It’s colder, snow drifting around but never landing. The wind shifts, and the massive mountains show through the gray. They look fucking ominous, stock photography out of an action movie where the good guy bites it in the end. Lama Geshe’s words run around in my head. I believe in the mountain gods. I think they’re vicious, nasty sons of bitches who think of us the way a dog might think about fleas climbing up its back. I shake my head and walk faster.
Paul leaves me at the entrance to the clinic, wandering off to pick up more high-altitude tips at today’s workshop. First thing I notice is the pictures—wordless first-aid instructions that show everything from dealing with a choking baby to how to splint a leg. Walking past a seriously gruesome one that shows how to pull someone out of a fire—something I would have thought was fairly obvious—I look around for any signs of life.
“You looking for Jordan?” someone asks, and I jump.
The voice turns out to be attached to an insanely tall dude with a white doctor’s coat and a shaved head who’d been crouched down under a desk by a filing cabinet.
“I’m Dr. Walker. You can call me Bo, though,” he says and offers his hand. His hands are massive; mine looks like a tiny kid’s when I shake.
“You must be his son,” he says, walking quickly back out the door and along the covered walkway that connects a bunch of different rooms. “He’s a terrific guy. And fit too. I wouldn’t figure him to have a kid your age, by looking at him. He should be good to go in a day or two,” Tall Dude—Bo—continues. He ducks his head and walks through a doorway. I follow, not ducking.
“He should be…Shoot. Well, they must have brought him for one last O2 test before discharging him. He’ll be back shortly,” he says as we stand in an empty room.
“Oh. Okay, well, I can wait,” I say. I’m unsure what to make of this guy.
The room’s quiet, and I realize that he’s waiting for me to say something.
“Uh…Sorry. What was that?”
He laughs. “I said you should come back and wait with me in the main room. That way you won’t miss him if he’s being discharged.”
I nod, feeling like an asshole. We make our way back to the cramped front office with the scary first-aid pictures.
“So, you look like you’re in pretty good shape. Do you feel ready?” Bo says.
“Ready for what?” I say stupidly.
He laughs again, big and loud. “You’re either really confident or really out of it. Not sure which. Everest, man! Isn’t that why you’re here? The big father-son climb? And your friends too, right? Rose and Paul? Jordan was telling me all about it. He’s stoked. Wasn’t going to let a little chest infection mess with his moment. He’s seizing the day, man. He’s all carpe diem!”
I don’t answer, walking around the tiny space instead. When I come to a bunch of photos, I stop and look at them: a group of doctors, I assume, sitting in the clinic. Then the same people climbing, and lots of happy group shots of them eating somewhere. Bo is the only Black guy in the bunch, not to mention a foot taller than some of the others. I turn to him.
“So, how’d you end up here? I mean—”
He interrupts, laughing his big laugh again. “I know what you mean. You probably noticed I don’t look like most of the Western doctors around here?”
I laugh. “Yeah, I noticed. You’re pretty…tall.”
He grins. “Yup. And pretty Black. You probably noticed that too.” He continues, “Despite my vertical, I always wanted to be a doctor, and to the disappointment of high school coaches, I was better at chemistry than point guard, so I went to med school. And then a good friend of mine got a real bad lung disease…She was dying by inches, and every breath was hard. I started studying her disease and realized it was a lot like the effects of high-altitude sickness, so I started researching high-altitude medicine, and…Well, here I am.”
He holds his arms out wide and grins again. But I wonder what pieces he left out of the story. Like what happened to that friend that made going 6,000 miles away seem like a good idea.
“Anyway, it’s been fun. The Sherpas thought I was some kind of bald Black yeti at first, and I thought they were little pocket-sized people, but we’re all good now. They’re some tough dudes. You know, the actual Sherpa people, the ones whose families have lived at higher altitude for generations, they’ve got some supercharged ways of using oxygen that make hitting those peaks easier for them, at least up to twenty-three thousand feet or so. After that, in the death zone, all bets are off. But they’re like fuel-efficient cars, using less gas to get better mileage. But the porters and support staff who come from lower villages and do the grunt work at Base Camp? They don’t have any special genetic benefits for climbing; they don’t have better lung capacity than you or any other flatlander. So how do they get to Base Camp and work so hard, you ask? Fucking toughness, pardon my French. They’re just tougher than most.” He nods. “Anyway, what about it? You feeling tough enough?”
I can’t help it, I snort. “Probably not.”
Bo starts to laugh again, but as he looks at me, his face sobers. “Wait, seriously? Your daddy…”
“Yeah, I know.” My daddy indeed.
As if summoned, he walks into the room.
“Tate! Did Dr. Bo tell you I’m good to go? Should be able to run up to our next village tomorrow, right, Doctor?” he says, coming over and grabbing Bo’s hand and shoulder in the universal bromance half hug.
“I heard,” I say, forcing a grin. “That’s awesome. You look good.” It’s true, sort of. He looks better rested, at least, and he obviously showered. But he’s still scarily skinny, given that he’s not even at Base Camp, and when he stops talking, he coughs, a quick, sharp hack.
“We’re getting there, T-Man. Thanks to these guys, we’ll be at Base Camp in a few days. You ready?”
“Me?” I say. “I’m not the one getting IV drugs in the clinic. I’m all good.” I avoid Bo’s eyes when I talk.
“That’s right. You’re the beast! You’re going to be awesome. But it’s game time, buddy. No more messing around, deal?”
“Deal.” I try and walk to the door, but he grabs my arm.
“Not so fast. Before we go anywhere, I’ve got to let the good doctor here give me one last checkup and get me some pills. And cough syrup. You’ve got more of that, right?” My dad turns to Bo, but the good doctor is staring right at me.
He seems cool, but the last thing I need is a chat about Tate’s lack of balls.
Finally, Bo looks back at my dad. “Hmmm? Oh, yeah. We’ll load you up with the good stuff and see how that works for you.” He pauses, and his dark eyes flash back to mine. “But you know, Jordan, you still got to take it easy for a bit, let the meds do their work, right? You can’t charge out of here like some kind of wild man.”
He pauses again, and I can see he’s trying to say something carefully, something I really doubt I want to hear.
At last he continues. “I cannot stress this enough: this mountain…this climb, it is not forgiving. A little cough. A stomach bug. A moment’s distraction…You know any of them can be the catalyst that leads to it all unraveling. And the higher you go, the faster a small problem compounds into a huge one. On Everest people die, not because of catastrophes but because of a small mistake.” He looks at me like he wants to say more, but he’s said enough. I hear him, loud and clear.
“Boy, you’re upbeat today, Doctor! Why the doom and gloom?” my dad asks. “You sure you’re feeling okay?”
Dr. Bo smiles a big easy grin and slaps my father gently on the back. “Yeah, yeah. I’m fine. Just trying to talk some sense into you and your boy before you charge up the mountainside. That’s all.”
Dad looks at me and wrinkles his forehead, considering. “That’s good. It’s good for Tate to hear this. This is no joke, son. This is the big time.”
I’ve had enough. Shoving
through the crowded office, I pull open the door. “Like you said, I’m a beast. This is what I’m built for, right?” I make myself look at Bo. “Nice to meet you, Doctor.”
Bo’s eyes stay on me, even as I try to look away. “Nice to meet you too, Tate. Good luck,” he says.
I mutter an answer and wait outside as my father says his triumphant goodbyes. Tomorrow we leave for our next rest stop, Lobuche, the next day for Base Camp. No jokes, except the hilarious fucking joke that now, when we’re finally here, I’d rather be anywhere else. As we start the walk down the empty dirt trail to the lodge, I picture Rose, waiting for me, and realize that I’m wrong. I don’t want to be anywhere else. Not while she’s here. If she’s climbing, I want to be with her. That much, at least, I’m sure of.
Chapter Eighteen:
Rose
April 17–19
Lobuche to Everest Base Camp
16,200–17,600 feet above sea level
It is much colder now, colder and emptier, with nothing but deep-blue skies and devastatingly gorgeous mountain peaks all around us. Our lunch stops are even rougher than the lodges where we spend the night; they’re small, smoky rooms that pretty much serve the basic dal bhat, or rice and lentils, and maybe eggs if we’re lucky. Lobuche is a wind-blown maze of stone walls and narrow paths. Unlike the villages farther down the mountain, this exists only for expeditions heading up to Base Camp. In the late afternoons, our lodge is dim, the only heat coming from the smoky fire in the main room.
“Phew, what is that stench?” Tate asks, throwing down his hat and gloves on a table.
“It’s the fire,” I answer, too weary to do anything more than slump in the nearest chair. “Now that we’re above the tree line, the lodges have to burn yak dung, which—”
“Which smells exactly like what it is,” Tate interrupts. “Burnt shit. Oh well, at least it’s still freezing.”
He’s right. The fire is small and barely giving off any heat. A young girl comes in and—with a quick, shy nod—adds more dung chips, which makes it smoke worse than ever. Tate groans.
“Come on, let’s go to our room for now,” I say, even though I’m so bone-weary it takes two tries before I even get out of the chair. “This room will warm up, and the smoke will get better in a bit, but for now I’m going to climb into my sleeping bag.”
We head down the dark hallway to our room, where our packs lie waiting on our beds. No matter what time we arrive, the porters have already dropped off our stuff. Now I pull my massive down sleeping bag from its stuff sack and, barely stopping to pull off my filthy pants, climb in. Within minutes, the delicious heat starts to relax me.
“Shove over.” Tate collapses next to me on the bed, face-first. He wraps one arm around me and cups my face with his hand.
“Come here,” he says and pulls my face toward him, his lips finding my neck. “It’s been hours. Hours of walking behind you, listening to you and Paul talk about how architecture can better serve mental institutions, and all that time I wanted to do this.” He kisses me harder.
My heart stutters. He is lying against me, his body heavy and warm, and I can’t help it—I turn toward him and kick out of the sleeping bag, wrapping myself around him. Rose the Invasive Vine, twining tighter. A low groan comes from his throat, and I let my hands move over him, mapping his skin, my fatigue fading away.
A knock on the door sends us flying apart.
“Argblaergleonesecondyeahwhat’sup?!!” Tate calls in a strangled voice. He’s now curled up on his bed, facing away from the door.
I laugh, though my hands are shaking as I pull my tee shirt down and try to smooth my hair. We didn’t even lock the door. I still have my filthy dust-covered shirt on. I blush, thinking about where Tate’s hands were, where I wish they still were. Bending over to hide my face, I take off my socks, wincing a little at the smell.
“Kids? Are you already settled in? Did you want to take first showers? There are two, and I paid for the four of us,” Paul says, still outside the door.
My mood instantly brightens. Solar hot showers. Lobuche is looking up.
“Go ahead,” Tate says. “We’ll stay dirty a while.”
“Great. I’ll come get you when we’re done. Enjoy the downtime.”
I wait silently until the footsteps fade away, then turn to Tate with a sigh.
“Well, that was potentially hideous. We’d better—”
“Lock the door? I couldn’t agree more,” Tate says, springing up from the other bed and flicking the latch on the door before launching himself at me. “Then I can get back to doing this—” he pauses and runs his hand under my tee shirt, along my back “—and this.” He pauses again and kisses my neck, hot and wet and openmouthed until I gasp. “And…Jesus, Rose.”
His kisses move through me like fast-working venom. I had been planning on moving away, on telling him how there was dust on my neck and in my ears and everywhere else he was kissing, planning on reminding him that there were showers to be had. But I close my eyes and kiss him back.
* * *
—
After we shower, which feels almost as amazing as kissing Tate, we return to the dining room. The fire is blazing, still smoky but now throwing off warmth that makes the whole place cozy, and everyone is here.
Paul looks up when we enter. “Well, you both look refreshed! Those showers must have agreed with you.”
Predictably, I blush. It is amazing to me that on the trail, to Paul and Yoon Su and even Jordan, who has known me since I was six, we are still RoseAndTate, still best friends, hanging out together. Of course, Jordan has other things on his mind, like breathing.
“I never asked you, what did you think of the Himalayan Rescue Clinic?” I ask. “Did you think they helped Jordan?”
Paul’s face lights up. “It’s a great spot. They do a daily information session on altitude and mountain medication. The head doctor seems like a terrific guy, which made me feel a lot better. I think Jordan’s definitely on the mend.” He glances at Tate. “Did your dad tell you we got your mom on Skype? She was worried about him, of course, but thrilled to hear that it’s been going well so far.”
“Nice. Did she have any news from home?” Tate asks, yanking out a chair and sitting down backward.
“Well, Rose, she said your folks are both doing well, that they had dinner last week, and that she and Hillary would bring you Twizzlers. That was about it.” Paul looks at Tate. “No news from colleges, bud. I asked.”
Tate shrugs and turns toward the rest of our group, who are all seated around a big table near the fire. “Who’s up for a game of Uno?” he asks. “Luc? You playing?”
Uno, the easy color-and-number card game of our childhood, has turned into our group’s favorite game. Tate, me, Luc, Paul, and Jordan always play, and, despite not speaking much English, several of the assistant guides and porters usually join in. Two of them, Bishal and Kami, play with us most nights, and sometimes even Finjo and Dawa jump in. Only Yoon Su refuses, rolling her eyes and saying that it’s for children. Not even Paul batting his eyes and singing, “ ‘Do you want to build a snowman?’ ” has gotten her to join.
“When are you going to let us play for money, mon ami?” Luc says, pushing aside his book. “What is it they say in your American south? Cards without gambling is like kissing your sister!”
Tate shoots me a fast glance, and my cheeks flame red once again. But Luc isn’t looking. He turns to Yoon Su.
“And you? Ze fastest girl on the mountain, but never cards? Perhaps you do not know the rules. Or are afraid to learn?”
Tate and Paul start up a chorus of oooohs, like Luc has thrown down some major insult. Yoon Su bursts out laughing.
“You really think such silly taunts will work on me? You are all completely ridiculous!”
“Chick. En. Chick. En,” Tate starts, and Paul begins clucking.
<
br /> “Ahhh! I give in. Fine. I’ll play your silly children’s game. And I will beat you at it so hard that you will beg me to leave you alone next time,” she says, putting down her e-reader.
We all whoop.
“Deal zem,” Luc says, throwing down the brightly colored cards.
With a shy grin, Asha starts dealing.
And as the wind howls outside and the barely there electric lights of the lodge come on, we pass the cards around, laughing far too much at silly jokes, teaching each other insults in all the languages we know.
Bishal hands me a plus-four card with an apologetic smile. I’m asking him how to say ‘you suck’ in Nepali when Tate slips his hand beneath the table and onto my leg. I stutter and nearly drop my cards, which has the rest of the group staring at me, but I don’t even care. Everything—okay, almost everything—I want is in one place, tucked in at 16,000 feet, a day’s walk away from Everest Base Camp. I am perfectly, endlessly happy.
* * *
—
The next day all of us except Jordan, who is still resting, do an acclimatization hike up to Kala Patthar, a nearby 18,500-foot peak with some of the best views of Everest. As if in answer to my mood, the clouds lift, and all at once we’re under a deep-blue sky, with the Himalayan peaks surrounding us in a glorious array. I move in a slow circle, taking yet more video to send home, wondering if Mami considers it enough of a consolation prize. I try to show how happy I am, hoping it makes Mami glad to see me enjoying it so much, hoping that she doesn’t wonder where all that joy was when we were climbing together. I push away the guilt and make myself smile even bigger, praying she will understand.
“C’est magnifique,” Luc says as we bask in the sun for one of our frequent water breaks. He holds out his hand for a high five and I slap it, feeling a little silly. Luc is all about the high fives, the fist bumps, the bro hugs, as Tate calls the one-armed man hugs Luc seems to favor. Still, his good mood is contagious.
Above All Else Page 12