Between Heaven and Earth (16 page)

TWENTY-ONE

I was startled out of my restless sleep by the sounds of people outside my tent. It must be time to leave. Time to get to the summit. At least this time I was woken up by something outside of my own faulty, leaking bodily functions. I'd been up three times already—once to vomit, another time to pee, and a third as my bowels ran. If my body was going to betray me, why couldn't all three systems have exploded at once? It would have been more efficient.

I pulled myself out of my sleeping bag. Even that process of shifting a few feet caused my heart to race and my breath to strain. That was partly the altitude and partly my fear—not fear of the mountain but fear I was going to fail. Fail. Did I really think I could make it up to the top feeling the way I felt?

I switched on the headlamp and the tent became brightly illuminated. I glanced at my watch. It was just after eleven. We weren't going to be leaving until midnight. I could sleep for another hour. I thought about turning off the light and lying back down, but the voices were getting louder and more frantic. Something was happening, and it wasn't like I was actually going to go back to sleep anyway.

I was already fully dressed to protect myself from the cold—three layers top and bottom, including thermal underwear and fleece. All I had to do was pull on my hat, mitts and hiking boots. I struggled with the laces—my fingers felt a little numb—and then unzipped the tent. A rush of wind and cold air flooded in.

The campsite was alive with porters frantically racing around. I guess they were as excited about the summit as I was. No, wait…there was Tomas, one of the Finns, sitting on the ground, Mr. Odogo standing over him. As I watched, he started to vomit violently—projectile puking, really—strangely illuminated by his headlamp. His body heaved again and he puked a second time. Mountain sickness; he was suffering from mountain sickness too.

I saw Sarah and went over to stand at her side. “Mountain sickness?” I asked quietly.

“Yes, him and both of the others. One very bad too.” She gestured to the other two Finns, one lying flat on his back and the other doubled over beside him.

“They're really sick, aren't they?” I asked.

“I think they are very bad, but I have never seen mountain sickness.”

“But they were doing so well,” I said.

“It means nothing until you reach four thousand meters,” she said. “Let's get closer.”

I followed her over, but neither of us spoke. Mr. Odogo was too busy and things seemed too serious to interrupt him. He was barking out orders to the porters. They were using poles and canvas to construct what looked like stretchers. Were they going to carry them down the mountain?

As we stood and watched, we were joined by Doris.

“Mountain sickness,” I explained.

“Oh, dear,” she said. “They were looking well, but I guess there's no telling who it affects.”

“Everybody but you,” I commented.

“I've had my moments, but you have to understand, I'm a woman. I've given birth to three children, so I'm more than used to living through a little pain.”

Mr. Odogo looked up and saw us watching him. He gestured for us to come closer.

“You have seen that there are problems,” he said.

“How bad do they have it?” I asked.

“Very, very bad.”

“So they're not going to summit?”

“No, no. They must be taken down the mountain immediately. Two of them need to be carried down.”

“Carried…by who?” I asked.

“The porters.”

“But they're both
huge
.”

“It will take all the porters, plus the cook and me, to bring them down.”

“And the rest of us?” Doris asked.

“You must wait here.”

“For how long?” I asked.

“We shall come back as soon as possible. By this coming afternoon at the latest. Sarah will stay with you to watch and cook. I will come back to bring you down the mountain as soon as possible.”

“You mean down the mountain after we've reached the summit?” Sarah asked.

He shook his head. “I do not think so.”

“But why couldn't we just summit when you come back?” she demanded.

“There will not be enough food or porters to support your climb. I cannot put you and the others at risk. Perhaps another time.”

I should have felt bitter disappointment; instead, I only felt the bitter cold and a sense of relief. I didn't have to go up the mountain and it wasn't my fault. I had a way out. I was saved and—

“But we have to go!” Sarah snapped. She turned to me, I guess looking for support. I didn't answer.

“We have to go up, right?” she said, even more emphatically.

I slowly shook my head. “I think we have to listen to your father.”

Sarah did a double take, and even in the dim light I could see her eyes firing daggers into me.

“But your grandfather, the promise you made to him.” She turned to her father. “The promise you made to your father that you would get DJ to the top? What of that promise?”

“Life and death are more important. I must get these men to the bottom or they might die. Will their death lessen the death of this boy's grandfather?”

Doris slipped an arm around Sarah. “He's right, dear. There's no choice. Sometimes it just doesn't work out. There'll be other times for you.”

But not for Doris, and probably not for me. What if somebody else brought up the ashes, wouldn't that be almost as good? It was the delivery and not the messenger that mattered. Besides he'd written in that last letter that it was the trying that mattered. When had I ever believed
that
? Not until now.

Sarah looked like she agreed and understood, which I'd learned didn't mean anything. “I need to get to the summit,” she said.

“You will have to put your needs aside,” her father said.

“It is not just my needs, but all of the women and girls who—”

“Enough!” he snapped, cutting her off. “This is not about you, and there will be no further discussion. There is more than your wounded pride at stake. There are lives in the balance, and I do not have the time to debate this now.”

That was enough to shut her up—the first time I had seen that happen.

“Do you understand?” he asked.

“Yes, Father.”

“You will stay with these two and care for them. Understood?”

“Yes, Father.”

“Do I have your word of honor?”

“I will not leave their sides until you return,” she said.

“Good, because—”

One of the porters yelled something, and Mr. Odogo turned toward him and then back to us. “It is time. I will return by late in the afternoon.”

“Do you want me to bring them partway down the—”

“I want you to be right here when I return. No higher, no lower.”

“Yes, Father.”

He turned to leave, then stopped, turned around and gave his daughter a hug. “You are a good girl, Mambiri, like your mother in so many ways, which is why I love you both so much.”

With her still in his arms he looked at me. “And you. You are a good boy…a good young man. Your grandfather must have been proud of you. Must
still
be proud of you.”

I didn't know what to say, and before I could even choke out an answer, he was gone. He joined the others, and they started away. Each stretcher was carried by four men while Mr. Odogo supported the third climber. How strange they looked, each wearing a headlamp, the little beams of light leading the way. Within a few dozen steps the men beneath the lights vanished, leaving only the beams visible, bobbing down the slope in two little clusters.

I turned off my headlamp, and we were temporarily thrown into darkness before our eyes adjusted to the light of the stars and full moon. Everything was brightly lit. I could see the whole campsite, not just our tents, but those of the other parties, all waiting to start the summit. The tents were blowing in the wind, bobbing about as if they were either trying to escape down the mountain or rise up to meet the cliffs above us, wanting to reach the top. It looked like the fingers of snow at the top were almost glowing, reflecting the bright light of the full moon. Now that I didn't have to climb it, it seemed beautiful.

“Thanks a lot for supporting me,” Sarah said.

“I'm not here to support you,” I said. “The porters are here to support us.”

“Let's not fight,” Doris said. “I know this is a disappointment for everybody.”

Everybody but me, I thought. This was the answer to my prayers. This was a way out without going up, without being a failure for not being able to make it.

“We'll just stick together and wait it out,” Doris said.

Sarah mumbled something under her breath in her own language, but I understood how angry and disappointed she was. I turned away and walked to the edge of the camp. All around us at the other camps I could hear people being woken up, coming to life, getting ready for the climb. I wondered how many of them would make it, how many of them would have liked an
honorable
way not to have to climb.

I pulled out my phone. It had a signal. I could contact my mother…let her know…I better let her know. No, I thought, not my mother, I'd contact my brother. I scrolled through to his name and started typing in my message.

It's over. I couldn't do it. Things happened.

I should have said more, but I didn't really know what more to say. I pushed
Send
and it was gone. I needed to get back to sleep, or at least lie down. He'd probably get it tomorrow and—my phone pinged.

[email protected] u mean couldn't do it? Break your neck?

I needed to give him more.

Three of the people in our party got acute mountain sickness and had to be taken down the mountain. All the guides and porters except one had to go down.

I sent the message. I wondered how he'd reply. Another ping.

How close r u 2 top?

Did that mean distance or time or effort? They were all so different.

Thirteen hundred meters. Six hours. I can see it, but I was told by the guide not to go, that I couldn't go up.

Within seconds I received his reply.

If u can c it, u can do it. Just go to the top.

That was so much like Steve. Flaunting the rules, just doing what he wanted to do, not listening.

My phone pinged once more.

Just because someone says you can't do something doesn't mean you can't. Grandfather was exhausted and terrified. His friends were being killed all around him, but he kept going because he believed in something. It was a long time ago and that something failed, but he kept going as long as he could.

I choked back a sob. He didn't understand. It wasn't just that I was being told what to do… I couldn't do it. Why didn't he understand that? Maybe because I hadn't told him.

I'm tired. I'm sick. I don't think I can do it. I'm so sorry.

My finger hesitated over the
Send
button. Could I really tell him that? I'd always had to be the strong one. I didn't feel so strong. I pushed
Send.
Almost instantly I felt better and worse, relieved and worried.

The phone pinged again.

Don't be sorry. Go through the tired. Go through the pain. Believe you can do it. Try and you can't fail. You're as good as Grandfather. I believe in you. KUTGW bro. Grandfather's waiting at the top. KIT.

“And I believe in you,” I said. One more message to send.

I'll try little
—
I backspaced out the last word. I'll try, for Grandpa and for you, bro. T4BU.

I sent the message and put away the phone. I walked over to where Doris and Sarah stood, watching the little dots of light making their way up the mountain.

“It's mesmerizing,” Doris said.

“Beautiful,” Sarah added. “It's just so sad that—”

“I'm going to climb it,” I said.

They both looked at me in shock.

“I'm not asking either of you to go with me,” I said. “But I have to try.”

“I'm going with you,” Doris said.

“And neither of you are going,” Sarah said. “At least not without me.”

“You don't have to come with us,” I said. “We'll just follow the lights of other people and use their guides.”

“Besides, we don't want you to break your promise to your father,” Doris added.

“That is why I
must
go with you, to keep my promise,” she said.

“How do you think that climbing with us will do that?” I questioned.

“I promised him I'd stay right with you. If you two leave and I remain here, I am breaking my promise. Besides, he cannot stop us; we will be up and back down, waiting for him when he arrives.”

“So you're not going to tell him we did it?” I asked.

“Oh, no, I will tell him.”

“And he won't be mad?”

“Oh, he will be
very
mad, but I will accept my punishment. Sometimes you simply must act and then take the punishment. Besides, being disobedient is one thing, but being a liar is another. I am often disobedient, but I am never dishonest.”

“I guess that might mean something when it comes time for him to punish you,” I said.

She shrugged. “No matter what he says or does, it will not take away what I have done. I, a Chagga woman, will have stood on the roof of Africa.”

The roof of Africa. That sounded almost magical. No, more than magical, almost
mythical
.

“Let us put on our clothing, gather water, strap on our packs and begin,” Sarah said.

TWENTY-TWO

Sarah led, Doris tucked in right behind her, and I was at the end, where I could reach up and support Doris if she slipped. There was nobody to support me if I fell backward, but it was better if they were in front of me—
uphill
of me. It wasn't like either of them—or the two of them together—could do anything more than cushion me. If I fell from the top of the line, I'd simply knock the three of us over.