Beyond the summit: An Everest adventure and Romance

by Linda LeBlanc

“He wore his crampons all night,” Dorje added, “and slept out of his bag.”

  Mark cupped his hands around Rinji’s toes. “The metal probably drew more cold into his feet.”

  “I carried his load most of the way,” said Dorje.

  Jarvis nodded. “Yes, we all heard about that.”

  Lowering the porter’s legs to the floor, Mark set them closer to the fire while he told Dorje, “Explain that he must return to Base Camp immediately and someone will carry him.”

  “I’ll go,” said a porter from the rear of the tent. “I don’t want to work anymore.”

  “Me either,” said another, and then a third and fourth.

  Soon they all told of knowing someone who had lost fingers and toes with frostbite. The mountain gods were angry because their abode had been polluted by sex and excrement. Dorje translated their desire to leave but said nothing about angry gods, knowing the climbers wouldn’t understand. Once again he voiced Mark’s appeal to their pride and natural desire to help. The porters finally bargained for a full day’s rest at Camp II if they stayed.

  “I’ll take him,” Dorje said, his heart aching to see Beth. “I am the strongest and fastest porter you have. Plus, I can translate between him and the doctor.”

  While they were preparing a doko to transport Rinji, Marty sauntered over to the tent with a cup of the hot lemon drink they used to fortify themselves. “What’s up, Buck buck?”

  “Rinji can’t walk. I’ll carry him to the doctor in Base Camp.”

  “Base Camp? I’m going too.” Marty told Mark and Jarvis, “The snow covered our trail. I’ll need to guide them down.” When the men still expressed doubt, he added, “Dorje and I need to practice working as a team if we’re going to the top together.”

  “We’ve already picked the assault teams and you’re climbing with Jarvis,” said Mark.

  The Brit threw his hands in the air, walked away a few steps, and strode back, his face as hard as the black face of Everest. “I wouldn’t trust my life ten feet with Marty. He’s an irresponsible madman and I won’t climb with him.”

  “Then who?” asked Mark. “Everyone is paired up.”

  “I don’t know. We’ll decide later. Anybody but him.”

  A mantle of new, unstable snow concealed the hundreds of crevasses that crisscrossed the landscape where they had passed only the day before. Marty probed endlessly, searching for deadly fissures with Dorje cautiously following in his tracks. Once again, he sank knee deep but his spirit rose with visions of standing on the summit, higher than birds can fly. The promise of accomplishing something that grand made all else bearable. But his mood suddenly plunged back to earth when Marty announced, “I’m really going to Base Camp to see Beth again because wacky Marty is crazy in love for the first time ever in his life.” His words leapt into the air and chased each other around like giggling children. Dorje wanted to scold them and drive them home without supper. They had no right to be joyous. Beth was his love, his life, and his future. Not Marty's.

  CHAPTER 30

  Beth was going crazy at Base Camp. Every time an avalanche thundered down a mountain or a sérac toppled in the icefall, she wanted to scream. It was worse than waiting for a soldier to return from war because she was at the battlefront hearing the artillery. And this enemy was powerful, unpredictable, unwilling to negotiate. All she could do was light a juniper bough every morning and pace around chanting, “Om mani padme hum,” to Dorje’s gods. Her only respite was conversing and playing cards with the British doctor and French reporter who shared this god-forsaken, groaning glacier with her. Assuming she was here simply to write a story, they had no idea the hell she was enduring. To make things worse, those damn guilt gnats kept flapping their wings to remind her that Eric was probably getting his head blown off somewhere in Nam because of her.

  Nights were the worst. Even wearing her parka in the sleeping bag, she could not get warm without Dorje’s body heat. She lay shivering and wondering where he was and if he longed for her half as much as she did for him. Every afternoon, she hiked to the base of the icefall and stood for hours searching between the pinnacles for him to travel down the ice river and throw himself in her arms. As the days blurred together in this frozen nightmare, her stomach gnawed at itself.

  The only other denizens were a cook and two kitchen boys, a Sherpa who periodically dug a new charpi and took care of the camp in general, numerous porters who shuttled fresh eggs and fruit from the lower Khumbu villages, plus curious village eyes coming to observe an expedition after the four-year hiatus. Late one afternoon, Beth and her two western companions were playing a three-handed game of hearts in the dining tent. Just as she was about to slap the queen of spades on the doctor’s trick, loud shouts and commotion from outside the tent panicked her. Had the awful moment she’d been dreading finally arrived with news of something happening to Dorje? Dropping their cards, they all raced to the icefall and watched two dark figures slowly making their way through the maze of séracs and crevasses. Waiting was interminable.

  As the figures neared the end, one of them yelled and started schussing down a narrow valley. Remembering Dorje skiing the first day they met, Beth’s entire being melted in relief until, “Hey, Sweet-ness, I’m back,” careened off the ice with a chilling blow. Marty strutted onto the glacier, dropped his axe, grabbed her face between his gloves, and kissed her. “Glad to see me?”

  “Yes, of course,” she answered, dazed. Beth politely stepped back. “What’s happened?”

  “One of the Sherpas has severe frostbite in his toes and might lose them. I volunteered to bring him down just so I could look on your radiant-ness again.”

  “Which Sherpa?” she asked, her voice growing thin.

  “Rinji, the little one who should have never gone up there. But I guess he has three kids and needed the money.”

  “A family that needs its father safe and in one piece. And the others?”

  “Everyone is tired, cold, and sick,” he said walking her back to camp.

  His face was gaunt and had a faint blue cast. “You look thinner,” she observed.

  “Yeah. We all have headaches as big as a house, coughs that break your ribs and shred your throat, dizziness. Nobody feels like eating and when you do, it makes you sick. The trail is spotted with colorful vomit stains. One of the French cut his hand and it still hasn’t healed. It’s hell up there and we haven’t even reached the death zone yet.”

  “So why do you do this?” she asked, seeking some kind of logic.

  Marty perked up and wiggled his eyebrows. Grinning and in his usual singsong voice, he answered, “Because I have to.”

  Before she and Marty reached camp, something tugged at her—a feeling, an unheard voice. She turned and gazed at a shadowy image in the distance, bathed in the strange glow of sunset. Dorje had come back to her. On legs trembling like the quaking aspen leaves at home, Beth tried to appear casual as she strolled towards him, her heart racing. They met without an embrace because of Marty and Rinji.

  “I was so scared,” she whispered. “Don’t ever leave me here like this again.”

  “Don’t worry. I’m the smartest and strongest on the mountain. Nothing will happen to me. Soon I will reach the top and return to spend the rest of my life with you.”

  Beth swallowed the tears flooding into her throat. “Are you coming to my tent tonight?”

  “The largest yeti could not keep me away.”

  She brought her notepad to dinner and tried to distract her yearning by asking every possible question about a porter’s life on Everest. Sitting across from her, Dorje locked his feet around hers under the table with a knowing smile as Marty bragged about keeping his promise to give her the inside scoop. When all the lanterns, stoves, and flashlights dimmed, Dorje slipped through her tent flaps and zipped the door behind him. Naked in a minute, they pulled the sleeping bags over their heads to muffle sounds as they explored every inch, skin on skin.

  “You killed me,” he said laugh
ing and then rolled onto his back and collapsed. “I have never felt anything like that.”

  “Me either,” Beth whispered. “Me either.”

  Dorje dressed shortly before dawn. “I have to go now,” he said, pulling a wool shirt over his head. “But you stay warm here. We will meet again at breakfast.”

  With the heat of his body still lingering in her bag, Beth watched him through the door as he started for the porter’s tent. Suddenly a figure confronted him spitting angry words. “I heard voices in her tent when I got up to piss, but I thought it was the Frenchman or doctor.” He shoved Dorje with both hands, knocking him backwards. “Not you, an ignorant, ungrateful Sherpa.” He shoved him again. “I got you this job and how do you thank me? By fucking the only woman I’ve ever loved. I meant it when I said I’d do anything to keep her.” He charged at Dorje swinging his fists but missed.

  “You can’t keep what you never had,” Dorje muttered as they prowled around each other like two angry bulls, steam pouring from their mouths.

  “Beth’s mine. You don’t understand western women.”

  “But I know her,” Dorje said. “And you will never have her.”

  “You bastard,” Marty growled and punched him square in the face.

  Dorje checked the blood streaming from his nose and returned a blow to Marty's cheek that sent him reeling onto the ice. He lunged on top of the American and they rolled across the glacier with flailing fists.

  “Stop it,” Beth ordered, standing outside the tent with her bag wrapped around her.

  Dorje released Marty's jacket with a final push to the chest and then got back to his feet and stood beside her.

  “Marty, I’m sorry,” she said as he slowly rose.

  Wiping blood across the back of his sleeve, Marty asked, “How could you let a porter into your tent instead of me? I thought you had more class.”

  Feeling Dorje about to explode, Beth grabbed his arm. “Marty, I’m sorry if I hurt you, but I’ve never led you on.”

  “When you came here with me, I felt it wasn’t just to write a story.”

  “You were right. I’ve been in love with Dorje since last fall and returned to tell him so.”

  His face wrinkled in confusion. “Why didn’t anyone bother to tell me?” With a cold, menacing stare, he addressed Dorje with bitterness. “You let me talk about how much I wanted her and how I thought she liked me. But you never said anything. Why?”

  “Because you are my friend and I wanted to climb Everest with you,” Dorje answered.

  “Well, that’s not going to happen.” Marty snarled. Starting to walk away, he turned and marched back. “And I’ll see that nobody else does either.”

  Beth felt Dorje’s body slacken as a sixteen-year dream vanished. “Come back inside. You’re wet and shivering.” As they lay together waiting for the first glow of dawn to crawl across the roof, she didn’t know how to comfort him. Making it to the top was important for his self-esteem, but at the same time she was relieved he would no longer be risking his life. “I have enough for a great story already. We can go back now and arrange for your passport. I can hardly wait to show you all the things in America. Lights and heat that turn on by pushing a button, warm water that comes out of the wall, indoor toilets that flush, machines that wash and dry your clothes, giant stores with everything imaginable to buy, cars to drive instead of walking. Hundreds and thousands of exciting things.”

  “I will be like a child in your world.”

  Thinking she had surely convinced him to return to Namche, Beth was shocked and upset when he prepared to head back up the icefall with Marty after breakfast. “What are you doing? I thought we were going down.”

  “We will and soon, but first I must finish my porter job to earn enough rupees for Shanti and the baby.”

  “But I have much more than you can make and will gladly give it.”

  “I must do this myself. Not take money from you.”

  Anguish enveloped her as Beth said, “I understand. Of course you must go.”

  Striding twenty feet ahead, Marty entered the icefall without looking back as Beth and Dorje held each other in a long embrace. “Please hurry back to me.”

  “I will. Don’t worry, but now I must go with Marty. He’s angry but knows that it’s not safe to travel alone.”

  Feeling as though a piece of ice had lodged in her stomach, Beth waited until they disappeared in the turquoise sérac forest. Then she returned to camp trying to ignore the distant boom of an avalanche.

  CHAPTER 31

  Catching up to Marty, Dorje roped together for safety without speaking or making eye contact. Knowing tempers were as thin as the air and could last as long as ice on the mountain, he murmured, “Om mani padme hum,” through the icefall to appease the goddess Miyolangsangma who resided in the mountain. When men polluted it with any conduct that generated emotions such as anger or jealousy, engaged in sexual activity, or created offensive smells such as roasting meat or burning garbage, the goddess became ill And when she was ill, all those near her became infected too. He’d heard many stories of people around Everest suffering because they failed to give her the proper attention she required. None of this did he communicate to Marty because he knew westerners didn’t share his beliefs, and he was in no mood for a debate.

  Without the burden of a heavy load, they reached Camp II in the Western Cwm by mid afternoon. Not a word had passed between them, but Marty’s scathing remark in Base Camp repeated itself 100 times in Dorje’s head. Not you, an ignorant, ungrateful Sherpa. Any kinship Dorje had felt for the man now lay buried in a pile of steaming shit. He was glad to be rid of him when the expedition members and climbing Sherpas left to explore, mark, and prepare the route to Camps III and IV. Meanwhile with continuous movement in both directions through the Cwm, the camps constantly expanded and contracted as porters carried provisions in from lower ones and then out to higher ones.

  Soon the Khumbu porters would be sent back home while the climbing Sherpas finished setting the route and moving provisions to Camp IV on the South Col. The morning Dorje was due to return, he overheard two of them telling the sirdar they were quitting. They were worn out and sick after spending more than a week on the Lhotse Wall cutting ice steps and setting fixed ropes to transform the technical route into one a heavily laden porter could follow. More importantly, they were scared of the poison gases on high passes that dulled one’s mind. Rinji’s carelessness in the tent was a bad omen. Insisting there were no poison gases and the climbers couldn’t go on without supplies, the sirdar still failed to alter their decision. “Toi ye!” he yelled with a large spit as they started down the Cwm. The window for making the ascent before the monsoon was rapidly closing. With only three climbing Sherpas left to haul loads and fix the route to the South Col, it would be impossible to be ready in time.

  Dorje stepped forward. “I will carry but only if I’m paid the same as the Darjeeling Sherpas.”

  The three remaining Sherpas argued against him for over an hour saying he lacked experience, had never worked at such high altitude, and had already spent his strength and energy carrying from Base Camp. He would never make it. Dorje wanted this too much: extra rupees for Shanti and the baby plus an outside chance of going to the top. So he fought fervently and eventually gained Paul’s assent only because the man was desperate to proceed as quickly as possible and had no other alternative. He and Henri, the other Frenchman, plus a Brit named Roger were going to acclimate at Camp III while Jarvis stayed in the Cwm with a debilitating headache and the Americans moved down to Camp I to rest a few days at a lower altitude. Claiming it was too dangerous to sleep on the Lhotse wall, the Sherpas would remain here in the Cwm and move supplies straight through to Camp IV the following day. Dorje had never been higher than where he stood now at 21,300 feet and wasn’t sure how well he’d perform higher. But Paul had tossed out a challenge and he had to accept. To prove himself, he would carry the two tents for the South Col.

  “I’m g
oing up too,” Marty announced out of nowhere. “I want to acclimate and be ready for the first or second assault team.”

  “The three of us and Jarvis are making up those teams,” said Paul whose black stubble had grown into a rough beard.

  “Then I’ll go third.”

  His beaky nose rising and falling with each word, Jarvis said, “No one is crazy enough to climb with you. I sure as hell won’t.”

  Listening to them, Dorje saw his outside chance of going to the top topple like a broken sérac. Everyone was paired up except Marty and going with him was unthinkable.