Above All Else

by Dana Alison Levy

  I follow, vowing to buy Yoon Su all the chocolate bars I can afford.

  As we walk down, Luc bounces back from Yoon Su’s comments. He seems less sophisticated as he points out the bakeries, espresso bars, and other wonders of Namche, reminding me of a big shaggy dog—all enthusiasm and energy. When he darts off to buy post cards, Yoon Su and I wait in the sunshine, watching the path fill up with tourists, porters, climbers, and the occasional donkey. It’s warm and friendly and full of everyday life.

  The Sherpas are an ethnic group who have lived in the high Himalayas of Nepal for centuries. Like in some of the other places we’ve climbed around the world, the people who live here are very poor, though the money that flows in from tourists and climbers helps add to the subsistence farms and tiny trade outposts. Sometimes in our travels, that wealth gap leads to uncomfortably aggressive tip grubbing and sales pitches, but not here. So far the Sherpa guides and villagers we meet are more like gracious hosts, sharing their gorgeous countryside. Even so, the whiplash from seeing trekkers with a few thousand dollars’ worth of gear staying at lodges where the owners average a yearly income of $1,000 is deeply uncomfortable. It’s a part of traveling I never get used to, mostly because I have no idea what to do about it. Isn’t it better if we come and spend some money? Maybe I’m just making excuses.

  It is glorious here. Hard to imagine that if we didn’t have to move slowly for acclimatization, we would be at Base Camp in a few days. I turn to Yoon Su. “I can’t believe how close we are. It doesn’t seem real.”

  She smiles, and this time her smile lasts, spreading over her face, like she’s finally given it permission to stick around. “Oh, it is very real! It is a lifelong dream, being here. But for me, being so close to a dream is a serious thing. The celebration will wait until I come down.”

  I nod. I know what she means. “Do you have family coming over to meet you at the end?”

  “Yes, my younger sister and my parents will meet me in Kathmandu.”

  “How old is your sister?” I ask.

  “She is sixteen and at boarding school in Switzerland. She is an excellent climber, like me.”

  I smile a little. Modesty is not Yoon Su’s strong suit.

  She continues, “It is her dream that we’ll climb Everest together in a few years.” Yoon Su looks up at me and beams. “I told her about you and about how young you are. Now she’s hoping we might attempt an Everest summit when she’s eighteen.”

  My own smile broadens. I’m embarrassed but also thrilled.

  Luc rejoins us, breathless and smelling slightly of chocolate. “Alors, I think it’s the perfect time to find a pub. Will either of you ladies join me?”

  I hesitate, looking at Yoon Su. I’ve already stopped for what I need and have no agenda, beyond hunting down more chocolate bars. “Sure,” I say. “Why not?”

  Luc whoops and claps me on the back, then turns to Yoon Su and starts to get down on his knees, hands held up, pleading.

  “Stop it. So dirty!” Yoon Su scolds. “And look, the donkeys are coming.” Sure enough, dozens of heavily laden donkeys with loudly ringing bells are pushing their way through the center of town. “Here, move out of the way.”

  She pulls us toward a storefront, and we all press against the racks of hiking clothes until the donkeys pass.

  “I will come. For a short time,” Yoon Su says, and she starts to walk quickly behind the donkeys, stepping neatly out of the way of the dirt they leave behind. Luc and I rush to follow.

  Inside, we hand over our wrinkled rupees in exchange for three enormous Everest beers. Luc tips his back and drinks for several long seconds, while Yoon Su and I both take a sip, grimace slightly at the warm, flat taste, and set them down.

  “This is better,” Luc says, leaning back in his chair. “So far there has been very little…How do you say? Camaraderie. Everyone sticks to themselves.”

  I open my mouth to answer, then close it again. The truth is that Mami was always the one who organized games, started conversations with strangers in lodges, grew friendly with everyone around us.

  Without her, we are all quieter. Once again, missing her threatens to swallow me.

  Yoon Su notices my silence and pats my hand, a hard, quick tap that is somehow comforting. “Phhhht! We are not on a party cruise. We’re approaching Base Camp, which should make any thinking person turn inward and mentally prepare for what’s ahead.” She shakes her head at Luc but smiles—quick, then gone—to take the sting from her words. “It is foolish to underestimate our challenges.”

  Luc shrugs, a big French shrug. “Of course it is dangerous! That is part of the fun, n’est-ce pas? Why would we climb, if not for the whiff of death that accompanies it?”

  I look at him. Luc is the ultimate climber bro, but when he stops laughing, his eyes are dark and shadowed. I remember reading somewhere how mountaineers are rarely thrill seekers but, more often, people seeking control, seeking to rein in their emotions. I wonder what brought Luc here.

  As though reading my mind, Yoon Su leans forward. “So, what leads you to chase this ‘whiff of death’ up the mountains? How did you decide to climb?”

  Luc shrugs again. “There is no place on Earth that makes me happier than the mountains. I used to ski more, but mountaineering has captured me. In life, much of what we do has little meaning. You travel, you drink good wine, you enjoy the company of beautiful women, but always there is a question of why. When you climb, the questions disappear. The only question is what the next move will be, and the only answer that matters is the one that keeps you alive.” He grins. “And when we answer incorrectly, when life is at risk, and all could be lost…Well, you never feel more alive than that!”

  I gape for a moment. I hadn’t expected an existentialist answer, but maybe that’s how French climber dudes roll. But then he laughs.

  “Of course, it doesn’t hurt with the women either. It is impressive, non, to stare down death and ascend, godlike, up the rock.”

  I roll my eyes. “Oh yeah…I’m sure that ladies line up at the mention of it.”

  He grins. “But non…I am no longer a…How do you call it? A hound dog? Just months before we arrived here, I met a woman, Amelie, who is…very special. So we shall see.” His cheeks flush, and he looks downright goofy as he stares down at the table, trying not to smile.

  “Yeah?” It’s my turn to grin. I glance at Yoon Su and raise an eyebrow. “What’s so special about her?”

  He shrugs. “She is beautiful. Of course. But also very strong and brave, like you women! She does not climb, but she skis, and mon dieu, she is like a warrior on skis. And she is kind, and she makes me laugh.” He laughs. “And she does not complain when I say I am leaving for months to climb Mount Everest! She says, ‘Maybe next time I will go with you!’ That’s a woman worth holding on to, no?”

  Yoon Su and I both agree, exchanging a quick smile.

  Before we can ask anything more, he leans forward and changes the subject back to climbing. Yoon Su and Luc have done many of the same routes in the Alps, and Luc once spent a summer climbing in California, and soon we are laughing and reliving these other, safely finished climbs.

  “…And when we are finally able to see each other in daylight the next morning, after I’ve guided him down, he looks at me, very surprised, and says, ‘Interesting. You don’t look Italian!’ You see, I learned Italian at boarding school and had been speaking Italian with him all night. He had no idea I was Korean!”

  Yoon Su is funny, with a sly kind of humor that only comes out in her stories. Luc shakes his head in admiration.

  “You women are…like the Americans say…fierce! Most French women are not so strong or brave.”

  I close my eyes. “Luc, you know that’s sexist and stereotypical, right? I mean, to generalize about French women? What about Amelie?”

  He looks surprised. “But I am complimen
ting you! And her! How is that sexist?”

  I sigh and look at Yoon Su, and we work together to educate him as we walk up the stone steps. To his credit he listens, and soon we are all laughing as I try to explain that the expression “ovaries of steel” is better than “balls of steel,” and I barely notice when we reach the top.

  Chapter Ten:

  Tate

  (Four Months Earlier) January 12

  Palo Alto, California

  30 feet above sea level

  I started talking. I had to. Christ, the way they were freaking out with shrinks and occupational therapists and neurologists and who the hell knows who else, I figured if I didn’t talk, I was probably headed toward shock therapy. So I said something.

  I said, “Do you want my pudding?”

  It was like I lit a bomb and threw it. Everyone started freaking out at once, except Rose. She was the one I was talking to. She looked at me, her bruise blooming to a spectacular purple blue that was actually a cool color but not for skin. And she said, “Sure,” and picked up the pudding cup and started to eat.

  Then she looked at me again, and her eyebrows crumpled up in the mad-but-not-mad way, and I couldn’t help it, I laughed, even though my ribs burned like fire. But that was all it took for her to lose it, so she started laughing too, silently at first, then out loud. Then her laughter turned to sobs, and I must have looked horrified because for all her weepiness, she never really cries, and whatever I looked like, it made her laugh again, which made me laugh even with the rib pain and every single thing in my life being so fucked up and wrong.

  * * *

  —

  The first day after surgery was easy because nobody expected me to say much. But as the days went on and I got stronger, the doctors started saying how amazingly lucky I was. I knew what the next questions out of Dad’s mouth would be:

  “What about Everest?”

  “Will he be able to go?”

  “Can he still climb?”

  * * *

  —

  I don’t want to ask the questions because I don’t know what I want to hear. I mean, thank God for miracles and ice axes and the fact that “all things considered” I’m in excellent shape. Of course I’m psyched it’s not worse. But when I first came to and the doctor told me I was miracle-level lucky, that I’d be as good as new, the relief was mixed with a kind of panicked disappointment, a bottomless horror like I had gotten awful news.

  What the fuck? I’ve taken bad falls before, and yeah, pain sucks. I know that. But I’ve always bounced back. I’ve always wanted to bounce back, frustrated at having to wait before I could climb again. And this wasn’t so bad. It could have been, but it wasn’t, and I’m fine, which means I’m hoping I’m fine for Everest, this trip that we’ve been planning forever. Right? I have always wanted to climb. But somehow this time as I sit in the hospital, I feel like I’ve woken up from some spell, like I can see clearly for the first time. And what I’m seeing is that I have no idea why I’d want to do this. It’s probably just a weird aftereffect of the adrenaline leaving my body or something.

  It has to be.

  Anyway, when I am finally dismissed, the doctor says he wants to see me in three weeks “to assess,” and my parents just nod, like that means something important. Maybe it does. Maybe I’ll still be all broken and fucked up in three weeks, and he’ll tell me there’s no way he can clear me to go. That thought should be sour and shitty, a lifetime dream lost. But it leaves me numb.

  * * *

  —

  At least the talking got me out of the hospital. All I have is a broken arm, a sprained wrist, cracked ribs, a fractured ankle, and some good old contusions and bruises and scrapes, although none look as intense as that Frankenstein gash on Rose’s head. After the pudding and the laughter and the relief that, yes, I know how to talk, it took barely two hours until we were home in my basement TV room.

  Not so much laughing now. Rose is staring at the wall like she’s waiting for a secret portal to appear.

  “Well,” she says finally. “Here we are.”

  My parents have—with great relief, I think—left us alone. That week in the hospital was more togetherness than any of us wanted. Other than climbing with Dad, I don’t spend much time with them these days. When we’re together, it’s usually for another round of you-need-to-try-harder/I-am-doing-the-best-that-I-can—a game I’m really fucking sick of playing. I’m four months from graduation. Since my sister, Hillary, is already through college and barely even comes home for vacations anymore, I kind of feel like they’re waiting for the door to hit my ass on the way out. It’s fine. I’m waiting too.

  Rose still looks exhausted. I try to sound normal.

  “So, what did I miss? Any news on Ronan and the hot barista?” I ask.

  “Not much,” she answers. “Ronan found out her name—it’s Chessa Bond. And Mr. Abrams gave me some books he thought you’d like and said not to worry about catching up.”

  She glances at me, and I look away. “So what gives?” Rose asks finally. “Why weren’t you talking? Your parents were freaking out. It freaked me out too.”

  I think of the sickening jolt and blackness of the crevasse and close my eyes. It turns me upside-fucking-down even to remember it—the nauseating, sweaty fear’s waiting to climb into me and own me the second I let it cross my mind. I shake my head and open my eyes because I can’t—I won’t—go back to that place.

  I turn my head and stare at the wall behind the couch. There’s a huge map of Nepal taped up there, with a red string along the famous southern route we’ll take to the summit of Everest. The path we’re supposed to take. The path I honestly don’t know if I can do.

  I stay silent, my face turned away. I want to tell Rose everything, tell her that I don’t even know what the doctors are thinking, that I’m too chickenshit to even ask them, that I don’t know what I want to hear. I look up finally. Her face has gone white, almost greenish, and the blue bruise is horror-show bright.

  “What?” she says, and her voice is a whisper. “What’s going on? Are you hurt worse? I mean, I thought you were fine. Is there something else that you’re not telling me?”

  I shake my head again, too hard, and my neck throbs. “No! No, I’m fine. I mean, other than the ribs, bruises, scrapes, sprains, and the fact I literally pissed myself I was so scared when I fell. But that’s enough. I don’t…” I trail off. It feels too melodramatic to say I’m not willing to die for this. But it’s the truth.

  “What?” she whispers.

  More silence. More pain, but not the same kind. Now it’s the pain of bending your best friend’s heart, not breaking it, not yet, but maybe pushing it. Not a kind of pain I’d ever experienced before because even though I’ve frustrated and annoyed Rose around a million times, nothing I’ve done will hurt her like this will.

  I’m a fucking coward. Finally I have to break the hideous silence. I look right at her white face. “Nothing. I was just exhausted. And who knows?” I say, trying to sound normal. “Who knows if the doctors will even clear me to climb?”

  Her face smooths out a little. “God, no wonder you’re upset. But it’s still a couple months until we leave, and then there’s weeks and weeks of acclimatization and trekking before we even get close to any mountaineering. And you’ve climbed pretty quickly after past falls. Why on Earth wouldn’t they let you?”

  I shrug and my ribs protest, but not as much as my brain does. Tell her you’re freaking out, my brain screams, but I don’t say anything. Even the hellish, terrifying, pain-swirling ride down from the mountain seems better than telling my best friend I’m a wimp who wants to bail on the trip of a lifetime. The trip of her dreams—and mine, once.

  “Who knows?” I say finally. “Who the hell knows?” I let my eyes slide shut.

  “Should I let you rest?” Rose asks, and her voice sounds defeated.r />
  I nod. “Sorry to be such a loser,” I mutter.

  “Not a loser. Healing,” Rose says. She stands, and through half-closed eyes I watch her cross in front of me and bend down, covering me with the ratty 49ers blanket that lives on the back of the couch. “Sleep and feel better. I’ll talk to you tomorrow.”

  I feel a barely there breeze as she walks by, then hear the thud of her footsteps up the stairs.

  She’s gone.

  And I’m alone.

  Chapter Eleven:

  Rose

  April 10

  Namche, Nepal

  11,290 feet above sea level

  One perk of Namche is reliable internet, so after dinner I sit down at the lodge computer and try to reach Mami and Dad on Skype. It’s early at home, and for a second the Dread surfaces as I wonder if Mami is feeling okay, if her face will be pinched and crumbled with pain, even as she tries to smile. Part of me wants to cut the connection before they even answer. But when the picture comes up, she and Dad are beaming.

  “Rose! We were going to try to get you today! Because, drumroll, please!…You got a certain email!” He holds up a sheet of printed paper, and there it is, the Yale crest. I had given them my email log-in, in case I was unable to get online, and somehow today, the one day I haven’t checked, is the day.

  “IT IS GOOD NEWS! THEY AREN’T IDIOTS, THOSE ADMISSIONS PEOPLE!” Mami yells. She’s so loud that Finjo and Tate, who are still in the dining room, come over.

  I scream. “READ IT!”

  Dad puts on his reading glasses with great ceremony. “ ‘Dear Ms. Keller, Welcome!’ ” he starts, but I can’t hear the rest because Mami has starting singing and clapping, and I can’t help it, I laugh and turn to the rest of the dining room and yell, “I GOT INTO YALE!”

  Everyone—including a tour group of British trekkers and a few American backpackers—bursts into applause. Mami keeps singing, and Dad, crouching so close to the screen that all I can see of him is his cheek, tries to read the rest of the letter.