The Yeti

by Mike Miller

  But as the blackness washed inwards upon him from the edges of consciousness, Conrad made a striking realisation: This was the first night for as long as he could remember in which he was sleeping alone.

  For Conrad’s entire adult life, he had always slumbered in the company of others. Most nights were spent in the midst of men, usually in the dense quarters of barracks where any nearby slumberer’s night terrors could be so violent that they could rattle his cot, tent or bunk.

  Upon the rare occasions he could escape his fellow soldiers’ snores, he had always assured himself the private companionship of any willing and available ladies. If his suave charm failed him, a vast inventory of seasoned tactics and chicanery always guaranteed he could find a lover for the night.

  But now he was by himself, with no one at his side, not a naked woman, brother soldiers or Baxter Griffin.

  With a long sigh, Conrad wondered about his parents, if they were even alive and if they ever wondered about him.

  His thoughts became dreams as he fell asleep in the tiny cave. Alone in this small burrow, it was as if the mountain had opened itself up to proffer a personalised tomb for within which he could die peacefully and respectfully.

  Chapter XL

  A Cruel Banishment

  Baxter opened his eyes wide and only saw darkness. After a series of blinks, he realised that it was not his vision which had failed him. A gentle rapping of knuckles on wood quickly reminded Baxter where he was, which was asleep in a pitch-black room in the hidden Himalayan city of his rescuers.

  “Yes?” Baxter replied, and the door creaked open to reveal a near blinding portal of light. In the bright doorway stood a silhouetted figure. When Baxter defensively covered his weak eyes, the vision became clearer. While immediately recognising little Zee, the first to shuffle into the room, Baxter did not recognise the young man which followed the old one. He had thick black hair which was parted off to one side of his face, with smooth features that could have marked him as an old teenager though he was likely a man in his late twenties. There was something oddly familiar about him. His face had a stern grimace on it that indicated a mistrust and dislike, and Zee too was remiss from his usual glee.

  The young man followed closely behind Zee while carrying a torch aloft to illuminate the dark quarters. An eerie flicker fell across the faded yellow walls, a row of writhing shadows eventually crept over Baxter as the firelight approached his dark edge of the room.

  “We are sorry to disturb your sleep, Baxter,” Zee said, while apologetically bowing his head. “But there is an urgent matter that requires immediate attention.”

  Baxter sat up alertly ready for the call. “Of course, what is it?”

  Zee sighed greatly. “May I examine your possessions?”

  “Of course.” Baxter hadn’t given the answer a second thought, but as the old man crept towards his pile of clothes and pack of gear, his sleepy mind began to wonder about these motives.

  The old man carefully pushed around the contents of the pack with his trusted cane, wood and cloth softly scraping against each other as they were reshuffled to afford the searcher a better view into the depths of the bag. But then the noises ceased while the old man’s head remained bowed and focused on their inspection. The tail ends of his long white whiskers brushed against the mouth of the bag, then dipped lower as he hung his head with closed eyes as if praying.

  When he withdrew his hand from the bag, he clutched a tiny and mysterious object in his small, shrivelled hand. The fingers unfolded like flower petals to reveal a miniature gold statue. The figurine was of a small man laughing heartily, mouth open wide and hands folded over his belly. Baxter recognised the figurine as one that stood in the palm of the large statue in the main room.

  The amount of pleasure the little character seemed to possess was equally offset by the voluminous sadness that Zee emitted at its discovery.

  “I am speechless.” The old man could not even muster the resolve to engage Baxter in eye contact. That task was left to his silent companion who displayed no need to blink while his merciless stare funnelled hatred into their guest. He gruffly barked something at Zee.

  “What’s going on?” asked Baxter. He hopped out of bed with surprising alacrity considering his limited mobility earlier in the day, though the adrenaline rush of confusion and fear heartily contributed to this dexterity. Baxter’s mind was also as nimble at piecing together this midnight mystery and intrusion. “I did not steal that.”

  Zee finally lifted his head, though his spirits were still quite low. “Are you a thief?” he asked plainly.

  Baxter’s lips crushed against each other like he had just devoured a sour fruit. When he considered the entire sum of his life and the various scams he had committed with Douglas, he finally admitted, “Yes, I am. But I did not take that.”

  Zee slipped the gold figure into a pocket on his robe while his accomplice leaned over to whisper something indiscernible into his ear. “What’s he saying?” demanded Baxter, though the younger man’s speech continued unabated. Zee nodded at the words with the steady rhythm of a metronome, his bobbing head eventually interrupting the constant pattern of words with a heavy sigh. “Baxter, we must ask you to leave.”

  Baxter opened his mouth to protest, but after looking upon the sullen old man and his vexed young comrade, he shortly decided it was best to do otherwise. “I understand,” said Baxter with a resigned tone of bitter finality. He immediately proceeded over to his pile of clothes and equipment and began changing and packing. Now only a few feet from his hosts’ seething glares, the stinging burn of their disappointment was even more intense.

  “If you were to one day return to us, then we would welcome you. If you could brave the elements again to be here, then your stay would truly be intended.”

  Baxter wished he was not so stubbornly juvenile to keep a conversation going with his gracious host, but he was too distressed. Zee continued amiably onwards in a lengthy explanation of fate, purpose and morality, though Baxter’s mind was now possessed with reconciling this latest betrayal. He had been deceived by friends often, perhaps three times already on this very trip alone, and had suffered an even more indignant deception from his enemies. A constant pariah in any world, he chuckled to himself that even this utopian oasis in the harsh winter world of the Himalayas had rejected him as well.

  “My grandson Jahaznupur will escort you back down the mountain safely.” Zee finally acknowledged the presence of the other party to this discussion, the young man to his side.

  The boy said, “Call me Jah.”

  Stooped over on the ground to sort his belongings, Baxter paused in his packing to look up at the scowling boy who would now be his companion. The chap refused to even twitch to acknowledge Baxter’s attention. Then Baxter humiliatingly realised that he was kneeling before the man, a position he had always strove to avoid. Hopping to his feet, Baxter’s ire was stoked by the boy’s rudeness.

  Zee interrupted the tense showdown by saying, “Please, Baxter, I understand if you are upset. But you should show some respect to the man who saved you life.”

  “What?” Baxter was stunned by the news. “This child?” The remark made Jah smile.

  “My grandson found you on his return from the village. He carried you here, then returned for your belongings.”

  While Baxter could not doubt the old man’s words, he was still aghast at the thought of being rescued by such an inconsiderate pisser. To now be indebted to him for his life was an even greater insult and folly.

  The snow was falling in gales when the outer gates opened to release Baxter, an only fitting environment for the cruel circumstances of his banishment. The evening’s starlight was a dim illumination behind the thick torrents of the storm.

  Pulling his hood tighter over his face, only Baxter’s eyes were visible when he turned to bid Zee farewell. The monk had a weary smile on his face, as if propping up his cheeks for the grin was exhausting. Baxter nodded politely and the massive
stone gates creaked and cracked as they sealed the fortification tight from the outside world.

  “Let us go,” Jah’s gruff voice announced, and he was already busy trudging away through the snow.

  “What’s the hurry?” Baxter mockingly replied. The snow was thick, piled almost to his knees. Each step was far heavier than need be, and he struggled to keep pace with his guide who practically melted the softly packed ice in his unrelenting march.

  His voice should have been lost in the rocks and snow, but Baxter could clearly hear Jah reply, “We have a while to go tonight before we can camp.”

  As the two walked along, Baxter frequently found himself almost hopping from one foot to the other to navigate through the deep snow and keep pace. After a considerable amount of time left him painted in sweat, Baxter leaned against a rock to catch his breath.

  “Hurry,” Jah demanded, impatiently waiting above and tapping his long staff against the stone with an incessant patter designed to motivate Baxter through irritation. Though the soldier was always loath to take orders from any one deeming themselves superior, he was particularly outraged by the indignant commands from one who was so young, rude and a civilian. With a cross glare of his own, Baxter resumed his walk.

  Behind the two of them in the distant depths of the valley at their side, the tiny lights of Jah’s home began to twinkle out of existence, as if the flakes of snow were finally about to bury the little city forever. Baxter continued up the mountainside in his chaperone’s wake, wondering why they were moving up the mountain and not down it.

  Chapter XLI

  Camping with Jah

  The mucous was thick. A short blast from twin nostrils still left a hefty residue of snot which required the back of the hand to fully remove. Baxter’s nose was red and scaly from the sickness that had infected him ever since his weakened body was once again subjected to the inclement weather of the Himalayas. He watched his young accomplice Jah lazily stirring a hot pot of soup, trying not display his lust for the concoction’s nutrition and warmth. The Asian had remained quiet through their journey, unresponsive to any attempts at conversation that Baxter amiably endeavoured to initiate, though it had been quite difficult for the soldier to keep pace with the boy. Only during the lad’s frequent stops to carefully examine the ground from his tracking was Baxter able to recapture lost ground and keep pace. Otherwise, he was quite certain that Jah would have readily abandoned him to die alone on the mountain.

  The apathetic attitude of this youngling was in stark contrast to the fatherly care he had received from the boy’s grandfather. While in the mountain retreat, Baxter had been attended to with the absolute maximum of hospitality. But this one seemed almost eager to disregard Baxter like a bit of rancid rubbish, though he was the same person who had single-handedly transported Baxter across an unknown span of terrain to safe recovery.

  “Smells good,” Baxter said. While sniffling some bleeding mucous back into his skull, Baxter could not smell a thing, though his mind could still concoct the rich aromas.

  The hypnotic swirl of the liquid seemed to entrance Jah, who remained as mute as ever. Baxter again lamented his unfortunate pairing with this rude bastard, but knew he was meant to be here if the Almighty above would not allow him to be anywhere else. So he might as well make the most of it.

  “Listen, Jah,” Baxter said rising to his feet. “If we are to spend so much time together on the trail, we might as well be friendly with one another.”

  Jah said nothing.

  “Is it because I am a thief?” Baxter asked earnestly. “You saved my life once, but now you despise me?”

  “I know you are not a thief,” Jah said quietly as if addressing the soup.

  Baxter was taken aback by the odd and sudden sentence. Baxter was uncertain if the boy even spoke any English, but finally his constant attempts had yielded a successful response. “You do? How so?”

  “Because I am the one who stole the figure,” Jah replied casually. He still would not bother to look over at Baxter, who was only now more incensed.

  “How could you do such a thing?” Baxter’s hands compulsively clenched into fists.

  “You were not meant to belong there,” Jah said. “I do not regret saving you, but I only wish I could have removed you from my home sooner.”

  “Listen, you, that’s quite an attitude you have there.” Baxter kicked a small wave of snow at Jah’s feet to initiate a challenge.

  Jah finally stopped his cooking, slowly rising to his full height which was a few inches shorter than his African cohort. “I could complain that your attitude is off considering the tone with which you address your saviour.”

  A powerful scoff sent some frozen shrapnel of snot flying through the air. “My saviour?” It made Baxter chuckle more to consider the notion. “Friend, I could have died happily on that mountain, but instead I survived only to be accompanied by your churlish insolence. I’ve thanked you enough for your kind mercy in the past, but you rejected those respectful offers. So maybe that debt has already been paid.”

  Jah shuffled in his stance, a telltale restlessness Baxter easily recognised which generally preceded battle. “If you still want to die, I could kill you.”

  “Be my guest,” Baxter offered invitingly.

  The bloodlust swelled within both men. A silence waited to be destroyed by cries of battle and the grunts of blows thrown.

  “This is ridiculous,” Baxter said, surrendering to walk away and take a seat on a large stone. “What are we doing up here? You’re going to a lot of trouble to kill me slowly with the cold climate.”

  A worried and humiliated ripple softened Jah’s features, which caused him to squat back down by their camp fire and resume the slow stirring of their evening meal.

  When the preparations were done, Jah poured half into a second bowl, then handed it to Baxter. “Thanks,” Baxter said, allowing the aromatic vapours to soothe his battered nose and lungs.

  The two ate in silence. When they were done, Jah collected both pots and scooped a handful of snow into each. Once it melted, he washed and dried the utensils, returning them to his bag for safekeeping. The fire weakened as the night wore on, its crackle providing a staccato background of music to punctuate the quiet. Both men should have slept, but neither closed their eyes. They lay in their sleep sacks in silence except for the crackle of the campfire.

  “I want you to help me,” Jah said.

  Baxter clearly heard the words, but required a moment to actually process their unexpected meaning. “You what?” he said, almost guiltily wanting to hear his partner make the plea once again.

  “I want your help,” Jah said, speaking more slowly and working to enunciate each syllable as if his rough accent had prevented the correct communication of the words.

  Feeling the power of having the boy at his mercy, whatever the strange request might be, Baxter was tempted to mock or ridicule Jah with some sarcasm in retaliation for his shabby treatment. “How is that?” Baxter said in a patient but sceptical tone.

  The strong, pigheaded young man now seemed just a weak boy. A stick in Jah’s hand absentmindedly sifted through the embers of the campfire, spawning tiny will-o-wisps of flame which floated into the sky to die. “You know the Yeti?” the boy asked, his hesitance almost causing him to choke on the words as he spoke.

  Baxter wondered if a lie might prove useful under the circumstances. “Yes.”

  “Good.” This made Jah smile as his confidence began to return. “I want you to help me kill the Yeti. Well, find the Yeti. I want to be the one who kills him though.”

  Seeing if this was some new bratty prank by this odd boy, Baxter realised that the humourless Jah was entirely serious about the proposition. It made him laugh. “Are you serious?”

  Jah frowned at being dismissed as silly and immaterial. “Are you mocking me?” He rose in another combat-ready stance.

  “No, no,” Baxter said, working to suppress his smile. “But I thought that the Yeti was just an
other innocent part of the landscape.” A new maliciousness permeated this line as he channelled the old man’s pacifist perspective on the monster.

  “Not me, my grandfather. And most others too, but that does not mean I do. In many ways, I am unlike my people.”

  Baxter felt ashamed for grouping the boy in with the rest, a crime of which he had so often been the victim of cliché. “I apologise,” he said, surrendering the recently earned respect from this blunder in dialogue.

  “You have met the beast and survived. No one can boast of that accomplishment but yourself.” Jah said with admiration. “If anyone knows the creature best, it would be you.”

  “You are absolutely correct,” Baxter replied enthusiastically, though it was the old Zee who had schooled him in everything beyond the actual encounter. “And after looking directly into this beast’s hideous face, I know that I never want to see him again.” The absurdity of the quest almost made him nauseous. It was difficult enough to fathom his predicament becoming any more dire than it already was, but the mere notion of actively pursuing the demon on the mountain manifested in the bitter taste of gurgling vomit.

  Disheartened at the response, Jah became sombre, prompting Baxter to fill the air with conversation. “Why on bloody earth would you want to chase after that beast instead of running from it?”

  Jah’s face filled with softness. “Revenge.” With the confession he jutted his chin out proudly in defence of his motive. “The Yeti has killed many of my people over the years. But after the thing killed my family, I vowed that I would kill it.” The knuckles on the boy’s left hand tensed as it tightly gripped his walking pole.

  “You said no one has survived the creature’s attacks, yet you yourself have then,” Baxter interjected.

  “No, I was not with them that day,” Jah said. “I was at home with others.”