“There was a path last time,” Dorje explained. “The snow has covered it. I will go first and make a new one.”
To Dorje’s great surprise, Royd stepped in behind him. “I’ll help pack it. We men from above the Arctic Circle should be good for something. I’m sorry we’ve been a nuisance.”
Battling a sudden headwind, Dorje made his way across grateful for Royd’s help and regretting his earlier hostile feelings. Negative emotions polluted the mountain which in turn polluted those who walked on it. Touchy and inclined to anger, the gods demanded respect and veneration. If he failed to nourish and worship them, they would seek revenge. As Dorje and Royd returned widening the path, he asked the gods’ forgiveness for any offensive behavior.
Kirk removed his toothpick and tossed it muttering, “This will take concentration.” Hamar followed, arms swinging and legs splaying out to the sides.
Beth was next. With a large, shaky inhale, she repeated, “I can do this. I can do this,” and started out. Half way, a gust knocked her down but she rose again with Royd’s help and slowly made her way across. Dorje was proud of her: truly a woman worthy of the mountain.
With the wind howling and battering them now, Dorje yelled into it. “We must get over the pass and down out of this. The top is not far. Royd, will you take them while I make sure all the porters are with us?”
“Yes,” he shouted back with the wind whipping his clothing. “We’ll find shelter on the other side and wait. Don’t worry. We’ll take good care of Beth.”
“And I will take good care of Lhamu,” Dorje said. Confident in the Norwegians now, he held Beth before saying good-bye. “I will join you in a few minutes,” he promised and kissed her on the cheek. Watching them stagger up the hill into the wind, Dorje hoped the day would end soon and he’d be back in her arms tonight.
The cook and kitchen boys arrived first, wearing their cheap Chinese tennis shoes traded with the Tibetans. The smooth rubber soles immediately slid on the ice. “Lean against the hill,” Dorje yelled, “and stay in the tracks.” Each praying to the god of the mountain, they crossed safely and were almost out of sight before the long string of porters came slogging up the glacier with Lhamu in the lead. All had carried in snow before and picked their way across in spite of slippery shoes and awkward loads. “That makes nine,” Dorje counted as they passed, but where was the tenth? Frustrated that everyone was getting too spread out, he stormed back looking for the last porter and found him dragging at his own pace. “Hurry up. You must stay together.”
The man simply looked at him and trudged past. No amount of scolding quickened his step. One speed only, slow. At the traverse, the porter removed the doko and dropped it.
“What are you doing?” Dorje yelled. “Is the Sherpani stronger and braver than you?” No answer. “You won’t get hired again,” he threatened in a wasted breath.
After crossing, the porter stopped as if waiting for Dorje to pick up the basket. What choice did he have? It contained the greater portion of their food. He hefted it onto his back, stomped across in a show of superior balance, and slammed it at the man’s feet in a sweaty rage. “Now you carry!” The porter flinched and Dorje had him. Finally, he was as intimidating as Mingma.
After spewing moist clouds across the sky, the wind finally died allowing only veins of sunlight to seep through. His jacket zipped and hands buried deep in his pockets, Dorje headed for the Cho La. Overtaking the porters first and then the cook and kitchen boys, he said, “Keep moving so we can get down by early afternoon.” With the temperature dropping as he climbed, his breath condensed. Out of sight of both groups now in an unearthly quiet, he felt strangely alone. Beth and the Norwegians were somewhere ahead but he didn’t know how far. He was but a speck in a vast whiteness and beginning to doubt his decision to cross today.
Dorje found them slumped against the rocks laboring to breathe on the 17,880-foot summit. Beth wilted at the sight of him, shivering violently. He kissed her cold, bluish lips and rubbed her arms and hands to keep the circulation going. “You will feel better once we are lower.”
Doubled over and gasping for air, Kirk said, “I’m used to cold and snow, but this damn altitude is a killer.”
“And I’m freezing just standing here,” moaned Hamar. “I need to keep moving.”
“We all do.” Dorje zipped Beth’s collar up to her chin and took her daypack. “Come on. The porters are not far behind.”
“Did you see Lhamu?” Hamar asked.
“Yes, and you don’t need to worry. She’s stronger than any of them.” Dorje glanced at the sky before departing. No streaks of sunlight, only the heavy, gray mist from which the first large flakes drifted slowly to the ground.
“Not again,” Hamar laughed, sticking his tongue out to catch them.
“You must have really pissed the gods off,” Royd snorted.
“Me? What about you?”
Walking with his arm around Beth to keep her warm and listening to their boyish banter, Dorje momentarily took his mind off the weather. Over the pass now, travel would be easier. But within half an hour, the wind picked up again bringing wetter snow that fell thick and heavy onto their hair and clothes. Royd’s red beard turned white. “You are a grandfather now,” Dorje laughed, pointing to his chin. Running his hand over his face, the Norwegian shook the snow off, but within minutes he aged again. The snow and cloud merged into one making it difficult to judge where the mountain ended and the sky began. “We must get off the ice before setting up camp,” Dorje said. “It’s too cold.”
“This is just one of those little snowfalls like we’ve been having, isn’t it?” Beth asked, her teeth chattering.
“Yes,” he lied to keep her spirits up, knowing too well that this wasn’t the light flurry of the previous days but a rapidly-developing, full-blown storm. No one had anticipated or dressed for it, including him. With the temperature continuing to drop, wind whipped through the tiniest openings in their clothing making them dangerously cold. Already noticing Beth’s stiffness, he said, “Keep walking. Do not stop.” With each step growing more difficult, they could only move between gusts and were frequently forced to stand for long periods huddled together with their backs to the wind.
Shaking and with her arms tucked tight against her body, Beth snuggled closer to him. “I’m so cold that I can’t feel my hands or feet anymore.”
More slender than the Norwegians, she couldn’t take this much longer. He had to get her inside a tent with dry clothes and a sleeping bag and do it soon. “We’ll camp here,” he said regretfully because they were still too high. Then came one of the hardest decisions he’d ever made. “I must go look for the porters carrying our tents and bags. Maybe they cannot find us or they have stopped already.” Wanting to pull Beth inside himself to keep her warm, Dorje stayed wrapped around her to the last minute before instructing Royd. “Find a place out of the snow, maybe under a large boulder, but do not go far. In thirty minutes call my name so I can find you.” After kissing Beth long and hard, he pulled her hands from under her armpits and clapped them. “Do this to keep your fingers moving.” He turned to Royd. “Take care of her.”
The Norwegian nodded. “I promise.”
Shaking and bouncing from one foot to the other, Hamar said, “I’m going with you to find Lhamu.”
“No. You are too cold and tired and will slow me down. It is better if I go alone at Sherpa speed.”
Pulling the collar over his nose and mouth to breath his own warm air, Dorje started out with the wind to his back now. Not prepared for this weather, the porters could be far behind or may have already set up camp to get warm. Accumulating quickly, the snow had covered his tracks. He tried noting markers to lead him back to Beth, but huge boulders disappeared into nothingness as visibility shrank to five feet. In the flat light, it was impossible to judge the unevenness of the ground, and he tripped over a rock, banging his knee. Pain shot up his leg. Getting back to his feet, he stumbled on, moving only by instinct for h
e could see nothing now. “Sangbu,” he called out to the senior porter, but the wind snatched his voice and buried it in thick clouds. He stopped to listen for a reply but heard only his heart pounding in his ears. Shouting again and again, he forced himself back up the pass. Still no answer. They could be lost or seeking shelter somewhere. What if he couldn’t find them? Beth was back there freezing. He would try fifteen minutes more and then return to her. Shouting until his breath felt torn, listening, shouting again, he trudged toward the summit of the Cho La. At last a muffled reply. “Sangbu,” he cried and heard the old man’s voice. Slowly, one by one, the porters stepped through a veil of snow like ghostly apparitions
“How many are you?” Dorje asked, shuddering with cold.
“Nine porters, the cook, and kitchen boys,” Sangbu answered. “The last porter is far behind. We haven’t seen or heard from him in over an hour but we had to keep moving.”
“I know the one. If we leave him, he may die, but without tents and bags the others will.”
Buried under a mantle of snow, Lhamu asked, “Is Hamar all right?”
“Yes. Except he misses you.”
Phurbu who had worked for Dorje on the ladies’ trek said, “We don’t want to go on. We’ll put the tents up here and wait for you to bring the others.”
“No. You can’t stay here,” Dorje shouted at them through the howling wind. “She won’t make it. It’s too high and too far for them to climb back up in the cold. You must go down.”
“But our hands and feet are numb,” said another porter. “We don’t have good shoes or warm clothes.”
“I know,” Dorje hollered back. “Nobody does.” Watching a porter remove his doko and drop it, Dorje begged, “Please just one more hour. And if we don’t find them, I’ll go on alone.”
While the Sherpas talked among themselves, Lhamu stepped forward. “I’ll come.”
“So will I,” said Tashi. As the nephew of Mingma’s former best friend, Tashi had known Dorje all his life. Unlike his uncle, Pemba, he was tall and rangy for a Sherpa but with an intellect that couldn’t match the size of his body or enormity of his heart.
“And me,” added Phuri, the youngest porter. Soon the rest agreed to one more hour. Bowed under their loads, they started out once again unable to see where to place their feet. Driving snow and wind buffeted them until at times they could do no more than crawl.
“Just a little further,” Dorje pleaded each time he pulled someone to his feet. “Ten minutes, only ten minutes more.” He was afraid that both groups would die: one waiting for him, freezing and terrified; the other, fighting to get there. In a complete whiteout, he lost all sense of direction and had no idea whether he was walking toward Beth and the Norwegians or away. Soon it would be dark and the temperature would plummet further.
Coming up to him, Sangbu said, “It’s been more than an hour. We can’t go on.”
“I understand.” Seeing the disappointed look on Lhamu’s face, Dorje added, “You are too tired and must stay here. I will find Hamar and bring back the others.”
In one last attempt before setting out alone, Dorje called to Beth but only the wind answered in a mournful whisper. He yelled again and again until his throat was raw. Terror had a firm grip on him now, its icy fingers strangling all hope that Beth and the others would survive the night.
“What’s that?” Sangbu asked suddenly.
Dorje’s heart leapt. “What?”
“I’m not sure.”
Holding his breath to prevent any distraction, Dorje heard only fear throbbing in his throat. He shoved his cries through the heavy cloud and waited, listening. Finally a sound so faint it didn’t seem human. “Set up the tents,” he ordered the porters. “I’m going after them. I’ll find Beth if I have to look until my fingers and toes turn white with frostbite. And when I can no longer walk, I’ll crawl like a baby. But I will find her.”
Alternately calling and listening, he plowed blindly through knee-deep drifts, guided only by distant shouts swallowed by the storm and spewed out in muted whispers. As the cries became clearer, Dorje thrust his entire body forward desperately trying to reach them before it was too late. Finally, he spotted a gray figure lurching toward him.
“At last,” Royd said, his legs buckling under. “We thought you’d never come.”
“Where’s Beth? Is she all right?”
“She’s with Kirk and Hamar on a narrow ledge under an overhang. It was the only shelter we could find. I came looking for you.”
Dorje and Royd alternated shouting to his companions until they reached them fifteen minutes later. Shivering with icicles frozen in their hair and clothes, the two Norwegians were holding Beth tightly between them. “She fainted almost two hours ago,” Hamar explained.
“And has gone in and out of consciousness several times since,” Kirk added. “We gave her all the water we had.”
“But I carried her here,” Hamar boasted. “Have you seen Lhamu?”
“Yes. She is fine and waiting back in camp for you.”
As they spoke, Dorje was checking Beth’s hands, nose, and ears for frostbite by touch only because night had enveloped them in such darkness that he could only feel not see her snow-encrusted face. “We have to get her back to camp.”
His large body resembling a white yeti, Hamar said, “I’m too sick to carry her anymore.”
“Me too,” Kirk added. “I can barely stand and am not thinking clearly.”
“It’s as you warned,” Royd admitted. “The altitude and cold. Have them bring the tents and bags here.”
“No,” Dorje shouted. “It would take twice as long to go and come back and I might not find you again. They have already set up camp and have warm tents and bags waiting for us.” He lifted Beth’s limp body and held to him. “Do as you like, but I’m taking her back.”
It hurt simply to breathe as frigid air seared his lungs and ripped the lining of his throat. With the Norwegians lagging and stumbling behind him, he walked, fell, staggered to his feet, tripped, and rose again. In his haste to get off the Cho La, he had neglected to honor the deity residing on the pass, not offered enough prayers, placed no stones on the pile. He must appease the angry gods. “Om mani padme hum, Om mani padme hum,” he repeated quietly, hoping the deity of this lower place would hear and protect them.
Between mantras, he told Beth that she must stay with him, not let go of life, because hers was more important than his own. “I love you. You are my goddess,” he repeated over and over, warming her face with his breath.
“I’m soooo cold,” she whispered back. Her first words gave him courage to continue. Walking as a blind man in the thick, heavy snow with nothing to guide him, he was suddenly, ambushed by an unseen boulder. Tumbling, he instinctively folded his arms over Beth’s head to protect her.
As Hamar and Royd helped him up, the large Norwegian with the gentle heart said, “I will carry her now.”
Dorje brushed the man’s arm away. “No. I must take her and I will not fail.”
CHAPTER 19
Holding Beth pressed tightly against his body, Dorje carried her past the point where his legs became numb, calling to Sangbu and trusting that the gods would lead him there. In the distance, he saw a faint blue light. A witch? That’s how they appeared in the dark. Shaking off that thought, he had to believe there were no evil spirits, no restless shrindis, wanting to torment him tonight. Otherwise he wouldn’t have the strength to go on. “Om mani padme hum.” Coming closer to the light, he saw Sangbu standing in the snow holding a lantern. How long had he waited there?
“Is she alive?” the old man asked as he helped move her into a tent.
A shudder of relief rippled through Dorje. “Yes. Buddha willed it so.” Beth was still shaking uncontrollably as he laid her on the pad and carefully removed her wet jacket, shirt, and pants while Sangbu went for hot tea. After changing Beth and himself into dry clothes, Dorje crawled into the sleeping bag with her for body heat. He tucked her dead-cold h
ands in the warm spot between his legs and gently massaged them. Did the gods think his love for her was so fleeting that they could take her away? Not this woman who made his heart sing. They could not have her. He would die himself before letting go.
When Sangbu returned, Dorje whispered to her, “Open your mouth for hot tea.”
Teeth chattering so hard he could hear them striking, she answered, “I’m too coldddd.”
Beyond the summit: An Everest adventure and Romance Page 18