”
“Yes. I know you’ll bored here and I want to see outside of Nepal.”
“I’m so excited. You can travel all over the world with me.”
“And what will I do there, be your Sherpa porter? You know I didn’t go to school and can’t read or write.”
“I’ll teach you and soon you’ll be writing the stories instead of me and I’ll be out of a job.”
“Then you can be my porter,” he said with a nervous laugh.
The next morning, the lowland porters started their long journey home to Kathmandu, leaving only the cook and kitchen boys to set up camp. “I want to help,” Beth said, arms akimbo, surveying dozens of food containers, kitchen utensils, medical supplies, tents, ladders, and climbing gear. “I want to participate, not just write about it.”
Dorje chuckled. “You don’t know what to do and will have to wait until I get back from Gorak Shep. A Sherpani down there is going to return the yaks to Namche for me.”
Beth swaggered towards him “I’m going with you. You’re not getting rid of me that easily.”
But by the time they returned that afternoon, the altitude had zapped her. “Tomorrow,” she yawned. “We have five more days before the climbers and their porters arrive.” Leaning over as if to tie her boots, she rolled a snowball and flung it at Dorje, catching him completely off guard.
“You demon,” he yelled and scooped up a handful to hurl back. Giggling and tossing snow, they chased each other over the glacier and bombarded the other Sherpas who gleefully joined in the fight.
Panting and doubled over with her hands on her knees, Beth finally pleaded, “I give up. No more. Have mercy on me.”
“Like you did on me last night?” Dorje asked with a fistful of snow hovering above her. “Promise that you’ll be good?”
“I promise,” she answered with an impish grin.
Their chase had brought them to the 2,000-foot icefall at the head of the glacier. From a distance, it looked like a frozen waterfall, but Beth now realized the groaning and cracking she’d heard in the night was ice breaking into immense blocks. The turquoise pinnacles towering 100 feet overhead created an eerie maze of shifting, unstable ice. And she was afraid. “You’re not going up there?”
He eyed the icefall as if searching for a route. “Yes, many times, I think.”
Sadness resonated in her voice as she huddled against him for warmth. “I don’t want you to go. It’s too dangerous. Stay here and we’ll do the story together by talking to porters as they return.”
“I have to.”
“No, you don’t,” Beth tossed back angrily.
“Since I was five, I have been the Tenzing of the future and the future is now.”
That made no sense at all, but she gritted her teeth and kept her mouth shut not wanting to alienate him. Then he surprised her by revealing he’d been thinking of their future too and had real insight into himself. Arm in arm, they started walking back to camp. “In Namche, I am an important man and earn many rupees because I am strong, know the mountains, and speak good English for big tips. But in American, I’ll be nobody.”
She hip jostled him and grinned. “Not after tomorrow. Remember, I’m going to teach you to read and write. Besides, you understand things better than anybody I know. We can travel around the world with you providing the brains and me the grammar. Or you can learn photography and take Eric’s place.”
“I don’t want to depend on you. I must do something that will make me feel important on my own. Even in your country, people will respect a Sherpa who reached the top of Everest. Will they not?”
She wanted to say no one would care but that would be lying. “Of course,” she admitted reluctantly. “People all over the world will respect that.”
The next three days, Beth took her mind off Everest by focusing on setting up tents, unpacking crates, and helping organize the kitchen with the cook’s consent. Easily winded at that altitude, she took frequent rests to teach Dorje who devoured everything she offered. Never had she seen such a quick and eager mind. The day before the climbers were due, the two retreated to her tent to make love. Lying cradled in Dorje’s arms afterwards, Beth lazily watched the sun and clouds playing peek-a-boo on the roof. Life was good now but how long would it last?
Suddenly the words, “Hey, Buck buck, where are you?” bounced into camp like a ball hit out of the court. Having heard no English other than Dorje's for nine days, she decided the altitude had finally gotten to her and she was delirious. But other voices followed—French and British.
“What’s happening?” Dorje asked, roused from a deep sleep.
“They’re here,” she whispered.
“Who?”
“The climbers.” She quickly pulled on her pants and shirt and then reached for her jacket and boots. “Wait here until it’s clear.” As she exited the tent, Dorje was swearing at himself. “I’m here, Marty,” Beth called, almost hoping he’d spot Dorje and the whole expedition nightmare would be over.
“Hi, radiant-ness,” Marty chirped and threw his arms around her for a tight hug that lasted much too long for comfort.
“How were your climbs?” she asked, gracefully releasing herself.
“Fantastic-ness. We did two 20,000-foot peaks, no problem. How about you, Darling? Did Dorje take care of you okay?”
Darling? How dare he?
she mumbled to herself.
And yes, more than you’ll ever imagine
. “We hiked slowly so I wouldn’t get sick and he taught me how to set up camp. I have many good notes.”
“Great. I knew he would,” Marty said, looking around. “Where is he anyway?”
“I’m not sure. I was napping.” Glancing over her shoulder, she saw the tent flap move and decided to distract the climbers by walking them up to the icefall. Dorje crept from her tent and joined them. As they all chatted excitedly about the days to come, Beth tried to summon enthusiasm, but inside her an ominous dread flowered and sank its gnarled roots deep.
While some of the expedition members scouted the icefall, the sirdar put Paul—a tall, lanky Frenchman—in charge of working with the Sherpas the next two days. He issued winter gear to every porter: a down bag and pad, waterproof leather boots with fur lining, wool socks and hat, double-layered gloves, goggles, an inner and outer pair of pants, wool shirt and sweater, plus a heavy jacket. Having never worn anything more substantial than cheap canvas shoes from China, the porters now had to get used to stiff leather boots with crampons. Finding them awkward, Dorje wondered how he’d ever climb a mountain in such things. They practiced crawling across an aluminum ladder suspended on blocks of ice, cutting stairs with an ice axe, and using an ascender on fixed ropes to keep from sliding backwards. It was all so new and thrilling that Dorje sneaked into Beth’s tent each night full of confidence and chattering in rambling, excited bursts about reaching the summit. For fifteen years, the mountain had been silently trying to seduce him with its mysterious folds of rock and ice. And now his long, love affair with Everest was about to be consummated.
Snuggled in their bags, Beth said in a voice lacking his enthusiasm, “They haven’t asked you to go to the top, have they?”
“No,” he answered disappointed. “But Marty promised to get me there. And when we start through the icefall tomorrow, the others will see how strong I am.”
“And when will I see you again?”
“The day after tomorrow I think. We have to move all the gear from here to Camp I and it will take many trips.” Her subdued manner perplexed Dorje. He wanted her to be proud and eager for him. Lightly running his finger along her cheek, he whispered, “What’s wrong?”
“I’m scared and don’t want you to go. I’ve heard the ground can yawn and swallow a man whole.”
“I promise to turn back if things look bad and spend every night making love to you.” For now he wanted to take her all in—the aroma of her hair, the sound of her beating heart, the feel of her breath on his cheek—and carry them tucked inside for courage and strength when he needed them.
The next morning, the porters refused to depart for the icefall until they had conducted an elaborate
puja
ceremony honoring the goddess residing in Chomolungma. She did not like to be trod upon and any misstep could invoke serious retribution. Spirits, evil forces, and ghosts of those who died on the mountain dwelled in her heights. One of the most grievous offenses was having sex or what the Sherpas called
making sauce
. Being guilty of this transgression, Dorje erected an eight-foot, rectangular stone
chorten
supporting a tall pole crowned in a juniper bough. Strings of the five-colored prayer flags radiated from the top to stone anchors on the ground. After placing smaller juniper boughs around the stones, Dorje lit them sending smoke circling toward the summits above. While playing a drum and brass cymbals, a lama read from an ancient Tibetan script asking the goddess for fair weather, permission to climb, and for protection from accidents. He then blessed the offerings of rice, bread,
tsampa,
and
chang
. After large plates of food were given to the goddess, the Sherpas took small amounts of rice between their fingers and tossed them to the sky to draw attention to themselves and ask her assistance. The remainder of the food was shared by all as part of a ritual meal. At the end of the ceremony, a bowl of
tsampa
was passed around and the porters smeared the barley paste on each other's faces.