by Roland Smith
I had to rephrase this so she would understand what I was saying. When I finished, she smiled.
“I think I too am this adrenaline junkie,” she said. “Perhaps it is so with you.”
“I’m not sure what I am, but I do love to climb.”
An older Burmese woman came out onto the veranda and said, “Food ready now.”
The food was incredibly good. As we wolfed it down with glass after glass of ice water, Chin explained that he had four houses like this along Burma’s borders, staffed by trusted older couples. The woman from the veranda cooked and cleaned. Her husband did maintenance in and around the house. He didn’t mention the men from the helicopter. His main residence was in Yangon, not far from the French embassy. He made a circuit of his border homes every two or three weeks to buy, trade, or sell. He was vague about what he was buying, trading, and selling, but he made it sound like his main source of income was selling gems. I thought it was more likely that he was in the drug trade. How else could he afford the helicopter, homes, and security guys?
He and Nick got into a long conversation about rare Burmese orchids, which Chin believed could be exported and sold for duffel bags of cash. Nick insisted that orchids and other rainforest flowers should be left in situ, or in place, because not enough was known about the symbiotic relationships of plant species. Chin asked Nick what the difference was between Nick picking a plant and taking it to Australia to examine, and someone else taking a plant to another country to germinate it.
“Science,” Nick answered.
“Why not have science pay for itself ?” Chin asked. “I am sure, at times, you struggle for grants to fund your research and collecting expeditions.”
Nick admitted that funding was difficult, but he insisted that the only way to practice pure science was to keep it separate from commercial profit.
Chin smiled and held his hands up in defeat. “You win, Dr. Freestone. At least this round, but I reserve the right to revisit the subject again with you in the future.” He reached into his jacket and pulled out a gold business card case with a large dark ruby set into it. “This is the first pigeon blood ruby I purchased many years ago. I sold it at a good price, tripling my investment. This money allowed me to buy other gems. After a time, I began to wonder what had happened to this ruby. I began looking for it. It took me years to find it again. The owner charged me a hundred times more for the gem than I had paid for it, but it was a bargain. I would have paid a thousand times more for this ruby.”
I guessed that this was the discovery he had been talking about.
He passed the case to Nick. “Please take a card. If you need anything, just write or call me. The number is my satellite phone. Pass the case on. I want all of you to have my contact information.”
Nick passed the case to me. The ruby looked almost black in the lantern light. It was beautiful. I handed the case to Alessia, and she passed it on to Ethan.
“That’s a big stone,” Ethan said. “How many karats is it?”
“Almost eight.”
Ethan looked at the card. “What kind of sat phone do you use?”
“An Iridium 9575. Why do you ask?”
“We have the same model, but our battery is dead.”
“I will give you a fully charged battery. I have several spares. You are continuing north tomorrow?”
“First light,” Nick answered.
Chin looked at the ruby one more time before slipping the case back into his suit jacket. “And now for my discovery,” he said with relish. “Or I should say, discoveries.” He looked at me. “Peak, your father is Joshua Wood, the famous mountain climber. He is attempting to break the seven summits record. Ethan, you snowboarded down Mount McKinley chased by a pack of wolves. Alessia, you participated in the Peace Climb in the Pamir mountains of Afghanistan with these two, and there are rumors that you had a bad climb.”
We had managed to keep our Pamir problem relatively quiet so as to not overshadow the purpose of the Peace Climb. Those of us who survived swore to say nothing more than that some of the climbers had died, when in fact, they were murdered.
“Right on all counts,” Ethan said. “Do you follow climbing?”
“In my youth I was a climber,” Chin said. “I was a member of the Chinese climbing team. But that was a long time ago. Two of my nephews are now on the Chinese team.”
Which probably meant that he knew about my dad’s problem with the Chinese government.
“I heard a rumor that you were climbers, which was confirmed the moment I saw you,” Chin said.
“How did you know?” Alessia asked.
“Your hands.”
We looked at our hands. They were all a little scarred, gnarled, and callused, with fingernails that hadn’t grown back correctly after being torn off on some rockface, or in my case, on skyscrapers.
Chin held up his small manicured hands. They were in great shape, except for the two missing digits on his left hand. “My hands took a decade to heal,” he said. “But of course the finger and thumb did not grow back. I lost them on Hkakabo Razi. My last climb. I assume that is why you are here.”
We didn’t respond.
Chin looked at Alessia. “I see that it is a secret. I am very good at keeping secrets.”
“It’s not exactly a secret,” Ethan said. “We want to make the attempt without a lot of fuss, or distractions. We just want to climb.”
“Completely understandable.” Chin continued to look at Alessia. “You and I never saw each other here.”
“My mother knows that I am traveling with Peak and Ethan, but she does not know that we have gone this far afield.”
“I will keep your secret, but you must promise me something.”
“What is the promise?”
“If any of you get into trouble, I want you to call me. I can be to you in a matter of hours. My pilot is a former Nepalese army pilot. He can land a helicopter almost anywhere and can fly at altitudes that helicopters are not supposed to reach.”
“I promise,” Alessia said. “And thank you.”
“Good! Now we can talk openly about Hkakabo Razi. Perhaps we should go back to the veranda and enjoy the night.”
We sat around a teak table with the wind rustling the trees and the stream bubbling below.
“The mountain is responsible for my coming to Burma and obtaining the ruby I just showed you,” Chin began. “When I was nineteen years old, our team attempted to summit Hkakabo Razi. The weather was good. We were camped at five thousand meters, well acclimated, and confident, ready to push for the summit early the next morning. As the youngest member of the team, I had gotten the worst tent site, at least ten meters from the other climbers. It had taken me hours to level out a spot beneath a small outcrop. After dinner with my teammates, I headed to my tent to get a few hours’ sleep. It was a clear night with a million stars in the black, moonless, sky. I had a headlamp, but it was dim compared to what we have today. The slope was steep and icy. I had to use crampons and ice axes. If I slipped, it would be a two-hundred-meter slide to the bottom and a long climb back up—if I survived.
“Clearly, I was not paying as close attention to my path as I should have been. I was concentrating too much on how I was going to get there. I became disoriented. I knew I should have already reached my tent. It wasn’t that far away. I looked back to where my teammates were camped, but could not see the lights from their tents. There was nothing but blackness.”
I knew exactly what he was talking about. Night climbing can be terrifying. Even with a good headlamp, you can see no farther ahead than the beam. It’s as claustrophobic as making your way through the jungle.
“I could have retraced my steps back to the team, woken them, and explained my dilemma.” Chin smiled. “But of course as the youngest climber, I could not do this as it would have been too embarrassing. So I continued on my fruitless route until it occurred to me that I must be on the wrong path altogether. That I had started too low when I left
the tents and had somehow passed below the shelf I had carved out. I climbed up the slope three meters, then started back the other direction, confident that I would find my tent.” Chin closed his eyes. “That is when I heard a muffled thump, then a loud roar, like the sound of a fast train passing inches from my ears. I began to slide. I was tempted to use my axes to self-arrest, but I resisted the urge, hoping to stay ahead of the avalanche. But it caught me. I was buried alive in an icy grave for two days, frozen, many bones broken, drifting in and out of consciousness, waiting to die. Then a man appeared and saved me. He warmed me with his body for hours, then carried me down the mountain to a small village. I never learned his name. When he left, he said, “Now you must go out and do good things.”
Silence. What could we say after a story like that? The only sounds were moths clanking into the lanterns, attracted by their light, and the occasional skitter of lizards trying to catch them.
Not surprisingly, Ethan broke the silence. I was sure his legs were fidgeting beneath the table.
“What happened to the other climbers?”
“They are still on Hkakabo Razi.”
This was followed by another long silence. Then Alessia said, “I did a great deal of research before we left for this climb. I did not read about this climb.”
“That is because nothing was written about it, or even reported. My country, or former country, handles failure by pretending that it never happened. I was forbidden to speak about it, and until this moment I haven’t. I broke my silence because I wanted you to know about the danger. Hkakabo Razi is a harsh and treacherous mountain.”
“So you are Burmese now?” Nick asked.
“Yes, although I do still have my Chinese passport. I travel back and forth frequently. After I recovered from my injuries, which took some time, I knew my climbing days were over. I had a bit of family money and used it to travel with the vague idea of finding the man who had saved me. I heard that he was Tibetan, so I went to Tibet. I did not find him, nor did I find him in Nepal, nor in Thailand, India, or Bangladesh. He was the reason I traveled, but I suppose I was really searching for myself. I came to Burma for the simple reason that this is where I had recovered. The villagers told me that the man was not Burmese and had headed back north two days after he had left me. I did not find the man, but I did find the ruby. I paid the owner the last of my money for the gem. I sold it, and suddenly I was a businessman, an occupation that I had never contemplated. I cannot say that it has been completely fulfilling, but the profit has allowed me to do some good things.”
“I noticed the guards on the roof,” Ethan said.
Chin laughed. “You probably thought that I was a drug trafficker.”
I flushed a little, because that’s exactly what I had thought. I think all of us did.
“That is one thing I do not buy or sell. That would not be doing a good thing. But I will admit that I do sell gems to drug lords from time to time. I don’t mind taking their money. The guards are here to protect the gems and the money I carry. This is not a good place if you have valuables in your possession. I am selling a large quantity of rubies. My buyer should be here tomorrow, or the next day. If you wish, I could give you a ride to the base of the mountain, although my helicopter is small—we might have to take two trips. But I don’t mind. It would save you days of hardship.”
If he had made this offer five days ago, I would have jumped up from the table and sprinted to the helicopter. Now I wasn’t so sure.
“It’s a kind offer,” Nick said. “But I need to stay on the ground for my work.” He looked at us. “But there is no reason why you three can’t—”
“I think we would prefer to walk,” Alessia said.
Ethan and I agreed.
Ten
“Dead donkey,” Nick said.
It had been a grueling trek, but none of us regretted forgoing Chin’s helicopter. Alessia and I were drinking tea and waiting for our oatmeal to cook. I wasn’t sure where Ethan was. He had gone off into the tangle right after he woke and hadn’t come back yet.
“How did the donkey die?” Alessia asked.
“Broken neck. I think. Ran into a tree. Two of the porters saw it happen. The animals were foraging calmly. Then suddenly one bolted, hitting a tree trunk so hard a bird nest fell to the ground. It was the same donkey we had trouble with on the bridge. The porters said the donkeys had been a little skittish last night as if something was lurking in the forest.”
“Tiger?” I asked.
“Unlikely, and even if it was a tiger, that doesn’t account for the donkey bolting. The porters saw nothing that would make the donkey take off like that. We’ll have to redistribute our gear, which means we’ll be carrying more on our backs. In all the years I’ve been doing expeditions, this is the first time I’ve had a pack animal die on me. If I’d been smart, I would have given my specimens to Chin to take back to Yangon. It would have saved a quarter of the load we’re hauling.”
“I think he was sincere about helping us if we were in trouble,” Alessia said. “We could call him on the satellite phone.”
“He’s probably on the other side of the country by now. By trouble, I think he meant an emergency. A dead donkey is an inconvenience. But I’ve been considering Chin’s orchid proposal the past couple of days. I think I went a little self-righteous on him. A few orchids would not collapse the ecosystem, and getting funding for expeditions is not easy. I’m paying for half this trip out of my own pocket. I think I objected because I thought he was in the drug trade, something I will never be part of.”
So I wasn’t the only one to have thought this. Ethan wandered back into camp.
“A donkey has died,” Alessia said.
“I know. I saw it. I was looking for pugmarks.”
“Pugmarks?” I asked.
“Pug is Hindi for ‘foot,’” Alessia explained.
I wasn’t surprised she knew this. Her father had been a wildlife conservationist. She had traveled all over the world with him. He had been murdered in the Congo by gorilla poachers when she was ten years old. She was our wildlife biologist. She had been able to identify all the mammals we had spotted, and nearly all the birds.
“I’d give anything to see a wild tiger,” Ethan said. “Even a glimpse through the tangle would work. I didn’t see anything except a fire with a half-eaten monkey on it. Kind of wish I hadn’t seen that. Looked a little too human for my taste. I get that people need protein. But monkey? No thanks.” He looked down at our boiling water. “What’s cooking?”
“Oatmeal.”
“I’ll get my spoon. I’m starving.”
Ethan didn’t find his special spoon, which he had used to shovel food into his mouth on all seven continents. We left minus one donkey and one spoon, arriving at the next bridge with plenty of time to cross before dark. Except that the bridge was out. A group of people were standing on the opposite side of the deep ravine, looking down at the wreckage. Our side of the bridge was still anchored to trees.
“Is there another bridge across?” Alessia asked.
Nick pointed west. “A hard day’s walk and another day to get back on track. And there is no guarantee that the bridge downriver will be up. This bridge is usually the best of the two. I guess this is where we part ways.”
“What are you talking about?” I asked.
“The bridge,” Nick said. “With the slats, it’s almost like a ladder on this side. You won’t have any problem getting down and across even with your heavy gear. See how it’s draped over the river? It looks like a relatively easy climb on the other side for you, but not for the donkeys, or an old man whose climbing days are over. I’m certain you can hire people on the other side to porter you. They’re stuck and would be happy to make money while they wait for the bridge to be repaired. I’m going to have to head downriver with the pack animals.”
I looked over the edge. He was right. It would take a couple of extra trips, but it would be easy to get down to the river, even with o
ur heavy gear. I estimated that each trip across would take us an hour, maybe a little more. There were now ten people standing across the ravine, including a couple little girls the two Peas’ age. I could have no sooner stranded them than I could strand my twin sisters, whom I loved more than anyone in the world.
Chin’s mysterious rescuer’s words came back to me. Now you must go out and do good things. I desperately wanted to climb out of this simmering soup pot, but we had something good to do.
“I think we can fix it,” I said.
Smiling faces greeted us when we finally reached the top of the opposite bank. There were more people stranded than I’d thought, thirty or forty. Most of them were traders carrying their wares on donkeys, or their backs. The two little girls who reminded me of the two Peas had gone shy on us now that we were face to face, hiding behind their parents’ longyis. The parents looked to be hauling all of their worldly possessions. I hoped they weren’t moving to Strangeland. That was no place for kids.
The father of the girls introduced himself. His name was Yaza. From what we could tell from his broken English and Alessia’s limited Burmese, the bridge had collapsed around midnight, dead-ending everyone who had arrived after dark.
Yaza took us over to the anchor trees. I expected to find rotted rope, but the ropes were fine. Yaza made a slicing motion with his hand. The ropes had been cut through with a sharp knife.
“Why?” Ethan asked.
“Runaway,” Yaza answered.
“I don’t understand.”
“Bridge cut by person being chased. Cannot catch if no bridge.”
Two men came out of the forest with heavy loads of stripped bark draped over their shoulders. They dumped the loads at the base of one of the anchor trees and started sorting through them.
“They make rope to fix bridge,” Yaza explained.
While Alessia talked with Yaza’s wife, Ethan and I walked back to the ravine and looked over the edge.
“What do you think?” Ethan asked. “They seem to be on top of this. Do you want to head north, or delay?”